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Tous les sutres exempleires onginaux sont f ilmte en commen^ant par la premiere page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminent par la derniAre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparettra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symboie — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbols V signifie "FIN". Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc.. peuvent Atre filmte A des taux de rMuction difftrents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA. il est film* A partir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite. et de haut en bas. en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 t: FATHER LAVAL; OR, THB JESUIT MISSIONARY: BY JAMES McSHEJftRY, Esq., AUTHOR or "A BISTORT OF XARTLAXD," *'WIUJTOFT," BTO. BALTIMORE: PUBLISHED BY JOHN MURPHY & CO. 182 Baltimori Strii*. 1S69. Entered, according to Act of Congrens, in the year 1800, hf JOHN MURPHY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the District of Maryland. THIS LITTLE STORY WAS DEDICATED' TO A llind anil |l)|ei[tionat< 4athei(, AND IS NOW INSCRIBED TO HIS MEMORY BY A (5xnttiul j$0n* I : • ■ ' } Uhi^iii lap f'^^wm •mmm-^^^t^^^ wmmm PREFACE. IHE intention of the writer of the fol- lowing talc has been to portray, at least indistinctly, one of those magnificent scenes in which the Jesuits of the Canada mis- sions were actors, in the early settlement of that country. The sufferings of the missionary, his indomitable courage in the apostolate, and the effect of Christianity upon the Indian convert, are the principal points of the picture which he has desired to present, though he has not dared to enter into all the terrible details of the Mohawk torture, as it was too often endured by those patient and heroic martyrs. The foun- dation of the story is laid upon the history of w^p w^^^^mmm^ m^^m VI PREFACE. ^:l Father Isaac Jogucs; though the rescue in the narrative is entirely fictitious^ yet its general bearing is not at variance with the results of his adventures. Since its first issue^ this story has received the compliment of a republication in England, and has obtained the favorable notice of the Catholic press of this country. It has been for some time out of print, and having been revised and enlarged, the Pub- lishers take pleasure in again ofiering it to the public in a new and more inviting dress. ^ t^ A H^X U^Cf^ft.^^^^ CONTENTS I. The Missionary II. The Departurb M III. Tjie Instrlotion 28 IV. Night upon the Waters .... 85 V. The Conflict 67 VI. The Morn • . 78 VII. The Return .' . 91 VIII. Baptism in Bondage 108 IX. The Councii, 184 X. The Torture 166 XI. The Wreath of Wild Flowers . . . 190 XII. The Conclusion 203 ly ? ; ^ FATHER LAVAL. CHAPTER I. THE MISSIONARY, |N the year of our Lord 1642 the various missionary stations of the Jesuits through- out Canada, or New France, as it was then called, were threatened with all the wild fury of the savage and untamable Iroquois. Tho Five Nations had proved themselves the most un- conquerable in their hostility to the white man| to the religion which he taught, and the civili- zation which he endeavored to introduce. In vain had overtures of peace been made. For a time, perhaps, as if slumbering from indolence or exhaustion, they ceased to ravage, but it was ■1 10 THE MISSIONARY, f»8 only to break forth again with more furious en- ergy. Their bands of braves " ranged the illim- itable forests/' with no power to control them, and no rivals whom they dreaded. They trav- ersed the St. Lawrence and lakes Erie and On- tario, and they struck their enemy upon the shores of Lake Champlain. Every missionary on his way to his distant station ^vas in constant danger of captivity and death; and yet never were those stations left unfilled for want of brave and devoted men to dare all the terrors of the route, and the chances of enduring the torture at the villages of the Mohawks. The path to the Huron missions was perhaps more completely beset than any other, for the Iroquois had succeeded in cutting oif, or at least in interrupting, the communication be- tween Upper and Lower Canada. They had possession of the intermediate passes. In Quebec, in that year, the feast of St. Igna- tius, the founder of the Society of Jesus, was celebrated with no ordinary splendor. The fa- thers on that joyous occasion offered up with full hearts the glorious crown of souls, gathered •frou^ THE MISSIONARY, 11 the wilderness — gathered up to the "greater honor of God " by the sons of St. Ignatius, from the wandering children of the forest. It was no feeling of earthly glory or of human pride that swelled within their hearts as they raiseil them up towards heaven, throbbing high with exulta- tion. It was not the triumph which lightens up the eye of the worldly conqueror and curls his lip, that made their step more stately, and their pale features glow with an unwonted flush. They were spiritual soldiers; and they felt, in their hearts, the glory of their calling, and the martial joy of victory over the infernal enemy against whom they battled. Many a full, deep voice trembled as it chanted tlij solemn service; age prayed with its chastened calmness; youth vowed to make itself more worthy of the glorious- founder under whose banners they were enlisted in the service of God. Deep was the feeling that pervaded all hearts on that memorable festival. Among the priests who knelt at the altar, was one remarkable for his worn and sunburnt aspect. A little beyond the full prime and strength of man1ioo' .itfiit^ wwwiwiiap ■ipfPiMm 14 THE MISSIONARY, "It is good," replied one of their number, who appeared to be the chief of the party, ** Ahasistari hears his father, the blackgown." " At daybreak, then, sachem — " "The Hurons will be ready." And the party separated, Father Laval and his compan- ion pursuing their walk to the house of their Order. " Ah, my friend, what a glorious lot is yours ! You go to carry the cross of Christ to the heathen ! Oh ! shall we not envy you the inesti- mable happiness of being thought worthy of such high honor? " fervently exclaimed the companion of Father Laval. " No, my brother ; rather pray for me that my unworthiness may not render fruitless the prayers of the good and pious in behalf of the benighted Indian. And yet it is a glorious field of labor; 80 rich, so sweet, so full of consolation ; all its toils and dangers well repaid by the happy privi- lege of winning souls to God." " And happy are the auspices. Father Laval ! On this festival of our great saint, you prepare to add new glory to his name on earth, by bringing new children to the fold of Christ." THE MISSIONARY. 