Jean-Pierre de Smet E-Book

Brigitte Hoffmann-List

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 132

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The Wild West as it really was, as seen through the eyes of a child! This is about the extraordinary life of the missionary Jean-Pierre De Smet, the battles of the Indians against the white invaders, the brave Chief Sitting Bull, and a settlement fighting for its survival! The love for farmer's daughter, Kathie, leads to an unexpected ending.

Leseprobe

Imprint

All rights of distribution, also through movies, radio and television, photomechanical reproduction, sound carrier, electronic medium and reprinting in excerpts are reserved.

© 2025 novum publishing gmbh

Rathausgasse 73, A-7311 Neckenmarkt

[email protected]

ISBN print edition: 978-3-7116-0217-6

ISBN e-book: 978-3-7116-0218-3

Editor: Kirstie Stuart-Hieß

Cover photo: Getty Images

Cover design, layout & typesetting: novum publishing

Internal illustrations: Getty Images

www.novumpublishing.com

Dedication

Dedicated to my secret advisor, Laura Ingalls-Wilder, from DE SMET in South Dakota.

A Call in the Night

They had just sat down to supper. The wind was howling and hissing around the house, but it could not get inside. The wind and the cold were stuck outside. Ma stood and put another log into the oven. Inside, it was cozy and warm, but outside, it seemed to Kathie, all hell had been unleashed.

Suddenly, they heard a noise that stood out from the sounds of the wind. It sounded like a call and the snort of a horse. Susan, the little black cat, hid herself away in the farthest corner of the room. Pa stood up, grabbed his rifle, and opened the door. At first, they couldn’t see anything in the blackness and the swirling snow flurries, and the new arrival probably felt the same way because he stared into the room as if he first had to remember where he was.

“Come in, come in!” said Pa, pulling the stranger into the room and closing the door behind him. The man leaned against the wooden wall and took a deep breath:

“Praise be to Jesus!”

“Forever and ever, amen!” said Ma, and helped him to a chair. “Please, take off your coat, I will dry it by the fire.”

“Yes, thank you,” said the man, listlessly, and unbuttoned his thick coat made from buffalo hide. Around his neck he wore a ribbon with a silver crucifix hanging from it.

“De Smet!” Pa cried out, surprised. “Father De Smet!”

“How do you know who I am?” asked De Smet.

“Your crucifix, of course; and I have seen you before as well.”

“Where?” asked De Smet.

“In Oswego.”

“Oh, my goodness – Lizette!” shouted De Smet and jumped up. “I can’t leave the poor animal outside in the cold! Would you happen to have some room in your stable?”

“Of course! We have one horse and one cow, there is surely room for a third animal, too.” They both went out into the night with the roaring storm and returned a few minutes later.

“So, now Lizette is taken care of, just like me,” he said thankfully. “You cannot imagine how happy I was to come across a house with light shining through the cracks! An inhabited house! My journey was supposed to end in Independence, but it is another 14 miles to ride.”

Ma brought hot tea with brown sugar and quickly made some sandwiches filled with cold game. “Please, strengthen yourself,” she said, “and drink some tea. You must be half-frozen!” He took a couple of sips and then said:

“Ah, that feels good! I am finally beginning to thaw out!”

Kathie looked at his strangely beautiful face, his brown hair that hung down to his shoulders, and his shining eyes that kept gliding over the family as he eagerly ate his snack.

“It has been a long time since I have had something this good to eat!” he confessed.

“It is fresh game,” said Ma. “My husband shot it just a few days ago.”

“You probably don’t get to eat regularly on your travels, do you?” said Ma.

“No, not usually. But I always have some provisions with me, and when I pass by an Indian village, they are always very welcoming. You are invited to eat, and the more you eat, the more they like you. It would be an insult not to eat, but they do not pester you to do so. Anything you cannot finish, you may take with you. Once I was invited to eat with a family. They placed a dish in front of me, and it looked like some disgusting kind of broth. I had to steel myself to try it. And then – I was quite astounded, how good it tasted! It was a stew made of buffalo tongue with herbs and potatoes.”

De Smet had finished his meal and looked at the family hopefully. He wanted to learn more about them and their circumstances.

