by John Demos
After pausing to catch their breath, the hunters formed a circle around the moose’s body, pushed the dogs aside, and knelt in the snow. One of the leaders began a chant, and after a minute the others joined in. Gannenstenhawi strained to hear as the words floated up from the valley below. “Oh, fine moose, we kneel before you now in order to give thanks,” the hunters sang. “We honor your strength and courage. You and your brothers rule the forest, and are beloved of the spirits. You give the flesh of your bodies to humans when winter comes and our corn is gone, and there is nothing left to eat. May your soul enjoy forever the glory of your sacrifice.” As they stood up with their heads still bowed, Gannenstenhawi thought she saw tears on the faces of two or three.
At last it was time to prepare the moose’s body for the trip back to the village. The same leader motioned to the women on the ledge to come down. They formed a line; because she was the youngest, Gannenstenhawi walked at the rear. They, too, must honor the dead animal, so each one bowed low as she approached.
The women brought large knives to distribute among the group. And so the carving began with all taking part, the women alongside the men. They carefully removed the hide and set it to one side; someday it could be made into a robe. They built several large racks from tree branches, cut the moose flesh into strips, and laid those out to dry. It took two full days. Then, when all was ready, they wrapped the dried meat in cloth they had brought from the village, and put it in their packs. By now it was late in the afternoon, and the work had exhausted them. The men lay down and napped, but the women still had to make the evening meal. Gannenstenhawi trudged off to gather wood for a fire while the others prepared a portion of meat for roasting. When it was ready they ate in silence, and afterward everyone went right to sleep.
In the middle of the night Gannenstenhawi had a vivid dream. She was lost in a thick forest, running this way and that. As time passed, she became tired and scared; how would she find her way out? She sat down and began to weep. Suddenly a young moose appeared and stopped in front of her. She shrank away in fear, but the moose just looked at her. After a minute he turned and began to move forward; somehow, she knew she must follow. They walked for miles, with the moose in the lead. Eventually they came to an open field; on the other side were the longhouses of a beautiful village. She was safe! The moose had guided her! How could she thank him? No longer afraid, she ran to stroke the hair on his long neck. But as she approached, he turned into a man. Again she shrank away, but the man gave her a warm smile. And then he vanished into the air.
The next morning when the sun rose and everyone woke up, she told the dream to an older woman who was lying next to her. Called Tewennatetha, she was “wise,” people said, because she could talk to the orenda and learn their wishes. Tewennatetha listened intently to the dream and then moved her face close to Gannenstenhawi’s. “Your dream is very important,” she said solemnly. “Soon you will meet someone who will lead you toward the future.” Gannenstenhawi could not imagine what she meant, but kept the thought in her mind as they all got ready to break camp.
The trip back to the village was difficult. Snow was falling again, and the air felt colder than ever. The packs they carried, now loaded with moose meat, were much heavier than before. One of the men had fallen ill and could scarcely walk; his companions made a litter from fallen tree branches for carrying him. The going was so slow that Gannenstenhawi thought it might take weeks to get home. But on the second day the sky cleared and the weather got much warmer. It felt like spring! Their spirits rose and their pace quickened.
By now they were on a well-known trail connecting Indian villages in Canada with regions to the south and west. As they trudged along, they came upon the snowshoe prints of other travelers up ahead. The leaders ordered a stop to consider what this meant. There were different possibilities, different dangers. Perhaps they would meet Indian enemies of Kahnawàke; there might even be an ambush. Or French and English soldiers using the same trail might stop them from going on. Either way, they had to be prepared. The leaders decided they should travel in a special formation. Several of the younger men would sneak out in front to scout for signs of suspicious activity. The rest would be divided into two groups, with one half going to the left of the trail, the other to the right. Everyone would walk in a crouched position, careful to make as little sound as possible. Gannenstenhawi felt frightened; she remembered what had happened a few months before, on the journey home from Albany. She stayed near wise old Tewennatetha, who tried to reassure her.
