"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, in 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 Lamberville, 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 in 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' sake. Thus Sunday generally proved not a feast, but a fast-day to Tekakwitha. Her life was becoming intolerable. Her cruel and morose aunt, whom Martin rightly calls un esprit bizarre, had received from Father de Lamberville a reprimand which covered her with confusion. She visited her chagrin upon the head of her innocent victim. "Well!" she had said to the blackgown, "so Katherine, whom you esteem so virtuous, is notwithstanding 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 Tekakwitha, she tried by every means in her power to brand the virtue of her niece as a mere pretence, 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 Caughnawaga 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 blackgown. 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 Tekakwitha, after having thus spent a year and a half in her home as a Christian, began to look with longing eyes towards the new Caughnawaga on the St. Lawrence, whither her adopted sister and Anastasia Tegonhatsihongo 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 Sault came and went among their tribesmen in the Mohawk Valley. Sometimes they were joined by new recruits, who returned with them to Canada. Tekakwitha 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? Tekakwitha 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 Tekakwitha 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 athirst 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 Sault were permitted to drink deep of the precious draught, and revelled 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.

FOOTNOTES:

[53] These promises were of no great account. Kryn, the great Mohawk warrior, said in 1687, "If a priest would settle at Saragtoga, many [Indians] would return; for they had longed and waited a long time for it." Colonial History, vol. iii. p. 436. As this hope failed, and neutrality was not possible, we find Kryn thenceforth in close alliance with the French.

CHAPTER XV.

HOT ASHES PLANS TEKAKWITHA'S ESCAPE.