The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 25 January 1912, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE SHADOW ON THE SOUL OF SWEET GRASS For months the plague, like a skeleton shrouded in gravecloths, had stalked over the plains. In every tepee its talons had lain a frozen grip. Upon the Crees of-the Saskatchewan, and each morning the bodies of its victims wrapped in blankets or buffalo robes were massed on the prairie for interment. It was the golden autumn now. The smallpox was past, but Father Lacombe was still with his Cree nomads as he had been all the summer, passing from camp to camp, nursing their sick "by day and night, burying their dead away from the dogs and, coyotes. ' He was in the camp of Sweet Grass, famous on the plains- as a councillor and warrior—head-chief of all the Crees of the Saskatchewan. The snows of "fifteen winters had melted since this chief’s hospitable lodge had first been thrown open to Father Lacombe, and since then there had existed between'.the two a deep friendship, accompanied, oddly-enough, by a quiet, persistent clash of will. -- ' ’.: . Now and again the spirit of this contest lifted its head, when the two met by camp-fire or trail, and the sturdy missionary approached the chief afresh with invitations to embrace the Christian faith. The answer of Sweet Grass was always - the same: .

' Leave me alone ; I will tell you when my time comes.' ■-. ■"...'•■ '-'■■:■■. ■'■/■.■:■"{--- 7 --l-; ■ " .;•/.■■':;■. v •■-/■;. ■;>- And with this the calm, unvoiced struggle would be resumed between the two. One spring that Father Lacombe had cured his ; favorite young warrior from blood-poisoning, Sweet Grass had voluntarily offered to become a Christian. Yet, as season gave way to season, and * Sweet. Grass still -held back, Father Lacombe ransacked his consciousness for the key-of J the mystery. . \(V--' -'3 ;^ : '? 'V.; '.;• No Christian warrior on the plains was at greater pains to assist him than Sweet 'Grass; nor had the great Little Chief any contempt for his .teachings. He merely refused to submit himself to the new order. Now, in this mellow autumn weather,, when the peace of God lay over, the lately afflicted camp, a group of ; the stronger Indians gathered : about" Father Lacombe's tent one evening for: prayer. And as they prayed, they were astonished to see Sweet Grass stalk into the circle, not pausing till he reached the priest. There he solemnly abjured his old 'beliefs. X He knelt then and asked Father Lacombe to make the Sign of the Cross on him, which Father Lacombe did, saying: ;■; ~- /; .^- :_. - ; . -;;'; -„ r . : ;;-.-_ ' In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, I receive you, brave Chief of the Crees.' ~ -_ . ' _ . .', " ■..,-,..;,;_./ It was a. dramatic scene, pregnant with significance for the onlookers. ; . ,They I knew that .the head-chief had 3 the heart of a woman for his friends^ but he was also a man of fire and iron in war, and shrewd as a serpent in council. ... He had yielded now to the white man's: God who among them could 'hope to hold out longer against -Him? .- _ For days Sweet Grass busied himself studying Christian teachings with Father Lacombe. Them another evening after prayer, as the old men sat about Father Lacombe's tent smoking ; and talking, Sweet Grass again startled his people. He inquired abruptly of Ka-miyo-atchak-we (the Man-of-the-Beau-tiful-Mind): - r , Will you soon baptise me V v ' The whole-camp; knows I am only making vou ready for that.' -V • ; v •;"-. V" 'But perhaps you ; would not do it if you knew what, a man I amand what evil I once did.' iV J Father Lacombe in reply slipped his crucifix from his belt, and holding ;it out to their gaze and his own said: 'He became Man and died on the Cross for your salvation. He came ; into the f world to save sinners ..TV -v He will pardon you all. '..-'-..*'

he knew—-of . the people who would not make him theirs. He could let his horses slacken speed here, but all through the night he rode, pushing on toward the camp he had left as a nameless youth. k Shortly: after dawn he saw the camp rise in the distance like a large-tented fringe on the greensward. He carried himself like another being, and he felt a long time had elapsed since a despised boy slipped out ,of the camp by stealth, begging the Great Spirit to send him scalps of his enemies,. so that he too might be a warrior among men. - ; ’ . He urged the horses to a gallop. ' The camp was still asleep, but it was roused by the rumble of his horses’ hoofs galloping over the plain. The Crees tumbled out of their lodges to learn the cause of the alarm. -v.,. . As they did a single warrior rode into camp, driving forty-two Blackfoot ponies before him! He-who-has-no-name was standing erect on his one pony’s back, chanting the weird war-songs of their tribe. . ‘ ‘Rise! Rise !’ he cried, ‘ He-who-has no-name has come from the war. Let the orphans and those who have no horses come and I will give to them !’ The band thronged about him; his praises were shouted aloud. He had never seen a warrior received in greater triumph. Questions were hurled at him beyond his power of answering, for many had not even known the lad was away from the camp. v One of the old men invited him kindly down from his horse, and to this man the young brave presented as further evidence of his deed the tuft of blood-stained sweet grass he carried inside his shirt. The Ancient raised it aloft. ‘ Sweet Grass will be his name!’ he cried. And ‘ Sweet Grass! Sweet Grass! ’ the Crees acclaimed on all sides. It was so that Sweet Grass made his name in the nation of which he was one day to be the head. There was silence among the warriors when the voice of Sweet Grass died on the quiet evening air. The old chief had told his story with no bravado, but only with regret. It was this wanton murder of an unoffending old man- the act of worshipping the Great Spirit in his symbol the sun—that had weighed on the mind of Sweet Grass. He loathed the crime the thought of it had. held him back from a religion of love which taught —‘ Thou shalt not kill He feared the missionaries would reject him when they knew of the crime.Now with his story told that autumn night he found no judge in Father Lacombe, but a disciple of , the all-comprehending Christ, the Man of Sorrows—and the disciple repeated only the Master’s words ‘ Let him.who is without sin cast the first stone!’— Katherine Hughes, in The Catholic World.