Official Note: The author of this piece is a nature lover and respects religious beliefs as well as ancient cultures including all indigenous peoples throughout the world. The content of the following historical narration may contain phrases and inferences that are difficult to label as solid examples of political correctness, and are by no means indicative of the author's beliefs and opinions. Chugging Along A Jesuit priest had just arrived from England in the town of Jamestown in the cold hills on the coast of Newfoundland. He was full of zeal to make his way to a native village and convert their people into good Christians. There was some confusion in Jamestown with many new specialists coming off the big galleon and the Jesuit was shuffled around town and finally back out again when the stockade guards stamped his passport as 'colonist'. The Jesuit priest's mule was heavily laden with bibles, prayer beads and other miscellaneous religious perphernalia. He trudged through the bitter cold and snow of Canada while carefully avoiding native burial grounds. Disturbing their graves would be a good way to begin relations with the natives. Finally after ten days he arrived at the Arawak village of Haiti where he was processed by the tribal grunts manning the path to the teepees. After the usual introduction rhetoric, the priest got down to business. He told the chief, "I got me bibles here and I need to set up a schedule of bible studies for all your village members. All natives who are successfully indoctrinated will be sent to do hard labor in His Royal Majesty's town of Jamestown." The chief's ugly face wrinkled up and he growled, "The hells you will! Your passport is stamped 'colonist'. You go back to the whiteman's town and get yourself a proper minister visa. Until then you can either be trained in our camp as a useless sugar planter in frozen Canada, or freeze and starve out in the tundra!" "Can I leave my bibles here until I return?" asked the priest. "No!" The Jesuit's fire went out and he moseyed back to Jamestown with his tired mule. Eventually the mule froze to death and no amount of beatings would get him moving anymore. The priest dragged the heavy bag of religious stuff through the snow and forests until he made a mistake. Fatigued and half-frozen with his head down and covered in his robe's hood, the snow swirled around in the wind so that he wandered straight through an ancient burial ground disturbing several graves. An ominous creaking and moaning sound emitted from the mounds. Two weeks later at the stockade gate.... "I need a minister's visa." explained the priest who now had a fresh new mule laden with the same big bag. "No, you've been reassigned." replied the redcoat. "Huh?" "You are needed to man the palisade. You can get yourself a uniform, musket and kit from the armoury." "This is nuts. I'm a Jesuit minister! I..." The trooper stoically interrupted. "The Arawak informed of us of how you messed up their burial ground and warriors keeping watch on you witnessed how two spirits from heroic ancient warriors possessed your form. Those warriors were part of an elite unit which killed off hundreds of Iroquios while defending a camp. You may not realize it, but their spirits have given you a legendary settlement defensive bonus." "Ummmm no they haven't and I'm committed to doing God's work. Now please, stamp my visa as a minister." The priest looked calm but was getting pissed. "You are the best soldier in this town and you will do your duty!" bellowed a redcoat captain who had been eavesdropping. "You are nuts. I won't touch your foul instruments of death." The captain explained, "Okay priest, if you won't be a soldier, we'll have to make you into one." The priest continued to issue profanity while the captain went off to prepare his training program. In a few minutes, the captain came back with a native convert who had a mug of ale in one hand and a tomohawk in the other." The captain briefed the native, "You will be paid a second mug of ale once you have completed the deed." Then he threw two pistols at the feet of the priest. Then said to the native man, "You had better hurry up about it!" With that, the native man let out a blood curdling scream, raised his tomohawk and charged the Jesuit priest. In a blindingly fast combo, the minister picked up the pistols and fired both musketballs into the centre of the charging native's chest dropping him to the ground in a writhing mess of blood, smoke and spilled ale. In another instant, the minister grabbed onto the gate trooper's musket, twisted it violently in a circle bashing the trooper across the face with the butt of the weapon. While the stunned trooper staggered backwards squealing and holding his hurt mug, the minister stood over the native and fired a musketball into his face. The captain was pleased and said, "Two in the chest and one in the head. That's as good as it gets. And thanks for saving me buying another mug of ale." And so the Jesuit missionary was converted to a palisade guard but he always kept his bible with him and spent the long boring hours reading and memorizing passages he thought were important. When he was off-duty, he organized bible studies and helped out in the local church as much as he could. He certainly was a good Christian. Inevitably, the natives in Labrador reckoned the whiteman built too many roads and damaged the land with his farms and mines. When the raid was over, the Jesuit cut 11 notches into the wood stock of his musket. When the combat buzz had worn off, he then went to complain to the captain of the guard. "This breaks the commandment 'Thou shall not kill'. I must rescind my post lest my guilt and sins render me unable to continue God's work." The captain smiled and offered sage advice, "Just go to confession after each time them varmints attack us. You are defending good folks from savages and God must be proud of your work... once confessed." Confession "Bless me Father for I have sinned." The voice through the lattice screen of the confessional replied, "Our Father in heaven is now ready to hear your sins. Go ahead young man and speak freely." "I have shot dead a dozen men... confirmed kills within 50 yards that is and including the one the captain made me shoot at the gate. I got one more chug in the ass as the survivors ran off into the trees." Silence from the next booth. The Jesuit gunman continued, "I told a fellow guard to f-off when he knocked over my musket. Oh ya and I humped a squaw behind the toolshed." He paused after this when he heard a gasp from behind the screen. The priest spoke with apparent reluctance. "C..could you perhaps tell our merciful Father more of this... affair?" "Okay, I started by removing her hides and then yanked off her raccoon skin underwear. She was apparently quite horny. After that I went straight to..." The Jesuit provided all the juicy details of the fling, stopping only when he figured he had covered everything that had been done. More silence. Then came the horrible sounds of puking and spraying. The Jesuit was hit with a wave of puke smell and said, "Uh, are you okay in there? Had some overdue moose for lunch?" Heavy breathing and wiping sounds followed from the next booth and then, "No... whew. I'm okay. Yeah I um, I dunno could I like... ah never mind." "You want a squaw? I can get you set up if you want. Lots are coming over as long as our rum stocks hold up." "Yes, yes, if it wouldn't be too much trouble. I prefer the fatter ones if you don't mind. And please keep this between us." "Will do. Me and some guard buddies will bring a nice fatty by this Friday with a keg of rum and you can party hard." With that promise, the minister's confession was complete until the next raid.