15 " And to-morrow, Father Anthony, to-morrow is the feast of ' the clmins of St Peter J '* "Happy coincidence, my brother," exclaimed Father Anthony. "You go on that day forth to bind the savage in the cliains of Peter, to win wandering children to the footstool of his Master.' " " Or to wear my chains like him ; but, alas ! I am not deserving of such favor. I shall not be deemed worthy of suffering for him who died for me. Oh, happiness ! oh, bliss ! I dare not hope for thee ! " "Happy apostle! happy in the chains and suffering you may be worthy of enduring. We, thy brethren, seek a remembrance in thy prayers." " Father Anthony Daniel," said the mis- sionary, slowly and thoughtfully, as they reached the end of their walk, " it shall be thine next." i' I CHAPTER II TUE DEPARTURE , |N the following morn, the first day of August, a gallant fleet of war canoes floated gayly from beneath the guns of Fort Quebec. The plumed and painted Indians, bowing their strength to the paddles, sent tlieir light and graceful barks rapidly into the mid- waters of the broad St. Lawrence. The sun was just rising, and breaking dim and red through the heavy mists that overhung the river ; yet ere the last canoe swept into the line, the veil of vapor began to disappear before its powerful rays. Breaking into light clouds, it rose and floated slowly away towards the south, while streams of sunshine poured brightly through each opening, lighting up the earth with a rich glow, and clothing the plac d bosom 16 wmmmmmm TirS DEPARTURE. 17 of the river with a robe of gold. As the mist dispersed, the scene around became distinct in its full bcaut}^, and tlie infant city seemed to waken up to life and activity. A crowd of citizens stood upon the quay, gazing eagerly and fondly on the receding fleet, as if it con- tained some dear object upon which, perhaps, they might be looking for the last time. In the rearmost and largest canoe were the only two white men of the party — Father Jean Laval and his young assistant, the novice, Rene Bourdoise. Guiding the canoe in wliicli they sat, Ahasistari, the chief, seemed to guard their comfort and convenience as the first object of his care. The vigorous arms of the Indian rowers impelled the canoes westward up the St. Law- rence, and when the foremost was about disap- pearing to the view of the party on the quay, Father Laval arose in the trembling bark, and extending his hands towards heaven, invoked again that blessing upon their pilgrimage, which he had already, in company with his brethren and whole people, so earnestly besought. 2» B •wn mSSm ■jr •wwm^^ savBE \ THE DEPARTURE, Then, with an affectionate wave of his hand, he bade adieu to his distant friends, and resuming his seat, bowed liis head in silent prayer. At the same instant a wreath of smoke, accompanied with a bright flash, burst from tlie walls upon the heights of Abraham, and the heavy sullen roar of cannon swept in a moment more across the waters, while the cloud of smoke rose slowly and spirally towards the heavens. Father Laval raised his head and gazed for a single instant upon the standard of France, as it waved over the impregnable fortress, and then resumed his prayer and meditation. No sound now broke upon the ear but the slight splash of the paddle as it dipped lightly but vigorously in the stream, and the murmuring of the rippling current around the sharp bow of the canoe in its rapid course. The young novice looked upon the bright, glad scene around him with a subdued pleasure, now curiously watching the lithe and active forms of the graceful Indians as they bent their strength to their paddles, and now casting his eye towards the glorious scenery that bor- THE DEPARTURE. 19 dercd on the St. Lawrence. Perhaps scarce twenty summers had he numbered, and yet he seemed already to have drank in tlic severe yet serene lessons of the Jesuit school of endurance. Parting from the midst of civilized men, going unarmed and defenceless through paths waylaid by a remorseless enemy, he exhibited no fear, no regrets; in the midst of novelty and the une- qualled beauty of the view around, he permitted no extravagant sign of delight to escape his lips, lie subdued the transport of his feelings into the calmness of tranquil enjoyment, and by his silence and serenity won the admiring regard of the stern warriors of the ITurons. At length Father Laval addressed him : " Ilene, my son, we have entered ha})pily upon our arduous journey. How beautiful is this earth around us, which God has given to man for the scene of his pilgrimage. He is a good God, my children, infinitely loving: if he has thus cared for oar happiness here, in this sojourn on earth, what has he not prepared for the faith- ful and persevering servant in heaven ? Ixjt us meditate upon his infinite goodness, and mercy, 20 THE DEPARTURE, and love. It is fitting thus to begin and conse- crate our labors." The Indians assented witli the usual short and mibdued exclamation : and for a space no sound was heard save the regular strokes of the pad- dles, while the canoe proceeded with unslackencd epced. After some time spent in meditation, the good priest employed himself in reciting his office, and Rene Bourdoise gazed calmly down towards the receding towers of Quebec until he caught the last glimpse of the lofty flag-staff bearing the banner of St. Dennis. As the scenery became wilder and more desolate, his mind began to recur to the bright scenes of his native land, and to visit once more the beautiful and fertile plains of France. The recollection of home and early friends, of parents and distant kindred, came rushing upon the youth, casting a dark and gloomy hue upon the prospects before him. Desolation and danger seemed to deepen round him ; yet suppressing these thoughts with a single aspiration, he placed himself under the invocation of the Holy Immaculate Virgin, and devoted himself without reserve to the will of God, THE DEPARTURE, 2t It was in this spirit, and with such disposi- tions, that the whites of the party entered oa their voyage. The ITurons were seemingly indifferent to every thing but the comfort of those whom tliey were guiding and escorting to the hunting-grounds of their tribe; and were only warmed into life and animation by the fervor of their hearts when absorbed in religious exercises. They displayed in nothing that there was danger of assault, whilst they were prepared for any event. Father Laval, after some time, closed his book, and turning towards the leader of the ])arty, addressed him: " My son, what think you is the prospect of our safely passing, by the waters, to the Huron missions? Were it not better to land and cross the forest towards the Ottawa?" After a moment's pause, Ahasistari replied: "Father, the way is long and toilsome for the white man, and his trail is broad. The Mohawk crosses the river, and his eye is keen. The run- ning waters keep no trail, and the Huron canoes are swift and easy. My father, I swear to thee 22 THE DEPARTURE, that Ahasistari will share thy fortunes whether of death or life!" " To your skill and judgment I confide tho choice of the route — the issue is in the hands of the Almighty." CHAPTER III THE INSTRUCTION. P the Indians, who coni])()so(l tho escort of the missionaries, some were not vet baptized. All, however, liaut yet the careful priest hesitated lonj^ to admit to the regenerating Avaters of ba])tism those of their nunil)er who, he feared, were not sufhciently instructed in the faith of the Catholic Church. The untaught Indian, ac-. 