 CHAPTER XIII. OF THE LIFE AND TIMES OF CATERI TECACUITHA, THE LILLY OF THE MOHAX, by Ellen Walworth. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. TECACUITHA MEETS DE L'AMBREVILLE. IMPOSING CEREMONY IN THE BARK CHAPEL. TECACUITHA was eighteen years old and was still classed among the pagan or infidel Indians, as distinguished from the Christians. She had injured her foot severely. She could not now leave the cabin and sat idle one bright sunny day, while the other women were hard at work in the cornfields down by the river. She was unable to walk as far as the spring and the cove just below the castle and bring up the daily supply of water for the lodge. Nor could she gather faggots enough to prepare the evening meal, though she knew that all would return at dusk, hungry and weary from their work. A few women, with some old people burdened with ailments of various kinds, were also in the village. Two or three of these had strayed into the chief's cabin and were sitting with TECACUITHA, when Father de Lambreville, who had been only a short time in the Mohawk country, passed slowly along through the rows of long, low, bark-covered houses forming the turtle village. Kanawaga was well-nigh deserted by its people that day and seemed fast asleep, so still were its streets. The missionary was taking advantage of this occasion to visit the old and the sick, who chanced to be in their cabins, that he might instruct them at his leisure. He had no thought of entering the lodge of TECACUITHA. He knew that the chief, who lived there, disliked the Frenchman, who came down from Montreal, and besides he supposed the house would be empty as usual at such times. Its inhabitants were known to be busy and thrifty people. They were doubtless at work in the fields. He passed close to the doorway of the cabin with eyes downcast, intent on his own quiet thoughts. He wore the long black cassock of his order and carried a crucifix in his girdle, like those worn by the three who had lodged with the chief when he lived at Gondawaga on Orie's Creek. The shadow of Delambreville falling across the open doorway caused TECACUITHA to look up, and she saw him moving calmly on outside in the sunlight. Darkness brooded over the Mohawk girl where she sat, far back in the depths of the dreary cabin. Her heart was weary with waiting. It may have been that her mother's spirit hovered about just then and renewed its prayer. Or whatever may have caused it, the black gown's train of thought was disturbed. He raised his eyes. He stood a moment at the doorway and, Il foud pou sé, aï entré, says the old manuscript. A sudden irresistible impulse caused him to enter. Lo! had the black gown's approach, the petals of this lily of Gondawaga opened wider than ever before. Those who were present on that eventful day saw for the first time to the innermost depths of TECACUITHA's soul, far down to its golden center, enfolded so long in shadowy whiteness that no one suspected its hidden growth of beauty. Chochettier says, there he found TECACUITHA. Never was an encounter more fortunate on the side of the girl who wished to speak to the father and who dared not go to seek him, on the side of the father, who found a treasure where he expected to find no one. Charlevoix tells us that TECACUITHA could not disemble the joy which this visit caused her and hastened to open her heart to the father, in the presence even of two or three women who were keeping her company. And to testify to him her earnest desire of embracing Christianity, she added that she would have great obstacles to overcome in order to succeed in her intention, but that nothing should deter her. The ardor with which she spoke, the courage she evinced, and a certain air at once modest yet resolute, which appeared on her face, proved to the missionary that his new proselyte would be a Christian of no common order. Therefore he instructed her in many things of which he did not speak to all whom he was preparing for baptism. God, doubtless, establishes between hearts the possession of which he has specially reserved to himself a sort of spiritual sympathy which forms even in this life the sacred bond which is to unite them eternally in glory. Father de Lambreville, whom I well knew, continues Charlevoix was one of the holiest missionaries of Canada, or New France as it was then called, where he died at Sous-Saint-Louis, as it were in the arms of charity worn out with toils, sufferings, and penance. He has often told me that from the first interview he had with Tegacuita he thought he perceived that God had great designs upon her soul. However he would not hasten her baptism, but took all those precautions which experience had taught him to be so necessary in order to be certain of the savages before administering to them the sacrament of regeneration. As soon as Tegacuita had recovered from the wound in her foot which had occasioned her encounter with the black gown, she began to attend the morning and evening prayers at the chapel in accordance with Father de Lambreville's advice. As often and as regularly as the sun rose and set, she was now to be seen on her way to St. Peter's. Chauchatière says at first they did not give her any trouble, they let her go and come to say her prayers like the others. And some have believed that if this cabin was not opposed to prayer when Catherine was in it, it might have come from the good custom which the mother of Catherine, that good Algonquin, of whom we have spoken, retained there up to the time of her death, and these infidels were accustomed to see praying. So far as Tegacuita was concerned, the winter which followed these events passed quietly away in preparation for her baptism. She performed her usual duties in the cabin and her aunts did not molester on the subject of religion. According to one account, they had become Christians themselves, though this is contradicted elsewhere. The young girl was present at the instructions given to Catechumans and learned all the prayers with great facility and marvellous avidity in the hope that the father would hasten her baptism. The missionaries before the baptism of adults took care to inform themselves secretly of their manners and conduct. Father de Lamberville questioned all who knew Tegacuita and was greatly surprised to find that none, even among those who ill-treated her, could say anything to her discredit. This was the more flattering to her since the savages are much addicted to slander and naturally inclined to give a malicious turn to the most innocent actions. The missionary found no one who did not give a high encomium to the young Catechuman. He hesitated no longer to grant what she so ardently asked. Easter Sunday, 1676, was appointed for the day of her baptism. The Christians of Coniwaga Castle were pleased to learn that at last the black gown had resolved to baptize Tegacuita. Nearly a year had passed since she first asked to be made a Christian. All knew her worth. When the glad news of Father de Lamberville's decision was made known to Tegacuita, her countenance became radiant with joy. Her aunts gave their consent to the step their niece was about to take. We are not told what her uncle said or did at the time. Perhaps he was intent on other important affairs just then, or he would probably have put some obstacle in her way. He certainly dreaded, above all things, the possibility of seeing his niece enticed away to Canada in the footsteps of her adopted sister. Perhaps he felt quite sure of keeping Tegacuita with him, as she showed no desire to join a band of crins followers who set out from the Mohawk Valley shortly before the appointed Easter Day arrived. Like those who had gone with the great Mohawk on a former occasion, these pilgrims were bound for the Praying Castle on the St. Lawrence River. In the band were many friends and neighbors of Tegacuita, so that in part at least her heart must have gone with them to Canada. The Praying Castle of Saint François-Zavier was no longer at La Prairie, as when Crin first visited it, but had been moved this very year a few miles up the river close to the great La Chine Rapid, or Sous-Saint-Louis, and was henceforth called Kanawaga. The older village of the same name in the Mohawk Valley was a stir with expectation when Easter Sunday arrived in the year 1676. The young Catechumen, whom the black gown de Lambreville esteemed so highly, the one of whom no word had been said in disparagement, every act of whose life was as clear and fair as the day, was eagerly awaiting the hour of her baptism. The Indian girls on that Easter morning, ready as always for a pageant or ceremonial of any kind, crowded about the door of the rustic chapel inside and out. Some of them carried their little brothers or sisters tied to their backs on cradle boards. Some were gorgeous with bright-colored blankets and beads. Proudly they tossed their heads, these Mohawk girls, sure at least of their share of admiration from the young braves, notwithstanding that the old chief's niece was for the moment attracting more attention in the town than usual, what did her wonderful reputation for virtue amount to, after all, much hard work, some of them thought, and a scant allowance of fun or excitement. But for once all eyes were centred on the quiet maiden as she issued from her uncle's lodge and with two companions, also ready for baptism, neared the door of the chapel. It was easy to see that most of the people of Kanawaga respected and honoured her on account of her virtue. There was a time when the Iroquois had wanted the chastity of their women, and on that account held their heads higher than any other race of Indians. On this glorious Easter day the Mohawks seemed to realise, at least in a general way, that the maiden Tecquitha, whom they knew to be as strong in will as their own flint rock, and as pure at heart as their crystal spring, had caught up the beautiful crown that was fast falling from them. They felt that she, at least, while she lived, could be trusted to hold it securely above the mire into which they were sinking faster and faster. On the day of Tecquitha's baptism the light which the black gown brought with him to the Mohawk country beams with unquenchable brightness from her quiet but joyful face, and glimmered in scattered reflections on the faces of the crowd through which she passed. There, men and women, warriors, hunters, jugglers, boys and girls of every age, in a word all who were in the village, had gathered into groups to watch what was taking place at the Chapel of St. Peter. The black gown took care to render the baptism of an adult, and especially of such a noteworthy one, as the niece of the chief, as impressive as possible. It was conducted with all due solemnity. Never before had the Christians of Kanawaga been more generous with their gifts. They had offered their richest furs to adorn the chapel in honor both of Easter Day and of Tecquitha's baptism. The walls were hung with beaver and elk skins. There were bare skin rugs and buffalo hides embroidered in many colors, both underfoot and on every side. Belts of wampum festooned the rafters, blossoming branches of shrubs and clusters of frail little wildflowers that grew in the ravines nearby, decorated the altar. The entrance door was emboured in green. The approach to the chapel was through an avenue of budding trees, which had been planted there by the missionaries to give an air of seclusion and dignity to the sacred portal. In them the birds were building their nests and kept up a continual fluttering, chirping and trilling. The black gowns' well-trained choir of Indian boys and girls, already within the chapel, were watching for Tecquitha to enter. When the three catacombs appeared at the door, Father De Lambreville, in surplus and violent stoll, advanced to meet them. Sturdy Mohawk boys who had learned to serve at the altar, attended him. The ceremony began at the chapel door. Catherine was the Christian name to be given to Tecquitha. Clear and distinct were the words of the priest as he asked the following questions. Catherine, what dost thou ask of the Church of God? Then came the short sweet answer. Faith. What doth faith lead thee to? Life everlasting was the response. The black gown, still using the words of the time-honored ceremonial, continued, If then thou wilt enter into life, keep the commandments. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and thy neighbor as thyself. This exhortation sank deep into the soul of Tecquitha. Fervent and recollected in spirit, she strove to catch the meaning of each word and sign. Father De Lambreville went on with the sacred rite. Breathing on her thrice, as she stood with her head bowed down, he exorcised the evil one, saying, Go out of her, thou unclean spirit. Give place to the Holy Spirit, the paraclete. She raised her head at these words, and he signed her forehead and breast with the cross. Then he blessed the salt, the symbol of wisdom, and laid it on her tongue. Again he bade Satan begone. They now entered the little church. They stood close by the font. He touched her ear with spittle, saying the mystic words of Christ, Epheta, that is, be opened. Then she renounced the devil with all his works and pumps, and was anointed with the oil of the catechumens. She made her profession of faith in the words of the Apostle's Creed. After that the priest changed his violet stole for a white one, and poured the water of baptism on her head, saying at the same time the brief, essential words of the sacrament, Catherine, I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. The people watched each of these ceremonies with rapt interest. When it was all over, Catherine, tecquita, turned from the font with a white cloth on her head, which the priest placed there in token of innocence, bidding her carry it un-sullied before the judgment seat of God, and she bore in her hand a lighted taper, the symbol of faith. She seemed quite unconscious of earth and bright with angelic joy. The Mohawks could almost believe they were looking at a blessed spirit, rather than at one of themselves. The choir of Indian children silently waiting their turn, now filled the chapel with joyous melody, and made it resound with the sweet words of an Iroquois hymn, prepared for them by their missionaries. The birds outside, stirred to blyther singing by the sound of voices within, warbled their richest notes. The great forest that sheltered the bark-covered shrine was alive with music, strange and rapturous, like the strains heard by Saint Cecilia in her vision. De Lomberville, entranced, stood at the altar and listened, like one in a dream. Each breath he drew was a fervent prayer for his Indian flock. He was quite alone among them, the only pale face at Conawaga Castle. But he felt no isolation. He had given his life to these people, and his heart vibrated in perfect accord with the Iroquois music. If he thought of his home in France, and the glorious Easter anthems he had heard at Saint-Eustache and Notre-Dame, it was not with vain regret, but only with the calm assurance that if his friends across the sea could hear these Indians singing in their forest chapel, and could see the face of this Mohawk girl lit up with the joy of her baptism. They would not feel that he was throwing away his life and talents among barbarian tribes. The path of his duty lay clearly before him. Go, teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. These words were ever ringing in the missionary's ears. It was in fulfilling this command that he had found the lily of the Mohawks ripe for Christianity. He felt that he had gathered rich fruit with but little effort, and his next thought was how to keep it safe and bring it to its highest perfection, for the master of the vineyard whom he served. From the time of her baptism, Catherine Tecquitha's life resembled in many respects the lives of the early Christians. Chochatierre thus speaks of her baptismal name. Several Indians bore this name before and after her, but not one of them so worthily as the blessed Catherine Tecquitha. La prairie de la Magdalene possesses the precious remains of one named Catherine Gani Octena, from Oneida, who was the foundation stone of the mission. Another Catherine died at the Sue at the age of thirteen, having lived innocent as an angel, and died as a victim of virginity. These two Catharines would have served as models for all the Christian Indian women at the mission of the Sue. Had not Catherine Tecquitha arisen to shine like a sun among the stars. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 of the Life and Times of Chotierre Tecquitha, The Lily of the Mohawks by Ellen Walworth. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Persecutions, heroic calmness in a moment of peril, malice of Tecquitha's aunt. After her baptism Catherine Tecquitha was supremely happy. Her deft hands were as busy as before, providing for the general comfort in her uncle's lodge. Besides this she went back and forth twice each day to the chapel, where the black gown assembled his dusky flock for morning and evening prayers. On Sundays she heard mass at the same bark-covered shrine of St. Peter, and later on in the day she joined enchanting the prayers of the chaplet with alternate choirs of the Christian Indians. This was a favorite religious exercise at all the Iroquois missions. These people were gifted by nature with sweet voices, and sang well together. If at any time the Mohawk girl was beset with some difficulty or perplexity, she went at once to tell it with all simplicity to Fr. de Lambeville, who pointed out to her with great care the path which he believed would lead her most directly on to holiness of life. Once sure of her duty Tecquitha walked straight forward with timid downcast eyes, but joyous spirit, swerving neither to the right nor to the left. The rule of life that the Father prescribed for his other Christians to keep them from the superstitious, impure feasts and drunken debaucheries common among the Indians was too general and not advanced enough for Tecquitha. She had always avoided these excesses even in her heathen days, and now her craving for a higher and deeper knowledge of spiritual things was so great that the black gown soon found himself called on to direct her in the way of special devotional exercises and unusual practices of virtue. In December 1676 an event occurred of much interest to the Christian Indians. On the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, the blessing of the Statue of Notre Dame de Foy took place at Tyon Antigine or the Mission of St. Mary's. This statue was a facsimile of a highly venerated one of the Blessed Virgin in Belgium. It was made of oak from the place where the first originated and had been sent out from France to the Indians. Father Bruyas received it at Tyon Antigine as a precious gift to his Christian Mohawks. All the neophytes of the neighbouring villages assembled to see it unveiled and solemnly blessed. It was placed in the chapel in such a way that a bright ray of light falling through a small opening in the bark wall fell directly upon the Madonna. The Indians had not seen anything so beautiful and new to them since Boniface showed them on Christmas Day at Conawaga the little statue of the Christ child lying in a manger. Father Martin, speaking of the unveiling of this Statue of the Madonna, says that Catherine Techaquitha would not fail to be present at this pious rendezvous. She was baptized, will be remembered at Easter time, and the blessing of the Statue of Notre-Dame-de-Foy took place on the eighth day of the following December. Charlevoix says, alluding to Techaquitha's Christian life, from the first her virtues gained admiration even from those who were furthest from imitating them, and those to whom she was subject left her free to follow the promptings of her zeal for a short time. The innocence of her life and the precautions she took to avoid all occasions of sin, and above all her extreme reserve with regard to all which might in the slightest degree wound modesty, appearing to the young people of the village a tacit reproach to the licentious life which they led, several endeavored to turn her astray in the hope of tarnishing the splendor of a virtue which dazzled them. On the other hand, although she neglected none of her domestic labors and was ever ready to assist others, her relatives murmured greatly at her spending all her free time in prayer, and as she would not work on Sundays and feast days, when forbidden by the church, they would deprive her of food the entire day. Seeing that they gained nothing by this means, they had recourse to more violent measures, often ill-treating her in the most shameful manner. When she went to the chapel they would send boys to throw stones at and columniate her, while drunken men, or those pretending to be such, would pursue her and threaten her life. But fearless of their artifices she continued her exercises as if in the enjoyment of the most perfect liberty and peace. She did not hesitate to say, when there was occasion for it, that she would die rather than give up the practice of the Christian religion. Her resolution was put to severe tests, but she never wavered. Chauchetierre thus wrote concerning the persecutions she had to endure at this time. There are those who dare not declare themselves when they are the only Christians in their cabin, but Catherine showed an extraordinary firmness of spirit against human respect. When the children pointed their fingers at her, when they called her no longer by her Indian name, but called her by the name of Christian, Indirision, as though they meant dog, which lasted so long that they forgot her name, giving her none other at all but that of the Christian. Because she was the only one in the cabin who was baptized, far from afflicting herself on account of this scorn of which she was the object, she was happy to have lost her name. She had much to suffer from the mockeries of the sorcerers, of the drunkards, of all the enemies of the prayer, likewise of her uncle. He too, as time went on, seems to have taken an active part in persecuting the young girl who was entirely dependent on him for protection from insult. When her own uncle, the chief man of the castle, turned against her, what could she expect from others but ill treatment of every sort. Her firmness, which nothing could shake, irritated her heathen relatives more and more. They called her a sorceress. Whenever she went to the chapel, they caused her to be followed by showers of stones. So that to avoid those who lay and wait for her, she was often obliged to take the most circuitous routes. Was it not strange that one so shy by nature, as Tecquitha, should have had the strength of will to undergo all this without flinching? She seemed to be utterly devoid of fear. Though timid as a deer, she had the courage of a panther at bay, and was no less quick to act when the time for action came. One day when she was employed as usual in her uncle's lodge, a young Indian suddenly rushed in upon her, his features distorted with rage, his eyes flashing fire, his tomahawk raised above his head as if to strike her dead at the least opposition. Tecquitha did not cry out, or make an appeal for mercy, or promised to abandon the course she was taking in the midst of this ever increasing torrent of threats and abuse, with perfect composure, without the tremor or twitch of a muscle, she simply bowed her head on her breast, and stood before the wild and desperate young savage as immovable as a rock. Words were not needed on either side. With all the eloquent silence of the Indian sign language, her gesture and attitude spoke to the youth and said, I am here, I am ready, my life you can take, my faith is my own, in life or in death, I fear you not, the rage in the Indian's eye died out, and gave place to wonder. Then aw, he gazed as if spellbound. The uplifted tomahawk dropped to his side, her firmness unnerved him, admiration, then a strange fear over mastered the young brave, whose brain perhaps had been somewhat clouded with liquor when he thus undertook to rid the old chief's niece of her Christian whims. Be that as it may, he could not have been more astonished at what he beheld if a spirit had appeared before him and ordered him out of the lodge. Cowed and abashed, he slunk away, as if from a superior being, or rather, in the words of Charlevoix, he turned and fled with as much precipitation as if pursued by a band of warriors. Thinking techic with a ment to join the Mohawks on the St. Lawrence, they had sought by threatening her life in this way, to prevent her from carrying out her purpose. They now let her live in peace for a time. No stone had been left unturned to weary her out