The North American Martyrs (†1642-9; Feast – September 26)
Part III – Era of Martyrdom Continues
The Martyrdom of Father Antoine Daniel
In June 1648, Father Antoine Daniel came up to Sainte Marie from St. Joseph's
in order to spend some time in retreat, observing the spiritual exercises of St. Ignatius.
He and Father Jean de Brébeuf were the oldest missionaries in the field and also the most revered by the Indians.
Echon and Antwen, as Father Daniel was called by his Huron children, had been the closest of friends
and both of them cherished their infrequent reunions as foretastes of those celestial greetings to come.
Having refreshed himself spiritually, Father Daniel was anxious to return to his mission, and so on July 2nd
he took leave of his fellow-laborers at Sainte Marie and struck out on the lonely trail back to St. Joseph's or
Teanaustaye.
Two days later, at night, a panting wide-eyed runner entered Sainte Marie with dreadful news.
Teanaustaye was in flames! Antwen had been murdered! Father Brébeuf slipped silently into the chapel to pour
out his heart to God. He had had a premonition as he bade adieu to his friend two days before that he would
never see him again in this life. Father Daniel had been taken by God. Echon prayed now that he too might
be found worthy to suffer a similar death. In the next few days, after questioning the survivors, Father Brébeuf
was able to piece together the frightful story:
Only fifteen hundred people were in the village when Father Daniel returned. Most of these were
women and children. The majority of the men either had gone to trade at Trois-Rivières or were out hunting the
Iroquois in war parties.
At the same time a force of six hundred Senecas had silently approached to the
outskirts of the village, where under cover of darkness they lay concealed awaiting the rising of the sun.
Father Daniel had just finished celebrating Mass and, clad in white alb and red stole,
he was expounding to the faithful the joys of Paradise awaiting those who die in the state of grace,
when a shout interrupted his discourse, The Iroquois!
Suddenly, blood-curdling cries sounded
on the periphery of the village. Terror-stricken squaws shrieked in horror as they ran frantically past
Antwen, who had raced out of the chapel. The Huron braves, disastrously outnumbered, grabbed their
tomahawks and bows and hurled themselves into the battle.
Father Daniel dashed into the melee, shouting the words of Absolution to all the Faithful.
Then he encouraged everyone who could to escape while there was still time. Flee, my children,
and bear with you your Faith even to your last breath.
They in turn pleaded with their Father
to go with them, and hurry! No,
he called back, I shall die here to save you;
we shall see one another again in Heaven!
Turning to a few who were too old to follow the others,
he said, My brothers, my sisters, today we shall be in Paradise. Believe this, and hope that God
will love you forever.
The enemy had just broken through the gates and their eerie shrieks grew louder.
Father Daniel could see the savages now, bands of them, painted crimson-red and waving their bloody
tomahawks as they overtook and slaughtered everyone before them.
He must do something to distract them so that the fleeing Hurons would have time to escape to the forest.
The fearless priest took hold of a crucifix and held it high in the air. Then, without flinching,
he walked majestically toward them. The rampaging Iroquois halted, stupefied. Who was this white-clad
man threatening them with a Cross? Was it an apparition? Suddenly one of them shouted in recognition,
The Blackrobe!
With that, a musket-ball was dispatched piercing the heart of Father Daniel,
while several arrows were shot into his face and neck. His head was scalped and slivers of his flesh
eaten by the murderous cannibals in the hope they might inherit his courage. Then they set fire to
his chapel and threw the desecrated body of the courageous priest into the raging inferno.
With the swiftness of light, the priestly soul of Father Antoine Daniel took its flight into the vision of God.
The brutal conquerors whirled through the burning village splitting the heads of the old,
the lame, and the sick, and herded off nearly seven hundred prisoners to the south, mostly women and children.
In no time at all the entire mission of St. Joseph's at Tenaustaye was a heap of ashes.
Between four and five hundred people had been slain.
A New Apostle
In January 1649, a thirty-eight year old Jesuit arrived at Sainte Marie
(image of chapel, left) most eager to spend himself among the Indians. His name was Father Gabriel Lalemant
and he was a nephew of Father Jerome Lalemant, the former Superior of the Huron mission.
This not-too-young priest was exuberant with joy when he heard that he had been appointed to
be the assistant of Father Jean de Brébeuf, about whom he had heard so much.
Father Brébeuf, however, had his misgivings about his new associate. He was small and frail;
physically he wasn't cut out for the rigors of the frontier life. Yet... he had enthusiasm, a constant enthusiam...
like a giant ready to run the way! Perhaps, Father Brébeuf concluded, what flesh obviously could not supply,
his spirit would. So, unto their mission the two priests went, side by side—and what an amusing contrast they made—the
giant Echon and his little companion! The Hurons were quick to give the new Blackrobe a name. They called him Atironta.
