By the Shores of Lake Gannentaa
XVII
Part Two of The Wampum Keeper,
a work in progress
Overcome by infirmity and the sudden onset of an unspeakable
anguish, Father Le Moyne stared down mutely at Jean de Brébeuf's New
Testament and Charles Garnier's Book of Devotion.
"And to think that rogue didn't offer a word of apology
for slaughtering our two blessed martyrs," Jean-Baptiste spluttered indignantly,
glowering at the retreating backside of the Onondaga warrior who had handed
him these two priceless relics.
The shocked Jesuit made no reply. Instead, after returning
the tattered books to his donné, he lifted the dusty skirts of his cassock
and began to gingerly knead his calf muscles. The half-day hike from Onondaga
to the shores of Lake Gannentaa not only had left his legs stiff and sore,
the horrid prickling was back.
"I'd do well never to sit or lie down again," he groaned.
"It never fails, Jean! Pins and needles in one leg and now violent spasms
in the other! This wretched affliction! I'm afraid I must ask you to see
to this business at the salt spring."
"But of course, Father," Jean replied solicitously. "You
must rest and let your blood cool. And before I set out I do think we
should try again to get you out of this hot sun."
Father Le Moyne gazed blankly at his aide for several moments,
then he gestured towards the five Onondaga warriors stretched out under
a spreading chestnut tree some fifty paces away.
"No, Jean," he said in a slurred but stubborn voice. "I'll
manage on my own. You've enough on your plate getting that lot to help
with the fire you'll need."
Jean-Baptiste rose to his feet and peered out through the
glass in his telescope at the sea of brown grasses bounding little Lake
Gannentaa.
"I see salt on the ground near the spring, free for the
taking, Father," he exclaimed softly. "I'll collect some of that as well
if you wish."
The Jesuit made no reply to this query. Nor did he say
a word when his aide opened his carryall and lovingly placed inside his
elkskin vest the two precious relics of his martyred friends. So gripped
was he by his anguish, he didn't see Jean set off to join the five members
of the band of forty Onondagas conducting the two Frenchmen back to Ville-Marie.
The sun beat down mercilessly through the Jesuit's wool
nightcap; as the afternoon wore on his plight grew desperate. When finally
he attempted to get up and seek some shade, his right leg buckled and
he pitched back onto the granite rock, striking his shin on the corner
of Jean's theodolite case.
"Useless baggage!" he yelped, referring to the perfectly
functioning surveying instrument inside the wooden box.
This verbal assault on the theodolite was the product of
a bitter disappointment. Jean had plenty of surveying to do, just not,
as the Jesuits had hoped, on the shores of great Lake Ontario. It was
here on the south shore of Gannentaa that the Onondaga civil chiefs and
elders demanded the French build their Catholic mission fort.
Cogent reasons for this decision had been given at the
council fire. Gannentaa lay at the centre of a vast basin of rich wetlands:
nine months of each year eels and salmon overran the lake; in winter game
abounded in the forests on its surrounding hills; in early spring prodigious
numbers of pigeons arrived to feast on acorns and the nuts of hickory,
beech, and chestnut trees. And while few salt springs were in the area,
sweet water springs were everywhere. As a result of this rich bounty,
Gannentaa was a magnet for fishermen, hunters and gatherers, and its south
shore the centre of a nexus of trails leading to all four upper Iroquois
tribes.
A peculiar cackle issued from Father Le Moyne's parched
throat when his gaze encountered the coils of knotted rope Jean used for
his surveying. The warrior who'd fallen into a deep rock crevice on the
trip to Onondaga owed his life to that rope.
Memories began to fracture and collide in the Jesuit's
sun-baked brain. The wide-brimmed hat he'd left in the Ville-Marie
chapel... how he missed that hat... and his studded waistband and cilice....
The Onondaga land deed...lying in Superior's desk drawer office... awaiting
surveyor's results.... King's high minions... Lauson and his lot of scoundrels
... believe Savages have no titles... no rights to their lands... Sovereignty
claimed by right of discovery. Right of discovery... titles... More than
words on vellum needed to subdue these arrogant knaves! god's will and
king's army... keys to this kingdom!
Satanic powers were corrupting the Onondagas by means
of their beliefs and practices... All listen politely when I expound mysteries...
Huron slaves trotted out... want to become Christians.... Rot! Savages
are masters of the Yes that means No... Devil's gambit! Every man, woman,
and child wants peace with the French! More rot! When they finish off
the Eries, they'll start on us again....
