Catharine
Queen of the Tumbling Waters
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"vividly recreates the lost world of the early American frontier, where Catharine and her family navigated an uneasy borderland between colonists and Native peoples." — Chad Anderson |
"I'm not like your white women who lose their tongues and wits in a house full of men."
So says Catharine Montour to her white captive during the Indian depredations of the 1750s. Catharine Montour, a métis, born during Pennsylvania's Long Peace, is nurtured by her grandmother, the celebrated Madame Montour, an interpreter for the British colonies. Her uncle, Andrew Montour, is also an interpreter and sits on the Council of the Iroquois. The Montours are an unconventional, yet highly regarded family who host diverse and fascinating assemblies of fur traders, missionaries, Indians, and colonial leaders in their home.
As the Long Peace ends and the French and Indian War, and eventually the American Revolution occur, Catharine, desiring only to live quietly by a waterfall in New York, becomes a fearless, determined, and passionate leader who demands loyalty to peace in her village and for all. And then in 1779 when General John Sullivan leads the campaign to destroy all Iroquois villages, Queen Catharine, heroically guides her people to Fort Niagara.
Today as American exceptionalism prevails against the recognition of indigenous peoples, Catharine's relevant and fact-based story spans two wars and enlightens and makes visible the unwritten truths of early American history.
So says Catharine Montour to her white captive during the Indian depredations of the 1750s. Catharine Montour, a métis, born during Pennsylvania's Long Peace, is nurtured by her grandmother, the celebrated Madame Montour, an interpreter for the British colonies. Her uncle, Andrew Montour, is also an interpreter and sits on the Council of the Iroquois. The Montours are an unconventional, yet highly regarded family who host diverse and fascinating assemblies of fur traders, missionaries, Indians, and colonial leaders in their home.
As the Long Peace ends and the French and Indian War, and eventually the American Revolution occur, Catharine, desiring only to live quietly by a waterfall in New York, becomes a fearless, determined, and passionate leader who demands loyalty to peace in her village and for all. And then in 1779 when General John Sullivan leads the campaign to destroy all Iroquois villages, Queen Catharine, heroically guides her people to Fort Niagara.
Today as American exceptionalism prevails against the recognition of indigenous peoples, Catharine's relevant and fact-based story spans two wars and enlightens and makes visible the unwritten truths of early American history.
“Cynthia Neale has written a wonderfully descriptive novel that imaginatively narrates the hardships and triumphs of Catharine Montour, one of early America’s most remarkable women. Neale vividly recreates the lost world of the early American frontier, where Catharine and her family navigated an uneasy borderland between colonists and Native peoples. Along the way, readers will meet a who’s who of historical figures, from George Croghan to Sattelihu, but, above-all, Catharine deservingly emerges as one of colonial America’s most fascinating people. Grounded in impressive historical research and empathy, Catharine, Queen of the Tumbling Waters reminds us of the human stories at the heart of times of great change.” — Chad Anderson, Author of the Storied Landscape of Iroquoia: History, Conquest, and Memory in the Native Northeast
"Cynthia Neale's extensive research combined with her intuition and creativity tells an intriguing tale of Catharine Montour and the Native Americans of the Northeast as the British and French strive for dominance over the land. Catharine's journey gives us much insight into the relationship between the Native Americans and colonists, traders, and colonial leaders. Neale tells the story of Catharine, her romances, her people, and their struggle to maintain their culture and live peacefully in a rapidly changing world. The stereotypical Indian woman living in a wigwam dissolves in this stimulating story as we gain a vivid picture of Catharine and the three generations of Montour women of French and Native heritage." — Gail Davis, Kanestio Historical Society, Director/Treasurer
“After reading Cynthia Neale’s fascinating and meticulously researched novel, Catharine Montour became very real. Too many historical details can often deaden a story, but this novel that is packed full of history is anything but dull. In fact, I had a real sense I was meeting Catharine in the flesh, that this indeed could have been her life. Queen Catharine lives again . . . on the page.” — Charlotte Dickens, poet/writer; Watkins Glen Writers Group Facilitator; president of Backbone Ridge History Group
