by John Demos
It got so bad that the ship seemed about to sink. Reverend Williams led both crew and passengers in prayer: “Dear Lord,” he shouted above the roar of the wind. “Look down on us, your humble servants, in our hour of danger. If it be your will to stop the wind and calm the seas, you can save us from a watery grave.” Perhaps he was heard; the storm subsided soon afterward. And the rest of the voyage was easy. Stephen and Samuel spent hour after hour watching for whale spouts; on one afternoon they counted twenty-seven. Dolphins followed in the ship’s wake, and seagulls flew back and forth overhead.
After several more days of sailing, the Massachusetts coast finally appeared on the horizon; it was the harbor at Boston. As the ship approached, excited colonists gathered along the shore. They knew what ship this was, and who would be on it. Reverend John Williams was coming home, “redeemed,” as they put it, from the French and Indian enemies! The anchor was dropped in deep water and the passengers climbed into small boats to take them to the shore. The colony’s governor stepped forward to greet them, and a troop of soldiers fired guns in the air as a salute.
They were taken to the home of Boston’s minister, Cotton Mather, where they could stay as long as necessary. Almost at once Reverend Mather began making plans for a special service in his church to celebrate their arrival; the whole town looked forward to it. When the day came, so many people wanted to attend that there weren’t enough seats for all of them. Some stood in the aisles, or at the very back, while others were left outside, straining to hear through the open windows. John Williams preached a long sermon, praising God for keeping him and his sons safe while they were captives. He thanked the people of Massachusetts who had prayed so hard for their return. He described what life was like among the French in Canada, and how the wicked priests had tried to convert him. He spoke of Eunice and his failed effort to get her released. He asked everyone to remember her in their prayers. After the service ended there was a procession through the streets. The Williamses rode in the governor’s carriage, while the townspeople looked on and cheered.
The family remained in Boston for several months, resting up and making plans for the future. Reverend Williams wanted to get back to Deerfield as soon as possible. But first he needed a new house, because his previous one had burned down in the raid. Some of his neighbors were already back in new houses of their own. The fields were ready for planting, and Granny Hinsdale had reopened the school. Slowly the town was coming back to life, but without the minister, it didn’t feel complete.
When spring came, Reverend Williams arranged for the family’s return. He hired a carriage, and they traveled along country roads for two long, hot days. When they reached Deerfield they went straight to their new house, which had two floors, two chimneys, lots of windows, and a beautifully carved door. The boys rushed inside and looked around. They would have one room upstairs for themselves. Their father would take the master bedroom. And there was a small room at the rear, to be kept for Eunice when she, too, came home. Two older girls from the town would join the household as servants, and sleep in the attic.
A few months later Reverend Williams went to Connecticut to visit a widow named Abigail Bissell. After a brief courtship he proposed marriage, and she accepted. It was very important to him that his children have a mother’s care, and he needed help with running the household, too. The wedding was held in the parlor of the new house; friends and admirers joined them for the occasion. The three Williams boys were pleased and hopeful. Of course, they still missed their mother very much, but they could tell that Abigail would love and look after them.
Everything was back to normal except for the absence of Eunice. Her father kept hoping to hear from the French governor about her, but no word came; it had been more than two years since he’d seen her in the Mohawk village. Then one day a fur trader, back from Canada, stopped in Deerfield for a visit. In the course of his travels, he had been to Kahnawàke, and had asked about Eunice: Was she all right? Would she be sent home soon? The Mohawks said she was in good health and was happy with her life among them. She had gotten used to their ways and didn’t want to leave. She loved them, and they loved her with all their hearts. The merchant asked to see her and talk with her directly, but they refused. They told him it was no use anyway, because she had forgotten how to speak English; she was an Indian girl now.