and break her spirit. It had all proved to be of no avail. They might as well have tried to frighten the stars from their accustomed course through the heavens, as to turn this quiet Mohawk girl from the path her conscience marked out. Her hold on faith and virtue was stronger than torture or death. These first caprices of her tormentors were followed a little later by a more dangerous persecution, and to one possessed of techic with his sensibilities, the most cruel of all. It was the last trial she was called upon to endure in the land of her birth. It was the only one, perhaps, that could have estranged her from her nearest kindred and her beloved Mohawk Valley, for we are told that she was particularly sensitive to the reproach they made to her of having no natural affection for her relations and of hating her nation. Had this been true, she would never have remained in her uncle's lodge as she did, till its inmates hardened their hearts against her to the exclusion even of the commonest sentiments of humanity. This was particularly the case with one of her aunts, who succeeded only too well in making the life of her niece a torture. She was the direct cause of Techic with his last and severest trial in the Mohawk country. In 1677 the Lily of the Mohawks accompanied her relatives on the usual spring hunt. They went in the direction of the Dutch, we are told, or in other words, towards the settlement at Schenectady. Had their object been to fish, they would most likely have gone on from there to the fishing village at the mouth of the Norman's Kill, near Albany, passing down through the Vale of Tawasenta. As these Indians went to hunt and not to fish, they probably took instead one of the many trails leading through the pine forest of Saratoga, any one of which would quickly bring them to a region frequented by deer and game from the Adirondacks. There, at a certain spot known to the Mohawks from time immemorial, a strange medicine spring bubbled over the top of a round high rock and scattered its health-giving waters at random over the ground. Then, and for a hundred years to come, its existence was known only to the Indians. No white man had ever been permitted to lift its pungent water to his lips. To this place, called Saratagwa, in his report of the colony, Governor Duncan tried in vain to recall the Iroquois Christians of Canada by promising them English backgrounds and undisturbed possession of their favourite hunting ground. With this interesting fact of early Saratoga history, however, we are not now concerned. As were the one involving Tecacuita, here is Chauchetier's account of what occurred at the Mohawk hunting camp and of the report that was carried back from there to the village. In the spring, or during the time of the chase, she had gone with her relations towards the Dutch with her uncle. The wife of this hunter did not like Catherine, perhaps because the good life of Catherine was a reproach to the contrary life led by this Infidel. This woman examined all the actions and all the words of Catherine that she might discover something with which to find fault. It is a common thing among the Indians to treat an uncle like a father and to call him by the very name of Father. Catherine chanced one day, and speaking of this old man in company with others, to let slip his name without using the name of Father, or My Father. This woman noticed that and judged rashly of Catherine and said that Catherine had sinned with her husband. She did not fail to seek out Father Lamberveel and tell him that she whom he esteemed so much had sinned. The Father wished to examine the reasons which this woman had for treating in such a way this good Christian, and having found out that the strongest was that which I have just related, he sharply reproved this evil speaking tongue. But he did not neglect to speak to Catherine and to instruct her on the sin and the pains of hell that God has prepared for punishing it. And then he questioned Catherine, who replied with firmness and modesty that never had she fallen into this sin, either on this occasion or on any other, and that she did not fear to be damned for it, but much sooner for not having courage enough to let them break her head rather than to go to work in the fields on Sunday. She believed she had not done enough by remaining whole days without eating. For when she did not go to work in the fields on Sundays, they would hide everything there was to eat in the cabin, and they left her nothing of what had been prepared for that day. This was in order that hunger might oblige her to go to the fields where they would have forced her to work. They declared that Christianity was making her lazy and worthless. Had she been accustomed to idle away as much of her time and amusement as the other young squaws, she would not have been so treated. But her ill-natured aunts, for whom she had worked industriously all her life, now begrudged her the one day of rest out of seven, which she took for conscience's sake. Thus Sunday generally proved not a feast, but a fast day to tecaquita. Her life was becoming intolerable, her cruel and morose aunt, whom Martin rightly calls un esprit bizarre, had received from Fr. de Lambreville a reprimand which covered her with confusion. She visited her chagrin upon the head of her innocent victim. Well, she had said to the black-own, so Catherine, whom you esteem so virtuous, is not withstanding a hypocrite who deceives you? As such her aunt now treated her. This evil-minded old squaw, who looked through the murky cloud of her own sins at the brightness and holiness of the young life so close to hers, disliked its radiance. It caused her to blink uncomfortably, and she refused to believe in its truth. She shrank back into the dark, which suited her better. In her fruitless efforts to hide from her wicked eyes the bright light that shone about the pathway of tecaquita, she tried by every means in her power to brand the virtue of her niece, as a mere pretense, assumed to cover worse deeds than her own. There was no longer for the Lily of the Mohawks even a shadow of protection in her home at Conawaga Castle. Her uncle had beset her path with drunken men and taunting children. She had been deprived of food, she had been threatened with death, and last of all her aunt had done what she could to defame her to the black gown. He, however, was now her only friend, and his advice to her was to leave the country as soon as possible, and take refuge at the praying castle. What wonder then that tecaquita, after having thus spent a year and a half in her home as a Christian, began to look with longing eyes towards the new Conawaga on the St. Lawrence, whither her adopted sister and Anastasia Tigan-Hatsihango had already gone. She turned to the mission settlement in her thoughts as to a land of promise and peace, an asylum where her religion and her innocence would be respected. Travelling Indians from the Sioux came and went among their tribesmen in the Mohawk Valley. Sometimes they were joined by new recruits who returned with them to Canada. Tecaquita now greeted the arrival of each band of these Christian Indians with a hopeful smile, but again and again she saw them depart with a weary sigh. For when they were gone she felt that her only chance of release from her trials had vanished with them. Thus far none of them had offered to take her to the praying castle, and indeed she knew of no one with whom she would have cared to go had she been asked. She saw no way out of her troubles. Her uncle, grown harsh and unkind to her, was displeased with all that she did in the lodge, and yet he would not consent to her going away. The old chief was moody and sullen at sight of his half untenanted castle. Who then would dare to tamper with his niece, or assist her in any way to escape? Who would ever be found willing to undertake so dangerous a venture? Tecaquita sadly realized her position and felt that she could only gather together the powers of her soul for patient and persistent endurance even unto death. She knew that if her relatives could once force her by long continued persecution to yield to them, their old kindness would return. They would then be only too glad to choose a husband for her and to give her a place among the oyanders, or noble matrons of the nation. But the national life of the Mohawks was still thoroughly heathen, and her part was already taken with the Christians. She would not retreat one step, nor entertain for a moment the thought of surrender. Though she was cut off almost entirely from communication with those of her own faith, she stood apart from them all and suffered and made no moan. During this time Tecaquita was learning the bitterest lesson of life. She was daily sounding the depths and unlocking the secrets of unshared sorrow. In this the heart of the lily was waxing strong, but alas her very soul was the thirst for the living water that was so cruelly denied her. She had scarcely as yet been allowed to taste of its sweetness. She knew that those who lived at the Sue were permitted to drink deep of the precious draft and reveled in wealth of spiritual food. Thus checked and deprived of instruction, how could she ever hope to obtain the bread of life that was given out so freely at the Mission Village? Was she alone, of all the Iroquois Christians, to hunger and thirst for these things without relief till she died? Was she to be all her life the only one in the lodge baptized? And would she be always treated as now? She felt that she could not endure it much longer and live, for the lily was left quite alone among thorns, and the thorns were pricking her almost to death. Chapter 15 of the Life and Times of Kateri Tekakwita, the lily of the Mohawks, by Ellen Malworth. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Hot Ashes Plans Tekakwita's Escape The Indian Chief, Louis Garan-Yagwe, known to the English as Hot Ashes, and called by the French La Poudre Choude, or La Sandre Choude, was, as his name implies, a quick-tempered, impulsive, and fiery man. He was an Oneida by birth and was known to have been one of the executioners of the heroic missionary Prebouf, who, with his companion Lalomon, was tortured and slain in the Huron country by Iroquois warriors. Since that time, Hot Ashes had become a Christian. His career and character are interesting and characteristic of the times, as this impetuous chief, Dogeek and Apostle, was bold enough to come forward and assist the lily of the Mohawks to escape from her uncle's lodge to the Sault St. Louis, some further account of him may well be given. Hot Ashes had been betrothed to his wife in childhood. They had lived together from the time he was eight years old. The violence of his nature was held in check to a certain extent by the unalterable patience, the gentleness, and the yielding disposition of his worthy squaw. Their union was what Chauchetier calls one of the good marriages that are sometimes made among the savages. Hot Ashes was chief or captain of his village in the Oneida country, and was held in high esteem by his tribesmen. His own quick temper was the cause of his leaving them. At one time the question of moving the village to a new site, an event of frequent occurrence among the Indians, gave rise to a quarrel between the leading chiefs. While still angry on this account, Hot Ashes went off to the hunt. There upon a second event occurred of so irritating a nature that he was enraged beyond all bounds. News came to him that his favourite brother had been killed. The bearer of the news did not tell him who had committed the fatal deed. The furious and excitable chief immediately persuaded himself that it had been done by the French. Without waiting to learn the particulars, he hurried off towards Montreal to wreak his vengeance on the Canadian settlers. On his way, however, he learned that his brother had been killed in an entirely different quarter, and not by these people at all. Hot Ashes was now in a quandary. What should he do next? He was near the praying castle on the St. Lawrence, whose hospitable doors were always open to travellers, and he paused there for a time to consider the situation. The Indians of that place liked him from the first. He soon made friends among them, and his wife was charmed with the quiet, orderly, and peaceful life of the Christian Indians who dwelt there. Hot Ashes thus