The Last of the Victims
The Hurons exterminated—Garnier at his post—A true Shepherd—-His dying effort—A sublime burial-scene—Chabanel betrayed—His vow accepted.
It would seem that after this triumph, as the Indians regarded an orgy of cruelties, they would have been sated with blood and that they would have been content with having broken the spirit of the Hurons and decimated their numbers. Still, it was not yet enough to satisfy their lust for blood. Before that year was ended, on December 7th, the Iroquois went even as far as the Tobacco Nation where Garnier had founded his Mission of the Apostles in 1641. The village was taken by surprise. It is Ragueneau again who tells of the destruction wrought by this implacable enemy and of the death of the missionaries Garnier and Chabanel:
"In the mountains, the people of which we name the Tobacco Nation, we have had, for some years past, two missions; in each were two of our Fathers. The one nearest to the enemy was that which bore the name of Saint Jean; its principal village, called by the same name, contained about five or six hundred families. It was a field watered by the sweat of one of the most excellent missionaries who had dwelt in these regions, Father Charles Gamier,— who was also to water it with his blood, since there both he and his flock have met death, he himself leading them even unto paradise. The day approaching in which God would make a church triumphant of that which, up to that time, had always been in warfare, and which could bear the name of a church truly suffering, we received intelligence of it, toward the close of the month of November, from two Christian Hurons, escaped from a band of about three hundred Iroquois, who told us that the enemy was still irresolute as to what measures he would take,— whether against the Tobacco Nation, or against the island on which we were. Thereupon, we kept ourselves in a state of defense, and detained our Hurons, who had purposed taking the field to meet that enemy. At the same time, we caused the tidings to be speedily conveyed to the people of the Tobacco Nation, who received it with joy, regarding that hostile band as already conquered, and as occasion for their triumph. They resolutely awaited them for some days; then, wearying because victory was so slowly coming to them, they desired to go to meet it,— at least, the inhabitants of the village of Saint Jean, men of enterprise and valor. They hastened their attack, fearing lest the Iroquois should escape them, and desiring to surprise the latter while they were still on the road. They set out on the fifth day of the month of December, directing their route toward the place where the enemy was expected. But the latter, having taken a roundabout way, was not met; and, to crown our misfortunes, the enemy, as they approached the village, seized upon a man and woman who had just come out of it. They learned from these two captives the condition of the place, and ascertained that it was destitute of the better part of its people. Losing no time, they quickened their pace that they might lay waste everything, opportunity so greatly favoring them.
"It was on the seventh day of the month of last December, in the year 1649, toward three o'clock in the afternoon, that this band of Iroquois appeared at the gates of the village, spreading immediate dismay, and striking terror into all those poor people,—bereft of their strength, and finding themselves vanquished, when they thought to be themselves the conquerors. Some took to flight; others were slain on the spot. To many, the flames, which were already consuming some of their cabins, gave the first intelligence of the disaster. Many were taken prisoners; but the victorious enemy, fearing the return of the warriors who had gone to meet them, hastened their retreat so precipitately, that they put to death all the old men and children, and all whom they deemed unable to keep up with them in their flight. It was a scene of incredible cruelty. The enemy snatched from a mother her infants, that they might be thrown into the fire; other children beheld their mothers beaten to death at their feet, or groaning in the flames,— permission, in either case, being denied them to show the least compassion. It was a crime to shed a tear, these barbarians demanding that their prisoners should go into captivity as if they were marching to their triumph. A poor Christian mother, who wept for the death of her infant, was killed on the spot, because she still loved, and could not stifle soon enough her natural feelings.
"Father Charles Garnier was, at that time, the only one of our fathers in that mission. When the enemy appeared, he was just then occupied with instructing the people in the cabins which he was visiting. At the noise of the alarm, he went out, going straight to the church, where he found some Christians. 'We are dead men, my brothers', he said to them. 'Pray to God, and flee by whatever way you may be able to escape. Bear about with you your Faith through what of life remains; and may death find you with God in mind'. He gave them his blessing, then left hurriedly, to go to the help of souls. A prey to despair, not one dreamed of defence. Several found a favorable exit for their flight; they implored the Father to flee with them, but the bonds of charity restrained him. All unmindful of himself, he thought only of the salvation of his neighbor. Borne on by his zeal, he hastened everywhere,—either to give absolution to the Christians whom he met, or to seek, in the burning cabins, the children, the sick, or the catechumens, over whom, in the midst of the flames, he poured the waters of holy baptism, his own heart burning with no other fire than the love of God. It was while thus engaged in holy work that he was encountered by the death which he had looked in the face without fearing it, or receding from it a single step. A bullet from a musket struck him, penetrating a little below the breast; another, from the same volley, tore open his stomach, lodging in the thigh, and bringing him to the ground. His courage, however, was unabated. The barbarian who had fired the shot stripped off his cassock, and left him, weltering in his blood, to pursue the other fugitives.