24 THE INSTRUCTION, supreme, invisible Existence. With the book of nature open before him, and nature's voice ever in his ear, he might ^vell, by the dim liglit of his uncultivated reason, wander into the labyrinths of polytheism ; but it was impossible for him to stifle or forget the instinctive belief of humanity in the God. invisible, su})rcme over ail. The unlettered wanderer in the boundless forests had reached the same point of knowledge at wiiich it had been possible for the sage of anti(}uity to arrive. He worshipped the '^ unknown God." But the machinery of the universe was beyond the power of his intellect, xind he found ti minor deity in every bird and beast and fish and tree and stone. AVhcn the Catholic missionary preached to him of the God infinite, supreme, eternal, filling all space, at whose will the world and all its life and beauty had si)rung into being, and at whose w^ill the earth again would melt away, who was the Creator and the Ijord of all, and "in whom all things lived and moved and had their being;'' to his unsophisticated mind, it seemed worthy of the great Spirit which his instinct had sought after in nature, and beyond nature, in vain. THE INSTRUCTION. 25 The piety and zeal and superior knowledge of the missionary had won Iiini credence, and when he preached to them of the Saviour who had come upon earth, of his death and of his resurrection for the salvation of all, and unfolded to them the evidences of Christianity, they listened with rev- erence to his wordt5, and cherished them in their hearts. In liis own canoe. Father Jean Laval had placed two of his neophytes for the purpose of continu- ing their instruction during the voyage, and Itene Bourdoise, in order that he might be schooled in the best mode of conveying knowledge to the simple-minded savage. •- • '" Huron, dost thou know who created thee?' he said, addressing the elder of tho two, a warrio* of sonic note, w^hose instruction he had but Litel5 commenced. ^'The great Spirit, who made the earth and the waters and the forests," replied llaukimah, ^'And, Pluron,did he make the buiUilo and the bounding: deer?" "Yes, father; the buifalo and the bounding deer, and all things else that live." 8 t f^mitmi f-umm^aiimmmf ^^•P 26 TUB INSTRUCTION. "And did lie make thee and me like to them?'^ " Mv fathers tauo-lit that the buffalo and the bounding deer departed to the liunting-gronnd of spirits where tlie warrior's sliade pursued them as here on earth. It is wrong. The blaekgown teacheth that the great Spirit made man like himself, and breathed his breath into his nostrils — heaven was made for the man who doeth good. The wild beast dies and perishes." Father Jean Laval, from the foundation of this simple questioning, took oceasion to explain fully and minutely, and impress deeply u])on the mind of those whom he was instrueting, the his- tory of man's creation, and his destiny, his fall, and the promise of his redemption, fulfilled by the coming, the passion, and the glorious death of the Saviour of the world. He told them how man's nature became corrupt by his fall ; how he became perverse through his disobedience, prone to evil, subject to all the temptations of the devil. "It is that which makes the Iroquois cruel THE INSTRUCTION. 27 and blood-tliirsty," said the younger nco^^hytc; "the spirit of evil is within him." "As he is with all bad men, my son ; as he is with you when you indulge revengeful feelings towards the Iroquois, when you would do them evil for evil. You must love those who hate yy you "Shall the Huron love the Iroquois?" ex- claimed the young warrior as his eyes glistened with awakened passion, and his head was ele- vated in disdain; "shall the dove and hawk nestle together?" " Is the Huron a dove in his heart ?" broke in the deep stern voiee of Ahasistari ; " the dove is tender. The Huron brave should be bold and fearless like the eaiz-le." " Let the Huron be a dove in his heart," said Father Jean Laval, ere the young Indian could open his lips again ; " let him be a dove in purity, in meekness, in piety, in love. Let him be the eagle of his tribe when he battles in a just and lawful f yy a My cause father has spoken well," replied the chief, in a chanjrcd and softened tone. 28 THE INSTRUCTION. " Yes, my dear children, your first duty is to God, tlie great Spirit; your next is to your neigh- bor. The good Spirit created you and all men to love him and serve him, and he commands you to love one another, even your enemies ; to do good to those that hate yon. If the Iroquois is fierce and bad, pity him, and pray that he may become better, — that he may listen to the mes- sengers of Christ. If you hate the Iroquois, in what are you better than he?" " It is good," said Ahasistari, " it is like a God to forgive." And then Father Laval proceeded to inculcate upon his hearers tlie virtues which were neces- sary to, and which adorned the Christian, show- ing how the principles of religion were entwined around all the ties of life, and how they were connected with and ruled every circumstance of our mortal existence. He instructed them in the rules which should govern them in their inter- course with all men, and the charity so sublime and superhuman which they shouhl cultivate in their hearts. Thus seizing every word and every trifling circumstance, he made them the occasion THE INSTRUCTION. 29 and the vehicle of useful instruction, and the means of initiating them into the spirit and practice as well as the doctrines of tiie Catholic Church. Occasionally, to relieve their minds and to break the continuous length of his instructions, he would interpose a prayer, and occupy himself in teaching them the responses to the litanies and the })rayers of the rosary. They listened with docility, and learned with quickness the portions assigned to them, and the warriors seemed to vie with each other in acquiring that great and sui)er- eminent knowledge which the father of the black- gown dispensed to them. Thrice a day, morning, noon, and night, the Jesuit and Rene Bourdoise the novice, in accordance with their previously adopted resolution, recited a portion of the rosary to procure, ihrough the intercession of the mother of God, the blessings of heaven upon their mis- sion. Ahasistari and the Catholic Indians joined in the responses with devoutness, and seemed never to weary under their labors while thus cheered with the refreshing dew of prayer. In this pious occupation the day passed pleas- 8* 80 THE INSTRUCTION, antly and quickly roiiiul. Father Laval, each time they landed to prepare their frugal repasts, assembled the whole party around him, gave them a short instruction, and, having blessed their food, sat down on the grass with them, and shared their frugal fare. As night approached, Ahasistari began to look about for a convenient spot to bivouac upon, and at lenjHh selected a beautiful and secluded inden- ture in the river banks, shaded by lofty trees, and protected and rendered almost impenetrable from the land by the thick undergrowth, reaching some distance back from the shore. Here they landed, and, drawing up their canoes upon the bank, prepared to pass the night upon the spot. After their evening raeal had been dis- patched, Father Laval was about to commence an instruction or exhortation to his companions, when Ahasistari approached him respectfully, and said : " My father, the Mohawk may be abroad ; his ear is 'yv'''"^ ! ' IVrlu^^s -o is better," said Father Laval, car- ry: ,^^ out the thought of the other, without re- in'" » I THE INSTRUCTION. 