Adventures of Radisson (22 page)

“Well, I'll be damned if you're not a Frenchman like me! Answer me! Are you French?”

Orinha at last recovered his powers of speech and replied in his mother tongue.

“Yes, I was born in France. But now I am an Iroquois. My brothers adopted me,” he said, pointing to his seven companions, who were looking on in astonishment.

The lieutenant let his musket fall to the ground and clasped Orinha in his arms like a long-lost brother, embracing him with all his strength. Orinha, stunned, did not know what to do. Jean was crying. Ganaha and the other Iroquois did not understand what was going on and were starting to show concern. The governor, who also spoke French, realized he must intervene at once.

“Don't worry,” he explained to the Iroquois in their language. “My most faithful soldier is thrilled to have recognized your brother, that's all.”

Then, he turned to Orinha and asked him if he was indeed French.

“Yes. I was captured in New France, then adopted,” Radisson replied in French, amazed at still being able to speak and understand his native language so well after so long.

The governor turned to the Iroquois, who were starting to show their growing confusion and displeasure.

“Don't worry,” he told them in Iroquois, “Your brother was just telling us how happy he is to be one of your own. Rejoice and do not be alarmed. I am going off to speak with him for a moment. It is not often that a Frenchman honours your people in such a way and I am eager to hear his story. In the meantime, Otoniata, you shall talk to Jean, my lieutenant. I want all your pelts and I am prepared to be generous. In addition to muskets and powder, you may have as many peas as you can carry to keep your womenfolk happy.”

The governor pointed a finger at Otoniata and added sternly:

“I have confidence in you, Otoniata. Do not be distracted by my conversation with your brother. Do not miss out on the bargain I am offering you today. I will not always be as generous toward you. Other Iroquois will take me up on my offer if you do not today. Think about it carefully and do not let me down. I will see you soon.”

The governor then motioned to Orinha to follow him, telling Jean to finalize the trade with the Iroquois. Orinha and the governor both disappeared into his apartments.

S
EATED BEHIND
his massive wooden desk, Peter Orlaer looked Orinha straight in the eye and began in French:

“I can help you,” he said. “I can buy your freedom, no matter the price. But first tell me how you got here. I want to know who you are.”

Orinha was immediately thrown off. He wasn't expecting he would have to speak French. He fumbled for his words for a minute or two. The silence seemed to last an eternity.

“Take your time,” the governor added, seeing the young Iroquois' hesitation. “I'm in no rush.”

Orinha was very impressed by the attention this powerful and educated man was paying him. The governor knew several languages and lived in this lavish apartment. In all his life, Orinha could not remember ever having visited such a fine apartment, even in Paris when his father rubbed shoulders with merchants richer than himself. An enormous globe mounted in a wooden frame in the middle of the room particularly fascinated him. On it he saw strange animals, huge ships under full sail, and vast painted expanses, adorned with elegant handwriting. He noticed that the legs on the governor's desk were cabled and carved. Behind him, dozens of books looked down from a milled wood bookcase. On one of the walls hung the portrait of a man dressed in sumptuous colours.

Orinha stared at the documents stacked on the governor's desk. He looked in astonishment at his inkwell, his quill pens, a shiny metal pen case— and his French began to come back to him, one word at a time, then more rapidly, building up to an avalanche. As he began to speak, he clutched the handle of his precious eagle-head knife through his clothes.

“My new family saved me from torture because I showed such courage,” said Orinha, puffing out his chest. “My brother Ganaha, who is with me here today, captured me in New France. He was the one who wanted to adopt me. He finds me brave and strong. He taught me how to hunt and how to wage war. I went on a long journey with him and our chief Kondaron, to lands far to the west. We claimed victories against the nation of the Erie. I am proud to be an Iroquois. I love my brothers, and they love me too.”

Orinha did not know what else to say. He wondered what this man wanted to find out and why he looked so incredulous. All he wanted was to go back to his brothers and finish the trade; it had been going well until now. He was looking forward to returning to the village, to handing out his presents, to understanding what strange power bound him to his new knife.