The Mission Attacked
On Monday, March 15, Fathers Jean de Brébeuf and Gabriel Lalemant performed their usual priestly
duties at the mission of Saint Louis and retired there for the night, intending to visit Saint Ignace,
three miles to the south, the next morning after Mass.
When the night had run its course and the brightness of the sun was obliterating the last trace
of darkness, three breathless braves raced into the mission screaming the dreaded news: The Iroquois!
They are in the new village! We alone have escaped! The Hotinonsionni are at your door!
In a flash Stephen Annaotaha, the Christian chieftan, with stentorian commands, began organizing
the horrified warriors into their defenses, positioning them at the gates and palisades,
while the two startled priests tried to calm the frantic women and screaming children who were running
to and fro in desperate confusion.
Suddenly a spine-tingling, Wiiii!
pierced the ghastly silence—it was the Iroquois war whoop.
With it poured out hundreds of painted savages from the concealing forest, recklessly charging the palisades
and the main gate. The Hurons valiantly held their own but were greatly outnumbered. Soon they were forced
to surrender, and with them stood two odd-looking men with black beards and long black robes.
A sickening scene of carnage followed the victory as the conquerors ran through the mission
splitting the skulls of the wounded and of those too old or too sick to flee.
Martyrdom of Father Jean de Brébeuf
The prisoners were then beaten into file and roughly compelled to sustain a marching trot back
to Saint Ignace. Upon their arrival at what was to be their great citadel, the Iroquois welcoming committee
hurried out to greet them. The captives were only too familiar with what awaited them.
One by one they were made to run between two columns of savages who caressed
their guests by pounding
them with their knotty bludgeons. The wounded and aching victims were then led by wild maniacs into the cabin
of torture. Father Brébeuf had hoped that this very cabin would one day be a Huron church.
Right away, Echon and five Hurons were kicked to their feet and commanded to sing their death song.
And what a death song Echon sang as he poured forth sweet hymns to his Savior in the Huron tongue!
Then, like ferocious lions, the savages grabbed the hands of this white giant and chewed his fingers
to shreds while they led him to a post. Dropping to his knees Father Brébeuf kissed the wooden column
as if it were the Cross of Christ. Then his broken hands were tied to it.
Echon knew well their heathen code. If the torturers could force from their victims a cry for mercy,
they were the victors; but if the sufferer defied them to the end, they lost. Sustained by the grace of God,
the holy priest was not going to ask for mercy nor utter any cry of pain... indeed, he would show no fear of them at all.
Revolving about in a satanic frenzy the braves began their sadistic orgy by placing burning sticks
beneath Echon's feet so as to make him dance.
Flaming torches were then applied to his legs;
one brave thrust a firebrand around his neck and under his armpits. But throughout all this, Father Brébeuf
remained as insensible as a tree. He was totally absorbed in God.
Furious that they could not wring from him a plea for mercy, they commenced slashing off pieces of his flesh.
As he endured the awful pain, Echon would bellow at the top of his lungs, Jesus, have mercy!
and the
Hurons would answer the same. To keep him quiet they shoved flaming torches into his mouth. Then a collarbrand
of green twine holding six red-hot hatchets was dropped over his head. As Echon struggled to fling the sizzling
device from him, gleeful laughs rolled around the walls of the hellish dungeon until the twine burned through,
dropping the glowing irons at his blistered feet. A belt of burning bark was then fastened around the priest's waist,
making of him a human torch and enveloping him in smoke rising from his own roasting skin. The Iroquois gazed in awe,
spellbound that one could endure so much without showing a sign of pain.
While the weary executioners rested from this inhuman work, Echon, in imitation of his Divine Master,
prayed for his persecutors, that they who were inflicting on him so many wounds might by these same wounds be themselves
converted and healed.
Hearing the Blackrobe speak of holy Baptism and the joys of Paradise, a former Christian Huron,
who had betrayed both his people and his Faith, mockingly addressed himself to the Saint: Echon...
you say that Baptism and the sufferings of this life lead straight to Paradise; you will go soon,
for I am going to baptize you, and to make you suffer well, in order to go the sooner to Paradise.
Having said this the hateful apostate took a kettle of boiling water and poured it over Echon's head,
saying with bitter sarcasm, Go to Heaven, for you are well baptized.
To which infliction the pitiful
victim responded, Jesus, have mercy!