31 plyino; (lircctly to his words; "my children, meditate in silence on what voii have been tan^dit this day and pray to God for protection, invoking the intercession of Mary our holy Mother." Wrappino; themselves in their blankets, after bending their knees in silent prayer, the Indians stretched themselves npon the ground, and soon sunk into the light and watchful sleep of men accustoincd to snatc^h their rc})ose in the midst of danger. The Jesuit and llene Bourdoise did not so easily betake themselves to slumber. For the novice especially was in a situation calculated to drive sleep from his eyelids until nature should sink into unconsciousness from exhaustion. As he lay wakeful and apprehensive, he turned his eye frequently upon the form of Ahasistari, which, in the indistinct light, was barely dis- cernible to the steady gaze. Occasionally a bright gleam from the expiring embers would lighten up the picturesque figure of the Indian. The warrior sat at the foot of a tree, resting his head upon his hand in a careless manner, which seemed to the young novice to be the attitude of one wrapt in thought and contemplation. Aha- ■■P 82 THE INSTRUCTION. sistari was meclitating ; but every outward sense was on the alert, eager to cateh the slightest sound or motion on the forest or upon the mur- muring river. The stars were looking down from heaven sweetly and tenderly, shedding a dim light upon the moving waters, whose broken surface reflected the countless pencils of light in myriad forms of quivering beauty. Over the deep silence of the forest, broken only by those mysterious voices of the night which render the solitude more profound, was faintly heard the murmuring of the waters on the shore; so faintly that the listening ear could scarce distinguish between the almost audible stillness ol the orove and the low music of the living but unruiiled stream. The air was niiltj and calm. It was a night to worship God in. The hours passed, and the motionless form of the watching Indian seemed to the dull and clos- ing eye of the novice to swell into gigantic size, and then to shrink and fade away to nothingness until, in the imperceptible sinking of his senses under fatigue and slumber, the beauteous scene around him passed from before his closed orbs, HMM THE INSTRUCTION. 33 # ■A^ i "!•' i ' and liis s]>irit began to wander in the sunny fields of his own dear France. llow long he slept he knew not, but he was at length aroused by the hand of the Indian upon his shoulder. It was not yet day, but every prej)aration had already been made to dej)art, and the kindness of the chief had permitted the young man to enjoy unbroken, until the last moment, the deep and refreshing slumber which had wra])ped his senses. Leaping up from iiia hard couch, the young novice performed his morning devotions, and, having made his ablu- tion in the running waters, was ready to take his seat in the canoe the moment it was launched. Fatlier Laval liad resolved that Rene Bourdoisc and himself should occupy different canoes during the rest of the voyage in order that the young man might be employed as well as himself in instructing the catechumens, of whom, as we have already said, there was a number not yet fully prepared scattered throughout the fleet. In a few moments the dark forms of the canoes shot out from the banks of the river, keeping within the verge of the heavy shadows of the overhang- C 84 THE INSTRUCTION, ing woods, and pursuing their course rapidly and silently towards the new fort of Montreal. Ere the day dawned, they had proceeded many miles upon their journey, when, striking deeper into the current, the canoes drew out in a more extended line, and continued on their course. CHAPTER IV. NIGHT UPON THE WATERS. |EVERAL (lays ^vcrc Iiap]>ily passed In this manner, and, althougli the progress of the party liad been regular, the declin- ing sun of the fourtli day found them still distant from the sheltering walls of Montreal. As they were now in the most dangerous portion of their passage between tlie two forts, it was determined not to land, but to continue tlieir voyage during the night; the Indians relieving each other at the paddle, and snatching a moment's repose, while the canoes proceeded slowly, and with diminished force, uj) the river. Stretching themselves upon the bottom of the canoes, Father Laval and Rene Bourdoise pre- pared to sleep, having committed themselves to the keeping of God. The novice had already 35 86 NIGHT UPON THE WATERS. become in a manner accustomed to the novelty of his situation, and its danger from familiarity began to lose the terror which it had at lirst possessed. Sleep soon closed his eyes, for his heart was pure, and he had learned to look on death too long in the stern training of the Christian soldier to dread his approach, come apparelled as he might. Ever reflecting upon life, the Jesuit is taught to look to its last end, to value it as a means, worthless in itself, priceless when laid down to purchase immortal bliss. Death has no pangs for him; for him it can not sever any earthly ties; the only tie that binds him to this earth leads through the portals of the tomb to heaven. Those gates, to most men so dark and gloomy, are but the triumphal arch through which he shall pass when the victory over sin and hell is won for him. Constant meditation has cooled his passions, stemmed their rapid flow, and taught him Avell the utter worthlessness of earthly pride and pleasures and possessions. He follows the command of the Saviour to the jft^iHivar iiTiiii NIGHT UPOX THE WATERS. 