Shrieks of raucous laughter suddenly split the air. The
delirious Jesuit gave a start and glanced toward Lake Gannentaa. He could
just make out a cone of wooden poles straddling a smoky fire near the
salt spring, and five cackling warriors watching Jean crouch over a kettle.
Beyond the scaffold of wooden poles, above the sea of decaying grasses,
low clouds of noxious gases shimmered in the heat.
A moment later, the Father gasped aloud. Now he could see
a headless corpse with a golden cross on its shoulder carrying the head
of Jean Brébeuf. And then Lucifer, chief of all the Lord's enemies, climbing
onto a chair of fire and smoke atop the cone of wooden poles. He watched
in horror as Lucifer's bloated stinking body careened from side to side,
its seven heads flailing and twitching, its seven eyes out on stalks green
with envy, greed, and pride, its scaly red tail swirling in ever smaller
circles around Jean-Baptiste!
Father Le Moyne leapt up to go to the aid of his faithful
servant, but once again his leg buckled under him. He began to shout and
wave his arms, and then he stopped and seized his crucifix and thrust
it out in front of his chest and pointed it at the donné. The crucifix's
hemp cord bit into his neck and contributed to a budding lucidity. The
fiendish mirage he was seeing was in essence a scene from Ignatius's Meditation
on Two Standards, a scene he'd imagined countless times in his thirty
years as a Jesuit. And he knew the antidote.
He closed his eyes and imagined Christ in a lowly place,
attractive and beautiful, in a great field near Jerusalem. A place surrounded
by throngs of apostles and disciples preparing to set forth throughout
the world to spread his sacred doctrine. Christ urges his servants and
friends to want to help everyone by bringing them to the highest spiritual
poverty. They must teach three steps: first, poverty against riches; second,
contempt for worldly honour; third, humility against pride. From these
three steps, all other virtues will flow.
The familiar words and visualizations had the desired effect.
When the Father opened his eyes, the dreadful apparition of Lucifer was
gone and he saw Jean-Baptiste running towards him. As the donné drew near,
he called out and asked for help in getting into the shade.
>>>>
A familiar bird call signal rang out as Jean was settling
Father Le Moyne on the lower flank of a hillside overlooking the campsite.
"Shalinka," muttered the donné curtly.
"Come, come," the Jesuit replied, gazing up into Jean's
disapproving eyes. "You know as well as I that conversions of the heart
occur rarely among all peoples."
"It's true, Father, we're used to backsliders," Jean replied,
placing Le Moyne's carryall on his coils of rope. "I just wish he hadn't
gone around blabbing about that dead man he found at Cap-Rouge."
The Jesuit leaned over and studiously massaged the toes
of his left foot. "I doubt Shalinka has blabbed much about the mirage
he saw on that poor fellow's shoulder, Jean. While he was drunk! It couldn't
be helped, all those questions. That rubbishy story reached these parts
months ago."
The donné shifted his theodolite case closer to the coils
of rope. His eyes grew troubled as he recalled what he'd heard about the
shiny gold cross.
"Even so," the Father continued coolly, "Shalinka's relatives
and friends listened carefully to my talk about our mysteries. I belief
he had some small part in that. He's come to say goodbye, no doubt."
"Very likely," Jean replied. "He's learned that the woman
he is seeking, Sebequa, lives now as a slave in the Seneca capital. She's
to be a porter in an army soon setting off to fight the Eries."
"I didn't know that about Sebequa," the Jesuit murmured
drowsily. "I must rest now, Jean," he added. "If you will see to collecting
the salt, I'll try to catch forty winks."
Once the donné set off again, Father Le Moyne stretched
out and closed his eyes. He nodded off at once but didn't stay asleep
long. Upon awakening, he got out his journal and one of his precious lead
pencils and reread the first entry he'd written at Onondaga,
"At a quarter of a league from the village, I began a
harangue which brought me into high favour, calling by name all the captains,
families, and persons of importance, speaking slowly, and in the tone
of a captain."
Sounds of cheerful tumult interrupted his proofreading.
Glancing up, he saw Shalinka arrive at the camp site with the Onondaga
chief Garakonti. A rueful sigh escaped the Father's lips. It was the avowed
pagan Garakonti who'd shown the most support for his peace mission.
Returning to his task, he thumbed through the journal to
his summary of the grand peace council,
"I opened the proceedings with a public prayer, which
I offered on my knees and in a loud voice, using the Huron tongue throughout.