This was the news the trader brought to the Williams family. And it seemed just terrible; they could hardly believe it. Forgotten how to speak English? An Indian girl now? Impossible! How could she? Her father went into his study and stayed there, praying by himself for a whole day. The rest of the family tried to get on with regular life, with Mrs. Williams and the servant girls doing women’s work in the house and the boys at their chores in the barn. But a deep gloom settled over the entire household.
When the news spread to towns all across Massachusetts, there was more sorrow, more disbelief, more praying. It had been just a short while since the great rejoicing over Reverend Williams’s return, but this was so different. That a minister’s child born and brought up in good English style should prefer to live with Indians: How strange! How tragic! What could they do to save her?
CHAPTER NINE
BECOMING A DIFFERENT PERSON
The trader was right. After the heartbreaking visit with her father left her feeling so abandoned, Eunice had changed a great deal. As the months passed and her memories of Deerfield faded, she began to think of Kahnawàke as home, and Arakwente, Konwatieni, Atsiaha, and Onwari seemed more and more like family.
Step by step, they drew her into their way of life. When spring came, Konwatieni began working in the fields outside the village with other Kahnawàke women, and groups of little girls—including Eunice—tagged along. The women used bent sticks to hoe the ground, which had become lumpy and hard over the winter. When that was done, they built round hills of soil and carefully placed a few kernels of corn in each one. They also planted beans, squash, melons, onions, and pumpkins. Eunice and the other girls watched from nearby; this was how they learned the skills and duties of a Mohawk woman. Sometimes they would go off to the side and build little hills of their own, using pebbles to “plant” with instead of actual corn.
Another springtime task was collecting sap from the maple trees in the forest. After boiling, the sap would become their sugar; Eunice loved its sweet taste. In the summertime, as the corn and other crops grew tall, there was weeding to do, because the fields had to be kept very clean. If the weather got really hot, water was brought in pails from the river to sprinkle here and there.
In the autumn came the harvest. This was the busiest time of all. The crops had ripened, and now they must be picked and stored for later use. Berries, apples, and other fruits were dried and buried in deep pits lined with tree bark and covered with soil to protect them from the cold. When the corn was ready, the village women went out to the fields as a group. Each one carried a large basket, and worked all day at pulling the cobs from the tall stalks. The little girls would follow a few steps behind to pick up any kernels that might fall to the ground; every bit was precious. Eunice and Onwari walked together, bent low with their eyes peeled. Whenever they found a kernel or two, they let out a happy shout. Konwatieni would turn and smile, and say how well they were doing.
A few days later, the village had a special gathering for stringing all the cobs in long rows. It was a grand occasion; everyone came to help, including the men and boys. When they were done, they grouped together in a field to celebrate. There was a platform where four of the elders sat on a long bench, beating drums and shaking horn rattles filled with seeds. The rest of the villagers, their arms linked, began to dance in a serpentine fashion. The dancers went faster and faster. Eunice, Onwari, and several other children stood to one side, their faces rapt. Finally, when almost everyone seemed exhausted, the elders said it was time to stop. Many of the dancers just fell to the ground and rested where they were.
Later that evening they had a huge me
al that lasted for hours. There was so much food—deer meat, fish, squashes and pumpkins, sweet potatoes, acorns, and melons—that Eunice felt stuffed. You were supposed to keep going till nothing was left; that’s why it was called an eat-all feast. Everybody slept deeply that night. The next afternoon they gathered once more to finish the harvest by stuffing the stringed cobs into barrels for use later on. Corn was their most important food all year round.
Life for Mohawk children was about more than just work, though; there was also time for fun. Like children everywhere, they played games. There was one, played only by girls, that Eunice greatly enjoyed. Five or six of them would stand in a circle, tossing a cloth ball the size of an apple. The goal was to keep it in the air as long as possible; if you dropped it or let it fall, you were out.