37 youth who sought tlie rule of perfection. lie strips himself of earthly riches. He is ready then to go forth upon the world, without staff or scrip or raiment, to do (iod's work, prepared fop life or death, in obedience to the will of his divino Master. Calmly and sweetly, trusting in the loving caro of the mothe" under whose jiowerful intercession he had placed himself, the novice slept the sleep of youth. Soft tones, old and fond remembrances, kind voices and ilimiliar names seemed once moro to mingle in his slumbering sense, with the lighfc murmur of the ripjding wave and the low muslo of the zephyr that fanned his cheek. Dear faces beamed upon him. He sat again beside the well- worn and familiar hearth, and his gray-haired father smiled once more upon the son he loved, the son of his old age vowed to the service of his God. For such was the youthiul Rene: from childhood dedicated to the altar, breathing the pure atmos})here of its unpolluted precincts, con- scious even in his father's house and in his early years of the solemn duty which lay before him for his future life. Sweetly came the recollection 88 NIGHT UPON THE WATERS. of his cliiklliood's home, and those dear old faces, with their beaininm; smiles, meltiii^: from beneath the frostb of years of stern study and deep holy meditation wliich iiad schooled his heart into higher, nobler thought, of sweeter, purer love — « love to the Father of all fathers, eiu'-rossinoj and sublimating all true love in Ids young heart. But now in dreams fondly retracing many a thou- sand lea":ue, and nianv a toilsome year, the human spirit, true to its human nature, back to its old affections aivl its mortal ties went hurrvino* — but not forgetful of its own heavenly destiny. It was pure happiness, pure infintile joy, such as in childhood he had felt — for now it seemed to him that once again he Avas a cliild — a thoughtless, gay, and cheerful child — without a care, without a fear, with no responsibility and with no feeling but o^ the i)resent moment. The waters of the flowing river murmured in his ear, and fancy broke the chaniz-eless sound into some sweet old melody once sung to him by fond maternal lips. The light but quivering stroke of the bending paddle, swaying the fragile bark, and its soft and gentle motion as it cut the waters, rocked him L' >atSl 54 NIGHT UPON THE WATERS. " I liave ever loved him ; if I have offonded, I am sorry," he said faintly. There was no space for further questioning, and the good jiriest arose, his large form present- ing a fair mark to the foe ; heedless of danger, he stooped and filled his hand with water from the river, and pouring it upon the upraised forehead of the warrior, pronounced the holy and mystic words of the sacrament. The eye of the dying Indian again lit up — a joyous smile passed once more across his features; his lips, motionless before, opened, and faint, indistinct words of prayer escaped them. Then a gushing sound was heard ; his hand moved wanderingly towards the wound — the blood was bursting from it in a dark and bubbling stream. His head sank upon his breast, and the spirit of the "regenerated" had taken its flight. " May he rest in peace," mentally ejaculated Father Jean Laval as he cast his eye once more upon the scene around. It had now become terrific. The fragile bark was sinking beneath them ; escape by the river was impossible : escape by the shore seemed already doubtful. The brave NIGIIT UPON THE WATERS. 55 Hurons, taken at disadvantage, were unable to display their accustomed valor. At a signal from the chief, two warriors sprang from the canoe, and thus lightened and buoyed up the sinking bark, at the same moment, almost, a few strokes sent it within fording of the land. Every man made for the shore, grasping his rifle in his left hand, while his right brandished his tomahawk. Aha- sistari bounded to the beach. Bidding Father Jean Laval to follow him, it was but a moment's work to reach a cover in the woods. He was seconded by a number of his braves, and ere the last canoe had touched the shore, the sharp crack of the Huron carabines was heard on the flank of llie Iroquois. As suddenly the firing ceased. The Iroquois, surprised by the unexpected activ- ity of the Huron movement, clung close to their coverts, and for a time a fearful and unbroken silence hung upon the scene of death. Upon the shore, by the side of a dying Indian, knelt Father Jean I^aval. The cross of Christ was in his hands, and the oyes of the departing rested on it. AYords of holy comfort flowed from his lips; the solemn absolution was pronounced, ^mm 1 '.^WBRPHPimfc, mm y ^y i n « ww Ti , ' "W^;."l."u y w i i.f i m i' ' i ' -i i ^ " ^'-~'^iyx' '' ''^T^ ' ^-' ' ' " ' mmmmm 56 NIGHT UrON THE WATERS. and, anointed and aneled, the spirit of the Chris- tian warrior took its flight, in the midst of the stern silence that momentarily reigned around that scene of strife, to regions where neither bat- tle nor death can come. As the last convulsive throb of dying agony ceased, and the muscular limbs of the warrior fell back motionless from the death-struggle, the priest arose from his pos- ture by the side of the lifeless body. "Have mercy on him, O Lord ! '^ he said in a low, sad voice, and turned away towards the forest. CHAPTER V, TUE CONFLICT. IILENCE and darkness on the scene! Not a movement in the forest — not a ray of light, sa^'e the dim gray of the far-oif sky — no sound but the half hushed moan of pain, jarring sadly Avitli the soft music of flowing waters. It was a living solitude. No voices were heard where there were many ready to break forth in fury; and where there were many glowing with the flame of human passion, no forms were seen but one. That form enclosed a gentle spirit. The Jesuit strode towards the forest. Gloom was upon his patli, but an invincible tranquillity reigned within his breast. Over the stillness, more startling by its sudden conJ:rast with the wild peal of battle which had ceased so 67 58 THE CONFLICT. suddenly, came now and then the rustling of leaves, as the ambushed foes fell guardedly back, assuming new positions, and manccuvring ^vitli the cautiouisness of Indian warfare. It was at the mingling of night and morning, and the fading stars looked sadly down their j^arting, as it were, into the soul of the dark river. The priest pressed on, heedless or unconscious of the danger that lurked within the forest. He gained the opening of a slight ravine; as he stepped forward, an obstacle caught his foot, and he fell to the earth. Putting out his hand to raise himself, it rested upon a cap — he held it up to examine it — it was the cap of Eene the novice. A shudder passed through his frame — there was a murmur of sorrow and prayer, a sinking of the heart — but he still passed on. A few feet further lay a wounded Huron. A low sigh escaped the lips of the warrior, and he endeavored to turn himself upon the ground, but in vain. The Jesuit bent over the Indian, and, in a low whisper, asked him ; *^ Son, hast thou been baptized?" " No, my father ! " he said, in a faint and weak voice. '^^^''MMffiNHMww ' THE CONFLICT. 