by John Demos
CHAPTER TEN
LEARNING THEIR BELIEFS
As she grew older, A’ongote learned more and more about Mohawk beliefs and customs. It was just part of being there, of belonging to Kahnawàke.
She learned about their history, as told by the old men of the village. Their parents and grandparents had come to Canada quite a few years before, from a homeland far to the south between two enormous lakes. And down there they had been part of a much larger group, the Five Nations of the Iroquois.
Many of the Mohawks who lived in Kahnawàke still had relatives in the homeland, and would go back sometimes for visits. Once when Konwatieni traveled there to see her own mother, she took A’ongote along. Many members of the Wolf Clan came to greet their new cousin. Some brought gifts, including long strings of shell beads called wampum. She could wear these as jewelry, or arrange them in a certain way to convey a message, or use them for trade. One string might be exchanged for a blanket; three strings would be enough for a musket. Konwatieni told A’ongote to save hers for the future, when she would need them more. So after they returned home, she kept them in a secret hiding place, a hole inside a tree in the forest.
One morning, Aientas, the village elder who had performed A’ongote’s naming ceremony some years before, came to see her in her family’s home. He wanted, he said, to tell her about the ancient beginnings of their people—before Canada, before the homeland, before there was anything like the present. He said it would take three days to tell the whole story. When she learned it, she would be cleansed of her English blood, and her soul would be truly Mohawk.
On the first day he took her deep into the forest. They sat together under a huge oak tree where, he said, the spirits would come to help him remember the story. Then he began to tell her about Sky Woman and the start of the Earth.
“Long, long ago, there was no land and no people, just water everywhere. High above was a sky world, where a spirit creature named Sky Woman lived with her husband. Sky Woman became pregnant, but her husband thought it was not his child, and felt jealous. He told her to uproot a tree and make a hole in the clouds. When she did that, he pushed her through the hole. She fell down, down, down, for what seemed like many days. Finally, just as she was about to touch the water, a flock of geese came to catch her on their wings. Then Turtle swam up and said she could climb on his broad back. But she needed earth in order to live properly. Beaver and Otter dove to the sea bottom to get mud for her, but died trying. Muskrat brought enough mud for her to make a home on Turtle’s back; then he, too, died. This was the start of the Earth. After some time Sky Woman’s baby was born—a daughter. And when the daughter was grown, she became pregnant with twin sons; one was good, the other evil. The good twin was born in the normal way, but the evil one insisted on coming out through his mother’s armpit, which killed her. From her body grew corn, beans, tobacco, and squash, and from her head came the moon. Sky Woman tried to make her grandsons, the twins, behave. But the evil twin wouldn’t listen and kept fighting his brother. Eventually the good twin won, and banished the evil one to a cave. The good twin created humans, the animals of the forest, and corn and other plants for food. The evil twin stayed in his cave, but could still send out wicked spirits to cause harm.”
That was the first day’s story. A’ongote was fascinated, but also scared. She wondered, What if the bad twin comes to the village? What will he look like? How will I recognize him?
The next day Aientas came again and took her to the same great tree. When they sat down, she heard a strange sound, a kind of rustling directly overhead. Perhaps it’s an orenda, she thought, but she was afraid to look. Then Aientas told her about the very first Mohawks.
“After the good twin left, humans divided themselves into nations. One nation lived on the edge of the Earth where the sun set, but the land was poor and many people were dying. Their leader was Gaihonariosk, a woman of great knowledge and skill. She said they must travel to the east to have a better life. She led them on a long journey across the whole of the Earth, climbing mountains, crossing deserts, fording rivers. They endured storms, floods, droughts, and attacks by evil spirits. And still they wandered, looking for the right place. After many hardships, they reached the shore of a great lake where the land seemed good. They stayed for a number of years, but the winters were bitterly cold and the growing season was too short for a proper harvest, so Gaihonariosk said they must move once more. She led them south till they reached a place that was green, well watered and not too cold, and had good soil for growing their crops. At last they could put down their burdens and start living in a settled way. Gaihonariosk was old by then, but before she died she divided the fields among all the people. They planted corn, and built villages, and it became their homeland.”
That was the second day’s story; A’ongote thought it was wonderful. She wished she had met Gaihonariosk. What a brave woman! she thought. If only I could be like Gaihonariosk when I grow up.
On the third day, when Aientas came, A’ongote was waiting. They walked together to the same tree and Aientas started in on the final story.
“Having settled in their own place, the Mohawks grew and prospered. But there was trouble with their neighbors. Several nations inhabited the same region, and fighting broke out among them. As the years passed, things grew worse and worse. Warfare came to seem normal, and many brave warriors were killed. The land itself seemed bloodied, and their corn withered and died because no one looked after it.
“Then a child named Skennenrahawi was born in a village far to the north. Even from his earliest years he seemed especially generous, wise, and strong. When he was grown he set out on a journey in a white canoe. He crossed a great lake and found hunters whose village had been destroyed. They described to him their constant warfare, killing, even cannibalism. Skennenrahawi told them that the Great Spirit had sent him to teach them the ways of peace. They listened, but did not at first agree.
