Késsinnimek - Roots - Racines

Chapter I - The Engagement of the Algonquin Woman

An immense fire turned the forest into a crimson light. Clamors of rage and despair leaped out from every part and then melted into mournful echoes. An entire tribe had just succumbed to the blows of its most cruel enemy.

This scene took place near the town of Trois-Rivières.

An Iroquois party wishing to revenge the death of one of its own just finished this sad expedition. They, more numerous than the peaceful and trusting Algonquins, had easily gained a surprising victory. Now, they were leaving the area, dragging captives to be tortured and killed, in all cruelty and reserved to the conquering. The war cries finally subsided and the flames died out. The pleading of the dying also had ceased. The night in the village had become absolutely silent, dead like its inhabitants.

The war cries were further and further away. The crackling of the flames were quieting. The pleadings of the dying had stopped. Night had enveloped into shadows and absolute silence the poor village, dead also comme its inhabitants of this morning.

Under a clear moon, a young native chief, a feathered diadem around his head and a belt of scalps surrounding his waist, looked around at the mournful sight before him. He picked up his hatchet and tomahawk and moved toward a group of mutilated bodies. He studied them and broke out into a satisfactory smile ... the enemy had been massacred ... his revenge had been accomplished.

... A small movement brought him back from his pride-filled reverie. The astonished chief turned toward this moving body. A woman, a young girl rather, was moving toward a body. She was crying, as she embraced the dead brave who was so dear to her. She was unaware of the danger posed by the presence of the Iroquois.

The chief looked at this woman with surprise and then again at the mutilated body. The young girl, very beautiful, was not unknown to him. He had already seen her on several hunting or war expeditions. He had kept a very warm memory of her. He just discovered the family link between the young woman and the dead brave; it was a sister-brother relationship.

The Indian tried to remain impassive. However, deeply troubled, he looked at the sorrowful scene and he was touched. He approached quietly and took the arm of the Algonquin woman and raised her gently.

---Come, he said, I am Cerf (Stag). You must follow me. You belong to me. Come.

The native woman looked upon him with large eyes filled with tears:

I had no one left but him and your people killed him!

And those of your nation, replied Cerf bitterly, massacared the great chief, my father... Let's go, come, can you not see that you are alone here, you belong to me

she trembled with hate and horror!

Kill me, chief, I do not want to serve you!

More and more surprised, the Indian looked at this beautiful young girl who dared to treat him, the conqueror, as an equal!

Surely, there was reason to be disconcerted. The Indian women were very proud and very courageous. Cerf knew the usual resistance of captives, their blows from fingernails and teeth to the face of their future master. This time, there was negotiation; he was being treated haughtily as a chief, a conqueror and it was a very young girl, alone thanks to him, who dared to act in this manner. This was something new.

Cerf looked deeply into the eyes of the Algonquin woman. There was emotion in his look. This woman would not be the humble slave roughly treated by her abductor. She would be his companion. She would have the same rights as all Iroquois wives. His wife? He had the power to demand this. What then stopped the Indian from leaping upon his prey, dragging her despite her cries, killing her if she resisted him?

In turn, surprised at the long silence, the Algonquin woman looked up at him.

She thought that she knew what was going on in the soul of the mean warrior because coldly, but without harsness, he repeated the order to follow him; she, weeping, obeyed after having hugged the body of her unfortunate brother.

Several days later, Cerf arrived in his village, followed by his captive.

With pride, he displayed the trophies of his victory - the many scalps of the Algonquins. He narrated his story to the Elders seated around the council fire. Such was the demeanor of a young and valiant chief: praising himself before his equals, inflexible with the enemy, humble and deferential in the presence of Elders.

That night, the Algonquin woman knelt and prayed before the longhouse of Cerf.

During the trip to his village, she had hardly spoken a word to her companion.

She had been engrossed in her sorrows, trying to forget the sad lot of her present life and remembering the horrific scenes of the attack that she just lived.

