Adventures of Radisson (2 page)

Radisson was very impressed by the chief, who expressed himself nobly, weighing each of his words as though he had an important secret to share. He asked François to translate but Jean Véron, who was standing beside them, motioned for them to be quiet. Radisson managed to grasp only a few words: “summer… Saint-Maurice River… alliance… many brothers… my word…” As soon as Godefroy brought the meeting to a close by ordering a return to the fort, Radisson again asked François to translate the Algonquin chief's reply.

“I can't remember,” replied François.

“I don't believe you,” said Radisson. “Tell me, please tell me, François. Give it a try.”

“I don't feel like it.”

“You have to teach me Algonquin, François! I want to learn Algonquin. Say something in Algonquin, anything at all. Talk to me, I'm listening.”

SPRINGTIME HAD COME
at last. Ever since the ice on the St. Lawrence gave way with an almighty crack one night in April, Radisson felt a fever building up inside him. Every day he pestered Jean Véron about when they would be leaving for Québec, as he'd promised. At the very least he yearned to get out of the fort to hunt the Canada geese that filled the skies. It drove him wild to see the geese flying over the village and landing on the St. Lawrence in their thousands, just beyond the stockade, where they fed, then flew off again only to be replaced by still more.

But instead of seizing the chance to feast on such an abundance of fresh meat after Lent— which the Jesuits had seen was observed to the letter —Pierre Godefroy ordered everyone to remain in the village until further notice. He had heard from a settler from Montréal that the Iroquois were back. Apart from Godefroy, nobody in Trois-Rivières believed a word of it, since the Iroquois had never before arrived so early in the season. But for the captain of the militia, this was no time for taking risks. Radisson wouldn't have minded if they had gone to Québec immediately to get their orders from the governor. But they hadn't moved. Everything was at a standstill: no hunting, no travelling to Québec, nothing. Jean Véron was tying himself in knots, putting off the trip for one unlikely reason after another. Radisson would have done anything to put an end to the standstill that was eating away at him.

One morning, to his great surprise, he saw that Jean Véron was nowhere to be found. “Where did he go?” he asked his sister, apprehensively. At first Marguerite didn't dare tell him the secret she'd been reluctantly guarding for the past few days. Then she gave in: her husband had left by canoe during the night with Pierre Godefroy and Claude Volant to meet the governor in Québec. They'd decided to leave alone in secret for reasons of safety, she explained. Radisson exploded with rage.

“Liar!” he shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. “He's a damned liar! He promised he'd take me with him.”

Marguerite tried to calm her brother.

“There was no choice, Radisson. We have to be more careful than ever. The Iroquois have already killed enough of us as it is. Pierre and Jean didn't want to take any risks. They kept the whole thing a secret.”

“I'm stronger than any of them, you'll see!” said Radisson, not listening. “If they'd taken me with them, we'd already be in Québec by now!”

“It takes more than strength to paddle,” Marguerite replied calmly. “You've hardly even been in a canoe, Radisson. You don't know the first thing about it. It's not as easy as it looks.”

“How am I going to learn when nobody wants to show me? All I want is to learn to paddle. Like I learned to shoot. At least give me a chance! But oh no, it's always the same old story: wait your turn, lad, you're not old enough yet. Véron is a damned liar! What kind of life is this? If I could at least go hunting! Tell me why we're not allowed to hunt? Nobody believes the Iroquois are here! Somebody's messing with us!”

“It's safer that way,” Marguerite replied, but without much conviction.

Far from convinced the Iroquois were an imminent threat, she looked for a way to cheer her brother up. He was moping more and more with every passing day.

“Perhaps you could go hunting just opposite the fort with your friends,” she suggested. “There are so many geese! You're bound to hit three or four of them. And I can't wait to eat fresh meat…”

Her offer had an immediate effect on Radisson, who jumped to his feet, full of enthusiasm.

“Seriously?” he cried, raring to go. “Can I really?”

“Why not? I think Jean would agree. As long as you stay within sight of the fort and François and your friends go with you. You're well armed and not too far away— you should be fine.”

“Great idea! I'll run and see if François is game. I'll be back right away.”

Radisson dashed outside like the wind. His first stop was at Mathurin Lesueur's house. Even though he found him a little dull and rather awkward, Radisson had made him his friend since they were both the same age. There were so few young people in Trois-Rivières. Radisson quickly told him about his sister's plan.

“Marguerite says we can go hunting opposite the fort,” he told him. “She wants us to bring back enough for everyone! Your mom is going to be so happy, Mathurin. Get ready and I'll go find François. See you in a minute!”

But Radisson had more trouble convincing François Godefroy.

“My dad says we're not allowed out of the fort,” he said, confidently. “There's no way I'm going. It's not your sister that calls the shots around here, or her husband— it's my dad.”

“It's for the common good, François!” argued Radisson, using his full powers of persuasion. Everybody's tired of eating rotten turnips, tasteless onions, and salt pork. Just listen to the geese! They're calling to us, all day long! They
want
us to come feast on them! Have you ever heard of someone turning up his nose at what God has been good enough to send him every spring? It's practically a sin, staying here instead of going out hunting!”