“Skennenrahawi continued on his journey, and met a woman named Djigonsasa, the Mother of Nations, who fed warriors along the road. She accepted his message, the first to do so. He walked some more and came to a longhouse, where a cannibal was eating a meal of human flesh. He persuaded the cannibal to stop, and gave him the name Hiawatha. From then on the two walked together. Hiawatha’s family went with them. But as they traveled east, they came upon a powerful witch with snakes in his hair named Tadadaho. The witch rejected their message and used magic to kill Hiawatha’s seven daughters.
“Grieving his loss, Hiawatha wandered by himself and came to the Mohawks. He showed them the proper way to deliver messages and use wampum. Then he went further and again met Skennenrahawi, who comforted him and relieved his sorrow. Together they created a special ceremony of condolence, as well as a peace hymn. One after another, the nations accepted their message.
“Led by Skennenrahawi, the nations marched in procession to Tadadaho, singing the peace hymn. Tadadaho’s wicked heart was softened, and he combed the snakes out of his hair. Now all the nations were joined as one great family. And ever since they have remained at peace with each other. Even today their chiefs meet in council and agree together. And Skennenrahawi is remembered by everyone as the Great Peacemaker.”
Aientas rose and motioned for A’ongote to follow him back to the village. As they walked, she thought about Skennenrahawi—what a great man he was, and how lucky the nations were that he had lived among them.
After the three days of stories, A’ongote thought it was over. But the next week Aientas came back to her house and said she had even more to learn—about creatures, and souls, and the world of spirits. So they went again to sit under the great oak tree.
Almost immediately Aientas began speaking once more. He told A’ongote about the animals of the forest and how they are the brothers and sisters of humans. He described the world of spirits, where thoughts and actions are the same. He explained the duties of men and women, the skills needed to keep families safe, and important customs
of the whole community. Then he paused and looked up toward the top of the tree. After several minutes he resumed, turning now to the question of souls.
“Every person has a soul that is very important to the right way of living. The soul is the source of thoughts, of feelings, and especially of wishes and desires. It moves about constantly, and directs a person’s energy toward various goals. It is independent of the body; it can go on long journeys while the body remains still. It flies through the air, passes over seas, and can enter the most tightly enclosed places.
“Also, the soul can speak to the orenda, the spiritual force within all things, and reveal what a person should do. This happens mostly during sleep, in dreams. A dream is a command from the soul, and should always be obeyed. If, for example, a man dreams of meat roasting over a fire, he must, upon waking, be served a well-cooked meal. Or, if he dreams of falling sick, he will awake with a fever and may fear for his life. For these reasons it is necessary to pay the closest attention to dreams, and to act always in accord with them.
“After the death of the body, the soul departs for its own country beyond the heavens. The route is along the Star Path far above the clouds. It ends in a great and beautiful land, with a huge and colorfully decorated longhouse at the center. As the souls approach, sounds of lovely chanting and the scent of delicious foods come toward them. Other souls, already present, rush out to escort them the rest of the way. Once inside the longhouse, they see dancing and feasting, and are invited to join in. From that point forward, they feel no worry or anger or hungry desire; instead, there is only joy.”
Finally, Aientas fell silent. He had now given A’ongote all the knowledge she needed to be fully accepted as a Mohawk. After another minute or two, he rose from his place under the tree and vanished into the woods.
A’ongote knew the way home by now, and she walked back by herself. She thought about all she had heard. She wondered especially about her own soul. How, exactly, would she know it? Was it really part of her? Could it be traveling right now to some place she’d never seen? These questions kept going around and around in her mind. Would she ever have the answers?
PART THREE
MOHAWK GIRL
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TRAGEDY STRIKES
For the next few years, A’ongote’s life followed a quiet track. She had become like any other Kahnawàke girl, enjoying her family, helping out in the longhouse and the fields, playing with her friends.
She had no way to know how hard John Williams and many others among the English were trying to reach out and bring her back to Massachusetts. Letters were sent to the French governor, and merchants who went to Canada always asked about her. But the Mohawks were more determined than ever to keep her as one of their own, so they didn’t answer. And she had no wish to leave.
Her life from day to day was spent mostly with the women and girls. Weeks went by when the men of the village were gone—on the winter hunt, for example, or to make more raids against the English. At such times she missed Arakwente; after all, he had been her first caretaker among the Mohawks. Most of the time, of course, he was in the village. He never stayed overnight with Konwatieni and the rest of the family because it was the custom for Mohawk men to live at the homes of their mothers even after they married. But he came every day to visit, and to make sure everything was all right.
In fact, A’ongote could see that the women ran the village. The cabins belonged to them, and the fields too; they were in charge of almost all property. Children belonged to the mother’s family, not the father’s. The leaders of the village government—the chiefs—were men, but the women held meetings of their own to give their opinions. On some matters, such as when to go to war or what to do with captives, they were the ones to decide. Women even chose the chiefs. A’ongote now understood that it was Konwatieni, not Arakwente, who had adopted her into their family. If she remembered anything from her earliest years, she might have realized that women had a more important role among the Mohawks than they did among the Massachusetts Puritans.