I appealed to the great master of heaven and earth that he might inspire
us to act for his glory and our own good. I cursed all the Demons of hell
since they are spirits of discord; and I implored the guardian Angels
of the entire country to speak to the hearts of my hearers, when my words
should strike their ears."
The Father leaned back against his tree trunk and closed
his eyes. What a time! Two hours on his feet, striding back and forth
like an actor on a stage. With never a thought for his wretched legs!
After this brief pause, he turned to the entry describing
the first of his nineteen words,
"A large Porcelain collar, a hundred little pipes of
red glass, which constitute the diamonds of the country, and a moose skin,
somewhat worn, - these three presents accompanied one word only."
Two pages on he made several corrections. It had been his
second and third words not fourth and fifth that dealt with the release
of the Senecas and Mohicans that the Petun and Ottawa fur traders brought
to Ville-Marie. Words four through seven dealt with the release of the
surgeon Denys. Eight through thirteen were gifts to support the new war
against the Eries.
The Jesuit's right leg gave a violent twitch as he read
his next entry,
"The 14th and 15th words asked them in future to lay
no more ambuscades for the Algonquin and Huron nations when they should
wish to come and visit the French settlements." Here he licked his
pencil and added, "TO WHICH THERE WAS NO RESPONSE!"
A pang of guilt, quickly erased by anger, struck the Jesuit.
The Hurons had only themselves to blame. What had they been thinking?
Accepting gifts from both Mohawks and Onondaga! Encouraging each to believe
they would go to live with them. Utter folly! The sort of thing children
might do.
A burst of loud guffaws ended these criticisms. Looking
up, the Father saw seven of his guides with baskets of freshly caught
fish. The prospect of an early salmon dinner sent him back to the final
entry of his address to the Onondaga grand council,
"The 16th word wiped away the tears of all the young
warriors, caused by the death of their great captain Annenraes. The 17th
spoke of the necessity for harmony among all Iroquois nations; 18th set
out a welcome mat in Ville-Marie; 19th exhorted all to become instructed
in the truths of Christianity."
The Jesuit smiled, like any decent orator he'd left his
most important word to the end. The next entry had him gritting his teeth.
A young Onondaga captain about to set off to war with 1800 men had begged
urgently for baptism. After the most preliminary instructions, he'd refused
to take no for an answer when it was suggested that this honour be deferred
until some future journey,
"How now, my brother," he'd demanded, "if from this
day forth I possess the faith, cannot I be a Christian? Hast thou power
over death to forbid its attacking me without orders from thee? Will thou
wish me at each step that I take in battle to fear hell more than death?
Unless thou baptize me, I shall be without courage, and shall not dare
to face the conflict."
That was no conversion of the heart! The rosary he'd been
given was another charm to stuff into his tobacco pouch, his hastily learned
prayers mere petitions for success in his war.
The Father thought again of his salmon dinner and in penance
repeated two prayers of contrition. Afterwards, he got out Charles Garnier's
Book of Devotion and sat with it unopened in his lap.
Perhaps he was being too pessimistic in his assessment
of this short visit. He'd had some success. The Huron captive Terese not
only had retained her faith but instructed a Neutral youth so well that
he'd been able to baptize her right away. He'd also garnered the souls
of eight dying infants and heard the confessions of other Hurons.
Glancing down, he noticed a blood stain on the Book
of Devotion. No doubt it had been in Charles's cassock pocket when
he was murdered in the Petun village. His body was found a few steps from
the ruins of his chapel... lacerated by two bullet wounds and two blows
from a hatchet....
A warning halloo from Jean-Baptiste, followed by his arrival
with two small sacks of salt, broke off these sombre musings. After the
donné departed, the Jesuit recalled Jean's troubled face after his reference
to the 'mirage' Shalinka had seen.
A memory struck! Of the gold crosses reported on the shoulders
of some of the poor killed in the first crusade against the Turks. Charles
had encouraged him to read Raymond of Aquilers, the priest who carried
the holy lance at the capture of Jerusalem in 1099 and reported seeing
such crosses. The Italian navigator Cristoforo Colombo was another who'd
believed in miraculous crosses. Charles had unearthed this unsurprising
fact in Colombo's Book of Prophecies.
The Father grew impatient. To Colombo and many foolish
souls before and since it all made perfect sense. Before Christ's second
coming could occur, Christianity must spread around the world, the Garden
of Eden must be found, and a last crusade must take back the holy land
from the Muslims.
