The Adventures of Radisson. Back to the New World (4 page)

At the first light of day, Nicolas Petit arrived as agreed. Together, they set out for Nantes.

* * *

The cart trundled along the ill-kept, narrow country roads. Nicolas went easy on his horse. He didn't want to tire it out or break the cart. They passed by fallow land, cut through tiny hamlets where no more than a few dozen people lived, and through two small villages, too. From time to time, they met other ramshackle carts, advancing just as slowly as their own. Almost no one was working in the fields in the off-season, save for a handful of farmers spreading manure. The ploughed land gave the landscape a sombre hue. Trees were few and far between. No greenery, not a trace of snow. Radisson swallowed his impatience and the temptation to complain about the slow going. To pass the time, he told Nicolas about the Canadian winters.

“The snow is
this
high,” he said, holding his arm up to his face. “Everywhere. It looks a lot better than here.”

Nicolas pulled a face, skeptical.

“Don't believe me? You ever seen snow?”

“Of course! We can't take the carts out when it snows. It's slippery, white, and wet. But it melts in no time.”

“Not in Canada,” came Radisson's reply. “Over there, it's so cold the snow lies for six months, piling up day after day. It's cold enough to crack rocks in two—snap!—just like that! Luckily, there are forests everywhere, and there's plenty of firewood or else we'd all die of cold.”

“Life doesn't seem easy in Canada.”

“You need to be made of the right stuff, that's all. But there are advantages. The snow is beautiful and the cold makes you really feel alive. Canada is another world. Over there, everyone has a wood floor at home, not just the rich. You need one to keep warm. And underneath the floor, people keep their vegetables in wooden crates in winter so they don't freeze. You go down and get them through a trap door in the floor.”

Radisson had piqued Nicolas' curiosity. His companion felt as though he was travelling much further than Nantes.

“And if the snow is so deep,” he asked, “how do people get around by cart?”

“We slide across the snow on sleds, just like the Indians. The worst snowstorm I ever saw was like the flood in the Bible, only with snow! We were sheltered in my sister's house, but when it was over we could hardly get outside there was so much snow. The door was blocked!”

“I don't believe you!” Nicolas protested.

“I swear! To get about, you have to put on huge snowshoes otherwise you're up to your neck in the stuff! Snowshoes are like wicker baskets, only long and flat. With a pair of them on your feet, you can walk about no problem and pull the sleds I was telling you about. It's not easy at first, but you get used to it in no time. Without snowshoes, you can get buried alive in the snow.”

“So you don't have any carts?”

“In summer, yes, but not in winter. For heavy loads like firewood, we hitch up a big sled behind one or two oxen. We don't have horses over there.”

“No horses!”

“Not yet.”

“Unbelievable!”

“The Indians showed us how. They've been living like that for a long time. They've got the knack of it. But it's not an easy country. Everything is still to be done.”

“Then why do we keep hearing here that Canada's finished?”

“Because of the war. There are Indians who are friends with the French, but others are their sworn enemies.”

“It's the same here. Damned war. Everything is every which way because of it.”

Nicolas stopped well before dusk. At that rate, Radisson was sure they would never get there. When he said as much to Nicolas, the carter took a while to answer, then said he wanted to play things safe: there were bandits who attacked travellers at nightfall.

“But you have nothing to steal,” exclaimed Radisson. “Your cart is empty!”

“It's costing me enough money as it is going home to see my mother. Don't think for a minute I'm going to go and have my stock stolen as well. I don't like taking risks.”

“Your brother-in-law the innkeeper would surely have bought something from you, I don't know, some flour or wine. It would have paid for your trip. You didn't think of that?”

“I have a big ham with me to give to him in return for a place to stay. That's plenty.”

Radisson bit his tongue, not wanting to further criticize Nicolas, who was after all helping him. But he couldn't believe a carter hadn't thought to do a bit of business. What a wasted opportunity this empty cart was!

The next morning, after they had been on the road for an hour, they came across a small group of soldiers.

“Look out!” warned Nicolas. “Take no notice of them.”