“As a boy roaming Queen Catharine’s land, she became a companion in my burgeoning imagination. Years later, as a volunteer for the library, I became convinced of her burial site and learned more about her life. Cynthia Neale’s spellbinding novel captures the spirit of Catharine I loved as a boy into my adult years. I didn’t want it to end!” — Norm West, local historian
“Cynthia Neale’s beautiful novel is still with me months after reading it. She depicts Catharine so convincingly, it is as if she is channeling her spirit. To read this thoroughly researched story is to go back in time and enter a complex and dark period in U.S. history and get to know one of its heroines who would otherwise be forgotten. This is an important book.” — Haviva Ner-David, rabbi and author of Hope Valley and To Die in Secret
"Cynthia Neale's extensive research combined with her intuition and creativity tells an intriguing tale of Catharine Montour and the Native Americans of the Northeast as the British and French strive for dominance over the land. Catharine's journey gives us much insight into the relationship between the Native Americans and colonists, traders, and colonial leaders. Neale tells the story of Catharine, her romances, her people, and their struggle to maintain their culture and live peacefully in a rapidly changing world. The stereotypical Indian woman living in a wigwam dissolves in this stimulating story as we gain a vivid picture of Catharine and the three generations of Montour women of French and Native heritage." — Gail Davis, Kanestio Historical Society, Director/Treasurer
“After reading Cynthia Neale’s fascinating and meticulously researched novel, Catharine Montour became very real. Too many historical details can often deaden a story, but this novel that is packed full of history is anything but dull. In fact, I had a real sense I was meeting Catharine in the flesh, that this indeed could have been her life. Queen Catharine lives again . . . on the page.” — Charlotte Dickens, poet/writer; Watkins Glen Writers Group Facilitator; president of Backbone Ridge History Group
“As a boy roaming Queen Catharine’s land, she became a companion in my burgeoning imagination. Years later, as a volunteer for the library, I became convinced of her burial site and learned more about her life. Cynthia Neale’s spellbinding novel captures the spirit of Catharine I loved as a boy into my adult years. I didn’t want it to end!” — Norm West, local historian
“Cynthia Neale’s beautiful novel is still with me months after reading it. She depicts Catharine so convincingly, it is as if she is channeling her spirit. To read this thoroughly researched story is to go back in time and enter a complex and dark period in U.S. history and get to know one of its heroines who would otherwise be forgotten. This is an important book.” — Haviva Ner-David, rabbi and author of Hope Valley and To Die in Secret
Hunger gnaws the inside of my hollow belly as I try to sleep. My sister, Esther, is curled up against my back and breathing like a windstorm. From time to time, her legs kick involuntarily against mine. When hunger and Esther finally take a break from badgering me, I fall asleep, but then I get a kick from Esther and the hunger that coils like a snake rises up and bites me.
“Wake up, granddaughters, wake up!”
I ignore Grandmother and pull a blanket over my face and inhale her mysterious scent in the scratchy wool. The old perfume given to Grandmother by her adoring governor of New York many years ago lingers. There is none like it I have smelled in the flowers of the field.
Flowers, I imagine wistfully, as I try to return to sleep. This is the bloodletting season when vibrant life drains from the earth. The time of year when the sun withdraws the colors of our land and leaves it barren; gray and brown merge into one and the earth becomes listless. Between autumn and winter, I lie down on the earth to listen, but this mother hardens herself against my bony body, waiting for the snows to cover her. This year when the first snow arrived, my grandmother gave me her blanket. She spoke in somber tones when she presented me with the scarlet blanket that smells like some other world’s flowers.
“This was a gift from Corlaer, a great man in Albany,” she said proudly. “I was his interpretess. I was Madame Montour who brought wisdom through many languages. I want you, my granddaughter, Catharine, who has been given the meaning of snow, to have this garment not just for warmth, but also for honor. You are the great-granddaughter of an esteemed French governor.”