had ample time to cool down and think matters over. Should he now decide to return to his own country, he would feel bound to avenge his brother's death, according to custom, on the people by whom he had been slain. He knew that this would involve his whole nation in a bloody war. This he disliked to do. For when not in a tempest of anger, Hot Ashes was a generous, good-hearted man. Then, too, the longer he remained at the Sioux, the more contented and calm he became. One over by his wife, Garhowit, he consented to be instructed and to be baptized with his whole family. The baptism of so important a chief was a great event for the mission. All his own people who were in the vicinity, and many even from the distant Oneida country, assembled at the praying castle for the occasion. A number of these remained and became Christians. There were soon so many Oneidas dwelling at the Sioux that they needed a ruler of their own nation, and Hot Ashes was chosen to preside over them. He thus became the fourth dogeek or captain of the praying castle. He soon ranked first of all in importance, notwithstanding the ability of his staunch friend, Crin, the great Mohawk. Still, his unruly temper would break forth at times, as it did on the occasion of his reception as captain. The men of the Sioux assembled in due form, lighted the fire for him, gave him the Calumet to smoke, and went through all the ceremonies, save one, which most unfortunately was forgotten. Hot Ashes, indignant at the oversight, went to Father Freyman, the missionary, and gave vent to his ire. He said that they had mocked him, that they had treated him like a child, that he was a chief without a mat, that he would be obliged to hold his council out of doors. In short, he could not be pacified, till the old men reassembled and the whole ceremony from beginning to end was gone over. Once Dooley installed, Hot Ashes ruled the village with ability and vigor, up to the time of his death. He outlived Tecaquitha, and was finally killed in battle. Many incidents are told of his courage, piety, and zeal, his devotion to his religion, and the good of the settlement, and also of his tenderness to his wife, while suffering from grievous ailments which afflicted the later years of her life. He had a natural talent for exhorting and teaching. He won many of his own people to Christianity, and when war was threatened he did what he could to maintain peace between the Oneidas and the French. While thus engaged he was suspected of double dealing. But taking no notice of the evil things that were said of him, Hot Ashes held to his own disinterested course with head erect confiding in his good wife who alone remained true to him, till at last he succeeded in living down all suspicion of treachery on either side. He it was, more than all others, who opposed and prevented the introduction of the liquor traffic into the settlement at the Sue. A lively incident is given by Chauchetier his love of temperance. Soon after his baptism he chanced to be hunting at the end of the island of Montreal, when he fell in with a band of Oneidas. They were being supplied with liquor by an unscrupulous Canadian trader. They sat around a great bowl of fire water, from which they drank freely, and which was constantly replenished by the crafty Frenchmen. Hot Ashes was asked to join them. He did so through courtesy and drank with the rest. Finding that he was expected and urged to take more than he ought, an expedient came into his ready brain for preventing further mischief. As there were older men than himself in the band, it would not have been considered proper for him to reprove them openly. This then is what he did. He stood up and began to sing like a drunken man and to dance. Suddenly he pretended to take a false step, and at the same time gave the bowl a great kick with his foot. This scattered its contents over the ground. The Indians, not suspecting his intention, looked upon the accident as a good joke. They began to laugh uproariously and to make fun of Hot Ashes, who went on with his mimicry. In the meantime night came on and they thought no more of drinking, but all fell asleep. Hot Ashes then retired, well pleased with having put a stop to the debauch. Other anecdotes might be given to show the character and spirit of this Indian, but it is enough to know that he was just the one to assist the lily of the Mohawks in the accomplishment of her now well-defined purpose, to escape at all hazards, and turn from her uncle's lodge to the praying-castle. Tekequitha's adopted sister, already in Canada, knew well the condition of affairs in the Mohawk country, and above all in the lodge of the chief with whom she had formerly lived at Kanawaga. She was fully aware that Tekequitha's life there as a Christian would necessarily be a thorny one. She and her husband often spoke of the unhappy condition in which the young Mohawk was placed, and of the desirability of having her with them. When it became known that Hot Ashes was about to visit the Longhouse of the Five Nations on an errand of zeal, they realized at once that the wished-for opportunity had come. They would now be able to assist Tekequitha. The United Chief intended to speak to his people concerning the faith that was in him, and to persuade as many of them as possible to return with him to the Sioux. Tekequitha's brother-in-law, urged by his wife, resolved to accompany Hot Ashes on his proposed journey, and in order to make sure of his carrying out his own immediate purpose, which was to bring his sister-in-law back with him, he took into his confidence a good friend of his from Loretta, a mission village of the Hurons near Quebec. This Indian of Loretta, and the brother-in-law of Tekequitha, consulted with Hot Ashes, and the three together planned their journey as best they could beforehand. Then they stepped lightly into a canoe, just large enough to hold them, and soon were speeding southward over Lake Champlain and thence through Lake George on their way to the Mohawk Valley. Ah, Tekequitha, why is your step so weary there in the village street? Why do you pause at the cabin door as though you did not care to enter? Why are you sad and faint? Have they hidden the food away from you again, lest you should find a morsel to eat? And will you be greeted with angry words if you enter your uncle's lodge? Is it no easier for you to bear it now than it was at first? Poor child, you are both hungry and hungry-hearted. Human nature is strong within you today. The craving for peace and comfort and human love will not be hushed and trampled under by faith and the hope of a faraway heaven has for whenio forgotten the Mohawk girl. She seems to be drifting away from the sound of his voice. The strength of her spirit is gone. She is sad unto death. Why not give up the struggle at once, go into the lodge, and consent to do like the rest? For one who has grown too weary to swim, it can scarcely be wrong to drift with the current. Are these your thoughts, Tecac witha? See, they have startled her out of her weariness. With a sudden return of energy and a quick determination, as if afraid to trust herself in the lodge, she turns and takes the path to the chapel. She will find the black gown, if it is possible to do so. She will tell him her wicked thoughts, and be guided by what he says. He is wise and good. He can tell her how to chase such thoughts away, and perhaps she can keep them from coming back. At all events he will speak to her the comforting words of forgiveness and tell her to go in peace. Then she will be sure that rawanio loves her and is not angry. She knows the path so well that she quickly comes within sight of the chapel. As it is not her usual hour for prayer, no one is around to waylay or disturb her. Close at hand is De Lambreville's cabin. Tecac witha does not find him at once, for the black gown has guests. They are Christian Indians who have come from the Sioux, and there are three of them. Father De Lambreville is well pleased to have such visitors. He welcomes the Christians from the Sioux who come to the Mohawk as if they were angels from heaven. He gladly receives them into his cabin and leaves them free to come and go as they please. One could see the spirit of Christianity and the mortification of the passions depicted on the faces of these new apostles. The novelty of seeing and hearing them on this occasion has already attracted a crowd of Indians to the spot. One of the black gown's guests has risen to make a speech. Tecac witha finds herself in the midst of the old men and the chiefs of Kanawaga who are assembled there, and she listens with eager interest to all that is said. Her uncle is away on a visit to the Dutch, which happens well for her. It is no less a personage than hot ashes who is addressing the people. In his impetuous headlong way he tells them that, as they all know, he was formerly Captain Adonida, that he was a warrior, that he acted like them in those days, but that after all he was only a dog, that he had begun to be a man a few months back, and he said many touching things. Continues Chauchetier, but nobody profited by them at all except Catherine. The old men withdrew one after another and left the speaker almost entirely alone. Catherine could not separate herself from these newcomers. She declared to the father that she must indeed go away, even at the cost of her life. She was too unhappy and distrustful of herself and her own powers of endurance to remain longer in the country where she was exposed to so many in such constant trials of her strength and her faith. Father de Lambreville, moved by her earnest words, spoke to hot ashes in his companions about her. He asked if it would be possible for them to take her back with them to Canada. Certainly, they said, it was in the hope of assisting her to escape that they had come to Conawaga. Hot ashes at once offered Tecacuitha his own place in the canoe. He said that he intended to go on to Oneida and to pass through all the Iroquois nations, preaching the faith. Her brother-in-law, therefore, and the Indian from Loretta, could take the canoe and return with Tecacuitha to the praying castle. God had provided a means of escape for her, most unexpectedly. It was the very best opportunity she could have to go. Her uncle was away, and her aunts, either through indifference or ignorance of the plan, put no obstacle in her path. Tecacuitha was never known to falter when the moment came for prompt decision and instant action. Chauchetier says the resolution was no sooner taken than it was carried into execution. The two companions of hot ashes put Tecacuitha secretly into the canoe with them, and immediately took the route leading towards the Dutch. That is to say, they embarked on the Mohawk River and followed its course for some distance, before taking any one of the different woodland trails leading to Lake George, end of Chapter 15. Chapter 16 of the Life and Times of Kateri Tecacuitha, The Lily of the Mohawks by Ellen Malworth. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. From the old to the new Kanawaga. As they left Kanawaga Castle and paddled around the sharp bends of the Mohawk River, the two Indians who were conducting this stirring adventure, used the utmost caution to prevent an encounter between Tecacuitha and her uncle, who might be at that very time returning from Schenectady. This they dreaded above all things. If the old chief should meet her in company with them, he would suspect their purpose at once, and the lives of the three would be in danger. They followed the course of the river current, however, as it carried them in the general direction of their journey more swiftly than they could otherwise travel. They wished to make the most of their time before the uncle could be warned of their departure from the castle. It was probably not far from the spot where the Chaktenunga Creek at Amsterdam comes tumbling down the hill into the Mohawk, or in that vicinity, that she and her two companions left the canoe by the riverside and took to the woods, as in the thickets along the less frequented trail by land, it would be easier for Tecacuitha to conceal herself quickly in case of alarm than if they were to continue the journey further by way of the river. Had they followed the latter course, they would have been obliged to take a more easterly trail across Saratoga County. As they feared the uncle was soon on their trail, for shortly after the three mission Indians had disappeared from Kanawaga Castle, Tecacuitha's absence was noticed. It was quickly inferred that she had gone to Canada. She was not in the lodge, not in the chapel, nor with the girls at the spring. Instantly a runner was dispatched to the Dutch settlement to warn the turtle chief of what had occurred. The news filled him with rage. Leaving his Dutch friends abruptly, he started homework to learn if it were indeed true that his niece had vanished, and if so, speedily to follow her. On his way to the castle he passed an Indian travelling rapidly in the opposite direction from himself, whom he scarcely noticed and did not recognize. Nevertheless, this Indian was no other than Tecacuitha's brother-in-law, the very man he wanted to capture. The unrecognized relative knew the chief as soon as he saw him, but he was too near to avoid passing him without exciting suspicion. So, feigning an unconcern which he was far from feeling, he kept straight on and passed the old man safely. He then continued his journey to Schenectady. The chief, on the other hand, was in quite as great a hurry to reach the Mohawk village. Perhaps he had doubts as to the truthfulness of what he had heard. At all events, when he arrived at Kanawaga, he went directly to his own lodge and found that Tecacuitha was indeed not there, and had not been, since the departure of hot ashes. Immediately he gathered what information he could at the castle, loaded his gun with three balls, declaring that he would kill somebody, and started in pursuit of the fugitives. Once thoroughly roused his unaided sagacity, put him on the trail by which he might overtake them before they could reach Lake George. In the meantime, what had become of Tecacuitha? Why was her brother-in-law traveling alone? Ah, she and the good Indian of Loretta were concealed in the bushes, either near the river bank at Amsterdam or on the high ground to the northeast of that town. Her brother-in-law had left them there while he made a brief trip to Schenectady and back in order to buy bread. They had started from Kanawaga Castle in haste, without provision for the journey. He soon returned to the secluded spot where his companions were waiting for him. Tecacuitha was greatly relieved to see him. When he gave them a graphic account of his narrow escape from discovery, she looked upon it as a certain proof that God was watching over them. She resolved that on reaching the Sue, as she now hoped to do, she would endeavor in every way to show her gratitude to him. Up to this time she had lived in great seclusion and subjection, and of late had suffered constant persecution and torture of spirit. This sudden freedom then, from all the bonds that bound her to her lodge and tribe, the intense excitement attending her sudden departure, these days of concealment in the weird and gloomy forest, this unforeseen companionship with strangers who proved to be as gentle and as solicitous for her safety as if she were indeed a beloved sister, and more than all the wonderful way in which everything seemed to concur in aiding her escape could not fail to make a deep and lasting impression on her sensitive soul. Every spiritual and religious tendency of her nature was intensified by this new and strange experience. In leaving her home and undertaking so perilous a journey, she had thrown herself without reserve into the arms of Providence, and now, resting there, she was carried almost without an effort through hair-breath escapes from dangers that no earthly consideration would ever have nerved her to face. She felt that she could not henceforth do otherwise than devote her all to Rauanillo, the true God. Their probable route to Lake George was through what is now the township of Galway in Saratoga County, and thence up the valley of the Cayadera Saras Creek, skirting the eastern side of the long mountain ridge that carries Lake Desolation High on its back. Through this region one can travel almost in a straight line of open country, from Amsterdam on the Mohawk to Jessup's Landing on the Hudson. There the river is fordable, just above Palmer's Falls and below the old Scalferry. A well-worn trail followed the eastern bank of the river from there to Lucerne, and then turned northeast through a beautiful valley to the mountainous shores of Lake George. Somewhere on this direct route across the country, Tachic with his uncle, overtook one of the two Indians who were escorting her to Canada. Apparently this Indian was engaged in hunting. Just as the chief approached, the hunter took aim as if at a bird, and fired his gun. This was a pre-concerted signal to his companion, who was some distance in advance, to conceal the Indian girl. It was so understood. In an instant Tachic witha was hidden in a clump of thick undergrowth. Her ready-witted companion threw himself on the ground near her, took out his pipe, lit it, and lazily watched the curling smoke as he puffed it from his mouth. Tachic witha's uncle, coming upon the second Indian in this attitude, was completely disconcerted. Where then was his niece? Assuredly not in company with these men, they were fully absorbed in their own affairs, and scarcely noticed his approach. She might be even then at work in the cornfields down by the Mohawk, or saying her prayers in the woods behind the castle. In either case, he would not have found her in the lodge. He had acted foolishly and followed an idle rumor without sufficient thought. He would not expose his folly further by questioning these men about her. Having reached this determination, he turned, without a word as to what was uppermost in his mind, and silently retraced his steps to the Mohawk Valley. As per Tachic witha, she felt, as sure just then, of Rawanio's direct protection and care, as if she had seen the Great Spirit himself standing in front of her hiding-place and concealing her from the suspicious eyes of her uncle. How else could the wise old chief have been so easily misled by such simple means? With a light heart she resumed her journey. Their worst danger was past. When they reached the shore of Lake George, a little search among the bushes brought to light the canoe, which her companions had left there on their journey southward with hot ashes. Once fairly launched they felt secure, and as they paddled up the lake, hugging the westward or leeward side, where canoes find the smoothest water, they woke its echoes with the chanting of Iroquois hymns. Thus did the daughter, a voluntary exile from her home in the Mohawk Valley, retrace the path over land and water traveled years before by her captive Algonquin mother. In her ears had sounded not sacred hymns, but only the wild music of the war song, and the plaintive strains of the Indian love song. In those days of war and bloodshed, the Christian hymn of the Iroquois had not yet been sung. The Mohawk mission had been but recently founded, the blood of the martyred jokes still lay fresh on the ground, and the soul of the lily had not yet come into existence. During this long journey the many thoughts of Tecquitha must have gone back to the dreary lodge on the banks of the Cayedetta, where her usual daily tasks were neglected, and where her baffled, deserted uncle, now sat disconsolate by the hearth fire. If these thoughts brought a pang to her warm heart, she could console herself with the remembrance that the blessing of her dead mother would not fail to follow her on the journey. As the three Christians left behind them the tale of the lake and Daya Torakte, and paddled past Ticonderoga, they did not pay the customary tribute to the little people under the water. Their heathen tribesmen might, if they chose, cast their tobacco into the lake to gain the goodwill of the sprites who were said to prepare the well-shaped arrow flints with which the shore just there is strewn, for when the surface of the lake was rough they thought the little people were angry. But Tecquitha and her companions had renounced these superstitions of their race. They knew that God alone was ruler of wind and wave. On no account could they be induced to pay homage to any such mischievous sprites of the lake. They asked Rawa Nio instead to forgive the people and to turn their thoughts away from all such foolish worship. Her journey, says Chauchetierre, was a continual prayer, and the joy that she felt in approaching Montréal could not be expressed. Behold, then, our young savage, twenty-one years of age, who escapes holy and pure, and who triumphs over the impurity, the infidelity, and the vice which have corrupted all the Iroquois. Behold, the Jean-Yves of Canada, behold the treasure of the Sioux, who is at hand and who has sanctified the path from Montréal to the Mohawk, by which other predestined souls have passed after her. When she found herself far from her own country and realized that she had nothing more to fear on the part of her uncle, she gave herself entirely to God to do in the future whatever would please him best. She arrived in the autumn of the year 1677. The desire that she had to get there as soon as possible was the reason for not stopping on the way. On her arrival she put the letters that Father de l'Ambraville had written into the hands of the fathers, who, having read them, were delighted to have acquired a treasure, for these were the words of the letter. I send you a treasure, guard it well. Her face told more than the letters. Her joy was unspeakable on finding herself in the land of light, freed from the sorrows of spirit which she had endured from not being able to serve God as she wished to serve him, freed too from the persecutions which were inflicted upon her in her country and in her cabin. She was received at once into the lodge of Anastasia Tigan-Hatsihango, her mother's old friend, with whom her sister and her sister's husband already dwelt. From the time of her arrival at the new Kanoaga, Shoshetierre and Sholanek, the two biographers of Kateri Tekokwita, were both close and observant witnesses of her life. They were also present at her death. Henceforth, then, we will let them speak, often and at length, telling in their own way of the rapid unfolding of spiritual life which took place in this untaught child of nature, transplanted from the heart of a heathen wilderness into a settlement of fervent souls. Four such, from all accounts, was the Mission Village at the Sue. The lily of the Mohawks caught up with keenest relish, the inspiration in the air about her. She was lifted with marvelous rapidity to a height of holiness that drew all eyes in Canada towards her. It was there in the land of her adoption that she won the title of La Bonne Catherine. Those who have patience to read on to the end of her biography will see how the brief life of this Indian girl was indeed radiant with love of the true God. The letter which she bore with her from the Mohawk Valley, written by Father de Lambevue, who had baptized her and which was addressed to Father Sholanek, to whose flock she was henceforth to belong, is given in full by Martin as follows. Catherine Tegequita goes to dwell at the Sue. I pray you to take the charge of her direction. You will soon know the treasure that we give you. Guard it then. Well, may it profit in your hands to the glory of God and to the salvation of a soul that is assuredly very dear to him. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of the Life and Times of Catherine Tegequita, the Lily of the Mohawks, by Ellen Wallworth. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. At the Sue Saint-Louis From the time of her arrival in Canada, in the autumn of the year 1677, Tegequita was invariably called by her baptismal name of Catherine, or Catherine, and that the reader may better understand her new life at the Sue with its surroundings. We will endeavour to draw a picture of it, gathering the details from all the available sources. In the cabin of Anastasia Teigen-Hatzihango, Catherine already feels at home. It is a hospitable lodge, for there her adopted sister also dwells, busy with the care of her family. The newcomer is quite free to follow her own inclination and spends day after day at the feet of the zealous and well-instructed Anastasia. This good woman takes great delight in teaching her all she herself knows of the beliefs and ways of the Christians. In the glow of the autumn days, Catherine sits and listens with rapt attention to every word that drops from the lips of Anastasia. The hands of both are busily employed, on moccasin or skirt, or a close woven mat of rushes, and the minds of both are keenly active in the realm of spiritual and religious thought. When they glance out at the broad St. Lawrence, they see before them the tossing rapids foaming round the wooded island of the Herons. They themselves are high above the moving waters, but not far away. The bank at the Mission Village is steep and grassy. Cateri's sister has need to watch her children closely, for if they play too near the falling ground by the river, a careless lurch might quickly send a dark-skinned little Jean-Baptiste, or newly christened Joseph, rolling down to the water's edge. A slender islet partly breaks the swash of the eddying waters against the mainland. On the bank of the river, overlooking the islet, stands a tall cross which can be seen from every side. Cateri saw its outstretched arms showing above the bark roofs when she first arrived. Saint François Xavier Dussault, in 1677, is close to the mouth of the river Portage, a small but deep-bedded stream which protects the village on its western side. This high ground in the angle of the Portage and Saint Lawrence rivers was chosen for the people of the Mission when they removed from the meadow lands at La Prairie. A score or more of Indian cabins have been built on the new site. It is in one of these recently erected lodges that Cateri sits listening to the words of Anastasia. This is the very year in which Sholanek, the Jesuit father who lives in the priest's house near the chapel, writes to his superior that there are 22 of these cabins. Most of them, it must be remembered, are the long houses of the Iroquois containing several families. They are more comfortable than the lodges abandoned at La Prairie. The fields they are cultivating this year are not so damp and the corn grows better here by the Portage. Anastasia tells Cateri that the temporary chapel of wood which they use now will soon give place to a splendid stone church 60 feet long as fine as any in that part of Canada. The foundations are already laid and the work goes steadily on. The French colonists across the river and beyond the Sioux are also making plans to build a grand parish church at Montreal. So far the only places of worship at Villain-Marie are the chapels of the Hotel-du and the Fort and the small stone church of Our Lady of Bencecourt just erected. Montreal has been in existence for 35 years and has about a thousand inhabitants. At the Sioux there are between two and three hundred permanent Indian residents and three Jesuit fathers, but other missionaries and many traveling Indians are accustomed to stop there in passing. The people at the Sioux are famous for their hospitality and so anxious to make converts to Christianity that they put everything they possess at the disposal of their guests. They have even been known to give up their freshly made cornfields to newcomers to induce them to dwell at the praying castle. They willingly take upon themselves the work of a second planting to supply their own households, give the Indian a sufficient motive for hard work and how completely the charge of idleness against his race falls to the ground. Father Sholeneck writes, 1677, that there are four captains or chiefs, two Iroquois and two Huron, who govern the village at the Sioux. He has reason to hope, though, he says, that they will soon have four Iroquois captains. Of one of these hot ashes we already know something. This friend of Cateri Tecquitha is not only a governing chief, but famous also as a doujique or catechist. The doujique Paul is another of these chiefs, chosen among the very first and famous for his eloquence. Hot ashes, having separated from Cateri and his two companions at Kanawaga on the Mohawk and given her the use of his canoe, has now gone on to preach Christianity among the Oneidas and has not yet returned. In the meantime, Anastasia has many questions to ask Cateri about her recent long journey and about this same great chief. How was he received in the Mohawk villages? What did the old men think of him? And how was this one or that one of her friends or relatives disposed towards the Christians at the Sioux? Then, too, she has more personal inquiries to make, for she wishes to find out who have been Cateri's intimate friends and how she has conducted herself on certain trying occasions. Keenly, the shrewd old matron, watches the young face to see if she answers her frankly and to read, if possible, her inmost thoughts and wishes. She has taken a strong interest in the girl. She recognizes in her many a trait and feature of her gentle Algonquin mother. And if at times, as Cateri recalls the scenes of her past life and the indignities she has suffered, a flash of Mohawk spirit gleams in her eye, Tikken Hatsihango loves her nonetheless for it. She has her father's courage and endurance. She will make a noble Christian, is the matron's thought, and she spares no pains to give Cateri the benefit of her carefully garnered little store of Christian knowledge. She claims a mother's confidence from the girl, and in return treats her like a daughter. But there is, after all, a sternness, a severity about the Christianity of this Mohawk woman, which, though it gives power and efficacy to her exhortations and instructions to the other young people at the Sioux who respect and reverence her, is perhaps in Cateri's case to be regretted. Anastasia is accustomed to dwell so much and at such length on the heinousness of sin and its terrible consequences here and hereafter. That Cateri, from being constantly near her, though more spiritual and pure-hearted already than any of her companions, soon begins to inflict upon herself severe penances to atone for what she considers great wickedness on her part. This wickedness consists chiefly in having adorned herself in past years with beads, trinkets, and Indian ornaments, which she did oftener to please her aunts than to gratify her own vanity. One day, soon after her arrival, Anastasia noticed that Cateri had wampum beads around her neck and in her hair, and the elder woman questioned her to find out if she really cared for these things. It cost Cateri nothing to lay them aside the moment she thought that it might be pleasing to the true God if she did so. Her only motto henceforward was, Who will teach me what is most pleasing to God that I may do it? It was love for Rarenio and a desire to prepare herself as soon as possible for her first communion that kept Cateri so close to the side of her instructorous. Says Chauchetier, she learned more in a week than the others did in several years. She never lost a moment, either in the cabin, in the fields, or in the woods. She was always to be seen, rosary in hand, with her dear instructorous, going or coming with her bundle of firewood. She never left Anastasia because she learned more from her when they too were alone gathering faggots in the woods than in any other way. Her actions made Anastasia say of her that she never lost sight of God. Their talk was about the life and doings of good Christians, and as soon as she heard it said that the Christians did such and such things, she tried to put what she heard into practice. She was like a holy bee seeking to gather honey from all sorts of flowers. She had few companions, even of her own sex, because she wished no other ties than those that would bring her nearer to a perfect life, in which respect her prudence was admirable. She separated herself from a certain person with whom she had associated because she noticed that she had a false pride, but she accomplished the separation without appearing to despise the person she left. When Anastasia spoke to Kateri of the necessity of avoiding slander, a vice to which the squads were much addicted, Kateri asked her what that meant. It is not surprising that she did not know what evil speaking was, for she was never known to say a word against anyone, not even against those who culminated her. One day her amiability was put to the proof. A young man passed through the cabin where she sat with Anastasia and roughly pulled aside her blanket with these words. They say this one has sore eyes. Let's see. Kateri flushed deeply but made no retort. She gathered her blanket about her and continued the conversation with her friend. She learned from Anastasia the order of religious exercises at the Praying Castle and never failed in regular attendance at the chapel. She became the most fervent spirit in that devout community. Indeed, the lives of the Indian converts at the Sioux seem to have been more like the lives of the early Christians and martyrs in fervor and heroic devotion than any that history has elsewhere recorded. At the first dawn of day, after having said their private morning prayers in the cabins, they were accustomed to assemble at the chapel to visit the blessed sacrament. If there happened to be a mass at that hour, they stayed to hear it and then return to their cabins. At sunrise the regular daily mass of the Indians was said. At this they all assisted, chanting Iroquois hymns and other prayers, including the Creed and the Ten Commandments. These sacred songs were entombed by the dojik or catechist and sung by alternate choirs of men and women. The Indians never tired of singing and the hymns prepared for them in their own language were full of instruction. In this way they learned in a very short time the laws of Christian morality and the mysteries of the faith. The missionaries at the Sioux were accustomed to hold frequent conferences on religion. Objections to doctrine were raised by one of the audience and answered either by the priest or dojik. Instead of referring to books which the Indians could not read or understand, sets of pictures were shown to them such as had been used successfully in France to instruct the ignorant peasantry of Bob Britton. These proved exceedingly useful among the unlettered Indians and they soon learned to carry on conferences among themselves in the absence of the missionary. Many converts from paganism were made in this way and being already well instructed by the dojiks they had only to be brought to the fathers to be baptized. The method of the Jesuit missionaries when devoting themselves to the red men was to begin their instruction in religion at once. To use the words of Shea they did not seek to teach the Indians to read and write as an indispensable prelude to Christianity that they left for times when greater peace might render it feasible when long self-control should make the children less averse to the task. The utter failure of their Huron seminary at Quebec as well as of all the attempts made by others at the instance of the French court showed that to wait till the Indians were a reading people would be to postpone their conversion forever and in fact we see Eliot's Indian Bible outlive the pagan tribes for whom it was prepared. The people of the Sioux though unable to read or write were well and thoroughly instructed Christians and on more than one occasion the white men were put to shame by the greater integrity, morality and piety of these fervent converts. The public sentiment was so strong there in favor of temperance that on one occasion when a drunkard appeared in their village he was by common consent stabled with the pigs and the next day was chased out of the settlement. After the morning mass when the men and women went off to work in the fields or cabins the children were gathered into the chapel and instructed orally. Many of the Indians objected to having their children taught to read and write on the ground that it left them no time to become expert at hunting and to gain other requirements more useful to them but it must not be inferred therefore that the children had no schooling. On the contrary their parents were well pleased to have them assembled at regular hours and taught many things by the black gowns though without giving up to it the greater part of the day. Besides this there was a zealous young Indian in the village named Joseph Ranta Gorha who gathered the children about him in the evenings to cataclyse them and to teach them singing. A pathetic story is told by Father Sholanak of one of Joseph's pupils a little child who was dying. He would not be satisfied till they had called together his young friends to sing the Iroquois hymns they had been learning. The dying child joined his voice with theirs till his strength failed him. He breathed his soul away to heaven on the solemn strains of his favorite hymn. The sweet voices of the Austrian children died away into a silence which was broken only by their sobs when they realized that the voice of their companion would join with theirs no more. The bishop of Quebec, Monsignor Laval, had journeyed up the St. Lawrence and visited the mission of Saint-François-Savier shortly before Catteri's arrival and while the village was still at La Prairie. He had been received at the landing there with rustic pomp and the doujique Paul made an eloquent address of welcome. The bishop administered confirmation to a hundred of the Indians on that occasion and made a stay of several days among them. He was greatly edified by what he saw and the Indians on their part were deeply impressed by ceremonies they then witnessed for the first time. Again in 1685 they were visited by the newly appointed Bishop Monsignor de Saint-Valier. While Catteri lived among them however, no episcopal visitation is recorded, probably none occurred. Though she did not receive confirmation, she had more spiritual advantages than she had hoped for. She was much pleased to find that many of the pagan festivals which were observed each year in the Mohawk country were discontinued by her tribesmen at the Sioux. Her superior intellect as well as her love of purity had caused her to avoid taking part in the disillute and superstitious rites which accompanied many of these Iroquois feasts. Only two of the old national festivals were retained at the Sioux. These were the planting festival and the joyous harvest festival at the gathering and husking of the corn. But even these were hallowed and sanctified by the prevailing spirit of religion. This seed was brought to the missionaries to be blessed for sowing, and the first fruits of the harvest were laid upon the altar. After Catteri's long sojourn among pagans, what a joy it was to her to share in the ideal Christian life of these Iroquois converts. Three times a day the Angelus sounded from the little belfry, and each time the beaters of moccasins and the tillers of cornfields, the hunter starting out with his weapons or bringing in the trophies of the chase, the children, the warriors, and the wrinkled squaws bowed their heads in prayer. They knew the Angelus by heart and said it faithfully. Catteri knew this and more. She had already learned the litanies of the Blessed Mother and recited them at night. All carried the rosary, wearing it around their necks, or wound about the head like a coronet. Hers was oftenest in her hands. These Indians understood only their own language, but the ordinary prayers were all translated for them from the French or Latin into Iroquois. Father Sholeneck, to whose care Catteri tecquita had been so particularly commended, watched her actions closely during the first few months of her life at the Sioux. He was the one to decide how soon she should be permitted to receive Communion, a decision of great importance to the happiness of Catteri. To gain this privilege, she had nerved herself to undergo threats, privations, and persecutions, and had become an exile. Now she cared for nothing so much in all the world as to hasten by every means in her power the long-looked war day of her First Communion. After commenting on her attendance at the daily masses and her morning devotions, Sholeneck speaks of her as follows. During the course of the day she from time to time broke off from her work to go and hold Communion with Jesus Christ at the foot of the altar. In the evening she returned again to the church and did not leave it until the night was far advanced. When engaged in her prayers she seemed entirely unconscious of what was passing about her, and in a short time the Holy Spirit raised her to so sublime a devotion that she often spent many hours in intimate Communion with God. To this inclination for prayer she joined an almost unceasing application to labor. She always ended the week by an exact investigation of her faults and imperfections that she might have faced them by the sacrament of penance, which she underwent every Saturday evening. For this she prepared herself by different mortifications with which she afflicted her body, and when she accused herself of faults, even the most light, it was with such vivid feelings of compunction that she shed tears, and her words were choked by sighs and sobbing. The lofty idea she had of the Majesty of God made her regard the least offense with horror, and when any had escaped her she seemed not able to pardon herself for its commission. Virtue so marked did not permit me for a very long time to refuse her the permission which she so earnestly desired, that on the approaching festival of Christmas she should receive her first Communion. This is a privilege which is not accorded to those who come to reside among the Iroquois until after some years of probation and many trials. But the piety of Catherine placed her beyond the ordinary rules. She participated for the first time in her life in the Holy Eucharist with a degree of fervor proportioned to the reverence she had for this grace, and the earnestness with which she had desired to obtain it. She made her Communion on Christmas Day. Her fervor did not slacken afterwards. Whenever there was a general Communion among the Indians at the Sue, the most virtuous Neophytes endeavored with emulation to be near her, because, said they, the sight alone of Cateri served them as an excellent preparation for Communion worthily. She was allowed to make her second Communion at Easter time. Father Fremont, her former guest at the Mohawk Valley, soon admitted her, without the customary delay, into the confraternity of the Holy Family. This honor was accorded only to well-tried and thoroughly instructed Christians. The meetings of the confraternity filled up the hours of each Sunday afternoon, and the members of it were expected to reproduce in their own homes, as far as possible, the family life of the three who dwelt together in the Holy House at Nazareth, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Saint Joseph was held up as a model for the men, the Blessed Virgin for the women, and the Child Jesus for the children. Cateri had no sorrows at this time, save one, which was that her nearest kindred still rejected and scorned the faith that was dearer to her than life. The ties of blood are strong in a noble heart. Anastasia, her own good friend and instructress, was there at the Sioux. The adopted sister was there, a relative, in name, if nothing more. The great Mohawk was there, and he was a host in himself. But after all, what a handful were these compared to the brave men and women of her tribe in the Mohawk Valley, those who had shared in the defense of Kanawaga castle against the Mohigans, and who still dwelt in her native land and were bound to her by so many ties. Her uncle, her kindred, her nation, were against her in her Christian faith, and the struggle that wrung her own heart foreshadowed a great struggle that was yet to come between the haughty nations of the Iroquois League and their exiled Christian tribesmen. One that would make martyrs glorious Iroquois martyrs. At Onondaga, the capital of the league, it was indeed proved in course of time that these children of the forest could give up their lives as nobly as the early Christians who were torn to pieces in the amphitheater at Rome. With sympathetic insight, Kateri felt the gathering storm. She foresaw it, more or less clearly from the first. And as if in anticipation of what was in store for the Christian Iroquois, her short life at the Sue became, as we shall see, a holocaust of prayer and self-torture. It must be remembered that in her day the laws of hygiene were not made prominent and taught to the young people as they are now. Nor were the missionaries in authority over her aware at the time of all her practices, which their wise councils might have better directed. So Kateri, unchecked, passed her life at the Sue in a ceaseless, tireless effort to lift her nature high above the lawless passions to which the people of her race were subject. For their sins and for her own she suffered and prayed. Five times a day she knelt in the mission chapel and pleaded with God for the Infidel Indians, her friends, and her kindred. What wonder then that after her life on earth was ended and her life with Christ began, the Christian Indians should continue, even till now, to think of her as interceding with God in their behalf. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of the Life and Times of Kateri Tech Aquitha, the Lily of the Mohawks, by Ellen Walworth. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Hunting Camp Kateri came to Canada when the woods were rich in color, but now the winter had set in. The Christmas ceremonies are over at the mission of Saint François-Safière-du-Sous, and the village is almost deserted. The fathers are indeed there, Frémont, Cholenec, and Chauchatier, but they lead a quiet, studious life in the absence of their spiritual children. The snow lies heavy on the ground and only a few stray Indians occupy the desolate cabins. What has become of the zealous band of Christian Iroquois that so lately dwelt there, answering every call of the chapel bell and chanting back and forth at the daily mass? Have the fathers lost their dusky flock? Will they ever come back? They have gone far into the heart of the forest, but the black gowns have no fear. They will all return at Easter time, and the chapel will ring again with the sound of their voices. The men in motley attire will gather on one side of the aisle, and the women shrouded in their blankets on the other. The Indians of the Sioux have no thought, as yet, of giving up their forest life, nor do the missionaries ask it of them. Food becomes scarce as the snow deepens, so they depart with their women and children to some good hunting-ground and locate a camp for the winter months. They like this sojourn in the forest. The freedom from restraint accords well with their wild tastes and old habits of life, but Kateri would willingly have stayed in the village if her sister had favoured such an arrangement. She knows the life of the hunting-camp right well. She has been on these expeditions before with her aunts in the Mohawk country. Among these Christians must of course be different from the life she led in the camp at Saratoga, and so it is. The dojiks go with the mission Indians to the forest, and during the time of the hunt they retain as far as possible the religious exercises of the Sioux. They call the Indians together for morning and evening prayers, and a spirit of sobriety in good order prevails. This is in marked contrast to the excesses indulged in by the pagan Mohawks at their hunting camps, where they generally take a keg or more of a fort-orange liquor to keep them warm. The Canadian winter seems bitter cold to Kateri. This band of Indians from the mission are camping northward of the Adirondacks, but most of them are used to the frosty atmosphere, and have made themselves quite cozy and comfortable in their hunting lodges of bark and close woven boughs. They have a full supply of furs and skins to wrap about them or to hang over the openings and cracks in their temporary houses. Kateri is poorer than the rest in this respect, for she has no hunter to provide these things for her. Her brother-in-law is willing to do what he can, but he has a large family of his own, and is not as active in the chase as formerly, being past middle age. There are enough young hunters among the relatives and friends of the venerable Anastasia to provide her with all she needs. The elder woman would gladly have made a match between Kateri and one of these young braves, but the least allusion to such a thing annoys Kateri. The girl never complains of the cold, but Anastasia can see that though closely enveloped in her blanket she is not so warmly clothed as the rest. She has spoken to her several times of the advantages of the married state. On one occasion she pressed the matter so far that Kateri, from a spirit of mischievous fun rather than ill-humour, retorted by