Adventures of Radisson (21 page)

N
O SOONER DID
he walk through the door than Orinha spied the big copper cooking pot hanging over the hearth. He wanted it, but didn't start bargaining right away. All day long, he had seen that the Dutch would do anything to get their hands on their furs. But he still had trouble judging how many pelts their valuables were worth, and he was reluctant to haggle. As in the other houses, he let Otoniata and Deconissora talk to the woman who enticed them into her home by dangling a large piece of cloth from her doorway. She really did have more cloth than any other home they'd been to. She showed them different cuts in red, brown, white, and blue, and lovely ready-to-wear shirts. Her husband stayed back, close to the fireplace, keeping a mistrustful eye on his wife and the Iroquois, ready to step in should the need arise. Their daughter, who must have been eight or nine years old, was cradling a baby in her arms. She stood in front of the wooden counter the family used as a table, stock-still, looking on in fascination as her mother laid out her fabrics for the Iroquois.

Orinha looked around the only room in the house for other items he could combine with the pot to bargain for everything together. His plan was to bring down the price of each. He remembered that was what his father used to do back in France, with great success. He looked at the frame of the building, at its walls, at the rough-hewn furniture, at the everyday objects used by the family and the memories came flooding back. He rediscovered everything that used to be so familiar to him: a table, chairs, a chest, a wooden cupboard, a terracotta jug and plates, iron pans and cooking utensils hanging over the hearth, where the fire was burning away beneath the huge copper pot…

Suddenly, behind the young girl, Orinha caught a glimpse of a knife she must have been using to chop vegetables. It lay half-hidden among bits of cabbage and turnip. Its handle gleamed strangely in the half-light. Orinha took a step closer, then a second, discreetly, so as not to frighten the girl or her parents. Now he could get a better look at the unusually shaped handle. It seemed to be made from some kind of precious substance. In some ways, it seemed so familiar, and yet he had never seen the likes of it before. He edged closer, but this time he drew the attention of the young girl, who moved fearfully toward her father. The knife continued to shine in the dim light of the fire. The blade was long and broad. The handle had been sculpted to resemble the head of an eagle. Orinha was absolutely fascinated by it. Driven by an irrepressible urge, he suddenly seized the knife and said in Iroquois: “I want this knife!” Energy surged through his whole body. Everyone in the house turned and looked at him, surprised by his actions and his tone of voice. “I want this knife and the copper cooking pot that's hanging over the fire,” he said again, just as forcefully. “How many pelts do you want for both?”

The Dutchman did not understand Orinha's question. He glanced at his wife, who had broken off negotiations with Otoniata and Deconissora. She was also surprised by Orinha's tone. Frightened by the knife he now held in his hand, she backed away until she reached her husband and held her daughter and the baby tight in her arms. Orinha picked up his bundle of beaver pelts and set it down between the Dutch couple, motioning for them to help themselves. “I'll give you as many pelts as you like for both,” he added suavely, throwing in his broadest smile for good measure. But Otoniata, offended at being interrupted, replied that he wanted the knife too: “I'll give you five pelts,” he declared, holding up all five fingers of his open hand. Orinha could not bear to miss out on the eaglehead knife. It fitted the curves of his hand perfectly and filled him with energy. There was no way he could leave without it. He felt invincible, cunning, sure of himself. He addressed the Dutch couple with full composure, and another smile:

“I will give you as many pelts as you want in return for the knife, the copper pot, and this shirt,” he added, picking up one of the shirts off the table.

To the Dutch it sounded as though they were getting the better end of the bargain, but again they hesitated, not sure they understood. Otoniata seized on their confusion to try to win the day, laying his last seven beaver pelts out in front of him.

“I'll give you seven pelts for the knife and this blanket,” he said. “SEVEN.”

Orinha, who still had all his pelts left, more than anyone else in the group, upped the ante. “TEN pelts!” he cried. The only way Otoniata could get the better of him now was if he dared use the furs from the clan mothers. But he remained silent.