“Don’t the Indians get in your way when you are hunting?” he asked.

“No,” said Pa, “at least, not until now.”

“You must be very brave, to settle here …”

“We have neighbors,” said Pa, “three families, with whom we have good contact. We are secretly hoping that a town will grow up here, with a church, a school, a little store …”

“This is Indian country,” said De Smet.

“The land belongs to whoever builds on it,” Ma argued, “that is just common sense!”

“Well, it is not quite as simple as that,” said De Smet gently. “The Indians have been living here for centuries. The land feeds them. They live from hunting and fishing. The buffalo gives them everything that they need. Furs for their clothing. Leather for their tepees, meat – everything, really. And they only kill as much as they need. When the whites invade here, they kill everything out of sheer hunting lust. And, of course, with the ulterior motive of depriving the Indians of their livelihood.”

“How can we solve this problem?” asked Pa. “What do you think?”

“I think about it day and night, but I don’t know either. But there is a faint glimmer of hope, for me, when the Indians send their children to school. There they learn to read and write. They learn everything about working the land, the different working techniques and maybe, one day, they can be integrated into the United States. That is the only way to save them. That would be humane and just. I hope and pray that that will come to pass one day. I often imagine how this fertile land will be populated. Here, there is everything that the farmer needs. Farms with orchards, herds of sheep, cattle, …”

“And a lot of chickens,” reminded Kathie, who loved chickens above all.

“Chickens, of course!” De Smet smiled at her. “Towns will grow up, the farmers will provide them with everything. But what about my Indians? Will they be able to keep up? I am so afraid that they will be driven from the land where their fathers and forefathers were buried.”

They were all silent for a while. Each one lost in their own thoughts.

Then De Smet spoke once more:

“The most wonderful thing I ever heard on this subject was from an Indian. His name is Red Jacket.”

“The Indians give speeches?” asked Ma, surprised.

“Yes,” said De Smet, “and they have a very poetic way of expressing themselves. May I repeat the speech to you, as far as I can remember it?”

“Please do,” said Pa.

“There was a time when our forefathers owned this great island. Their feats extended from the rising to the setting of the sun. The Great Spirit had made it for the use of the Indians. He had created the buffalo, the deer, and other animals for food. He had made the bear and the beaver. Their skins served us for clothing. He had scattered them over the country and taught us how to take them. He had caused the earth to produce corn for bread. All this he had done for his red children because he loved them. But an evil day came upon us. The white man came. Their numbers were small. They asked for a small seat. We took pity on them, we granted their request, and they sat down among us. We gave them corn and meat. In return, they gave us poison – fire water. The white people had now found our country. More and more came amongst us. Yet we did not fear them. We took them to be friends. At length, their numbers had greatly increased. They wanted more land; they wanted our country.

You have now become a great people, and we have scarcely a place to spread our blankets. You have got our country but are not satisfied; you want to force your religion upon us.

We understand that your religion is written in a book. If this was intended for us as well as you, why has not the Great Spirit given it to us? How shall we know when to believe, being so often deceived by the white people? – You say there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit. If there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much about it?

We also have a religion, which was given to our forefathers, and has been handed down to us, their children. We never quarrel about religion. – The Great Spirit has made us all, but he has made a great difference between his white and red children. Since he has made so great a difference in some things, why may we not conclude that he has given us a different religion according to our understanding? The Great Spirit does right. He knows what is best for his children.

We do not wish to destroy your religion or take it from you. We only want to enjoy our own.”

“How wonderful!” whispered Kathie.

“Yes, it is wonderful,” said Father De Smet, “but it is aimed directly at me. In plain language it means: we do not want your religion.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes. It had grown dark in the room, only the fire still burned and threw shadows up the walls. Ma and Pa were also moved.

“I can’t believe that this text came from an Indian,” said Ma. “When I think of the Indians, I just think of the atrocities that they commit.”

“Because they have no other choice,” said De Smet, “they take revenge on the whites who keep taking everything away from them.”

Once again, everyone fell silent.