Suddenly the scouts ran back. Up ahead, they had seen several Indians gathered around a campfire. This didn’t sound dangerous, so everyone relaxed. When they got close, they saw not enemies, but friends from the homeland. Gannenstenhawi recognized one right away: Arosen, the young warrior who had come to the village and stayed in her family’s house the summer before. He recognized her, too, and gave her a warm smile.
Now there were greetings all around. Arosen introduced his father and mother and told the hunters that they wished to go to Kahnawàke to live. They had become Catholics and been baptized by priests who’d visited the homeland. They knew that Kahnawàke had a real church, with a mass every week. Arosen, too, hoped to be baptized someday. But most of their neighbors in the homeland hated Catholics and saw them as traitors to Shonkwaiiatihson and the orenda. It would be better for them to go where they were welcome and could practice the religion they preferred.
Then the group went on, all traveling together. The rest of the journey back took another week, but with spring coming, at least the daytime was mild. Some of the streams they came to were flowing very fast because of all the melting snow, and getting to the other side was hard. Once, while trying to cross on a fallen tree trunk, Gannenstenhawi lost her balance and fell into the water. She still didn’t know how to swim, and it looked as if she might be swept away. Luckily, Arosen was just behind her. He jumped in, paddled out to where she was floundering about, and pulled her to safety. They were both soaked, of course, and had to take time to dry off in the sun. Gannenstenhawi struggled with the fear she had felt—it had been such a narrow escape. Tewennatetha came over and urged her to be brave about it, because that was the Mohawk way.
What was left when her fear had passed was deep gratitude toward Arosen—gratitude and something more. She said nothing to anyone, but her feelings for him were very strong.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A MARRIAGE
In the village, people were waiting for the hunters to return. They had been gone for a long time; why weren’t they back yet? Of course, you could never predict exactly where the big animals would be found. Besides, the snow was unusually deep this year, so perhaps that slowed their travel. But Konwatieni couldn’t help worrying about Gannenstenhawi. She was still quite young; just seven winters had passed since she had come to Kahnawàke. And taking part in the annual hunt was new to her.
Then one afternoon, as warm sunshine melted the few remaining snowdrifts, the hunters’ group appeared in the distance, walking slowly under their heavy burdens but waving with joy at the villagers who ran out to meet them. They passed through the gate and dropped their packs beside the village well. Others would take out the slabs of dried meat, and prepare them for storage in underground pits for safekeeping. It would be needed in the coming months, until there were new crops to harvest from the fields. Spring was always the leanest time of the whole year when it came to food. Everyone understood that and tried to eat just enough to get by.
Gannenstenhawi was very glad to be home. For the first day or two she stayed around the longhouse, just chatting with Konwatieni and Onwari about her adventures on the hunt. She described the happy surprise of meeting Arosen and his parents on the path coming home. But when she told them about falling in the river and how Arosen had saved her, it made her feel scared all over again. She recounted her dream about following a moose through the forest, and what wise old Tewennatetha had said about it. Konwatieni listened carefully and n
odded. She guessed the dream’s meaning, but decided not to say anything just yet.
The next Sunday Konwatieni went to the church for mass, and took Gannenstenhawi along. The priests said many prayers and gave thanks to God for the success of the hunt. They even mentioned Gannenstenhawi’s rescue from the river. Arosen had saved her, they said, but without God’s help he couldn’t have done it. God watches over everything; nothing happens without His permission. Once more, Gannenstenhawi relived the scary moment. She bowed her head and, in a whisper no one else could hear, gave her own prayer of thanks.
Sitting just a few seats away were Arosen and his father and mother. That day, after mass had ended, the priests were going to baptize Arosen. Gannenstenhawi stayed to watch, remembering her own baptism several years before. It was different this time, though. She had been a child, Arosen was a grown man. First, the priests asked him several questions: Did he truly believe in God? Did he know the Catholic prayers? Had he completely given up the longhouse religion? Arosen answered in a strong voice that yes, he loved God and only God, and yes, he had learned the prayers; besides, his parents were already Catholic. The priests seemed satisfied and went ahead with the ceremony. They sprinkled holy water on Arosen’s head, recited some special prayers, and said he was a Catholic from then on.
Arosen and his parents moved into a house that was left empty when another family went back to the homeland. It was just a few doors away from Konwatieni’s. As the days passed, he and Gannenstenhawi would run into each other while going to and from the fields, the church, the well. Sometimes they would stop to chat or laugh together. There was one afternoon when they found themselves in the same patch of forest across the river. Gannenstenhawi was grubbing for roots to add to Konwatieni’s cook-pot, while Arosen was chopping down trees for firewood. They talked for hours and didn’t do much work. When Gannenstenhawi got back, Konwatieni teased her about her feelings for Arosen. She blushed and looked down, but said nothing. Arosen thought he had never met such a pleasing young woman. Soon everyone in both families understood that they loved each other and wished to marry.
But first, there were certain Mohawk customs they had to follow. On a fine spring morning, Arosen and his mother and father put on their best clothing—buckskin tunics and feathered headdresses—and walked together to Konwatieni’s house. Their visit had been planned ahead of time, so Gannenstenhawi and many of her relatives were waiting at the door when they arrived. After a brief greeting, everyone went inside. Konwatieni and Atonnion sat on a high bench at one end of the cabin, with Gannenstenhawi standing behind them. Arosen and his parents were directly opposite.
After a minute of silence, Konwatieni spoke in a solemn voice. “For what reason,” she asked, “have you honored us with your presence today?”
It was Arosen’s mother who replied (for in such matters, women always took charge). “We have come to propose that our brave son, Arosen, and your gracious daughter, Gannenstenhawi, be joined in the relation of marriage.”
Konwatieni smiled slightly and sat up very straight. “We thank you,” she said. “We will consult together and consider carefully what you suggest.”
After two days of discussion among many of the relatives, Konwatieni led a return visit to Arosen’s family longhouse and gave their response. “With gladness and respect,” she announced, “we agree to your proposal. From this day forward, let our daughter and your son be as two eagles flying side by side across the endless sky.”
Then, with the young couple standing shyly in the center, each family offered gifts to the other—strings of wampum, woven baskets, blankets, beaded jewelry. When that was over, Gannenstenhawi brought out a large pot of corn soup she had prepared especially for the occasion. Arosen took the first spoonful; then everyone else followed. And that was the final part of a Mohawk wedding.
But there was more to consider. Since Gannenstenhawi and Arosen were baptized Catholics, they also had to have a church wedding. So when another week had passed, they went to the large brick house next to the church, where the priests lived. They knocked on the front door and were shown in by a priest called Father Cholonec. The room they entered was unlike any they had seen before; it was called the great hall. The ceiling was very high, there were windows made of colored glass, and tall wooden armchairs stood against every wall. Gannenstenhawi felt uncomfortable right away and wondered if they should have come. Arosen, too, was doubtful.
But the priest seemed friendly and tried to put them at ease. “My dear children,” he began, “you know you are always welcome here. Have you come perhaps to pray with us for your souls?”
Gannenstenhawi stared at the floor, leaving Arosen to respond, “No, Father, we say our prayers every night in our houses; we have another purpose today.”
“Well and good,” replied the priest with a gentle smile. “Please tell me what it is. I will be glad to help in any way I can.”
“Thank you, Father,” said Arosen. “I and this woman, whom I love with all my heart, wish to be married in the Catholic way; that is why we are here.”
Gannenstenhawi looked up and saw a little shadow cross the priest’s face; he seemed displeased. After a minute of thought, he gave his reply: “It would be difficult. Let me talk with my brothers.” (He meant the other priests.) “You may come again tomorrow to hear our decision.”
But when they arrived the next day and waited at the door, no one answered. And the next day, and the day after that, the same thing happened. Obviously, the priests wanted nothing to do with marrying them.
Gannenstenhawi could not imagine why. But the priests knew what she had put out of her mind so long ago: her birth and early years as an English child; her capture; her father, a famous Puritan minister who wished very much to get her back; the way many people in Massachusetts were upset by her having stayed with the Mohawks. When the priests considered her whole story, they thought that if she married an Indian, her father—and all the English—would get even more upset.
Finally, a message came from the church: Father Cholonec would see them after all. When they arrived, he was waiting in the same great hall. He sat stiffly in the tallest of the armchairs and motioned them to a bench below. He went right to the point. “My children,” he said, “we have considered your request to be married in the church. It is impossible; we cannot grant it.” He gave no reason, but instead looked away and began a prayer. At this Arosen stood up to speak. His voice was firm. “Father,” he said, “we do not wish to do wrong. But we will never leave each other, no matter what you tell us. Our love unites us; we need nothing more from the church.” Gannenstenhawi nodded her agreement, and the two of them prepared to leave.
The priest turned back in their direction. “In that case,” he said, in a sharp tone, “you would live in sin, and God would condemn you, and your souls would be damned forever. Wait here while I speak again with my brothers.” He left them standing near the door and went to another part of the residence. He returned a few minutes later. This time he brought a different message. “You give us no choice,” he began. “We cannot let you defy the Lord by staying together without his blessing. Come again on Saturday at noontime and you shall have your wish.”
And so they did. Konwatieni came with them. The big church seemed empty; no one else was there. The priests shortened the ceremony because they wanted it to be over as quickly and quietly as possible. There were a few prayers, but nothing more. Then Father Cholonec touched them both on the forehead and said the words that mattered most: “I pronounce you man and wife.” They had the Lord’s blessing after all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A FINAL ANSWER
If the priests had hoped to keep the marriage secret, they soon were disappointed. The news went quickly around the village and no one tried to stop it. As the summer moved along, travelers carried it south to the homeland, and from there it passed to the English in Massachusetts. In Deerfield, John Williams heard it from a neighbor who had been to Albany and met with several K
ahnawàke fur traders there. It left him sunk in despair.
As long as Eunice (to him, that remained her name) was still young, he held out hope for her return. Eventually, he believed, she would come to her senses and know where she truly belonged. At that point, the Indians would realize how wrong it was to keep her any longer against her (and his) will. Other captives were coming home, by one means or another. Three boys, Martin Kellogg, Thomas Baker, and Joseph Petty, had fled the village late one night and found their way back to Deerfield. The Indians had released several more in exchange for payment. Surely Eunice’s turn would come.
But other factors weighed heavily against it. First was her having forgotten the English language. Second, her conversion to Catholicism. And now, worst of all, her marriage to a Kahnawàke man. Pledging herself and her life to an Indian! A savage! How could she? Reverend Williams found it shocking, impossible to understand. And he knew it would make the task of bringing her home even harder.
Still, he would never give up trying. He sent letters to Joseph Dudley, the Massachusetts governor, who promised to help. He wrote to the governor of Canada, Pierre de Rigaud de Vaudreuil, who seemed sympathetic but would not tell the Mohawks what to do. He urged merchants with business in Montreal to inquire about Eunice. He thought of going there himself, but the journey was long and difficult, and his duties as Deerfield’s minister kept him very busy. Besides, he had a new family now, including three small children with his second wife. At last, in the summer of 1713, he saw a good chance to reach out to her. A merchant from Albany, John Schuyler, came to Deerfield for a visit. Schuyler was well-known among the Mohawks as a trading partner and friend. He had been to Kahnawàke before and would be going again soon. He promised John Williams that he would find Eunice and talk with her directly. He would do his very best to persuade her to come back to Massachusetts.