As they reached the soldiers, Nicolas kept his head down, fiddling nervously with his harness, while Radisson greeted them enthusiastically. Once the soldiers were behind them, Nicolas whined:

“I told you to be careful!”

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” replied Radisson, amazed at the fear that paralyzed his companion. “They don't bite.”

“It just goes to show you don't know them! They have muskets and, believe me, they know how to use them. Soldiers are dangerous. They're behind a lot of the crime.”

“I know how to use a musket too,” boasted Radisson. “I'll have you know I'm the best shot in Trois-Rivières! Over there, everyone has a musket and knows how to shoot. They have no choice. We'd die of hunger otherwise: we need to hunt our food. And we have to defend ourselves from the Indians. It's part of life there!”

“I don't believe you.”

“It is! In Canada, every day we eat the meat God gives us: moose, bear, deer, beaver, goose… Pigs we rear and keep for winter reserves. Plus there's all the fish to be had from the rivers and lakes! Canada is no country for fearful men, but it's a great place to live for anyone with guts!”

Nicolas didn't dare answer. He felt judged, but what could he do? It was true he had always been lacking in courage. But he was shocked to learn that in Canada people ate like kings; he had always thought of New France as a place of poverty and woe. Unless Radisson was flat out lying to him. He felt a little frustrated at the thought that everyone there enjoyed rights that were reserved for lords, princes, and the wealthy in France. How come there was more to eat in this colony in the middle of nowhere than the French had when they worked every waking hour for some black bread and a piece of meat every other week? It wasn't fair.

“Long ways, long lies,” he protested feebly, trying to defend himself.

“You don't believe me?” replied Radisson.

“It all seems too good to be true.”

“And I haven't even mentioned the best thing of all.”

Radisson thought of the magnificent lands he had crossed with the Iroquois, of the boundless freedom he had enjoyed. Just thinking of it still made him giddy.

“You see, Nicolas, you're used to sleeping in inns. But in Canada, if you want to move around, you have to sleep outside, under the stars when the weather is good, or in the rain with the wild animals. Forests stretch as far as the eye can see. Even after days and days of travelling, you're still in the forest. The rivers are huge, and the St. Lawrence is as wide as the sea. You've never seen the like of it, I'm sure, because there's nothing like it in France. Canada is a land like no other. I can't wait to go back.”

Just talking about these wide open spaces sent shivers down Radisson's spine. Down Nicolas Petit's, too, but for different reasons. The very idea of getting lost in a vast forest he would never find his way out of had him shaking from head to foot. Because dark and mysterious forests were what he feared most in the world. The longer he listened to Radisson talk about Canada, the more disheartened he felt. The colony was barely inhabited, under threat from the Indians, and he was sure that he would never, ever set foot there. But at the same time, it fascinated him and he envied Radisson for feeling so at home there. He listened with the same interest he reserved for a preacher describing heaven and hell to him. He never tired of it. Even though he wasn't entirely sure Radisson was telling him the whole truth, he had never travelled in such entertaining company. The long journey was passing by in a flash.

Radisson, on the other hand, was fast running out of patience when Nicolas stopped a second time in the mid-afternoon, fearing they wouldn't make the next inn before nightfall. So as not to lose his temper with his amiable companion, he went for a walk in the deserted fields surrounding the village.

The next day, Radisson was less talkative, afraid he might reveal he had lived among the Iroquois for so long. The news might work against him, he thought. The secret was a weight on his shoulders and kept him on the alert. He made do with telling another tale or two about his life in Trois-Rivières. The journey seemed to be dragging on forever.

In the late afternoon, Nicolas stopped his cart in front of five thatched farmhouses, huddled cheek by jowl, their chimneys smoking. Behind them, a few animals grazed in a field dotted with shrivelled tree stumps. No one in sight. The hamlet was at the intersection of two quiet roads.

“We're going to sleep there,” said Nicolas, pointing at the biggest house.

“Not this again!” exclaimed Radisson, unable to contain his disappointment. “Listen, Nicolas, we have plenty of time to make it until the next village at least. Look, you can see the church steeple over there in the distance.”

“No way,” declared Nicolas.