“Sit down,” said the governor. “Don't be shy.”

“I'd rather stand,” replied Orinha.

“As you wish.”

With his piercing stare, Orlaer looked the young Frenchman over with curiosity.

“Tell me about your life in New France,” he asked. “Were you born there?”

“I only lived a year in New France,” Radisson replied. “I was born in France, near Paris. My French name is Radisson, Pierre-Esprit Radisson, like my father, a merchant. But he disappeared and I came to live with my sisters in New France. My Iroquois name is Orinha. Everyone says I'm worthy of the name. It belonged to the oldest son of my father, Garagonké, and my mother, Katari. He died in battle and I have replaced him.”

“Yes, I know the custom. So, is it really true? You enjoy living with the Iroquois?” Orlaer asked, sounding skeptical.

“I love my parents. I love my brothers and sisters. I want to live my life with them. When I go back to the village, I'm going to get married.”

Surprised at the young man's assurance, the governor tried to get to the bottom of an attitude that was, to say the least, unusual.

“Do you know how rare it is for a French prisoner to tell me he is happy with the Iroquois? Truth be told, it's the first time I've ever heard a European say such a thing. Normally, they beg me to release them.”

“I am no prisoner,” replied Orinha. “I am a brave warrior and an excellent hunter. My family is proud of me.”

“Very well, you are not a prisoner. Nevertheless, I have the power to buy your freedom, if you so desire. And I can help you find your way home, back to your family. Is that not what you want?”

Troubled by the unexpected possibility that presented itself to him for a second time, Orinha hesitated. The first time, it almost cost him his life. It had been so long since he considered returning to his own people. Now that he had found his way and taken his place among the Iroquois, why would he want to start all over again and go back to New France?

“My mother and my brothers are waiting for me,” he said, finally. “My father too. They would all be very disappointed if I did not return to the village. I owe them a lot. They saved my life. I would rather stay with the Iroquois.”

The governor could hardly believe his ears. He had no intention of forcing the young man's hand— he said he preferred his new life to life with the Europeans, after all —but he repeated his offer, just to be sure.

“Young man, you astonish me. To be clear: I can deliver you from the clutches of these barbarians. I am prepared to buy your freedom at any price. Tell me what you wish, and I will do it.”

Orinha thought it over for just a moment. He had already said he wanted to go on living with the Iroquois, and he had no intention of changing his mind. He was a man of his word.

“I want to see my father Garagonké and tell him of my journey. I want to honour him. He is a great warrior and an admirable man. My destiny is to live with the Iroquois, and I will follow it. Let me leave with them. My brothers are waiting.”

In the face of such determination, the governor yielded, though he was no more than half-convinced.

“So be it. If you insist. But you should know that you are choosing a dangerous life for yourself. I admire your courage, but you can always count on me if you ever change your mind. My offer will always be on the table. Let us return to your brothers before they grow impatient, since that is your desire.”

As soon as he returned to his companions, Orinha could feel their unease. It seemed that Otoniata had pushed through the trade. They were almost ready to leave: five kegs of powder and three bags of peas had been deposited beside the Iroquois. All the pelts had disappeared, including Orinha's. Soldiers were still making up five lots of muskets. Strangest of all was the clamour from outside the fort. It sounded as though a noisy crowd was pressed against the gate. News of the Frenchman who had become an Iroquois had spread through Rensselaerwyck, and the villagers wanted to see for themselves.

None of the Iroquois asked Orinha what had been said between him and the governor, or explained how they traded the pelts away in his absence. In silence, Ganaha helped him put a small keg of powder and a bag of lead shot into his cooking pot. Orinha said nothing either. The blankets would protect the powder from any bumps and jolts. He was completely weighted down by the heavy load. His companions shared the other kegs among themselves, along with the munitions, the bags of peas, and the twenty-five brand new muskets.