“Our safety is at stake,” countered François. “All my dad wants is to keep us safe from the Iroquois.”

“Maybe. But who ever saw an Iroquois round here in early May? No one. Nobody believes the garbage that guy from Montréal was spouting! The Iroquois are doing exactly what we should be doing, François— they're out hunting geese while they're still around! It'll soon be too late. There's nothing to worry about— we won't be far. We'll stay opposite the fort. The guards will see us from the palisade. Marguerite has been living here five years, you know! And your dad made Véron, her husband, first officer of the militia. My sister knows what she's talking about. Come on, François! Mathurin and I are going anyway. But you're the one with all the experience, and you're a better hunter than we are. Come on, François. It's for the common good…”

At that moment, a flock of geese flew just over their heads in a V, filling the bright, clear sky with their cackling. François' mouth watered at the thought of all the tasty roast goose he'd ever eaten. His resistance weakened.

“My brother Jacques did leave this morning with the Algonquins to go up the Saint-Maurice River…”

“You see! Anyway, all the officers have gone except Dandonneau. Nobody will be angry we went hunting. No way! Your own mom will be thanking you for bringing fresh meat home. Come on, François— we're going!”

“Fine. I'm in as long as we stay within sight of the fort. We'll be safe if we do that. We'll kill a goose or two each and then come back.”

“Great!”

Radisson was over the moon. He'd done it! At last he would be able to get outside and make himself useful. Marguerite would have preferred there be more of them, but she trusted the three, especially with the experienced François, and didn't go back on her word. Radisson put his greased moccasins on as fast as he could, then picked up his musket, powder horn, and pouches of lead shot. It was a perfect day for hunting: warm and sunny. Radisson was wearing only a linen shirt and pants. Marguerite watched him get ready without saying a word, delighted to see him back in high spirits after so much disappointment. She gave him only one piece of advice:

“Whatever you do, don't go wandering off from the fort. That's what we agreed. Just be patient, little brother. You're sure to bring back plenty of geese.”

“Don't worry. You can start getting your pots ready. I promise you we're going to have a real feast tonight!”

“Here, take a loaf with you,” added Marguerite, handing him a big hunk of fresh bread. “It'll keep you going all day.”

Radisson stuffed it into his shoulder bag and left the house, but an idea flashed before him and he went back to take Véron's musket from above the hearth, in addition to his own.

“I'm borrowing your husband's musket,” he explained. “He owes me that at least. Two muskets will mean more geese for everyone. See you later!”

Marguerite was only too happy to have solved the problem. The hunting would do her little brother good: he really was beginning to get fidgety feet. “Just so he doesn't stray too far,” she thought.

T
HE GUARD
keeping watch over the fort's main gate at first refused to let the three young men through. They reminded him of the need to bring back fresh food, orders or no orders. To convince him, they promised to bring him back the fourth goose they shot, if fortune smiled on them, that is. The guard didn't believe the Iroquois would have come so early in the season and would have liked nothing more than to go hunting himself, so he let them pass. “Provided you stay close by and don't tell anyone it was me who let you out.”

The three companions left the village, crying out with springtime glee. Radisson felt as free as the geese flying overhead. In a few hours, he'd be bringing a mouth-watering meal back to Marguerite and would give some of the meat to his sister Françoise who worked for the Jesuits. Everyone would be happy and proud of him.

In no time at all they reached the edge of the meadow that surrounded the village, heading for the St. Lawrence. Undergrowth separated them from the shore, which was further away than it looked. It took them a few minutes more to reach the last thickets, just steps away from the riverbank. What better place to surprise the geese, even though, for the moment, they were all still too far away. All they had to do was wait… wait… and wait some more… Staying still for so long quickly began to grate on Radisson's nerves.

After an hour, not a single bird had come within musket range. Radisson could make out a huge white patch of thousands of geese out on the water, much further away. “All the geese are over there,” he argued. “We'll have to flush them out. There's no point waiting around here.”

François and Mathurin didn't agree. They'd given their word to stay within sight of the fort. But they finally gave in to their friend. The three of them started walking along the shoreline. Soon the palisade of Trois-Rivières was nothing more than a faint line above the brushwood. Young vivid green leaves masked their surroundings. The three companions could now see only a short distance in front of them. Soon it became clear that no one would be able to see them from Trois-Rivières.

“Hey! We've lost sight of the village!” protested Mathurin. “We said we wouldn't go far. We'll have to go back.”

“Chicken!” replied Radisson, without even turning round. “We're almost there. In fifteen minutes we'll have bagged two or three geese each and be on our way back. Come on!”

Mathurin stopped for a moment, looking carefully around him. He would have liked to see the reassuring sight of the palisade, but it had disappeared. Fear took hold of his stomach. Even the bushes seemed threatening; he thought he could see Iroquois hiding all around him. But Radisson and François were already in the marsh grass, on their way to the river. Reluctantly, Mathurin ran to catch up with them, scared of being alone. The three made slow progress through deeper and deeper water, crouching down so as not to scare the geese. Mathurin couldn't help showing his distress once more: “It's dangerous,” he managed to stutter, his voice trembling.