Kahnawàke women were also important as traders at local markets. From time to time they would go into Montreal, a large French town just across the river, with furs, corn, or deer hides to exchange with French merchants for iron pots, woolen blankets, and glass beads. Konwatieni was one of the women who did this. And it was she who, without knowing it, brought tragedy upon the village. On a hot summer day, while walking through the Montreal market, she passed a sailor fresh off a boat from France. He stopped, turned, and begged her for a drink of water. She let him take a few gulps from a flask she was carrying and then hurried on. But the sailor was ill with smallpox, the most terrible disease in those days. So a bit later, when she drank from the same flask, she, too, became infected. She returned to the village as usual, suspecting nothing because the symptoms didn’t develop right away. But five days afterward she awoke feeling sick, and soon her face and body were covered with smallpox sores. By this time, she had unknowingly infected some of her family and neighbors. It didn’t take much to pass on the virus—just the touch of a hand, a cough, a sneeze.
The others knew what Konwatieni’s illness was right away, because Indian people had been struck by smallpox many times before. The virus had come with the first colonists from Europe, where countless people had died from it over the centuries. Those colonists had given it to the Indians, and then it spread in great waves called epidemics all across America. It seemed to affect Indians even worse than white people; they got sicker and died faster. Whole villages could be wiped out in just a few months. Kahnawàke had already suffered through two previous epidemics.
So when Konwatieni got the sores, everyone was frightened. Still, they had a plan. They took her out of her own house to another one that was kept especially for sick people; it was the Mohawk version of a hospital. There, they would try to look after her while having as little direct contact with her as possible.
Arakwente came every day, stood at the door, called softly to her, and left food cooked at his mother’s house. One of Konwatieni’s sisters who was skilled at nursing came too; she brought clean clothes and coverings for the sores. The children—Onwari, Atsiaha, and A’ongote—were told to stay away. The most they could do was go to the church and pray to Jesus, or call on the spirits to make her well.
Just a few days later the sores began to appear on Onwari, at first on her chest and neck, then everywhere. She was put in the hospital house alongside her mother. Both of them were very sick. One minute they were hot with fever, the next they were shivering with chills. The sores got worse; sometimes blood ran out of them. An old woman, a Mohawk healer, came to help. She knew about using herbs and other plants as a cure. A’ongote was very worried and sad. Onwari was her best friend, and Konwatieni was her mother. There were some days when A’ongote lay in the cabin and cried for hours.
The best hope for a cure was what the villagers called the sweathouse. This was a little hut covered with straw mats on the outside. There were no windows, just a tiny door you could barely crawl through. Inside, it was dark and very hot. In the center there was a pile of steaming rocks that had been heated in a fire. The idea was to make the sick person sweat a lot so the disease would come out through the pores of their skin. Konwatieni and Onwari went there several times every day. Once A’ongote peeked through the door and could see how uncomfortable they were. She felt very sorry for them, but everyone said it would help them fight the disease.
Finally, after two weeks, Onwari began to get better. Her fever dropped and the sores dried up, although they would leave her with a lot of ugly scars. It went more slowly with Konwatieni, but eventually she, too, recovered. Everyone in the household was relieved. Luckily, Atsiaha and A’ongote continued to be well.
By now, though, smallpox was running throughout the village. Dozens of people were infected, then hundreds; there seemed to be no way of stopping its spread. One of the priests came down with it and died after three days. They had to se
t aside two more longhouses as hospitals. As the number of deaths increased, there were funerals constantly.
Arakwente was in charge of organizing many of the funerals. He was so strong and smart that people thought he would not get infected. But finally he did. The sores appeared and covered his body, just as with all the other cases. He went to the hospital house, and from there to the sweathouse. A’ongote watched him from a distance, and felt very worried. Early one morning while A’ongote was still asleep, Konwatieni came in from outside, weeping and calling out, “My husband is gone! My husband is gone!” A’ongote ran to her for a tight hug, and their tears mixed together. Arakwente had died during the night.
Now Arakwente would have his own funeral. And because he had been an important man, it was a major event. To begin, a large group gathered at his mother’s cabin. Some cut their hair to show their grief.
Eventually they went to the burial place, where a pit had been dug for the body. They put in some wampum, some clothes, some food, and other things the soul would need on its journey. When the pit had been closed, they returned to their homes.
That night the entire village gathered for a feast in Arakwente’s honor. They roasted a deer over a huge open fire. They sang more dirges and some gave long speeches about the dead man’s strength and courage. One of the speakers talked about Arakwente’s part in the Deerfield raid, his bravery in the moment of attack, and his care of the prisoners on the return journey to Canada. A’ongote, sitting by the fire with the rest of the family, covered her eyes and wept.
This was only the start of the mourning, especially for Konwatieni. For ten days she remained in the house, in keeping with the Mohawk custom. On the tenth day she began to withdraw from mourning.