As they were leaving, the governor congratulated the Iroquois on their acquisitions and thanked them for the handsome pelts given in return. As soon as the gate to the fort swung open, one hundred villagers let out a roar, pointing excitedly to the Iroquois, any Iroquois, looking for the Frenchman. Jean walked ahead of the group and pushed the onlookers away with the butt of his musket: “Move away now. Let us through. Stand back.” Five more soldiers surrounded the group and cleared a path through the crowd. But the further they progressed into the village, the more villagers there were. Soon, the Iroquois had no choice but to stop and put down their heavy loads to satisfy the curiosity of all those eager to get a glimpse of Radisson, the man they saw as an enigma. They finally spotted him and many were not satisfied until they had touched their fellow European, who was now living as a Wildman. All the soldiers could do was contain the disorder. People spoke to Radisson in Dutch, trying to convince him to stay with them; they pulled on his garments to drag him away from the group. Jean and the other soldiers pushed them away, shouting: “Get back! Get back!” The crowd dispersed, as the onlookers were able to satisfy their curiosity and touch the phenomenon for themselves.

Before Orinha could pick up his load, Jean again held him tight in his arms and whispered to him in French: “It makes me so sad to see you leaving with these barbarians! I will pray for you! Good luck.” A woman threw herself into his arms and gave him bread and prunes: “Take these,” she said, “they're for you. God keep you!” Then she grasped his face in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth, covering his face with her tears. Orinha— or Radisson, he no longer quite knew who he was —could not take his eyes off the weeping woman who could not bear to see him depart with his brothers. But, mechanically, like his companions, Orinha heaved the heavy load onto his back and left the Dutch village. He walked behind the others, still upset. None of his companions spoke to him, or looked back, until they had disappeared deep into the woods.

It took Orinha two full days to recover. When all was said and done, he was happy to be returning home. He was looking forward to some peace and quiet, and to concentrate on his plans for the future: finding a good wife and trying to clear up the mystery of the eagle-head knife. He hoped to put the intense interlude with the Dutch behind him. His brother Ganaha had also been unsettled by the incident. Since he intended to marry Oreanoué upon his return and move into the Wolf clan longhouse, as custom had it, he reckoned that his adopted brother would just have to get along without him. He no longer wanted the responsibility of always keeping one eye on Orinha; he didn't see the point any more. All the other Iroquois were sure they had just witnessed something very singular indeed. The way the Dutch reacted was going to cause a sensation around the family fire on the long winter evenings to come. They had no doubt that Orinha was one of their own. He was, after all, returning home with them, despite the welcome the governor and the Dutch laid on for him. He had his place among them as a warrior, a hunter, and now a trader; but he was a special case, one of a kind.

ORINHA OR RADISSON?


K
ATARI HAD BEEN ILL TEMPERED FOR DAYS
, sulking with the men and blaming them for bringing back too many weapons from the Dutch. She would have preferred more cloth, more tools, and more food. What's more, too many men from the clan went to war instead of going off to hunt, meaning the women had less food to store away for the winter. Orinha at least did his part, bringing her home a huge copper cooking pot and a poker. He also gave her some of his cloth. But the gifts were not enough. Katari saw that Orinha had become just like all the other men, a proud and arrogant warrior. She was disappointed in him. She had hoped the Frenchman would turn out more like the Jesuit who had stayed in their village and spoke so often of peace. She had thought her adopted son would become an ally to Chief Teharongara, her friend, who was forced out of the village while Orinha was away. His departure infuriated her.

The unfortunate event happened when the Onondaga delegation came to the village to convince the Mohawks to join peace talks with the French. They were not well received. Katari was involved in the discussions, like other clan mothers, and learned that four of the five Iroquois nations wanted to make peace with the French. Only the Mohawks wouldn't budge, refusing to give up the fight.

None of the arguments made by the Onondaga, Chief Teharongara, or the clan mothers cooled the war chiefs' determination to exterminate the French, even at the risk of rupturing the Confederacy of the Five Nations. The clan mothers lamented they could no longer accept so many of their sons dying in battle, especially if the other nations made peace and the Mohawks alone would be left to pay the price. But the arrogant chiefs were set in their ways and drove the clan mothers away from the discussions, paying no heed to tradition. The Onondaga ambassadors did not see fit to stay any longer and left only two days after they arrived. Fearing reprisals, Teharongara the peace chief went with them, such was the venom of those in favour of war.

Katari was so angry that she told the war chiefs in no uncertain terms that a chief like her husband Garagonké would never have been so stupid as to turn the Onondaga ambassadors away. Her outspokenness did not go over well, and they reminded her that she was nothing but an adopted Huron prisoner: their affairs were of no concern of hers. Katari still had not gotten over the whole episode. She had spent her whole life with the Mohawks and sacrificed two of her sons to their passion for war. So, when Otoniata and the other men from her clan brought back such great quantities of muskets and powder, instead of the tools and goods the women had told them they needed first and foremost, Katari flew into a rage against the warriors.

It was clear to Orinha that Garagonké's prolonged absence and the bad news constantly trickling through to them about him had really demoralized Katari. She feared that her husband had finally been lost in battle and that she would again have to pay dearly. She did not speak about it, but Orinha knew that she was beside herself with worry. Orinha, too, was very worried about his father. Again that afternoon, members of a war party from the neighbouring village of Sacandaga had returned from battling the French. They hadn't seen Garagonké in weeks.

E
VER SINCE
his union with Oreanoué had been confirmed, Ganaha had been spending his time with his fiancée in the Wolf clan longhouse. Orinha had lost his dearest companion. Of the other members of Orinha's war party, Kondaron and Otasseté had not yet returned from the land of the Susquehannocks. Deconissora and Thadodaho had kept their distance since the trading expedition to Rensselaerwyck, and Tahira would spend the winter with the Oneida, after delivering the Erie prisoner to Atotara's family. Only Shononses, who lived beside the fire closest to the space reserved for Orinha's family, in the Bear clan longhouse, spent any time with him at all. Shononses had to take things easy. His arm hadn't healed properly and was still causing him great pain.

“I will never again be able to fire an arrow like I used to,” he lamented. “My arm is no longer strong enough. But if you teach me to fire a musket as well as you, I can again be a good hunter.”

“I will teach you,” Orinha assured him. “You can count on me. I am sure you will again become one of the best hunters we have.”

Orinha was reluctant to confide in Shononses, but whom else could he talk to? Who else could he tell about what had intrigued him so since he had returned from Rensselaerwyck? At last, his need to talk to someone got the better of his reluctance to open up.

“I have a question for you,” said Orinha, in a serious voice.

“I'm listening.”

Orinha could not understand why his eagle-head knife had such an effect on him. He had come to the conclusion that the knife helped him meet his guardian spirit: the eagle. But he was not sure. Since it was not something the Iroquois talked about, Orinha broached the subject in a roundabout way. He took out the knife from under his clothes and showed it to Shononses.

“Take a look at this. I bought it from the Dutch. Have you ever seen a knife like it?”

Shononses was surprised. He picked it up carefully, holding the blade in his right hand and the handle in his left, as though the knife were especially fragile, or dangerous. He took a close look at it.

“What a beautiful knife!” he exclaimed after a moment. “No. I have never seen anything like it.”

Shononses turned the knife every which way to admire the sculpted handle. In the middle, right where his hand closed over it, the eagle's feathers were broad and sleek, making it easy to take a firm hold. At the end, the eagle's head and beak were finely drawn, jutting out a little to prevent the hand from slipping. The point where the handle met the broad, solid blade was also beautifully detailed. It was made up of a carved tuft of fine, bristling feathers, forming a small hilt that protected the hand. Shononses could not look away from the eagle's piercing eyes. They seemed so alive. Once he'd managed to break the spell, he asked Orinha:

“Where did you say you got it?”

“From a family in Rensselaerwyck. The women were using it as a kitchen knife. I got it along with the big copper pot that I gave to Katari.”

“It's a really nice knife,” Shononses said again, admiringly. “It really is. Take good care of it.”