Orinha used the precious knife to cut the ties around his beaver pelts and stacked ten of them in front of him. He then worked his way nimbly around the room, picking up a long iron poker and a lovely-looking piece of cloth lying on the table. Looking as affable as ever, he added four more pelts to his offer, pointing to the pot, the poker, the shirt, the piece of cloth, and the knife that was so dear to him. He clasped the knife proudly in his hand, so that everyone could see its eagle-head handle. This time, the offer was clear. The Dutch, grasping and practiced, indicated they wanted two more pelts for the lot. Orinha wasn't taken in.

“Fine. But then I want two handfuls of the glass pearls my brother got from your neighbours. Show them, Ganaha!”

The man and the woman, trying hard to guess what Orinha might be saying, shot each other a questioning look. To try and make himself understood, Orinha used a French word he could still remember: “Rassade.” Ganaha showed them the glass pearls. The woman ran off to get some from her neighbour right away. The deal was sealed when she returned. Orinha added the two pelts, as the woman emptied the pot with her daughter, while the father held the baby in his arms. Then, Orinha packed his five remaining pelts into the pot, along with everything else he had just acquired. He kept only the knife on him. Deconissora and Ganaha then exchanged beaver pelts of their own in return for a shirt and a piece of cloth. Otoniata, still piqued, bought nothing. At last, the Iroquois left the house.

Jean, the lieutenant, was relieved to see the Iroquois reappear after having spent so much time in the house. The woman running back and forward to her neighbour's had put him especially on edge. He was surprised to see the Iroquois leave so many pelts behind and decided that it was time to step in, sensing that something out of the ordinary had just happened. A young Iroquois he had never seen before was triumphantly carrying a huge copper pot on his back, and Otoniata was clearly very unhappy indeed. Followed by the three soldiers accompanying him, Jean weaved his way through the villagers of Rensselaerwyck, who were all paying court to the Iroquois. He intercepted them before they went into another home.

“Otoniata, the governor wants to see you,” he said to the group's leader in Iroquois. “He is looking forward to hearing your news and has presents for you. He told me you should not delay. It is time for you and your brothers to follow me to the governor's quarters.”

Jean had come at the right time. Otoniata, reassured by the lieutenant's intervention, felt important. The soldiers and the Iroquois strode briskly over to the fort, moving the villagers out of their way. The villagers grumbled at the lieutenant for bringing the trading to a close. They knew all too well that the governor would snap up all the remaining furs for himself. Villagers who hadn't yet had a chance to make a deal of their own tried one last time to convince one of the Iroquois to exchange pelts with them, in return for a knife, a musket, a shirt. But in vain. The Iroquois were now gearing up for the most important negotiations of the day.

Orinha was so carried away by what had just happened that he was barely aware of what was going on around him. He feared he had probably dealt away too many pelts in the exchange, but he was overjoyed at getting everything he wanted in return: the cooking pot for Katari, pearls to help coax a woman to marry him, the Dutch shirt he wore with pride. Thinking back, he didn't regret a thing. First and foremost, he had gotten his hands on the wonderful eagle-head knife, the very touch of which against his skin flooded him with energy. Holding the knife in his hand gave him a strange feeling of exaltation, as though a powerful spirit had slipped inside him and was now protecting him and showing him which path to take. Orinha did not really understand what was happening.

The sun was already on its way back down again when the small group reached the entrance to the fort. Jean barked out an order and the gate swung open. Forty soldiers formed a guard of honour for the Iroquois to walk through. The warriors from both sides greeted each other respectfully. Jean then led his guests to a cloth-roof shelter, where Otoniata and his brothers sat down. Peter Orlaer, the governor of Rensselaerwyck and the fort commander, came to meet them moments later, dressed in his finest attire. A sword hung from around his waist and a black kerchief adorned with coloured feathers covered his head, Dutch style. He welcomed his guests in Iroquois, which he spoke very well indeed.

“The Dutch are the Iroquois' best friends. As their chief, I am always happy to welcome you to Fort Orange. As you can see, I have had a cooking pot hung over the fire. Shortly, we will eat to celebrate our business together. There will be plenty of cornmeal and venison for all, for I am fond of my Iroquois brothers and I want them to return home happy after their visit. I hope the friendship between us will be carried on from generation to generation and you will return often to trade with me.”