They also played with the village dogs and horses. The dogs were not very tame; you had to be careful or they would bite. The horses were kept in a little corral with a low fence. Occasionally when the children chased them, they would leap the fence, gallop into the fields, and trample the plants. This was bad, of course, but no one got in trouble. Eunice had noticed right away that Mohawk children were never punished for misbehaving; they were free to do as they pleased. It was so different from Puritan households, where parents often corrected their youngsters with stern words or even a spanking.
During all this work and play, Eunice made new friends. Onwari was becoming like a sister to her because they lived in the same home and were together practically all the time. There were a few other Mohawk girls Eunice felt close to. And also in the village were several other English girls who had been part of the captive group—Martha French, for one. Martha and Eunice had been playmates in Deerfield for as long as they could remember, and had shared the journey to Canada. Occasionally, in the days just after their arrival at Kahnawàke, the two of them would go off to the side and talk in English about all the things that had happened to them. But as time passed, they switched to Mohawk and couldn’t remember their first language at all.
It was the custom at Kahnawàke for a captive to be given a new name—a Mohawk name. This didn’t happen right away, though; you had to get used to Indian life first. For Eunice, it took about a year and a half.
As the time approached, there was a process she had to go through, starting with a meeting of members of the Wolf clan. One autumn afternoon a group of them went to the edge of the forest, and formed a wide circle. Since it was getting chilly, everyone wore blankets. A very old woman with snow-white hair, known as the clan mother, took charge. She sat in the middle, with Eunice and Konwatieni beside her, and sang a soft chant. Then she closed her eyes and fell silent for several minutes, while the name came to her. Later, she would give it to the elders without telling anyone else. It had to be the name of someone in the clan who had died recently. The idea was that the captive would replace that person. The Mohawk word for this meant “re-quickening”; it was seen almost like a rebirth.
The main ceremony came a few weeks later. It was winter now, and the snow lay deep. On the appointed day Konwatieni woke Eunice up at sunrise, and told her to dress in her best deerskin tunic and leggings. Her hair was braided and pulled up on top of her head, and she wore a little crown of feathers. When all was ready, the family walked together to a special building, an unusually large longhouse kept for the whole community, right in the village center. Important events were held there, including naming ceremonies.
As the family arrived, a crowd was gathering to watch. One of the village elders, a tall man named Aientas, sat on a stool at the front. A heavy bearskin cape covered his entire body. His face was painted in such vivid colors—red, yellow, white, black—that you could hardly make out his eyes. He wore a leather band around his head with turkey feathers on top. Everyone looked in his direction. He was a seer, able to have visions that guided people in their decisions. He also had special powers to summon the spirits, called orenda, that lived all around in the air, though you couldn’t see them. They could make you rich or poor, sick or well, happy or sad. Everyone respected them. It was all part of the Mohawks’ religion.
The elder greeted the family with a little nod of recognition. Konwatieni guided Eunice forward in order to present her to the people, the orenda, the four directions of the Earth, and the Mohawk Nation. The people answered with a kind of cheer that showed their approval. The elder stood up, and began to sing in a high, raspy voice. He swayed from side to side, his lips twitched, his eyes bulged. Eunice was scared because she hadn’t seen anything like this before, and it didn’t seem normal. But Konwatieni whispered in her ear to stay calm; he was just asking the spirits for their blessing. After a few minutes he stopped and stared straight ahead. Then he bent to the ground, picked up a gourd, raised it over his head, and drank something from inside. Finally, he reached for Eunice with both arms and pronounced her new name—A’ongote. Translated into English it meant “she is planted.” It must have previously been the name of someone who, like Eunice, had been captured and “planted” in the Nation. From here on the villagers would see her as actually being that person.
When the ceremony was finished Arakwente came to her and bowed low; then Konwatieni and Atsiaha did the same. Onwari laughed and said over and over, “A’ongote, A’ongote, A’ongote.” But it wasn’t just about having a new name, or being seen as a different person. It meant that she was part of their family—an adopted daughter. It also meant that she would be part of the Wolf Clan. A clan was a large group of cousins and other relatives who would take care of each other in times of need. The Wolf Clan was one of three in the village; the others were the Turtle and the Bear. These same clans were in every Mohawk village, and helped bind the whole tribe together.