Such defiance was more than the proud Iroquois could take. A warrior rose up and taking his knife
chopped off Father Brébeuf's nose; another carved off both his lips, and grabbing his tongue in his bloody hands,
hacked off a large piece of it; after this, a third shoved a fiery brand up against his face, searing his mangled mouth.
As he turned his bleeding head to Heaven, his chest heaved a roaring, clear, but painfully guttural,
Jesus, have mercy!
These were the last words of Father Jean de Brébeuf.
His emaciated body lay silent now but his heart still beat. Though unconscious,
his eyes were wide open and set fixedly upon his tormentors, still defying them, so they thought.
Fearing this, an amazed brave closed them forever by prying them out with a flaming torch.
It was about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, on the 16th of March when the pure soul
of Father Jean de Brébeuf left his mortal body to go to God. He was just nine days away from his 59th birthday.
Martyrdom of Father Gabriel Lalemant
Meanwhile Father Lalemant and the other prisoners lay herded together. Knowing the fate of his companion,
he prayed to him now for strength, as he was certain Father Brébeuf was already in Heaven.
The torturers now were looking at him. Yanked to his feet, the little priest was shoved violently to a post.
He knelt before it and kissed it; for him as for Echon, it was as precious as the Cross of Christ.
The spirit of Father Jean de Brébeuf had inflamed Atironta with courage and a heavenly peace radiated
visibly from his face.
First he had to endure the torture of the fire and the burning torches; then his arms and legs
were closed over red-hot axes. The pain was so excruciating that his whole body shivered, yet his jaws were
locked and no cry escaped his lips. Instead he repeated the same prayer as Echon with a gusty bellow:
Jesus, have mercy!
Such strength they in no wise expected, especially from one so frail.
He, too, had to undergo the unholy baptism which the apostate Huron performed again so fiendishly...
his charred and blistering body collapsing into unconsciousness after the scalding hot water had run its scorching course.
Regretfully they had to leave him to recover lest he should die at night while Areskui,
their sun god, to whom they wished to offer their victim, was hiding.
During the night, Father Lalemant came to and, feeling the pain of his wounds,
he lifted his voice in prayer seeking relief in God. To silence him once and for all a brave
tore out his tongue with a knife and thrust fiery faggots into his mouth. Still not satisfied,
they plucked out his eyes and stuffed burning coals into the empty sockets; others hacked off his hands,
searing the stumps with red-hot axes. The heartless wretches then retired for the rest of the night.
When the sun rose the heart of Atironta was still very faintly beating...
just a few more breaths and then, for an extraordinary little priest... eternal bliss!
After the blackened and mutilated corpses of the priests were recovered from the ashes of Saint Ignace,
they were carried back to Sainte Marie, cleansed, and clothed in sacerdotal vestments. They were laid out for
one entire night side-by-side before the Blessed Sacrament. The next day, Sunday, March 21, they were solemnly interred.
We buried these precious relics… with so much consolation and such tender feelings of devotion,
related Father Ragueneau, that I know none who did not desire, rather than fear, a similar death...
Afterwards, when alone, Father Ragueneau—now the Superior—thumbed through Father Brébeuf's spiritual diary.
He came upon these words: Two days in succession I have felt within me a great desire for martyrdom and
for enduring all the torments which the martyrs have suffered.
Hereupon, with tear-filled eyes,
the Superior recalled a conversation he had once had with him, during the course of which he asked
Father Brébeuf if he would be afraid of the fire should the Iroquois ever capture him. Oh, yes!
Father Brébeuf answered, I would fear it if I regarded only my own weakness. The sting of a fly is capable
of making me impatient. But I trust that God will help me. Aided by His grace, I do not fear the torments of
fire any more than I fear the prick of a pin.
Mary, Queen of Martyrs, North American Martyrs Shrine
Martyrdoms of Father Charles Garnier and Father Noel Chabanel
At this time there were four Jesuits laboring among the Petuns to the southwest.
Pre-eminent among them was Father Charles Garnier, who had devoted ten years to evangelizing
that stiff-necked nation to Christ. Stationed in the same field were Father Noel Chabanel,
who lived with Garnier in the southern village of Etarita, and Fathers Grelon and Garreau,
who were staying at a village twelve miles north. Unwilling to risk the lives of any more priests unnecessarily,
Father Ragueneau scribbled a hasty letter to Father Garnier commanding all four missionaries to return to
St. Joseph's as soon as possible, unless some urgent reason detained them.
Father Garnier must have asked himself as he read the letter, what could be more urgent than
the peril to which his young flock was now exposed? Yet there was no need of risking two lives.
Father Chabanel was ordered to go back with some Huron refugees and, reluctantly but nobly, he obeyed.