In Colombo's insane mind, Spanish friars were spreading
Christianity around the world and the east coast of Dutch Suriname was
the Garden of Eden. All that remained was for Ferdinand and Isabella to
assume the mantle of last world emperor, lead the last crusade, and greet
Christ in Jerusalem.
A yawn erupted over Le Moyne's lined face. Colombo hadn't
been an original prophet, like others before him, he'd cribbed from Joachim
of Fiore and his mad followers. Thank heavens for St. Augustine and the
wise old Church for discouraging the literal interpretation of biblical
prophecies!
A basket laden with five wampum belts sat close to the missioner.
After another brief nap, he lifted the basket's lid and took out the top
belt. On a whim, he rubbed one edge of it along the tip of his nose to
check the uniformity of the beads - the way he'd seen the Savages do.
Feeling no roughness, he draped the belt across his lap and gazed at it.
The origin of the French word 'porcelaine' for wampum popped
into his head. The Latin word 'porcella' meant 'young sow' and was the
name given - some said by Jacques Cartier - to the cowrie shell because
the shape of its orifice reminded him of a sow's vagina. The Jesuit winced.
Just what one might expect from the likes of Cartier!
A swarm of gnats interrupted these unedifying thoughts.
The Father reached for his journal and turned to an entry he'd made after
listening to Shalinka dilate on the subject of wampum beads.
"Black 'Wampom' has only one source, the patch of deep
violet in the interior of a hard shell clam; white 'Wampom' is also made
from this clam shell, and from the shells of periwinkle and whelk snails.
The Narragansett who speak an Algonkian tongue and live among the English
say the word 'Wampompeag' means 'white string of shell beads'."
The Jesuit glanced up and saw the Chonnonton chief setting
an armful of wood down beside the campfire. A wry smile curled on his
lips. Shalinka reported the Savages used the distance between their elbow
and tip of little finger to measure strings of wampum - and always chose
their largest and tallest warrior to trade. More childishness! To Dutch,
English, and French traders, a fathom of wampum was 360 beads.
Thoughts of New France's Dutch and English rivals continued
to occupy the Jesuit. Onondaga was awash in Dutch wampum; in the Dutch
trade, wampum was the chief item of exchange. Wampum manufactories existed
in Albany and New Amsterdam and in the ever expanding circle of Dutch
trading forts. By introducing steel drills and polishing lathes, Dutch
manufacturers had won a great advantage over native producers. By producing
wampum in large quantities, they were able to furnish liberal supplies
to the Dutch and English traders who ranged over the entire Atlantic coast
from the St. Lawrence to the Gulf.
As for the poor Dutch settlers, wampum was the only form
of coinage. Dutch authorities had long since erected their own shell bead
mints. In the Plymouth colony and in southern New England, wampum was
the commodity in which tribute and fines were paid by the English colonists'
weak and erring neighbours the Narragansett and Pequot.
A few French glass beads sparkled in the belt draped over
the Father's lap. Shell beads weren't easy to come by in colonies 330
leagues from the Atlantic, and clay beads had proven unpopular. French
traders, including the Jesuits, had early imported glass beads to give
in lieu of shell wampum. Huron captives in Onondaga had stroked strings
of Dutch wampum with red and blue French beads to signal repentance during
their confessions.
After replacing the wampum belt in his basket, the Father
spent a few moments admiring the fine weaving of the black ash splints
and pretty quill designs. Garakonti's eldest daughter had made the basket
her father presented to him at the grand council. The five belts had been
strung and tied by poor and captive women, with beads supplied by matrons
of the wealthiest families. All Iroquoian ceremonies, the priest noted
disapprovingly, depended in large measure on the women.
The Father's eyes took on a pensive cast as he thought
again of the grand council. Like all Iroquoians, the Onondagas had no
trouble accepting substitutes for shell wampum in their ceremonies. The
ritual and its meanings remained unchanged. To them, material goods were
of secondary import, it was the way one felt and acted that counted.
The Jesuit felt his spine stiffen; he sensed weakness in
this last thought. One had to be on guard in the forests! One was dependent
on the Savages and estimates of their way of life tended to rise. French
traders like Louis Chaboyer and his brother Étienne, who'd been burned
by the Seneca along with Shalinka's son, were proof of that!
The way one feels and acts, he scoffed, seizing on the
memory of an Erie prisoner, a child of nine or ten years, who'd been burnt
in Onondaga during his visit. A fine example that! The Jesuit's eyes grew
pensive again. The child had been only two hours in torment because of
his youth, and displayed such fortitude that not a tear or a cry escaped
him from amidst the flames.
