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the adjustment with the gravity and deliberation that the sacred interests of souls, or, as you would say, the religious ideal demands."

If the scholar or scientist is a Catholic, is he to be perturbed when he finds truth controverted by representatives of that section of theologians or apologists who know nothing of the actual situation, and think that theology and biblical criticism said their last word hundreds of years ago? Must he rush forth into secular prints and clamor for an immediate ex cathedra decision, or ask congregations to imperil their authority with the unreflecting by admitting that they were mistaken yesterday, or the day before; and, if this is refused, throw himself out of the Church? Evidently not. He can, with an easy conscience, and without compromising his intellectual liberty, sit tight and wait. Authority must pursue a Fabian policy; let him do the same-and that policy will repeat its old achievements-cunctando restituit rem.

Just a word, in conclusion, for the present, concerning the idea of Macaulay, to which you have given too much credit, regarding the relation of the Church to science. With science the Church has no direct concern. But, as the guardian of revealed truth, she may be called upon, in the legitimate exercise of her functions, to pass judgment on scientific theories which touch on matters of revelation. The unity of the human race, for example, is intrinsically connected with the doctrine of original sin; she will, therefore condemn any ethnological theory which this point runs counter to her dogmatic Believe me,

teaching.

on

Fraternally yours,

FATHER ALLOUEZ AND THE FOX RIVER.

(1669-1687.)

BY D. B. MARTIN.

[graphic]

HE site on the shore of Fox River, Wisconsin, where stood the Mission House of St. Francis Xavier two hundred and thirty years ago, has. never, as in many similar instances, been wholly lost. Through reminiscence and tradition, and the writings of Fathers Allouez and Dablon, almost the exact location of this pious retreat can be traced. The early American settlers found still visible the foundations of Chapel and dwelling house; for although burned by hostile Indians, in 1687, the stout timbers were not entirely destroyed, and have defied time's ravages. So the great name of its founder, Claude Allouez, and the work accomplished by him, withstand the waves of oblivion that have swallowed up other and less strong personalities.

It was in the month of November that Father Allouez began his journey to the great bay of the Puants, leaving his mission at Sault St. Marie in charge of a brother priest. It is a season that in our northern latitudes means blustering north winds, with a strong skimming of ice, as the days shorten, on the borders of creek and river. Allouez had steadfastly purposed to reach the extremity of the bay before winter set in. Indians of many tribes congregated at the head of this long, sheltered stretch of water, and for this reason, and also because of the great number of valuable fur-bearing animals that filled the streams in the vicinity, the place had become a Mecca for coureurs de bois. To the eastward, beyond the two mighty lakes of Michigan and Huron, dwelt that dreaded confederation of Iroquois, known as the league of the Five Nations, a scourge to other and less powerful tribes; but Green Bay, ninety miles in length and shaped like a mammoth pocket, formed, in its leagues of unfamiliar waters, a barrier that the eastern Indians feared to traverse. To the westward

the equally strong and warlike Sioux were deterred from sending out attacking parties by the distance to be traveled, and also by a great river, as yet unknown to the white man, and not to be made common property until four years later, when Father Marquette and his companion, Louis Joliet, floated their canoe on its waters.

So the isolated valley of the Fox, and the shores of Baye des Puants, were thickly settled by diverse tribes of Indians belonging to Algonquin stock with but one exception, an alien tribe of Sioux extraction, the Winnebagoes, "men of the sea" so called, and also nicknamed by the French "Puants," from whom the Bay derived its name.

Two French voyageurs accompanied Allouez in his bark canoe; hardy Canadian boatmen, skilful in the use of the paddle. All their experience was called into requisition, for the journey was a dangerous and terrible one. On the twentyninth of November ice began to form, cutting their perishable bark craft; snow fell and their garments were drenched. At intervals they landed to mend their canoe, and make friends with the Indians camped along the shores; for the most part Pottawottomies, who also were short of provisions, for there was no game and it was too early in the season to spear the sturgeon. On the travelers labored, Father Allouez ever encouraging his companions, and invoking the aid of St. Francis Xavier, while his crew implored the protection of St. Anne, patron saint of all voyageurs.

When they reached the mouth of the river, where they were to join a little band of French fur- traders, they found it closed by ice, but that night a tempestuous wind arose and cleared the channel, so that they were able to enter. On the second of December, 1669, they made port, landing a short distance up a stream on the west side of the bay, identified now as Oconto River.