59 The place they occupied at the bottom of the ravine was somewhat covered from the position of the Iroquois. There was yet time for Father Laval to seek cover in the rear of his Hurons, and perhaps escape woukl have been possible; for the Iroquois were now busily occupied in slowly and cautiously extending their forces in order to outflank, and thus drive the Christian warriors from their covers. So guarded had been the movements of both parties, and such the gloom, that, as yet, neither Huron nor Iroquois had gained an opportunity of firing with any certainty of aim, and both w^ere too wary to throw away a shot, and, at the same time, dis- cover their whole manoeuvre to the foe by the flash of their fire-arms. Father Laval arose and crept lightly towards the river. As he passed by a little hillock or mound, he was startled by the cracking of a twig and a low hiss like that of a serpent. Hesitating a moment, he recollected the sound he had lieard in the canoe, and, reassured, fixed his eye upon the spot until he distinguished a dark object moving towards him, and slowdy erecting its li m i t ni iili I ..I l.l^..^l'^ l lin mmmmimmmim 60 THE CONFLICT. head from the ground as it approached. In a moment more Ahasistari was at his feet, and in a low voice addressed him : " Father, hasten ; there is yet time to flee ! Follow me ! '' • *' I can not," said the Jesuit ; " there are souls to be saved — the dying to be baptized! Flee you, and save yourself! " "No. Ahasistari will not flee without his father," said the Indian, drawing himself up proudly from the ground. "Go, chief; you have your duties, I have mine ; the brave man does his duty, and leaves the rest to God. Go you to yours — leave me to mine." " You w^ill not follow me ? " "I dare not;" and the Jesuit pointed back to the spot where he had left the wounded Indian. The chieftain turned his eye towards it. " It is not far from the end of their line ! You Avill do your duty. Ahasistari will do his by your side — . Hist!" he said, suddenly inter- rupting himself, and raising his finger to demand silence. Father Laval listened intently, and ''"i^^mmmmmm ^ffm l'llllTili THE MORN. 79 '4 calm ami placid, until the light of rclit^ious aspi- ration beamed from many a scarred face turned mildly up to heaven. The response came low and bro]:en from the lips of the young novice, swelling up, like a sweeping wave, as one hy one the deep musical tones of the captive Ilurons joined it. "ylvc Maria !^^ it came like the thought of a loving mother, like the memory of a holy love. Ave Maria! swelling up, in the wild forest, from captive hearis, from parched and feverish lips, calmed by its gentle murmurs, to the mother of the sorrowful, the mourning. Ave ! like dew to the withering flower, was the sweet prayer to the stricken soul, and tears came down the swarthy checks of the Christian war- riors. Amazed, the Mohawks looked u^^on the scene; then they laughed aloud contemptuously at the faint-hearted braves who wept — icept in captivity. " Dogs ! women ! '^ they said ; " are the Hurons no warriors ? Shall we go back to their tribes to carry off a brave to torture ? Ye are women ! our squaws will beat you with whips ! Ye are not worthy of a warrior's death/' 80 THE MORN. But the Christian Hurons prayed on — Sanda Maria! — their full, deep voices piercing up to heaven, heedless of the scorn and taunts and blows of their captors. At length a Mohawk approached the Jesuit. *' Does the word of the Medicine turn the Huron warriors to women ? He is a magician — let him be silent ; " and he struck him a blow in the face with his clenched hand. The blood gushed from the lips of the priest, and he bowed his head in silence In the forest from a thicket three figures, crouching low, glared fiercely out upon the scene; over the dark features of the chief of these flashed the fire of anger ; his nostrils were dilated, his lips parted, his hand grasped his car- abine convulsively. Then as the priest bowed meekly to the blow, the warrior released his weapon and pressed his hands upon his brow a& if to shut out the scene ; a low sigh escaped him, and he too knelt and prayed. But for the meek bearing o/ the priest, recalling the duty of the Christian to the heart of the chief, there surely would have been death among the conquerors THE MORN, 81 in that instant. Ahasistari knelt and prayed. The time for action had not yet come: it was not vengeance, but deliverance that he soiiglit. The Jesuit bowed meekly to the blow ; then raising his eyes up to heaven, while his arms were drawn back by the tight thong around his wrists, lie prayed on in silence. In silence pray(?d the captives — but the still incense of their hearts floated upwards not lest sweetly to the throne of God. It was the dedication of the forests of the Iroquois to the faith of Christ. The Mohawks soon made their repast, and snatched a few moments of repose. The wretched remains of their dinner were thrown tt the cap- tives, whose hunger was left unsatisfied, while, from the tightness of their bcids, they were unable to enjoy the momentary rest aiforded by the halt. The line of march was soon formed again, and the Mohawks, refreshed by their repose, hurried on the tired captives at a rapid pace, urging the weary and the lagging with heavy blows. Many hours passed thus. Rene Bourdoise avus faint and weary, and his faltering step betokened that without rest his ;, 82 THE MORN. H strength would soon give out. In that case a certain death awaited him ; for the captors would not pause or delay when a blow of the toma- hawk could, in a moment, relieve them of their trouble. A Mohawk warrior, perceiving his weariness, approached him, and, brandishing his wcajion over his head, pointed forward to the route they were pursuing, and intimated, by a significant gesture, his fate in case he should be unable to ke(^p up with the party. Thus incited, the young novice exerted himself anew, and, ever and anon, his tormentor, as his efforts seemed to flag, assumed a threatening povsture, or struck him with a heavy stick which he had picked up on the march, or pricked liim forward with the point of his knife. The folds of his black robe were stifi' with blood, yet the fainting novice toiled on patiently, turning up his eyes to heaven, and murmuring a gentle prayer for his tormentors. Father Laval, stronger and more accustomed to fatigue, looked in help- less agony upon the suffering of his young com- panion; he cheered him onward with words of liope, and then, as the cruelty of the savage ! THE MORN. 83 increased, he consoled him with thoughts of holy comfort. "Bear up, my son. Tliou art the soldier of Jesus. Thou art scourged — He was scourged. It is a glorious privilege to die in his service; heaven is the reward of the happy martyr." '' Pray for me, father, i)ray for me. O God !" continued the youthful novice, looking sadly up to heaven, '^ O Ciod ! grant mo strength to endur'". this trial; grant me fortitude ! " The road became more diilicult and the pro« gress more painful. A powerful