As Eunice (or A’ongote) already knew, the Kahnawàke Mohawks were not just part of the longhouse religion, but were also Catholics. Catholic priests had come from France many years before and built a church in the village; Eunice had noticed it the very day she arrived. Konwatieni went there every Sunday for a service they called a mass. Often she took Onwari and Eunice with her.
Konwatieni tried to explain about all these beliefs. There was the Great Spirit, Shonkwaiiatihson, who protected the whole world and commanded the spirits of the forest. He was the most important god in the longhouse religion; Mohawks had looked up to him for thousands of years. The god of the Catholics was different—and, the priests said, the only real one. They claimed that everything the Mohawks believed was false and wicked, and that Shonkwaiiatihson was just a devil. All in all, it seemed very confusing. But Konwatieni said not to worry and not to listen to the priests too much. On Sundays you could pray to the Catholic god, and at other times to Shonkwaiiatihson. Maybe they were even the same, but called by different names.
So now Eunice had to become a Catholic, too. The priests made her start by learning some phrases they called the catechism. She practiced and practiced, and got them memorized. Then it was time to be baptized in the church. This would be done in another ceremony, but nothing like the one in the longhouse. She had already been baptized once before, as a baby in Deerfield, but of course she couldn’t remember. Anyway, that was by the Puritans, so the priests said it was worthless.
When the day came, she again had to dress up. But this time she wore a white linen smock and a little silver tiara on her head. She also wore a silver chain around her neck with a medal at the bottom in the shape of a cross. The priests explained that the cross was about Jesus, the son of God, who had come down to Earth long before in order to save Catholics from their sins. Bad men had nailed him to a wooden frame in the shape of a cross, where he had died. But then, by a miracle, he came back to life and went up to heaven. There was a special day called Easter when all Catholics celebrated his resurrection. Eunice wondered whether Jesus was friends with Shonkwaiiatihson in heaven, but she knew not to ask the priests; they would hate the idea.
The church was the largest building in the village. As the family approached, the bell in its t
ower was ringing loudly to let people know that something important was about to happen. Inside, the main section had rows and rows of wooden benches where people would sit, pray, and listen to the priests. But the most striking thing was a huge table at the front. It was the altar, covered with finely decorated cloth. And hanging just above it was a wooden cross, which was painted gold and even bigger than a person. Along the sides were statues that the priests said were of saints, men who had done wonderful work for God.
Eunice had been in the church many times before, but on this day it seemed more impressive than ever. She trembled a little as Konwatieni took her hand and led her toward the altar, where the priests were waiting. They told her to kneel down and close her eyes while they prayed that God would receive her. They sang a hymn and said more prayers, but since everything was in the Latin language, Eunice couldn’t understand any of it. Two women, close friends of Konwatieni’s, stood nearby. They would become her godparents, and would be responsible for making sure she was always a good Catholic.
The ceremony finally ended when the priests sprinkled water on her forehead. (Eunice had seen the same thing happen when her baby sister, Jerusha, was baptized in the Puritan church, but by now, that was just a vague memory.) They gave her a name completely different from the one she had been given in the longhouse. It was Marguerite; she thought it sounded pretty. The priests said it had been the name of a French lady who had come to Canada many years before and built a hospital for the Indians. So for the second time she was renamed after someone else. From then on, she would use both names—A’ongote with the village people and Marguerite in the church. She had forgotten all about her original name, Eunice.
This was exactly what John Williams had feared the most—that his own daughter should be joined to the hated Catholics. He wouldn’t find out about it for another few months, but when he did, he was terribly upset. It was as bad, he thought, as her becoming an Indian—maybe even worse. Her life would be ruined, her soul would go to hell forever.