Then De Smet said “But I have seen a lot of good things, too. A great deal of interest in our religion. When I come into a village, I am often welcomed with a little speech; for example, the chief will say: ‘Speak, Black Robe! We are all your children. Show us the path we are to follow, to get to the place where the Great Spirit lives. Our ears are open. Our hearts will follow your words!’ Whenever I hear such a thing, I am, of course, happy. I speak to them about the mission, and I ask them to give up their wandering life. I teach them the profession of our faith, the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary, and the 10 Commandments. And we sing a lot together; the Indians in their language, and me in Latin. It works very well. The joy of spending time together prevails.”

“Oh, I should love to see it one time!” said Kathie quietly. Ma’s eyes widened with shock.

“Well, maybe you can one day,” said De Smet seriously, “the nearest mission is only around one hundred miles away.”

“Can they accept our religious truths?” asked Ma.

“Only in part. They are passionate gamblers, for example. They risk everything. ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods’ is something they don’t understand. On the other hand, they are very generous. What’s mine is yours too. If they have ceded a piece of land to the government, they don’t realize that they have lost it.”

“Then how will it all work?” asked Pa.

“I don’t know,” said De Smet glumly. “But I trust in God’s help. He sent me here. There were only twelve apostles, who accomplished the conversion of the whole world.”

“Do they listen, when you tell them about our religious truths?” asked Ma.

“Yes,” he said. “They love the stories from our Holy Scripture, of the Creation, the Flood, Noah’s Ark. I often sit with them in the meadow and tell them all about it. Those are wonderful times.”

“And is it successful? Do they believe it?”

“They like the stories. I don’t know how much of it they accept. Their medicine man is very important to them, of course, with his superstitious practices. I don’t know who is stronger. What’s more, the whites don’t set a very good example. They are lied to and deceived. And they should adopt their religion? But what I do know for sure is that they love and appreciate me, and they believe me. It’s all a very big, very complicated business.” He let his head fall into his hands.

“Do you believe that the salvation of souls can only be achieved through the Roman Catholic religion?” asked Pa.

“Yes,” said De Smet with conviction, “yes, I believe that.”

“But you also like the Indian religion, don’t you?” asked Pa.

“Yes,“ said De Smet, “I like it. It is beautiful. It appeals to me. It is like a beautiful picture, a beautiful painting. But God’s son came down from Heaven to help us, to save us! They do not believe in that. And in the Holy Mass we can be with Him, unite with Him, through wine and bread. – My desire and my goal is the salvation of souls! They must learn about our faith!”

“And if they don’t learn about it?” asked Kathie.

“But I am here; I must tell them!”

“And if you don’t?” insisted Kathie. “Our God is good and merciful; he will not leave them in the dark after their death just because they have not experienced the light!”

“There are similarities with our religion,” said De Smet finally, “they believe in a Creator, the Fall of Man, the Flood, and a divine mediator who speaks to the ‘Lord of Life’ on their behalf. And the poetry contained in the religion of the Indians always fascinates me. They say that everything the power of the world does is in the form of a circle. The sky is round, and the earth is round too. The wind develops its greatest power in vortices. Birds build their nests in circles. The sun rises and sets in a circle. Just like the moon, and they are both round. Even the seasons form a circle in their cycles and always return to where they were before. Human life is a circle from childhood to childhood. And so, it is with everything in which the ‘Force’ stirs.”

“That is beautiful,” said Kathie.

“Yes, it is,” said Ma, “one cannot imagine that people who are so cruel can have such thoughts.”

“The whites are crueler than them,” said De Smet quietly, “they take everything that they need to survive from them.”

Everyone was silent for a while.

“And what part of this ‘Indian wisdom’ did you like best, Kathie?” asked De Smet finally.

“The part about the birds that build their nests in a circle because they have the same religion as humans,” said Kathie. He looked at her and his eyes twinkled a little.

“Me too. I also know another poem by a child: ‘Who tells the tree when the time has come to grow its leaves? Who tells the thrush that it is now warm, and they can once again fly north? Birds and trees listen to something that is wiser than they themselves. They would never know it on their own.’”

“I am speechless,” said Ma.

“So am I,” said Pa.

“One cannot get enough of listening to you!”

“I am pleased to hear that,” said De Smet and smiled a little, “and that’s why I want to tell you something that can make us laugh!”

“Yes, please!” Kathie was delighted. “We shall all laugh together now! We haven’t done that yet.”