Huron marched near the delicate young Frenchman ; no word had yet escaped his lips. At length he ap- proached the sufferer, and, pressing his huge shoulder against him, said : " Lean on me, niy brother ! '' At the same moment Kiohba, the relentless Mohawk, again pricked the bleeding novice with his knife. The youth started forward, and, with a deep groan, fell to the ground. There he lay, unable to rise. The Iroquois grasped his toma- hawk with a savage exclamation, and raised it over his head to strike the ^'xhausted captive. ssoa i 84 THE MORN. It was a moment of agony. The tall Huron sprang forward; with a mighty effort he burst the cords that bound liis wrists, and rushed between the Iroquois and his victim. On liis left arm he caught the descending blow, which gashed deep into his brawny muscles; with his right he lifted up the light form of the novice, and, folding it to his powerful chest, while the pale face of the insensible youth rested gently on his dark-red shoulder, strode sternly forward to the front of the group of captives. Deep excla- mations of satisfaction escaped the Iroquois ; but no one attempted to interrupt the warrior, for the Indian loves a bold deed. " He is brave," said one ; " he is worthy of the stake." "Yes, he is a warrior; he shall die by the torture ! " The Huron strode on with his helpless burden, as tenderly and gently guarding it as a father does the. child he loves. " Le Loup will bear his young white brother," he exclaimed. Tears flowed down the cheeks of the Jesuit, TTIE MORN. 85 and he raised his heart to heaven in thankfulness for the providentiid rescue of his companion. At the same instant the cry of a hawk was heard in the forest, repeated thrice clearly and shrilly, then seeming to die away in the distance — a gleam of joy broke out on the bronzed face of the Huron, and with a firmer and lighter step Le Loup pressed onw^ard. He knew by the signal that his chief was upon their trail, and that three of his tribe were near. The Iroquois listened suspiciously to the sound, but it was repeateder-horn and a bali-pouch of deer-skin were slung over his shoidder; his feet and legs wTre protected by moccasins and leggings of untanned skin, and his equipments were com- pleted by a small black hair cap set jauntily on his head, lie seemed satisfied with the result of his exiimination, and said half aloud as he arose: *^ Huron canoe — Huron moccasin — no Mohawk thief — and now Pierre for ]Mons. le sauvage." Pierre had emigrated from France many years THE MORN. 87 before, and with tlie aid of his son had made himself useful as a hunter to the smaller outposts of tiie French. He supplied them Avith game. In one of their excursions the Mohawks came U})on them, and after a long chase succeeded in killing and scalping the young man. Henceforth Pierre considered the Moliawks as liis deadliest enemies. He had served as a spy under the great Champlain — a man dreaded by tlie Indians of every tribe, and whose name had become a war- cry io the French. Pierre was an expert woods- man, and an indefatigable Indian tighter — well know n and loved by the Ilurons, who gave him the sobriquet of ""IJEspion hardlJ^ The Frenchman laughed as he entered the forest to meet the Indian. " Ho, ho, Huron," he siiouted as he strode carelessly alona;. Watook heard the voice, and springing to a tree, cast his rifle into rest; but the dress and language of the speaker told him it was a friend, and he came lea|)ing towards him. " Ugli ! L'Espion hardi ! The pale-face is the friend of the Huron, '^ he said. ** Very true, savage, very true." r*"" '^^ 88 THE 3fORN: " Has the Frenchman found any Hiiron^ here?" and he waved his hand around. " None but yourself, Huron." Tlicn Watook told him of the sad misfortune which had befallen his party, and of the capture of the two Frenchmen, and how he had come thither to gather the scattered Hurons and at- tempt a rescue. Exclamations of anger escaped the hunter as he listened to the story, and his manner became more grave. -" The scalp of the son of the Daring Scout hangs in the Mohawk lodge. Is his knife rusty; will he strike the trail of the Iroquois ? " said the Indian in conclusion. Pierre drew the weapon from his belt and ran his finger across its glittering blade — and his feeling deepened into fury as he remembered the sad day on which his son had perished. " Huron," he said at length in a stern voice, "Huron! * Daring Scout' will strike the ]\Io- hawk in his village;" then, recovering his wonted equanimity, continued : '^The braves probably went deep into the forest before they struck off towards the rendez- THE MORN. 89 voTis — thoy will be here yet — for the current of the river assisted you forward ahead of them ; it is rapid now. Let us build a fire and [)ass the night here. No Mohawks are outlying now ; for the party you fell in with must have been a strong one, ai it is not likely that there is another out. When the Hurons come in, we will strike off through the forest to the trail of your chief." The counsel seemed wise to the Indian, and they prepared to bivouac upon the spot. About midnight the sound of a footstep struck upon the ear of the Frenchman, who kept watch, sitting at the foot of a tree shaded from the light of the fire. " Qui vive," said the hunter, who still adhered somewhat to his old military habits: ^'Qui vive;" but the figure approached, and the next moment a Huron stalked up to the fire. AVatook awoke and greeted his comrade. " The Hurons are scattered, and will come in slowly, for they are very weary," said the stranger. He made no other allusion to their late defeat. When morning dawned, four or live wrrriors 8* m 90 THE MORN. iiad collected, and the Iinpatlent Watook proposed to set out. " No/^ said the Huron who had first come in ; "more braves come — more braves.'^ ^' 'J hey are already two days' march before us," said Watook ; but Pierre coincided with the first. By the hour of noon about fifteen warriors had assembled, some of them wounded, and all Avearied. Compelled by stern necessity, that niglit they passed at tlie place of rendezvous, and on the following morn set out, through the forest, to strike on the trail of the Iroquois Night and morn came and Avent, night and morn the captors and their captives toiled on through the pathless forest. Still on — on went the weary march; still on the rear of the con- quering Mohawks hovered three dusky forms — stern, silent, watchful. CHAPTER VI I. THE RETURN. ORNING Flower, why art thou sad ? the young eagle of his tribe will soon return. Kiskepila will bring baek the scalj)s of Huron warriors at his girdle : he will come baek adorned with eagle-feathers, and the women of his tribe will sing his deeds. He will bring home many spoils, and will take the budding Flower of morn to bloom in his own lodge !'