The governor paused, looking each of the Iroquois straight in the eye. His soldiers stood in a semi-circle behind him, giving him an air of even greater prestige and authority. Orlaer went on, pointing to the bundles of beaver pelts.

“I see you have brought many beautiful beaver pelts and I thank you for them. In exchange, I have presents for you that are worthy of the great warriors you are and the efforts you have made to regularly supply us with furs. You understand what makes us happy. I tell you most sincerely, the Iroquois and the Dutch are the best warriors on this earth. God willing, we will never again have to fight each other, as in the past. Let us forget those days gone by, let us never think of them again, for the clash would be terrible indeed. The Dutch have always given you the very best muskets in exchange for your beaver pelts, and you have used them well. But the Dutch are an inventive people. We work hard, and are always striving to improve ourselves. I have just received new muskets, better than any you have ever held in your hands before today. They arrived here after a long and perilous journey across the ocean. The Dutch are many on the other side of the salty sea and have used all their skills to make them. The muskets I am offering you are truly extraordinary. Come with me. Come admire them.”

Well-disposed after the governor's flattering speech, the eight Iroquois got to their feet and followed the Dutch commander to a small stone building guarded by some twenty soldiers. Everything had been carefully prepared to impress the Iroquois. The governor ordered the double door to the powder magazine to be opened. Then, five soldiers disappeared inside and soon emerged with thirty muskets, which they swiftly set down against the building's outer wall. The long, polished barrels of the brand new firearms gleamed in the sunshine.

“Here are the muskets I was talking about,” the governor announced. “This building also contains all the gunpowder you could ever wish for. Come, come, do not be afraid. Come see all the powder we have for you.”

The governor stood back to let the Iroquois peer into the powder magazine through the half-open door. Jean stood by the entrance, ready to block their way should they attempt to enter. Over the shoulders of his brothers, in the half-light, Orinha could make out forty or fifty wooden barrels, big and small. There was enough powder for ten years' worth of fighting! The lieutenant took a closer look at the young Iroquois and noticed that he seemed different to his companions. In the Dutch shirt Orinha was wearing over his Iroquois clothes, he looked very much like a European. He also noticed that Orinha did not react like the other braves. The Iroquois were amazed at the governor's show of strength, but this young warrior was looking coldly at the powder reserves, as though he were sizing up their value, as though he were making calculations.

“Impressive, isn't it?” the governor said. “What you are admiring is probably the most powder you will ever see in all of your lives. Take a good look. The Dutch are powerful and have gathered here all the powder they possess to satisfy your needs and desires. And do not forget, the muskets are the best in the world, better even than the muskets of the French and the English. So, what do you say? Is it not a deal worthy of fearsome warriors such as you? Let us now return to our seats and talk. My soldiers will serve the sagamité we have prepared for you.”

Slowly, pensively, Otoniata was the first to return beneath the shelter. He was responsible for trading away almost all the remaining pelts, the pelts entrusted to the group by the clan mothers so they would bring back peas, blankets, and tools. He sat there while his companions lingered a while longer with the muskets, turning them over longingly in their hands, impressed by the long barrels and the shiny new metal while the soldiers kept an eye on them. Orinha continued to peer inside the powder magazine and count the barrels, imagining just how many muskets and cannons could be fired with so much powder. His eyes suddenly met Jean's, who was posted nearby. Orinha smiled. Instinctively, Jean, a Huguenot from France who had fled his country for a new life in the Dutch colony, suddenly cried out in French: “By God! I'll be damned if you're an Iroquois!” Orinha could not believe his ears. He stood there, rooted to the spot.

“By God,” the soldier repeated. “Who are you? Speak, stranger! Are you a Frenchman or an Iroquois?”

Orinha, who hadn't heard a word of French for the past eighteen months, was so surprised he could not muster a reply. The soldier knew he'd hit the nail on the head. He grabbed him by the shoulders and asked again: