Christopher Dinsdale's Historical Adventures 4-Book Bundle. Christopher Dinsdale
the two sat quietly and listened to the storm rumble itself into a steady downpour.
Jesse stared at Uncle Matthew's hands. His fingers gently caressed the blade, as if he were now listening to the knife's version of the story.
Uncle Matthew then passed the knife back to Jesse.
“You were meant to find this knife. It is yours to keep. It will help seal the bond between you and Iondaee.”
Jesse took the knife and placed it on his lap. His uncle didn't laugh at his story. The dream was real? Jesse sat, stunned. He remembered what had happened in the village just before he had left. The arrow. The young warrior returning to the village with bad news. If what had happened was real, then the message was now important to him. Jesse had to find out.
“Uncle Matthew, tell me about Ste. Marie.”
“Was Ste. Marie mentioned in your dream?”
Jesse nodded.
“Ste. Marie was the first European settlement in Ontario. It was also Ontario's first fortress and quite large for fortresses in North America at that time. Inside the defensive walls of timber were European residences, a blacksmith shop, a kitchen with a common eating room and a church. There was even a small, guarded canal to the river for canoes to safely enter and leave Ste. Marie. The Jesuits, who had built the fort, lived separately from our people, although they allowed several longhouses to be built next to Ste. Marie for visitation purposes. Since Ste. Marie existed in Iondaee's time, we now know when he lived.”
“When?” asked Jesse, excitedly.
“Ste. Marie was built and lived in by the Jesuits between 1634 and 1643.”
“Wow,” whispered Jesse. “That's almost four hundred years ago. But what happened in 1643? Why did Ste. Marie last only nine years?”
“Near the end, the Iroquois continually raided Ste. Marie and the other nearby villages. Our people were still too sick to fight back properly, and the Jesuits did not have enough French soldiers to properly defend the fort from an all-out war with the Iroquois. After a failed attempt at a peace treaty, the Jesuits knew it was a hopeless situation. The decision was made to burn Ste. Marie to the ground instead of letting it fall into the hands of the Iroquois.”
“You mean that the Jesuits themselves destroyed Ste. Marie?”
“Yes.”
“But what about the Wendat people?” argued Jesse. “Who was going to help protect the Wendat from the Iroquois?”
Uncle Jesse looked off into the misty woods. “After the destruction of Ste. Marie, many of the Christian Wendats retreated with the Jesuits to an island in Georgian Bay for the winter. They had hoped to build a new Ste. Marie on the island, but the following winter was devastating. Almost all of the Wendat people either died of exposure to the cold or died of starvation. The Jesuits and the French soldiers who survived returned to Quebec, never to settle on Wendat land again.”
“But not all Wendat people were Christian,” pointed out Jesse.
“That's true,” agreed Uncle Matthew. “Some of the traditionalist Wendat villages chose to resist the Iroquois. Everyone in those villages was killed by the attackers. Other villages asked to join the Iroquois confederacy. Most who asked were accepted, and soon those Wendat people lost their Wendat customs and language and were absorbed into the Iroquois culture.”
“That's it?” asked Jesse, quietly. “Our people were either destroyed or became Iroquois?”
Uncle Matthew put a hand on Jesse's shoulder. “Not all, Jesse. Several villages left this land in search of a new home. Some went south and built villages in what is now the state of Kentucky. Others went east and settled the province of Quebec.”
Jesse suddenly stiffened. “So that's how our ancestors ended up in Quebec.”
Uncle Matthew nodded.
Jesse gripped the knife tightly in his hands. Iondaee mentioned that Ste. Marie had been there for ten years. Then he remembered the words of the warrior who had shot him. He turned to his uncle.
“Does the word ‘Tin-hat-in-a-ron’ mean anything to you, Uncle Matthew?”
“Taenhatenaron? I know of it. It is an old, much larger village than that of Iondaee's. The site has been found by archeologists. It's further down this creek, towards Georgian Bay.”
“What happened to it?”
“Just before Ste Marie was burned, the Iroquois attacked Taenhatenaron and captured all of its inhabitants. Two Jesuit priests were also captured there. They were tortured and killed. Let's just say it was not a good time to be a member of the Wendat nation if you were living in Taenhatenaron at that time. Why?”
Jesse's stomach tightened. “I heard its name in my vision as well.”
Uncle Matthew stared at Jesse, but realizing he didn't want to be questioned any more, reached back and grabbed a handful of bark. Together they worked in silence, organizing the birch bark over the frame on the floor. When they had finished, Jesse finally took off his wet clothes and crawled into his sleeping bag. Uncle Matthew offered him some trail mix for dinner, but Jesse declined.
His mind was still swimming with the thought that the lives of the villagers he had met had ended so horribly. He wondered whether if he had listened more carefully during history class, he might have been able to recognize the danger and somehow save the village. He should have known about Ste. Marie and its deadly fate. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the death of over a hundred of his ancestors. The face of Iondaee's little baby boy in his wife's arms would not leave his mind. He crawled into his sleeping bag and shivered. Finally, the sound of the rain trickling down the leaves above his head lulled him into a restless sleep.
Relentless taps to the top of his head jarred Jesse from his exhausted slumber. Raindrops! That was all he needed. The lean-to had sprung a leak, and he was now completely soaked. He forced his tired body to roll over as he reached out for his uncle.
“Uncle Matthew, there's a leak in the roof. What should I do?”
Jesse's hand waved slowly back and forth, searching, but there was nothing there to touch. Surprised, he slowly opened his eyes. Not only was his uncle missing, but so was the entire lean-to. He sprang to his feet and shook the water off his body as if he were a dog. He then realized he was no longer human.
The sky was just wakening to the first hint of dawn and a steady drizzle fell through the trees. Jesse looked around to get his bearings. A familiar meander in the creek told him that he had woken up in the exact spot where he had first met Iondaee. The village! Jesse sprang into a blazing sprint through the forest. He dug his hooves into the slippery surface of the wet hill and skidded to a halt at the summit. The village was spread out below him. It slept before him in utter silence. He waited anxiously for some sign of human activity. Only the excited cries of small forest creatures waking up to a new day brought life to the tranquil village scene. His heart sank.
He leaped down the steep slope, entered the village gate and stopped. In the mud were hundreds of footprints, all leading out and away from the village. He was too late. How long had he been away since his previous dream? Was it only hours, weeks or years? Had Taenhatenaron already been captured and Ste. Marie burned to the ground? Had his friends been tortured or killed? Helplessness and despair swept through Jesse. He sensed he was too late.
Then, in the morning mist, just a hint of burning wood tickled his nostrils. Fire! And fire meant people. Trying not to get his hopes up, he trotted to the entrance of the largest longhouse and looked in. There were long rows of sleeping benches on either side of the longhouse. A fire pit was located about every three metres along the central walkway that led to a distant exit at the far end. Jesse counted a total of twelve pits. His sensitive nose twitched again. There was definitely smoke still in the air. But the pits looked dark and cold. How long had the fire been out?