When Cerf arrived at his longhouse, he saw her kneeling there.

What are you doing there? he asked not understanding this strange gesture. Did you not prepare the evening meal?

All the pride of the beautiful Algonquin race burst forth in the look of the young girl:

Chief, she said, I prayed to the Great Spirit because I am Christian and I have listend to the Black Robe. My brother may kill me if he so wishes, I will not be his slave and I will not serve him like aother captives have dont so... Has Cerf understood?

My sister can be reassured, if she wishes, she will never be my slave but my wife.

Then, without a word, the Indian woman entered into the longhouse.
Near the entrance, Cerf was smoking absentmindedly, his look lost in the beyond. What was happening in the soul of this primitive man? These children of the forest, according to the words of the missionaries, were capable of hating with a unbridled feroceness and still they found in them astonishing reserves of love and devotion.

Strange feelings took over the soul of this young chief. He was dreaming of new things. This young woman would become his companion for life, this young woman with a noble attitude, a pride with words which equaled his own nature. He wondered what inspired the conduct of this Algonquin woman who was so different than the other Indian women! Was it the extraordinary words of the Black Robes which influenced in this way those who listened to them?

Finally, as the fires of the other longhouses slowly faded one by one into the night, the great silence and the shadow of the night surrounded calmly and mysteriously the sleeping village, at his turn, Cerf entered his own longhouse.

Then, the young girl came to him and offered him sagamité. It was a dish favored by the natives and one which a future wife offered to her companion of tomorrow ...

Together, they ate the evening meal and it was in this manner that took place the eve of the engagement of the Christian Algonquin and the Iroquois chief, Cerf, warrior among his own people.

Chapter II - Happiness and Nostalgia.

Three years have gone by since the events which we just described.

Cerf lived in a longhouse built according to Indian tradition, usually centered within a huge clearing. There, for a limited time, a group of several families or the entire tribe lived. For the natives, this great children never pacified, always looking for new adventures, feats of hunters or warriors, did not bend to the peaceful existence of a permanent village.

The longhouses were often moved from one location to another, or at times simply abandoned⁴, and replaced by others as rapidly budilt and equally rudimentary.

The chief's longhouse was usually built close to the forest, where the young chief could search the neighborhood with pleasure.

In the dense and mysterious woods, the Indian could find shade and a great tranquility of absolute solitude, game as needed, the call of the wild, at times impromptu and bloody encounters but also victorious returns, and the pleasure, enjoyed by all, to hang, before his longhouse, pelts freshly cut from the vanquished.

All these things were found in the immense, disquieting and nevertheless attractive forest of America! And it is among these things that Cerf surrounded his life. But since his marriage, he also loved, and maybe above all else, his Fleur-de-la-Prairie (Prairie Flower).

The Algonquin, on her part, became attached herself emotionally and physically to him who treated her as a dear wife.

Cerf was one of these young Indians filled with courage and audacity, of a remarkable intelligence, as the missionaries of that era so often witnessed those they had met. The Elders based much hope on him. Envied secretly by those of his own age, highly estimed by his elders, feared but sought after and greatly admired by the younger of this tribe, he appeared to be indifferent to the opinion of his group. However, under this impassive mask, in this bronze covering shivered an anxious soul, an ardent and loyal heart. Something very noble brought out this ambitious character. A certain goodness tempered the violence of this native temperament, we were able to note this before at the beginning of this story.

Since Cerf lived with his captive of yesteryear, a world of new emotions filled his soul. The young Indian chief admired the Christian Algonquin. Capable of hating without problem, of massacring without pity, he fully understood that he was capable of protecting, condescending and greatly loving.

Here is what he was dreaming of, a cold and clear winter day, when, seated near the fire, he followed with his eyes Fleur-de-la-Prairie, who with a supple and light step, came from and went into the longhouse, attending to the usual c hores of Indian women.

Volontarily silent, at times pensive, sometimes smiling, when her look met that of the chief, a look always fixed on her with kindness --- she knew it --- she was often sad. The young wife really felt the profound affection of her husband Cerf. She was beholden to him in her own way, foreigner, daughter of an enemy nation.