I didn’t ask what the meaning of snow was. I also didn’t ask how I happened to have a French governor as an ancestor. Why then do we live like we do in winter?
On the day Grandmother gave me her blanket, I danced in the first snowfall and asked to be blessed by Ga-oh, the Spirit of the Winds. It was twilight when day cavorts with evening and they become one. As the violet sky swirled above the field, I felt more than hunger crawling around in my belly. My mother said my years were fifteen or sixteen and I was a woman now and shouldn’t be dancing alone in the dark. I skipped around the oak tree, kicking up snow that sparkled under Grandmother Moon who smiled at me from behind clouds. I prayed to the Great Spirit and became aware of the spirits of the dead who come to visit at night. I hurried back to our crowded cabin with cold, wet feet. Grandmother sat at our table making wampum and wearing her scarlet blanket across her shoulders. She laid aside her work and asked me to sit with her by the cook fire. We sat down and she removed her blanket and gently wrapped my icy feet in it. All the while, my mother made disapproving clucking noises.
“No, Grandmother,” I whispered so my mother wouldn’t hear, “don’t give me your special cloth. It’s for you, it’s a queen’s garment, this blanket. Don’t soil it with my smelly feet.”
Grandmother smiled, caressing my feet beneath the blanket.
“Your feet are special and they need honor and warmth, for they’ll go many places. Do you think I live like a queen? I’m not a queen. I’m just an old moccasin of the house. And someday you’ll be an old moccasin, too. But first you’ll be filled with wondrous love and live many years.”
Grandmother had been blessing my life and preparing me for the threshold of marriage, a threshold I was unsure of. I’m curious about marriage, but I’m in love with the handiwork of the earth—the soothing streams that caress my body, the summer trees that woo me with their sighing green leaves as I sit beneath them. I think of that special day as I close my eyes and nearly sleep, but then Grandmother yells again.
“Wake up, Esther and Catharine! I’m going out and when I return, you’d better be up and dressed.”
“Wake up, granddaughters, wake up!”
I ignore Grandmother and pull a blanket over my face and inhale her mysterious scent in the scratchy wool. The old perfume given to Grandmother by her adoring governor of New York many years ago lingers. There is none like it I have smelled in the flowers of the field.
Flowers, I imagine wistfully, as I try to return to sleep. This is the bloodletting season when vibrant life drains from the earth. The time of year when the sun withdraws the colors of our land and leaves it barren; gray and brown merge into one and the earth becomes listless. Between autumn and winter, I lie down on the earth to listen, but this mother hardens herself against my bony body, waiting for the snows to cover her. This year when the first snow arrived, my grandmother gave me her blanket. She spoke in somber tones when she presented me with the scarlet blanket that smells like some other world’s flowers.
“This was a gift from Corlaer, a great man in Albany,” she said proudly. “I was his interpretess. I was Madame Montour who brought wisdom through many languages. I want you, my granddaughter, Catharine, who has been given the meaning of snow, to have this garment not just for warmth, but also for honor. You are the great-granddaughter of an esteemed French governor.”
I didn’t ask what the meaning of snow was. I also didn’t ask how I happened to have a French governor as an ancestor. Why then do we live like we do in winter?
On the day Grandmother gave me her blanket, I danced in the first snowfall and asked to be blessed by Ga-oh, the Spirit of the Winds. It was twilight when day cavorts with evening and they become one. As the violet sky swirled above the field, I felt more than hunger crawling around in my belly. My mother said my years were fifteen or sixteen and I was a woman now and shouldn’t be dancing alone in the dark. I skipped around the oak tree, kicking up snow that sparkled under Grandmother Moon who smiled at me from behind clouds. I prayed to the Great Spirit and became aware of the spirits of the dead who come to visit at night. I hurried back to our crowded cabin with cold, wet feet. Grandmother sat at our table making wampum and wearing her scarlet blanket across her shoulders. She laid aside her work and asked me to sit with her by the cook fire. We sat down and she removed her blanket and gently wrapped my icy feet in it. All the while, my mother made disapproving clucking noises.