^ " No, Dancing Fawn, the warriors of the tribe have been gone many days on the war-path. Many suns have set since the appointed hour of return passed by. The voices of the night have whispered in the ear of Morning Flower. Mis- fortune is on the path of the braves. He will return no more.^' " Drooping Flower," said the other, drawing 91 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 1.25 UL t23. |2.5 • 50 "^™ RI3H 1^ 1^ 12.2 :^ lis lllllio V] \ *¥ Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M5S0 (716) 873-4503 4** fimmim^m^m\" mtiji^h I iiuij.,. I lu^mmtnumffimm ^ip^wiiupi^wwppipp mmmm 92 THE RETURN. ^ >' up haughtily, " is not the blood of the conquer- ing Iroquois in thy veins ? and yet thou trem- blest because the braves of the tribe outlic upon the war-path a few suns longer than the appointed time. Thinkest thou that the Huron dogs could withstand the invincible Mohawk? The Ilurons are cowards : they have forsaken Owanceyo * for the God of the pale-face, and Owanceyo has chilled their hearts and turned their blood to water. The Hurons are dogs ! " and the speaker tossed her hand contemptuously towards the Huron country. She was a noble-looking Indian girl. Her black eye sparkled as she spoke, and the heiglit- ened color of her cheek betrayed the quick passion of the untrained child of nature. The other was - of gentle mood ; her full and liquid eye looked out softly from beneath the long and sweeping lash that shaded its light. Her hair was jetty black, and, though straight, was finer and softer than usual in the Indian race : it was braided in glossy folds around her temples, and gathered in a loop behind, bound up with bands of bright- * The owner and ruler of aU things. THE RETURN, 98 colored bark interwoven with beads. Her dress was a mantle, curiously wrought with gayly-col- ored feathers, and trimmed with tufts of elk-hair dyed red, thrown gracefully around her form, leaving her left arm and shoulder bare. Her limbs were finely moulded. Below the maidens stretched a scene of great beauty. From two hills, covered with heavy forest-trees, an open sward sloi>ed gradually on either side, until both blended into a little plain between traversed by a small stream, on whose banks a group of children were playing busily — now plunging into the shallow waters, and now sunning themselves upon the soft and luxuriant grass that bordered it. On the northern side, where the descent faced full towards the south, was ranged a number of Indian wigwams, in the centre of which stood the council-lodge, rising conspicuous above the rest of the village. Before the doors of some of the cabins groups of old men and children were gathered, while the squaws were passing to and fro, engaged in their domes- tic labors. At the edge of the forest a number of youths were practising with the bow and arrow. i f ! ?t ' '.'l »ij H ! i|J,-fJ ll l » \ ) ^ ^ W' »» i»i i «"^ '< l i nn n affii ii iiniii >iiiii»n ii i i iW iii .iipn>w «wwwiB mmmmm n 94 THE RETURN, The western portion of the slope was filled with young corn, green and luxuriant in its growth, with its white tassels and ears already blooming out. On the southern bank of the stream swept upw^ards a gentle ascent of beautiful grcen-sward, gayly interspersed with the gloriously tinted wild flowers that adorn the fields of America. Around this little valley, like a palisade, stood the edge of the forest, its interminable depths stretching far away towards the horizon, until, like the green waters of a vast ocean, its waving foliage seemed to mingle with the distant sky. The two Indian maidens reclined upon the soft turf at the edge of the forest above the vil- lage, and for a few moments gazed down in silence upon the valley. The thick foliage of a massive oak overhung them, and shaded them from the warm rays of the sun. " Dancing Fawn," at length resumed the young girl, " the French warriors are terrible in battle, riding fierce horses, and with their breasts clad in steel ; perchance the braves have fallen in with them and been cut ofll" " False Moliawk girl, have not the braves of THE RETURN, 95 our nation met the French in battle? Their war-cry is like the roar of Unghiara * — the Huron and the pale-faces tremble at its sound. But listen, Morning Flower! heard you that faint shout ? See I it has aroused the village ! " The young maidens arose from their recum- bent position, and awaited in expectation the event. The village below them now exhibited a different and more lively aspect. The youths had quitted their pastime and gathered around the council-lodge where the old men of the tribe had assembled. The women had left their occu- pations, and were clamorously joining the group. At length another yell broke from the forest Tar to the east, and came faintly swelling to the expectant crowd. In a few moments more a runner emerged from the forest, and, loping down the hill, hurried on towards the village. As he approached, the assemblage opened to receive him, and he paused in silence before the chief, who was surrounded by a group of vener- able warriors. Kiodego f motioned him to speak. * Niagara. f **A settler of disputes." ■'^Wf>»»P»"^'""W»' w"^Riw»wpp^^^"^»w»i ^IW^^""^W|PiiffP"lli| 96 THE RETURN. "The braves of the Mohawks," said the runner, "are mighty warriors; their arms are strong, and the Hurons are dogs. The French become women before the battle-axes of the Mo- hawks. The warriors bring back scalps and many prisoners; they have captured the great medicine of the French ; they have routed and slain many Hurons.''^ Then he "•ecounted the names of the wounded — for of the dead the Indian speaks not. As he mentioned the name of Kiskepila, the son of the old chief, a deep sigh broke from the lips of the Morning Flower, and her head sunk for a moment upon her breast. Then she raised it up proudly, and fierce deter- mination lit up her beautiful features. Gloom had passed away. Kiodego sat unmoved, evinc- ing no concern for the misfortune of his son. As the runner finished his recital, a shout broke from the assemblage, which was answered from the forest by a succession of yells, whose increasing tone marked the near approach of the con- querors; it was the scalp -whoop. Then came another succession of yells, one for each prisoner. At this signal the crowd around the council- RI|M>MMIIOT THE RETURN. 9f lodge dispersed to the different wigwams, but soon reassembled, every one armed with weapons of some kind; knives, tomahawks, stones, and war -clubs. As soon as the runner appeared, Morning Flower and her companion had de- scended and mingled with the group before the lodge, and now, armed like the other women of the tribe, they hurried off towards the edge of the forest. It would have been difficult to recognize the sorrowing, lone, lorn Indian maiden with the drooping glance, in the excited form that wound amid the group, urging on her sister furies to greater frenzy, "The Gentle Flower," she said to Dancing Fawn, "is a Mohawk maiden; a thorn has pierce.»« j iMll>' . —>>«