[...]
When the canoes arrived at the camp of the natives a big ceremony awaited them. All of the villagers were enthralled and fascinated to see such white men come to their refuge. Women and children all alike touched them hastily and turned away, as if those men came from another world. A few trappers were also present around the big totem in the hearth of the village. One of the trappers appeared to be talking to the leader of the tribe. The man all dressed in moose hide with a castor skin as a hat gave directions to the natives. A special squad of Indians would have to leave the village at night and carry out a dreadful mission.
“We simply have too many hostages in the village. We can’t keep all of them, you see,” the trapper began as he addressed the highest figure of the clan. But truly, his objectives were to carry out the execution policy of the British Crown. Why should the English leave a leak of French men cross the borders? A war was under progress and the enemies of the English Crown were, among others, the French. If there were alliances with natives one of the conditions was that the policy of the Crown be respected.
The majority of the captive men were led by warriors into the depth of the wilderness. The soldiers were hardly dressed at all: their naked chests had to cross a muddy swamp area to eventually reach a rocky island amidst nothing. All around them lay dead trees, dark water, low branches and an odd kind of smoke floated above the water. The Indians who accompanied them were travelling in birch canoes and always looked at them with a deathly look.
The men with the naked chests became quite anxious as they distinguished the traits of red and the blackness all over the faces of the natives. The French soldiers guessed something about their presence in that gloomy surrounding with these dreadful faces, they knew they would never leave these swamps again; they were among the first ones who would give such a lethal reputation to these swamps. And suddenly there it was, out of nowhere came flying tomahawks. No sound could be heard. The natives screamed at the top of their lungs and so did the soldiers confronted to the worst ever. Tomahawks flew and a red cover spread among the swamps. The men fell backward, their bodies filling a part of the swamps. Smoke was constantly on the water but it appeared even stronger after the event. And as the smoke turned into a cloud and gradually lifted the shadows of the Indians all disappeared at once.
Defeated by the clan’s leader, the trapper merely sighed and lifted his shoulders. He left the house of the chief and crossed the village where sailors were the latest attraction. Constantin La Valtrie sat on his own, next to an old man, a young warrior and a busy woman who was knitting.
“This is the most beautiful pattern I’ve ever seen, Miss” Constantin announced as he hopped closer to the woman. She was middle aged and had beautiful hands and her skin appeared soft at first sight. She turned her long black hair aside and turned her face to the young man. Her eyes were so expressing, her look was that of a startled little girl. The situation conveyed the meaning: two cultures, two characters from two opposite sides of the world were communicating. Certainly, language was a big gap and an essential one. But despite their differences and though they did use the same vocabulary and symbols a message came through.
As the woman smiled back at Constantin the latter understood his mistake. He tried to express with his hands and eyes what he wanted her to understand. The woman smiled again at his gestures but as he became too agitated the warrior stood up and tore him away from the feminine company. He hastily smiled at the woman but she was returning to her work again. Once they had left, Constantin could see the old man in the distance turn to the woman. In his new shelter Constantin would think over and over again about this scene. He wondered why the old man had turned to the woman and what he could have said. [...]
© 2016 Matt Oehler
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