Charlevoix says, alluding to Tekakwitha's Christian life:—
"From the first, her virtues gained admiration even from those who were the 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 calumniate 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. Chauchetière 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 Katherine 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 in derision, 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 in wait for her, she was often obliged to take the most circuitous routes. Was it not strange that one so shy by nature as Tekakwitha 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. Tekakwitha did not cry out, or make an appeal for mercy, or promise 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 awe. He gazed as if spellbound. The uplifted tomahawk dropped to his side. Her firmness unnerved him. Admiration, then a strange fear, overmastered 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 Tekakwitha meant 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 Tekakwitha's 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 Tekakwitha's 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 Tawasentha." 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 "Serachtague" in his report of the colony, Governor Dongan tried in vain to recall the Iroquois Christians of Canada, by promising them English blackgowns,[53] and undisturbed possession of their favorite hunting-ground. With this interesting fact of early Saratoga history, however, we are not now concerned. As for the one involving Tekakwitha, here is Chauchetière's account of what occurred at the Mohawk hunting-camp, and of the report that was carried back from there to the village:—