But the poor Algonquin woman still missed her village, her own beautiful and majestic forest, the immense and spirited waters which sang and leaped near her longhouse. Secretly, she cried for her family and friends who were massacred, her valiant tribe humiliated and vanquished.

A mysterious pain began to attack, little by little, the courage of this daughter of the forest. A shadow of melancholy and fatigue could be seen in the beautiful eyes of Fleur-de-la-Prairie. She appeared distant, her walk was less lively, she no longer sought the joyful society of the young women of the tribe.

Chapter III - A Dangerous Rival

The time for the great hunts was approaching --- that toward the end of December --- the entire village was filled with activities. The women, the majority of whom followed their fathers or their husbands, hurried around the longhouses, putting together the various objects and necessary clothing for their long expeditions.

The chiefs, the young people, smiled freely when listening to the chatting of their companions.

They were congratulating each other for their past success, counting on the future joy and pride of a happy return, arms weighed down heavily with pelts, back bending over with the weight of rare and sought after game.

With respectful condescending, they listening to the Elders giving their opinion seriously regarding the weapons to take in such and such a circumstance or still indicating the best trails to follow, dangers to be avoided... Briefly, the greatest and most agreable animation was foremost in this group of Indians united with the same interests and sharing the same adventurous tastes.

Among the young chiefs, Cerf (Stag) and Aile-de-Courbeau (Crow Wing) were for sure the most valuable. No one outdid them in audacity. Their extreme ability was admired by all. They were the pride and the hope of the tribe.

For a long time, Cert and Aile-de-Courbeau were friends. They were sincere. Together, they knew the reversal and the success; they shared the same dangers and the same tiredness as well as the war booty or the products of successful hunts. They appeared to be following the most brillant career in perfect harmony.

However, they quarreled, one day, regarding the sale of pelts.

Cert blamed, not without reason, Aile-de-Corbeau for his dishonest behavior. Furious for having been found, and in addition, for some time now, a bit envious of the growing populatiry of his friend, Aile-de-Courbeau vowed to avenge himself and to make Cerf suffer the same humiliation which was just inflicted on him.

Cerf appeared not to be concerned with the threats of his rival. And on his part, Aile-de-Corbeau continued to live, like in the past, near Cerf, when circumstances presented themselves, without showing the least annoyance. Threat never left his lips. Hate seemed to have abated in the heart of the two Indians. But, Cerf was wary. Is not hate, in effect, at times like the flammed which lies dormant beneath the ashes?

Vengeance is sweet to the heart of the Redskin! Rancor --- that which does not forgive --- is like a sort of sacred fire that the child fo the forest should never let it be extinguished. In order to poke the flame and to prevent it from dying, he has his memories... The Indian does not know how to forget.

On many occasions, Fleur-de-la-Prairie caught the look of Aile-de-Courbeau one of contempt upon Cerf. She observed the conduct of the two young men and understood quickly that if the carefree attitude of her husband was sincere, danger for him was even more real for him. With the usual finess of Indian women, she could feel the animosity growing and capable of anything on the part of a proud and ambitious person such as Aile-de-Courbeau.

The Algonquin woman was afraid for the one she loved. But she also hated the deceitful and brutal chief... She resolved to tell Cerf of her fears and especially to be watchful... For Fleur-de-la-Prairie knew very well that her husband would shrug his shoulders with a carefree attitude and would brave all dangers with a haughty casualness.

To be vigilant?... But how? How could the poor, little Indian woman be against an enemy who is even more dangerous because he is more deceitful, more crafty?

Christian, Fleur-de-la-Prairie asked with all the confidence of her candid soul the help of Grand-Esprit. Then, courageous and stubborn, with infinite precautions, she began to keep an eye on the comings and goings of Aile-de-Courbeau.

Chapters IV, V & VI of the Prologue continued in the next article ...