telling Anastasia that she had better marry again herself if she thought so much of marriage. As for her, if they could convince her that marriage was necessary to salvation, she would embrace it, but she doubted much if there were not something more perfect. She did not see the necessity of it in her case as she could provide for her own wants by the labour of her hands. If this Mohawk maiden had known anything about convent life she would soon have discovered that she had a vocation for it and would have become a nun. But thus far no Indian had ever taken the vows and Anastasia could not understand why Kateri should not marry as she was now more than twenty years old. There was no denying however that she did add very much to the resources of the family and to the general comfort of a lodge by her industry and dexterity at every kind of Indian handicraft practiced by the women. Had she been less generous in giving and preferred to bargain away what she made she would soon have grown rich and wampum money on account of her skill. And then she could have bought all the furs she needed, but having no fear of poverty she worked freely for all and so was always poor. She kept only what was necessary for her own support. She was never a burden to those with whom she dwelt. On the contrary she helped to enrich them while denying herself everything but a bare subsistence. She often fasted till evening even when hard at work and then if unobserved would mingle ashes with her food that it might be devoid of everything that could afford pleasure to the taste. It may be well to describe the way in which she spends her day at the hunting camp. The women are supposed to have a very easy time in the forest whereas the men have hard work. They are gone all day tracking animals over the snow and into their burrows. It is when the hunters come in bringing their game and drop off to sleep from sheer exhaustion that the task of the women begins for they have to prepare the flesh of the animals for food and take care of the skins, but this done they have plenty of time left for gossip and fancy work. When they are in the village they have more of household cares to fill up each day besides working in the fields and attending daily services at the chapel. If these women all followed the example of Qatari while in the forest they would have fewer sins to confess when they go back to the village at Easter time. The quiet retreat which Qatari has chosen for herself is near the pathway leading to the stream and made by the women of the hunting camp in tramping back and forth for water. There in her rustic oratory she is accustomed to kneel amid the snow. She does not raise her head except to look at the cross she has cut on the trunk of a tree. Her hands are crossed on her breast and her blanket hangs loosely down from her head and shoulders in many a careless fold. The rivulet close beside her is crusted with ice and the bushes are heavy with snow. The water runs freely and swiftly a little beyond her where there is a break in the line of bushes along the brink of the stream. They have been thrust aside and the snow has fallen from them. Here it is that the women come to dip water for the camp. Qatari was there in the morning and among the very first. She helped to prepare the breakfast for the hunters. She was present also at the morning prayers which were said in common. It was not until the men were busily engaged in eating a meal that would last them the greater part of the day and the women, with nothing special to do, were hovering about seeking a chance to join in the good cheer and see the hunters off. The Qatari slipped away and now is hiding among the trees as though she were nothing else than a little white rabbit that makes his home in a snowbank. One would scarcely notice the print of her moccasins where she passed along by the bushes. The snow is tufty and light. The long, low branches of Qatari's tree, the one on which she has marked the cross, are bowed with its weight. They almost touch the ground and shelter her motionless figure on the side towards the moccasin trail that leads to the water's edge. Little wavy lines on either side of the interlacing footprints of the women show where their blankets and skirts with shaggy fringe disturbed the even surface of the new fallen snow as they passed along. Qatari brushed away the freshest of the snowy mass in front of her cross before she began her prayers. She kneels on the hard-packed snow that is fast frozen to the ground. Her figure is sharply outlined against a little white mound of feathery flakes. Her thoughts are many miles away, though her eyes are fixed on the cross, which is suddenly lit up by a flash from the rising sun. She knows that the moment has come for mass to begin in the village chapel at the great rapid of the St. Lawrence. In spirit she kneels with the few who are gathered there and follows the mass from beginning to end with appropriate prayers. She begs her guardian angel to fly away to the chapel and bring her back the fruits of the sacrifice they are being offered. She will need the good spirit at her side more when the morning meal is over and plenty of fuel has been gathered in to keep the fires burning all day long. Then she will sit among the women whose tongues are ever on the go and whose hands are busy embroidering elf-skin belts and making little ornaments of various kinds. Kateria is able to give them many suggestions about their work. They often interrupt her with questions concerning the stitches and colors. The task she has set for herself while at the camp is of a more unusual kind than theirs. She is making wooden pack pins and two ingenious boxes or chests from the wood of a tree. Her sister greatly admires these boxes and would like to be able to make them as well herself. Kateria's good angel whispers to her when the gossip reaches its highest point and prompts her to ask a maiden beside her who has the sweetest of voices to sing an Iroquois hymn. Soon the tide of the women's talk is turned and they are telling one another stories from the lives of the saints. These they have learned from the fathers or heard at the conferences in the village. Kateria has been gleaning them all along in her talks with Anastasia. As told by the women at the hunting camp, these edifying stories brought over from old Europe gain rather than lose in picturesqueness of detail. It would puzzle many of these Indians to know just how it comes about, but in some way whenever Kateria sits among them they seem to forget their neighbor's faults and begin to talk of people who delighted in doing unselfish or heroic deeds. Little by little their thoughts drift off to a better world and their fingers move all the faster for it. There is more of work going on and less noise of chattering tongues. When the shadows gather about them they scatter, well pleased with themselves and the work of the day. They assemble again when the hunters are all in and the last meal of the day is over. The evening prayers are recited together, then they find their mats for the night and drop off one by one to sleep. But Kateria is again on her knees and prays for herself and for all in the silent darkness. And thus, while the others are dreaming of beaver and martin, a venison and captured game, she is thinking only of how to please God. But one thing is certain. Were she to eat more, sleep, sounder and pray less, there would have been a better promise of long life and less occasion to excite the suspicions of that worthy squaw whose jealous eye is always open. Her well-meaning tongue could give a deeper stab than any Kateria has yet had to endure. Thus far she holds her peace well, has not breathed the word of what is in her mind, but yet would like to know just where the young Mohawk keeps herself at the times when she does not see her among the women. This squaw found her husband sound asleep one morning not far from Kateria's place in the lodge. The hunter came in late, worn out by a long chase after a Canadian elk, and dropped to sleep in the first place he could find as he crept in among the prostrate sleeping Indians. He was a good man, and it never had any misunderstanding with his wife, till a strange sudden notion overcame her. She was possessed with the idea that Kateria was making mischief between herself and her husband. A second unfortunate incident which ordinarily would have passed unnoticed served to confirm this woman in her suspicion. As the time approached to return to the village, her husband said one day to the assembled women that he was working on a canoe which would have to be stitched. Then turning naturally enough to Kateria, whose skill with the needle was well known, he asked her if she would not do it for him. She had an obliging disposition and did not hesitate to say that she would. But voila, qui donne encore à penser, says Chauchatier. He continues thus, the one who had these thoughts was wise enough not to speak them till she got to the village. She went on to find the father and told him her suspicion and the foundation for her judgment. The father, who feared much in so delicate an affair, which seemed perhaps possible enough, spoke to Catherine as much to question as to exhort her. Whatever Catherine could say, however, she was not entirely believed. Her instructress spoke to her also, either to remedy the evil in case there might be any, or to prevent it. Never before did the Blessed Catherine suffer so much, as on this occasion what grieved her was that the father seemed not to believe her and accused her as if she had been guilty. But God permitted it thus to purify her virtue, for nothing remained to so virtuous a girl after leaving her country, her relations, and all the comforts she might have found in a good marriage, which she could not have failed to make if she wished. Nothing more remained for her to do than to practice abnegation in her honour, and to retain not a particle of ranker. She said only what was necessary to make known the truth, and said not the least thing that could make it appear that she was displeased with any one of those who were with her at the chase. In the end her remarkable patience and her silence helped to vindicate her in this severest trial of her life, compared to it the lying tale of her malicious aunt was as nothing, for no one had believed what she said. In this case it was very different, and Catherine, unable to defend herself against the plausible suspicion of this woman, could only live down the calumny as bravely as possible, leaving God to clear her memory of every shadow of a doubt, as he would not fail to do in time. The good man who was accused with her never before or after gave his wife any occasion to complain of him. She became convinced that her own jealousy had led her into error. When Cateri was dead, she who had done the mischief could never speak of her without weeping, to think how needlessly she had wronged and grieved her, but who can ever heal the wound of a reckless tongue, alas that the lily of the Mohawks, the fairest flower that ever bloomed among the Redmen, should have been thus accused. One result of this affair was Cateri's resolve never again to exchange the life of the village for that of the hunting camp, even at the cost of starvation. Not long after the Indians returned to the mission, the ceremonies of Holy Week began in the chapel at the Sioux. Cateri had never witnessed them before, she was deeply impressed, and almost overpowered with emotion. As the divine tragedy of Calvary unrolled itself before her, it was brought to her mind by degrees, with every detail in the daily services, culminating on Good Friday with mournful chants, the broken, mutilated mass of the prophecies, and the slow unveiling of the crucifix. These ceremonies of Holy Week, together with the fervent words of the missionaries, who, like the first preachers of Christianity, spoke to the people in their own tongues the wonderful works of God, made a profound impression on all the Indians of the praying castle. As the bells of Holy Saturday rang in the news of the resurrection, their joy broke forth into song. A thrill of emotion stirred the throng. Happy tears were in Cateri's eyes. On Easter Sunday, the swell of glad Iroquois voices, singing from their inmost souls, wafted her responsive spirit to the opened gates of paradise. End of chapter 18.