Other awkward facts intruded. All captives destined for
the fires were burnt as offerings to the war god Areskoui, and all courted,
to the best of their ability, suffering and death because they believed
this was the proper course of action. Bravery in the face of such a death
was a given in this culture, and was aimed at securing personal recognition
in the present and positive acceptance in the hereafter.
A groan escaped the Jesuit's lips. "These wretched legs,"
he muttered aloud, hauling himself upright and balancing on one foot.
One peculiarity of his affliction, he'd learned, was that while he gained
no relief whatsoever from standing still, standing on one leg was almost
as effective a remedy as walking was. However, his balancing act ended
abruptly when he thought of the helpful medicine Sorihia prepared for
him and how it had been lost on the journey to Onondaga.
A trail leading south to the Oneida lands lay nearby. As
he paced up and down on this path, he thought of the replies of the Iroquois
chiefs' to his nineteen words at the grand council.
Garakonti's first word was burned into his memory: "It
is our wish to acknowledge him of whom thou hast told us, who is the master
of our lives, and who is unknown to us." Nothing could have been more
auspicious. There was no denying the Savages were a basically tolerant
people. The Iroquois who'd chosen to hear him paid close attention to
his words, and some, tutored by Hurons, spoke openly of the similarities
and differences between their beliefs and Christian beliefs. Far too openly
in the matter of the Blessed Sacrament....
The Jesuit stopped in his tracks as he recalled his excruciating
interview with Shalinka in Quebec's Hôtel-Dieu chapel. How he'd stubbornly
insisted that the words of the Eucharist were not a figure of speech and
how this had allowed the Chonnonton chief to trap him into tacitly admitting
that his French ancestors practiced human sacrifice. He'd handled such
tricky situations rather better in Onondaga.
He knew well (how could he not, having been a student of
Huron culture and language for 16 years) that Iroquoian-speakers deemed
human life as most valuable. But they also reasoned that in the vast scheme
of the universe a sacrifice of a human life to a powerful oki like Areskoui
was recognition that man himself was insignificant.
What irritated European observers of this ghastly ritual,
more than the dreadful acts themselves, was the fact that the inflictors
of the torture and death showed neither compassion nor guilt.
Besides, the biggest obstacle to converting the Iroquois
wasn't the heart ceremony. It was the fact that the chiefs weren't going
to convert. The most we can hope for from them is their silence. And as
for weaning any of them off their dreams! Good luck to that! A dream was
the intermediary between an Iroquois and the spirit forces; during dreams,
he listened to and talked with spirits. A dream was tantamount to hearing
the Divine Word.
'The French have their ways and we have ours,' the Jesuit
scoffed to himself. Sharing the earth with a hodgepodge of asinine spirits
and spirit forces! That's the Iroquois way! The way of superstitious heathens
the world over!
>>>>
On returning to his bivouac, Father Le Moyne reread the
journal entry describing his receipt at the grand council of two wampum
belts from the lone Mohawk at Onondaga. This man's first word requested
that before returning home to Quebec Le Moyne visit Agnié the Mohawk capital.
His second word demanded to know if Le Moyne had received his superior's
letter sent with Tekarihoken telling him to do so.
The lone Mohawk, the Father recollected, was a middleman
who bought and sold the wampum that Mohawks and Mohicans exacted as tribute
from native bead makers on the long island. Or plundered from European
and native traders travelling inland from the coast. His demeanour had
not been friendly.
The Jesuit set the journal aside and gazed out at Lake
Gannentaa. On the hillsides around the lake, the treetops were turning
to gold. The rock perch on which he'd sat in torment was shrouded in deep
shadows. He could see women busy around the cooking fires. It was time
to stow things away and see to his salmon dinner.
Jean-Baptiste's halloo rang out as he was checking the contents
of the wampum basket. All five belts were still there. To accompany his
words of condolence after the disastrous fire in Onondaga, he'd regifted
the wampum from two other belts. The wampum from these five would pay
for his and Jean's return to Ville-Marie.
As he placed his journal in his carryall, his eyes lit
on Jean de Brébeuf's New Testament. Would he too become a martyr? Was
this to be his fate in Agnié? Mohawks murdered Father Jorgues on a mere
rumour of his having consorted with the Onondaga.
The Jesuit shrugged. His own fate didn't matter. Peace
with the Mohawks was vital to the survival of New France. He would make
as many trips to Agnié as was asked of him. Lord Jesus would be his strength.
>>>>>>
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