They would have to cut through one of the area's rare woods and the thought of being stuck there at dusk, perhaps even after night had fallen, made his blood run cold.

“Buddy's tired.”

“Tired? Come on, Nicolas. Your horse is fine! He's used to working much harder than this! Come on, let's go. We've wasted enough time as it is.”

But there was no way Nicolas was venturing into a forest so late in the day. This gave him the resolve he needed to stand up to his impetuous companion.

“No!” he repeated, firmly.

“Even Buddy wants to go on, I'm sure,” Radisson insisted. “Please, Nicolas, we have lots of time to make it to the next village.”

Nicolas didn't give an inch, already imagining the bandits and werewolves lying in wait for them, ready to drag them from their chosen paths to a life of eternal suffering. The homes, villages, and church steeples they could see here and there in the distance didn't change a thing. To Nicolas, the forest might as well have been the end of the world. There was no way he was going to set foot in it. Radisson paid no heed to his guide's reluctance and cried out:

“Giddy up, Buddy! Come on!”

The horse broke into such a gallop that both men were thrown back in their seats, almost sending the cart into a ditch. It took Nicolas a second or two to catch hold of the reins and regain control of his horse, which finally came to a halt a hundred metres or so down the road. The carter had turned bright red with anger. He was so scared he could hardly breathe. He couldn't speak. Radisson, also surprised at Buddy's reaction, had been frightened the cart would break. But, as it turned out, they were none the worse for wear.

“See? Your horse can't be that tired. Come on, Nicolas, let's press on. We're almost there.”

The carter didn't move a muscle. The incident had left him so shaken up that his whole body was trembling. Radisson wondered what he should do.

“We can't cut through the woods at this hour,” Nicolas finally stammered. “We'll be set upon by bandits.”

“So that's it!” Radisson said to himself. For him, the woods held no danger. He just had to find a way to make Nicolas feel safe. After thinking for a moment, an idea came to mind. He jumped up, brandishing his eagle-head knife and shouting:

“Bandits? Bring them on!”

Nicolas jumped up with fright, exclaiming:

“Please! Please, don't kill me! Have mercy!”

Radisson was bewildered.

“For heaven's sake, Nicolas,” he reassured him, “I just wanted to show you I know how to defend myself. This is a powerful knife. It will have the better of anyone.”

Nicolas calmed down, but still couldn't bring himself to move on.

“And what if twenty of them attack us,” he asked. “What will you do then?”

“Twenty bandits! He has some imagination,” thought Radisson, sitting back down. He had never met such a coward. But an image suddenly had him trembling: his torture. He thought back to the day he left Trois-Rivières, laughing at those who had warned him of the danger. Realizing he would have trouble fending off an attack from a group of thieves with just his knife, he thought better of it.

“You're right, Nicolas. We'll keep going to the next village since we have plenty of time, but we won't go unprepared. We'll play it safe.”

Nicolas was just as terrified by this option, but now that he knew his companion was armed, he wasn't going to contradict him. He could do whatever he wanted to him.

“Before we go into the woods,” Radisson explained to him, “give Buddy something to eat. Give him a few oats to get him worked up. While you're doing that, I'll go find us two big sticks. There are bound to be some on the edge of the forest. After that, we'll gather rocks to bring with us in the cart. That way, if anyone tries to block our path, they'll soon know who they're dealing with. And if one of them is brave enough to attack us, I'll get him with my knife! The main thing, Nicolas, will be to get Buddy going at a good trot. We'll cross the wood at top speed so that no one can lay a hand on us. Right, let's get going!”

Even though fear was still tying the carter's stomach in knots, Nicolas chose the lesser of two evils. The risk of stumbling upon bandits seemed less awful to him than having to stand up to the man telling him what to do. As he fed his horse, he prayed to God, asking him to forgive him his sins and not to keep him in purgatory for longer than a hundred years or two since he had never committed any mortal sins and was sorry for the others. Radisson found a long bough, which he cut into two clubs of equal length. He kept the heavier one for himself. He then gathered thirty or so rocks the size of a man's fist and set them down on the cart. They were ready. The carter, fuming silently, moved his horse forward to the edge of the woods.