“No, Grandmother,” I whispered so my mother wouldn’t hear, “don’t give me your special cloth. It’s for you, it’s a queen’s garment, this blanket. Don’t soil it with my smelly feet.”
Grandmother smiled, caressing my feet beneath the blanket.
“Your feet are special and they need honor and warmth, for they’ll go many places. Do you think I live like a queen? I’m not a queen. I’m just an old moccasin of the house. And someday you’ll be an old moccasin, too. But first you’ll be filled with wondrous love and live many years.”
Grandmother had been blessing my life and preparing me for the threshold of marriage, a threshold I was unsure of. I’m curious about marriage, but I’m in love with the handiwork of the earth—the soothing streams that caress my body, the summer trees that woo me with their sighing green leaves as I sit beneath them. I think of that special day as I close my eyes and nearly sleep, but then Grandmother yells again.
“Wake up, Esther and Catharine! I’m going out and when I return, you’d better be up and dressed.”
Further Information about the Iroquois (Haudenosaunee)
This is a work of imagination, inspired by the life of Catharine Montour, also known as Queen Catharine, born in Pennsylvania possibly around 1729 and who lived in what is known today as Montour Falls, New York. She was a metis, which means mixed in French, and was French and Iroquois. It was said of her that she was handsome, possessed more than ordinary intellectual powers, and meted out justice to all. She was regarded by Europeans as a superior woman. Please see the Character Index to know more about her lineage.
Queen Catharine Montour’s name is perpetuated everywhere in Montour Falls, New York and the surrounds. There is a memorial, a street, a park, a creek, a trail, and many businesses named after her. History describes Queen Catharine as the leader and matriarch of a Seneca tribe and village, She-O-Qua-Gah (there are different spellings), a Seneca (Iroquois) word meaning tumbling waters. The village was later called Catharine’s Town, Catharine’s Landing, Havana, and eventually Montour Falls to honor Catharine Montour. In my novel, Catharine names the area Eagle Cliff Falls, which is the name of one of the waterfalls in Montour Falls
.
In 1779, nearing the end of the American Revolution, General George Washington initiated a campaign led by Major General John Sullivan and the Continental Army (also known as the Clinton-Sullivan Campaign) to destroy all Iroquois villages, whether they were enemies, allies, or neutral to the Revolution. Congress approved Washington’s plan, “directing him to take all measures necessary to protect the settlers and to punish the Indians.” Washington wrote to Sullivan, “The immediate objects are total destruction and devastation of their settlements and the capture of as many prisoners of every sex and age as possible. It will be essential to ruin their crops in the ground and prevent their planting more.” (Founders Online/Archives.gov.Home)
Queen Catharine Montour heroically gathered the people in her village in She-O-Qua-Ga and led them away from Major John Sullivan’s approaching Continental Army to Fort Niagara to be sheltered by the British.
The campaign ended and forty Indian settlements were burned to the ground, thousands of bushels of corn, fruits, vegetables and livestock were destroyed, but most egregious were the thousands of Iroquois who sought refuge under the British at Fort Niagara. The winter thereafter was brutal and severe and many Iroquois died from cold and starvation. It is not known whether Queen Catharine returned to She-O-Qua-Ga, but I believe she did. After the American Revolution, the great Iroquois Nation and Confederacy scattered and has never been the same, but their spirit has always remained and today, there are many Iroquois museums, writers, artists, and organizations celebrating this indigenous history and their place in America.
I’ve often said my writing career includes working with the dead and although this sounds morbid, it is not. We all carry the blood and stories of our ancestors and there’s a thin line between here and there if we attune our hearts to listen. I wanted to be a writer at a young age, but it took years to learn to listen. And when I did, I encountered many unusual experiences and synchronicities. This is not the place to talk about my other novels and their strange incidents, but before you put your curious and discerning nose into this novel, I want to tell you about some of my Catharine visitations. No, I didn’t just channel Catharine’s story, but through grueling, ardent, frustrating, and thrilling research, and with her spirit and various encounters, I have written a Queen Catharine Montour story!