“Do you know what the handle's made of?” asked Orinha.

Shononses took an even closer look. He scratched it with his fingernails and touched it with the tip of his tongue. He hefted the handle and the blade in his hand, balancing the knife on his index finger.

“Animal horn,” he replied confidently, “but I don't know what kind. I've never seen anything like it. If you ask me, this knife wasn't made by an Iroquois, not by anyone from our nation, at any rate. Not by a Dutchman either. Take really good care of it. It's worth a lot.”

Orinha was surprised to learn that the handle came from a foreign land and was probably sculpted by foreign hands. He picked it up again.

“As soon as I saw it, I just knew I had to have it. I couldn't resist. It was as though…”

But he stopped himself just in time, keeping his secret safe, along with the powers of the spirit that in all likelihood lay within the knife. He put his knife away, thanked Shononses, and went for a walk in the forest to mull over the conundrum: it looked as though he had met his guardian spirit through an object that was foreign to the Mohawk nation.

That same evening, around the family fire, Orinha found himself alone with Conharassan and showed her his precious knife. His sister reacted even more enthusiastically than Shononses.

“What a gorgeous knife!” she exclaimed. “Where did you find it?”

“In Rensselaerwyck, on the trading expedition. Listen, Conharassan, I'd like you to make me a nice leather sheath so I can carry it with me everywhere. If you accept, I'll give you the nice red cloth I brought back from the Dutch. It would make me so happy.”

“Of course I accept. You know I'd do anything for you. Where do you want to wear it? Around your waist, on your back, across your chest?”

“I want to wear it here, across my chest, hidden beneath my clothes.”

The next day, Conharassan went to work. It took her the whole day. Orinha waited beside her the whole time, keeping an eye on his knife and admiring his beloved sister at work. He loved watching her hands move. Meticulously, with no small amount of skill and patience, she cut the pieces of leather and stitched them tight together. She took her measurements directly against Orinha's body to make sure that the sheath would fit perfectly.

By evening, her work was almost done. Orinha was both happy and relieved. He appreciated Conharassan's affection and dedication. Never did he tire of gazing at her radiant face, of the mischievous grin when she softened the leather with her teeth, or her attentiveness as she carefully strengthened the sheath with a second round of stitches. By the flickering light of the fire, he could see her eyes, lit up by her love for him. Orinha would have married her the next day if he had been allowed to marry someone from the same clan. He was sure Conharassan would make a good wife and he would be a good husband. But the laws of the Iroquois forbade it. Orinha was obliged to look elsewhere for the woman of his life, and Conharassan would have to find herself another lover. He had noticed that, for some time, she had been attempting to distance herself from him, encouraged by her older sister, who had no doubt made it clear to her that they had no future together.

Orinha took his knife back before nightfall, but Conharassan refused to hand over the sheath. “I haven't finished yet,” she told him. The next day, she added a little pocket. Into it she slipped a delicate shell bracelet from her wrist, along with a lock of her hair.

“To bring you luck,” she explained, at last handing the finished product to Orinha. “Your knife is too beautiful to kill. It will help you find your way in life, perhaps to defend yourself. But it's not a knife for war. Don't forget that. And don't forget your favourite little sister either, who made this sheath with love.” Conharassan kissed him. Orinha then slid his powerful eagle-head knife into its precious sheath. He put it on, adjusted it, and then, satisfied, went to find the red cloth to give to his sister, holding her tight in his arms.

O
RINHA
WAS OUT HUNTING ALONE
. Ganaha didn't want to go with him, preferring to stay behind with Oreanoué and his new brothers from the Wolf clan. As he walked through the forest in search of game, Orinha tried to shake off his worries. He wished Garagonké's absence didn't bother him so much, but he couldn't help it. He missed his father dreadfully. After all, he was the reason he became a warrior. He dreamed of telling tales of his victories just to see a father's pride in his son light up his eyes. At the very least, he hoped to regain the affections of his mother, who had taken a sudden dislike to him.