"This good Father, a very short time after, was seen to clasp his hands, offering some prayer; then, looking about him, he perceived, at a distance of ten or twelve paces, a poor dying man,—who, like himself, had received the stroke of death, but had still some remains of life. Love of God, and zeal for souls, were even stronger than death. Murmuring a few words of prayer, he struggled to his knees, and, rising with difficulty, dragged himself as best he might toward the sufferer, in order to assist him in dying well. He had made but three or four steps, when he fell again, somewhat heavily. Raising himself for the second time, he got, once more, upon his knees and strove to continue on his way; but his body, drained of its blood, which was flowing in abundance from his wounds, had not the strength of his courage. For the third time he fell, having proceeded but five or six steps. Further than this, we have not been able to ascertain what he accomplished,—the good Christian woman who faithfully related all this to us having seen no more of him, being herself overtaken by an Iroquois, who struck her on the head with a war-hatchet, felling her upon the spot, though she afterwards escaped. The Father, shortly after, received from a hatchet two blows upon the temples, one on either side, which penetrated to the brain. To him it was the recompense for all past services, the richest he had hoped for from God's goodness.
His body was stripped, and left, entirely naked, where it lay.
"Two of our Fathers, who were in the nearest neighboring mission, received a remnant of these poor fugitive Christians, who arrived all out of breath, many of them all covered with their own blood. The night was one of continual alarm, owing to the fear, which had seized all, of a similar misfortune. Toward the break of day, it was ascertained from certain spies that the enemy had retired. The two Fathers at once set out, that they might themselves look upon a spectacle most sad indeed, but nevertheless acceptable to God. They found only dead bodies heaped together, and the remains of poor Christians,—some who were almost consumed in the pitiable remains of the still burning village; others deluged with their own blood; and a few who yet showed some signs of life, but were all covered with wounds,—looking only for death, and blessing God in their wretchedness. At length, in the midst of that desolated village they descried the body they had come to seek; but so little cognizable was it, being completely covered with its blood, and the ashes of the fire, that they passed it by. Some Christian savages, however, recognized their Father, who had died for love of them. They buried him in the same spot on which their church had stood, although there remained no longer any vestige of it, the fire having consumed all. The poverty of that burial was sublime, and its sanctity no less so. The two good Fathers divested themselves of part of their apparel, to cover therewith the dead; they could do no more, unless it were to return entirely unclothed. It was truly a rich treasure to deposit in so desolate a spot, the body of so noble a servant of God; but that great God will surely find a way to reunite us all in Heaven, since it is for His sake alone that we are thus scattered, both during life and after death".(95) Here is the sixth victim whom God has taken to himself from those of our Society whom He had called to this Mission of the Hurons,—there having been, as yet, not one of us who has died there without shedding his blood, and consummating the sacrifice in its entirety.
"Father Noel Chabanel was the missionary companion of Father Charles Gamier; and when the village of Saint Jean was taken by the Iroquois, there were but two days in which they were separated, in accordance with the orders which they had received,—our Fathers and I having thought it wiser not to keep two missionaries exposed to danger; considering, besides, that the famine in that quarter was so severe that sufficient food for both could not be obtained. But it was not God's will that, having lived and been yoked together in the same mission, they should be separated in death. This good Father, then, returning whither obedience recalled him, had passed through the mission of Saint Mathias, where were two other of our Fathers, and had left them on the morning of the seventh day of December. Having travelled six long leagues over a most difficult road, he found himself overtaken by night in the thick of the forest, being in the company of seven or eight Christian Hurons. His men were resting, and asleep; he only was watching, and in prayer.
Toward midnight, he heard a noise, accompanied with cries,—partly of a victorious hostile force who occupied that road; partly, also of captives , taken that very day in the village of Saint Jean, who were singing, as was their custom, their war-song. On hearing the noise, the Father awoke his men, who fled at once into the forest, and eventually saved themselves,—scattering, some here, some there; and taking their route toward the very place from which the enemy had come out, though a little at one side of it. These Christians, escaped from the peril, arrived at the Tobacco Nation, and reported that the Father had gone some little way with them, intending to follow them; but that, becoming exhausted, he had fallen on his knees, saying to them, 'It matters not that I die; this life is a very small consideration; of the blessedness of Paradise, the Iroquois can never rob me'. At daybreak, the Father, having altered his route, desirous of coming to the island where we were, found himself checked at the bank of a river, which crossed his path. A Huron reported the circumstance, adding that he had passed him, in his canoe, on this side of the stream; and that, to render his flight more easy, the Father had disburdened himself of his hat, and of a bag that contained his writings; also of a blanket, which our missionaries use as robe and cloak, as mattress and cushion, for a bed, and for every other convenience,—even for a dwelling-place, when in the open country, and when they have, for the time, no other shelter. Since then, we have been unable to learn any other news of the Father."
In the narrative Ragueneau states that the manner of his death was uncertain, but in a note appended to the Memoir of 1652 he states that it was learned from most trustworthy witnesses; a Huron apostate Louis Honareenhax had admitted he had killed Chabanel through hatred of the Faith.(96)
"Father Noel Chabanel had come to us from the Province of Toulouse, in the year 1643, having been received into our Society as early as the year 1630, when he was only seventeen years of age. God had given him a strong vocation for these countries; but, once here, he had much to contend with; for, even after three, four, and five years of effort to learn the language of the savages, he found his progress so slight, that hardly could he make himself understood even in the most ordinary matters. This was no little mortification to a man who burned with desire for the conversion of the savages, who in other ways was deficient neither in memory nor mind, and who had made this manifest enough by having for some years successfully taught rhetoric in France. In consequence of this, the temper of his mind was so opposed to the ways and manners of the savages, that he saw in them scarce anything that pleased him; the sight of them, their talk, and all that concerned them, he found irksome. He could not accustom himself to the food of the country; and residence in the missions did such violence to his entire nature that he encountered therein extraordinary hardships, without any consolation,—at least, of the character that we call sensible. There, one must always sleep on the bare ground, and live from morning to night in a little hell of smoke; in a place where often, of a morning, one finds himself covered with the snows that drift on all sides into the cabin of the savages; where vermin abound; where the senses, each and all, are tormented both night and day. One never has anything but water to quench his thirst; while the best food usually eaten there is only a paste made with meal of Indian corn boiled in water. One must work there incessantly, though always so poorly nourished; never have one moment in the day in which to retire to any spot that is not public; have no other room, no other apartment, no other closet, in which to prosecute his studies. One has not even any other light than that of a smoky fire,—surrounded, at the same time, by ten or fifteen persons, and children of all ages, who scream, weep, and wrangle; who are busied about their cooking, their meals, their work, about everything, in a word, that is done in a house. When God, besides all this, withdraws His sensible graces, and hides Himself from a person who longs only for him,—when He leaves him a prey to sorrow, to disgusts, and repugnances of nature,—these are trials that are not within the compass of ordinary virtue; and the love of God must be strong in a heart, if it is not to be stifled by them. Join to these the continual sight of dangers, in which one finds himself at every moment, of attack by a savage enemy who often will subject you to the sufferings of a thousand deaths, ere death itself ensues; who uses only fire, and flames, and unheard-of cruelties. Doubtless a courage is needed worthy of the children of God, if one is not to lose heart in the midst of such abandonment.
"It has been in this abandonment that God has willed to put to the test, for five or six years, the fidelity of this good Father; but assuredly the Devil never having got the better of him upon that account, although he represented to him every day that, by returning to France, he would find there the joy, repose, and comfort which during all his past life he had received; that there he would not lack employment better suited to his disposition, employment in which so many saintly souls nobly practise the virtue of charity in a zeal for souls, and expend their lives for the salvation of their fellow-men. Never, for all that, would he break away from the Cross on which God had placed him; never did he ask that he might come down from it. On the contrary, in order to bind himself to it more inviolably, he obliged himself, by a vow, to remain there till death, so that he might die upon the Cross. These are the terms of the vow, as he conceived it, and its very words:
" 'Jesus Christ, my Savior, why by a wonderful dispensation of your paternal providence hare willed that I, though altogether unworthy, should be a coadjutor of the holy Apostles in this vineyard of the Hurons; impelled by the desire of ministering to the purpose which Your holy Spirit hath respecting me, that I should help forward the conversion to the faith of the barbarians of this Huron country: I, Noel Chabanel,—being in the presence of the most holy Sacrament of Your Body and Your Precious Blood, which is the tabernacle of God among men,—make a vow of perpetual stability in this Mission of the Hurons; understanding all things as the superiors of the Society expound them, and as they choose to dispose of me. I conjure You, therefore, O my Savior, to be pleased to receive me as a perpetual servant of this Mission, and to make me worthy of so lofty a ministry. Amen.' "(97)