On Tuesday, December 7, just two days after Father Chabanel had departed, loud screams of terror
shook the air as Father Garnier was making his usual rounds of the cabins: The Iroquois! The Iroquois!
Dashing out into the open, the priest beheld scores of paint-streaked warriors storming through the gates.
Many more were already running like mad-men through the village, smashing the skulls of isolated braves and
massacring helpless women and children as they hewed their path of blood. Father Garnier ran to his chapel
exhorting all whom he saw to flee: Escape any way you can! Go quickly! Keep your Faith as long as you live!
As he was shouting this, he gave a general Absolution to the Christians who quailed in horror about him.
To their pleas that he escape with them he only waved a refusal; then he turned to face the pursuing invaders.
A musket fired once and the priest felt a sharp sting in his breast; then again,
and another biting pain in his stomach, upon which the man of God dropped to the ground unconscious.
Shortly afterward his senses returned and, as if infused with superhuman strength, he rose to his feet.
A man close by was writhing in his death agony. Garnier made a few pathetic steps towards him.
Then he fell to his knees but continued dragging himself along in his own blood. At that moment an Iroquois
brave pounced upon him, putting an end to this last surge of priestly zeal with two smashing blows from his tomahawk.
Meanwhile Father Chabanel was struggling through the woodlands, trying to keep pace with the
Christian Hurons in their flight to St. Joseph's Isle. At a certain point in the journey he bade the Indians
go on without him, unable as he was to keep up with them. His Christian children feared to leave him behind alone,
but he insisted that they go ahead. It makes no difference if I die,
he said. The Iroquois cannot rob me
of the blessedness of Paradise.
The good Father never did make it to the Island. A certain renegade Huron brave,
who was harboring in his heart a brewing hatred for the French and their religion, doubled back
from the company unnoticed and confronted the unsuspecting priest alone near a stream. No one witnessed
his foul crime, but the murderous apostate was heard later to boast that he had rid the world of the carrion
of a Frenchman, brained him at his own feet, and thrown his body into the river.
The day of his death was
December 8, the Feast of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
Sequel
The remnant of the annihilated Huron Confederacy dispersed in various directions seeking shelter.
Some were taken in by the Petun and Neutral tribes; others journeyed as far as the
western nation of the Eries, and about one thousand Hurons, mostly Christian, fled with the Jesuits
to the second Fort Sainte Marie on Saint Joseph Island. The new Sainte Marie, which had been completed in
November, 1649, proved to be no refuge at all. True, it offered adequate protection from Iroquois assaults,
but this dreaded enemy continued to massacre the Huron hunting and fishing parties which ventured forth from
the confines of the Island. The French tried to feed as many of the Hurons as they could with the few supplies
that they had, but it wasn't long before starvation and famine had set in. Hundreds of Hurons lost their lives
during that torturous winter. In the spring of 1650 Sainte Marie was abandoned. The Jesuits, with what was left
of their haggard flock, returned to Quebec where eventually the scattered remainder of the Huron people collected
into reservations.
Thus ended the drama of the Huron mission—a mission which had terminated in apparent failure.
It had been born, so to speak, with the arrival of Saint Jean de Brébeuf, and had died shortly after his martyrdom.
But to Brébeuf, who would have crossed the great ocean to win one little soul for Our Lord,
and to his fellow martyrs, the sacrifices, the torments, and death itself had not been offered to God in vain.
They had sown the seed of the Faith and had personally harvested an abundance of Indian souls for Heaven.
Having watered this seed with their own blood, their successors were to reap the first fruit of sanctity
in North America, ironically enough in the person of VENERABLE KATERI TEKAKWITHA, the Lily of the Mohawks.
The Eight North American Martyrs and their Birthdates into Eternity:
Saint René Goupil—September 29, 1642
Saint Isaac Jogues—October 18, 1646
Saint Jean de Lalande—October 19, 1646
Saint Antoine Daniel—July 4, 1648
Saint Jean de Brébeuf—March 16, 1649
Saint Gabriel Lalemant—March 17, 1649
Saint Charles Garnier—December 7, 1649
Saint Noel Chabanel—December 8, 1649
Prayer:
Protect our land, O heavenly Patrons, which you have bedewed with the rich treasure of your blood.
Watch over our Catholic Faith which you helped to establish in this new land. Make us zealous in spreading abroad
a knowledge of Catholic teachings, so that we may continue and perfect the work which you have begun with so much
labor and suffering. Pray for our homes, our schools, our missions; pray for vocations, for the conversion of sinners,
the return of those who have wandered from the fold, and the perseverance of all the faithful. Amen.
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