Six Frenchmen had camped here for purposes of trade, and these, with the two voyageurs, formed the worshippers at the first Mass offered on these isolated shores. It was for Father Allouez a service of thanksgiving that his life had been spared through so many dangers, and that he had been enabled to gain this goal of his pious hopes.

During the winter Allouez visited various tribes in the vicinity, and made one particularly difficult trip across the bay

to the Red Banks, a distance of ten leagues, where a mixed village of Pottawottomies and Winnebagoes was situated. The latter Indians were, Father Allouez wrote, the most wandering and wretched of all the western tribes.

In this twentieth century, Red Banks has become a conventional summer resort, with picturesque cottages gleaming through woody glades. Its Indian name, Kish-ke-kwa-te-no, has been revived, signifying in the Menominee language "the place that slopes to the cedars." Its winding path's still recall the forest primeval, and at night one can hear far off on a rocky ledge to the eastward a weird complaining cry, the call of wild cats who find safe hiding in remote caves and stony fastnesses.

After giving instruction to the dwellers in this encampment of some seven lodges, in all perhaps one hundred and sixty persons, Father Allouez began his difficult return journey to the Oconto. The cold on the open bay was so intense, with mercury below zero and the unsheltered expanse swept by a cutting wind, that the missionary was nearly overcome, and was forced to sink down on the snow. His nose was frozen,

his strength well nigh exhausted, but in telling of this perilous trip he says, that "through Providence he found in his cassock a clove," and the pungent spice so revived him that he was enabled to continue his journey.

When the ice broke up, under the rough winds of March, Father Allouez prepared to carry on his mission work to the southward. Passing to the head of the bay he entered the River of the Puants, a water highway that became only a few years later, and continued to be for nearly two centuries, the most important route connecting the Mississippi with the Great Lakes. Allouez promptly rechristened the beautiful stream, Riviere Saint François, a name that it retained until wars between the French and the warlike Fox nation, in the eighteenth century, made this section of country the peculiar territory of these aggressive Indians, and this waterway a source of contention between the combatants.

To one who passes up Fox River to-day the journal kept by Father Allouez, with its minute memoranda of people and places encountered by him in that early period of our history, is of absorbing interest. Although a tremendous water power has made the stream a centre for manufacture and modern

industries, still one may even now float for miles along its waters and view practically the same general landscape as did Allouez on this first memorable journey-the steep, overhanging banks, fringed thickly by apple and other low growing trees, woodlands rising in the background with wide open spaces between, and the calm, even flow of the river, unvexed for leagues by modern improvement.

Allouez made but a hasty review of the field at this time, and in May he was back at his Oconto Mission. He stopped there but a short time, for in June he must meet at the Sault St. Marie 'Sieur St. Lusson, emissary of Louis XIV., empowered by royal authority to claim for France this wide western territory. With imposing ceremonies, including addresses by St. Lusson and Father Claude Allouez, the arms of France were raised on high and fastened to a solidly planted pole, while St. Lusson in a commanding voice took possession of the land in the name of the "most high, mighty, and redoubted monarch, Louis, Fourteenth of the name, King of France and Navarre."

In September, 1670, Allouez again made the voyage up Fox River in company with Father Dablon, newly appointed Superior of all the Canadian missions. It was a pleasant journey, in congenial companionship, full of variety and incident. Where the city of Kaukauna now overruns island and commanding bluff, the travelers found set up on the river bank a grotesque idol of stone, to which every passing red man made homage, and propitiated with offerings of tobacco. Without ceremony the missionaries tumbled this gayly painted image into the water, where it doubtless still rests.

The Indians were uniformly docile, and gave glad welcome to the kindly "black robe," as they called the visiting priest, but Father Allouez was inexpressibly shocked that they should treat him as a deity, and lay offerings of tobacco at his feet. "Take pity on us," they cried, "thou art a Manitou. We give thee tobacco to smoke. We are often ill, our children are dying; we are hungry. Hear us Manitou; we give thee tobacco to smoke," while Allouez in horror called upon them to give up their idolatries, and listen to him as he told them of the true and only God.

In the winter of 1671-72 a permanent mission house was built on a projection of land, around which the last series of

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