Queen Catharine Montour’s name is perpetuated everywhere in Montour Falls, New York and the surrounds. There is a memorial, a street, a park, a creek, a trail, and many businesses named after her. History describes Queen Catharine as the leader and matriarch of a Seneca tribe and village, She-O-Qua-Gah (there are different spellings), a Seneca (Iroquois) word meaning tumbling waters. The village was later called Catharine’s Town, Catharine’s Landing, Havana, and eventually Montour Falls to honor Catharine Montour. In my novel, Catharine names the area Eagle Cliff Falls, which is the name of one of the waterfalls in Montour Falls
.
In 1779, nearing the end of the American Revolution, General George Washington initiated a campaign led by Major General John Sullivan and the Continental Army (also known as the Clinton-Sullivan Campaign) to destroy all Iroquois villages, whether they were enemies, allies, or neutral to the Revolution. Congress approved Washington’s plan, “directing him to take all measures necessary to protect the settlers and to punish the Indians.” Washington wrote to Sullivan, “The immediate objects are total destruction and devastation of their settlements and the capture of as many prisoners of every sex and age as possible. It will be essential to ruin their crops in the ground and prevent their planting more.” (Founders Online/Archives.gov.Home)
Queen Catharine Montour heroically gathered the people in her village in She-O-Qua-Ga and led them away from Major John Sullivan’s approaching Continental Army to Fort Niagara to be sheltered by the British.
The campaign ended and forty Indian settlements were burned to the ground, thousands of bushels of corn, fruits, vegetables and livestock were destroyed, but most egregious were the thousands of Iroquois who sought refuge under the British at Fort Niagara. The winter thereafter was brutal and severe and many Iroquois died from cold and starvation. It is not known whether Queen Catharine returned to She-O-Qua-Ga, but I believe she did. After the American Revolution, the great Iroquois Nation and Confederacy scattered and has never been the same, but their spirit has always remained and today, there are many Iroquois museums, writers, artists, and organizations celebrating this indigenous history and their place in America.
I’ve often said my writing career includes working with the dead and although this sounds morbid, it is not. We all carry the blood and stories of our ancestors and there’s a thin line between here and there if we attune our hearts to listen. I wanted to be a writer at a young age, but it took years to learn to listen. And when I did, I encountered many unusual experiences and synchronicities. This is not the place to talk about my other novels and their strange incidents, but before you put your curious and discerning nose into this novel, I want to tell you about some of my Catharine visitations. No, I didn’t just channel Catharine’s story, but through grueling, ardent, frustrating, and thrilling research, and with her spirit and various encounters, I have written a Queen Catharine Montour story!
BOOK TOUR: May 20th, 2023 to June 18th, 2023
Click HERE for more details
May 20th (Saturday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Montour Falls, NY
May 25th (Thursday), 6:00p.m. - 7:30p.m. - Ithaca, NY
June 4th (Sunday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Canisteo, NY
June 6th (Tuesday), 6:30p.m. - 8:00p.m. - Phelps, NY
June 11th (Sunday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Burdett NY
June 14th (Wednesday), 6:30p.m. - 8:00p.m. - Lodi, NY
June 16th (Friday), 12:00p.m. - 1:00p.m. - Watkins Glen, NY
June 18th (Sunday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Williamsport, PA
Click HERE for more details
May 20th (Saturday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Montour Falls, NY
May 25th (Thursday), 6:00p.m. - 7:30p.m. - Ithaca, NY
June 4th (Sunday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Canisteo, NY
June 6th (Tuesday), 6:30p.m. - 8:00p.m. - Phelps, NY
June 11th (Sunday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Burdett NY
June 14th (Wednesday), 6:30p.m. - 8:00p.m. - Lodi, NY
June 16th (Friday), 12:00p.m. - 1:00p.m. - Watkins Glen, NY
June 18th (Sunday), 2:00p.m. - 4:00p.m. - Williamsport, PA