"The Americans grew from the scum of the great water when it was troubled by an evil spirit and the froth was driven onto the American shores by a strong east wind. They are numerous and I hate them. They are unjust; they have taken away your lands which were not made for them."

--Tenskwatawa, the Shawnee Prophet, (the brother of Chief Tecumseh), in a sermon to his followers.

You have been told, O man, what is good,

And what the Lord requires of you:

Only to do justice, to love tenderly, and to walk humbly with your God.

--Micah 6:8 (New American Bible)

"I stood there at midnight, the moon shone in all its splendor with nothing to break the stillness of the night save the occasional hooting of an owl or the call of the whip-poor-will, when I heard the footfall of the hoofs of a horse as he came galloping down the hill. I heard him as he splashed through the creek, and as he passed by, I saw whom he carried ... it was the Blackrobe Father Benjamin Petit, hastening on to comfort his people and to counsel them....

"Of all the names connected with this crime, there is one, Father Benjamin Petit, the Christian martyr, which stands like a star in the firmament, growing brighter and it will shine on through ages to come."--Benjamin Stuart

"For American Indians the scars of injustice inflicted upon them in the past are deep, painful, and, tragically, are inherited from one generation to the next. Those injustices have become ghosts in the cultural memory of a people crying out for justice. We must fully disclose the past in order to deal with the many years and generations of unresolved grief and distrust."

--Thomas Hamilton, Warsaw, Indiana, descendant of Abram Nanweshmah Burnett and member of Citizen Potawatomi Nation, Shawnee, Oklahoma.

Bayonets

4 September 1838

In spite of his fever and the physician's insistent warning for him to remain in bed, Benjamin Petit mounted his steed. With great haste, Petit rode south for the mission at Chief Menominee's village.

He soon arrived and found himself surrounded by armed horsemen. The soldiers refused him entry and guarded him with bayonet-tipped rifles, but his collar, cassock, and the cross about his neck indicated his purpose. Dismounting his ride, he tied the reins at the hitching post and entered the former chapel now reduced to a barn. More than a hundred of his people were corralled in the building.

The natives' faces were devoid of color and emotion. Their desperate question of why this was happening weighed upon his conscience. Nanweshmah approached him. "Chichipé Maketakônia, the doctor said--"

"Never mind me," Petit replied, shaking his head. "I must be here with all of you. I am your father."

The sight of all the people squeezed together like animals, nothing more than penned up livestock amid a plague of flies, infuriated Petit. The specter of such injustice made it tempting to hate the Americans.

Together the Indians began to chant their prayers in the Potawatomi tongue. He felt as if he was presiding over a Requiem Mass; the entire people a corpse about to be laid to rest. Yet this people had no burial ground; they were being ripped from their lands.

Petit was painfully aware that he would likely never see any of them again. Gazing at his dying mission and hearing the heartrending sobs of women and children, his tears choked off his words as the dusky faces of his people prayerfully looked to heaven.

Their prayers of supplication were interrupted by Colonel Pepper's voice. "The time for removal has come, Reverend."

"This is unspeakable," Petit said as he turned around.

"Spare me the drama, Reverend," Colonel Pepper said. "You and your people are moving west." Pepper placed his hand on his revolver. "Take it up with Governor Wallace and General Tipton!"

"This is a crime against justice--in a country which prides itself upon liberty!"

Pepper stood speechless as did all the Indians.

Suddenly gunfire rang out and Pepper nodded to a decorated officer entering the chapel. It was General Tipton. The terror of not knowing what was to happen next was agonizing, especially for the children.

More and more of the Potawatomi people were pushed inside the chapel. While the American soldiers guarded the door, Petit and the Potawatomi all began to realize their impending fate.

General Tipton's first act was to take Chief Menominee prisoner. He placed his rifle's bayonet at Menominee's neck.

"How could any people have allowed things to come to this?" Chief Menominee dejectedly asked, though loud enough for all to hear--even above the cruel laughter of the volunteer soldiers.

"There are over a hundred militiamen surrounding the village," Tipton announced. "It will go well if everyone cooperates."

How could they have done otherwise? They had no further recourse; this was the end. The orders were clear: Tipton's men were to shoot the first Indian resistor.

The general then gloated that he and his men had discovered a cache of weapons hidden in the cornfield and adjacent woods. All of the weaponry has been collected and placed under guard in a covered wagon.

"Forty rifles in the corn and twenty more in the woods near the river--you people were going to ambush us, weren't you?" Tipton looked at Menominee.

None answered.

When Petit exited the chapel, he saw over one hundred armed soldiers with bayonets and guns surrounding his children.

The patriotism of the American citizens was such that in order to secure the white citizens from violence and all-out war with the Indians at Menominee's village, the last remnant of the Potawatomi tribe in Indiana had to be removed.

"I have lived too long to see my people come to an end such as this," Menominee declared to Petit. "The flap of the wigwam of my life is opening to the better land beyond. Soon I shall enter into the wigwam of the Great Spirit, and there I shall stand firm and beseech Him to grant our people a future of hope. I shall plead with Him to protect my people from the great destroyer of your children and ours, the great dragon." Menominee continued, "Yet I fear that, in time, our race shall disappear. Generations yet to be born will likely hear of our race and ask 'Where have they gone?' Civilized man considered our races savage and yet he has treated us most savagely."

He sighed and adjusted his turban. "The only way for a man to know the heart of an Indian is for that man to become an Indian. What white man has ever done that?"

Petit said nothing as Menominee's chocolate-brown eyes glistened with sorrow.

"Only our beloved Catholic blackrobes have done so. Your eyes speak truthfully, Maketakônia Chichipé," Menominee said firmly. "You have become one of us. You are Potawatomi."

"I am no longer French; I was never an American," Petit declared. "I am Potawatomi. Maketakonia Chichipé is my name."

O Lord, who will speak on behalf of the Indians? Who will be their advocate in the face of all the wrongs committed upon their people? His unspoken questions, indeed prayers of lament, remained unanswered.

He was frozen and weary. What could he do? Will my people despise me knowing that I am to remain behind while they go off to an unknown land alone? Some of the Indian converts lamented, "Has the God of the Blackrobes abandoned us?" Others questioned, "Where is God, Father Chichipé." Worst of all were the children's plaintive cries, "Maketokonia Chichipé, why are these bad men making us leave? Where are they taking us? What did we do wrong?" they clutched him tightly in fear. One of the newly baptized asked: "Where is Jesus?"

Petit knew where He was: He was about to be led away as once before to Golgotha. Lord, have mercy. How had it come to this? Had he come this far only for it all to end this way?

His thoughts returned to the first day he ever considered becoming a priest.