CHAPTER XIX.

THE AUTHOR'S FIRST EXPERIENCE OF INDIAN MISSIONARY LIFE. A SINGULAR CONFESSION. A BEAR STORY.

Our personal experience of Indian missionary life dates from the fall of 1867, and was gained at St. Ignatius, where we resided for nearly ten years. It being thus associated with, and part of the local history of the subject in hand, we need not apologize to the reader if we devote to it here most of the present chapter.

In the spring of 1867, Father Grassi had gone from St. Ignatius to California, the object of his journey being to consult with Father J. B. Ponte, who had been sent thither as Visitor, and to obtain some new recruits for the rocky Mountain Missions, of which he was now in charge as Vice-Superior. It fell to our lot to be one of the recruits; and with two other confreres, Father J. Bandini and Brother R. Terragno, we left for the Rockies early in September, being led by Father Grassi himself and going by the way of Portland, Oregon, the Dalles and Walla Walla. Nearly four weeks were spent in this first part of our journey.

During the summer, two Sisters of Providence from Fort Vancouver had gone to Montana, on a begging tour through the mines, whence they were expected to return to Walla Walla toward the end of September. Arrangements had been made by Father Grassi to give the Sisters an escort of Indians from St. Ignatius to Walla Walla, and the same Indians were to be, in turn, the guides and escort of our party to the mountains. We reached Walla Walla a few days ahead of them, so that when they arrived our preparations for the journey had been completed. It being necessary, however, to give the guides and their animals some rest, our departure had to be delayed for a few days.

The Rev. R. De Ryckere, the priest in charge of the Mission of Deer Lodge, who had accompanied the Sisters on their return to Walla Walla from Montana, joined our band to return to his

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post. There was, besides, a small elephant in the party. This was a young child, a little miss of ten, by name Annie McMurray, whom the Sisters at Walla Walla, at the request of the child's parents who live in Montana, entrusted to the care of Father Grassi. A somewhat difficult charge under the circumstances. Our two Indian guides were Louis Saxa, a younger son of Old Ignace, the famed Iroquois who brought the faith to the Flat Heads; and Atol or Adolph, the Kalispel hero of the cabbage romance related in a previous chapter.

Our traveling outfit included, besides our riding horses, several pack animals which carried other necessaries, three tents, one for the Fathers and Brother; another for the Indians, and a third one for little Annie. The commissary consisted of flour, hard-tack, coffee, sugar, and bacon; while a kettle and a frying pan, together with some tinplates, tin cups, tin spoons and a few forks, made up our kitchen utensils and the dining-room furniture. We had almost forgotten the axe, the most indispensable of all the articles needed on the road.

The first night the tents were pitched on Cow Creek, only a few miles from Walla Walla. Yet to the writer the distance appeared considerable, as his whole previous experience in horseback riding had not extended beyond a first attempt to mount a donkey, and that, too, had abruptly culminated rather ludicrously. But we had started on our long mountain journey at the opening of October, the month of the Holy Angels, and felt confident that our good Guardians would lead us safe to our destination.

The next day we were left afoot, our mounts having started back for civilization during the night. This straying of the animals occurred time and again, and on one occasion two whole days were spent in hunting up the truants. It was annoying no doubt; but to tell the truth, the writer did not dislike it so much, as it afforded some rest to his weary bones.

A couple of days after, we were jogging along by the side of Father Grassi, who usually led the way, when all at once he began to whip and spur his mount into a wild, furious run. Horse and rider soon disappeared from sight at a turn in the trail; and we last saw the Father in the air, flying over the head of his horse. We ran up to where he lay, and found him unconscious and bleeding from several cuts on the head. The spot

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was a desert, with no water to bathe the Father's face. We stood round him, as if paralyzed by the shock; and all thought him dead. But his Angel Guardian had preserved him from serious hurt; he soon regained consciousness, and after some rest he was again leading the party.

There are things stranger then fiction, and one such had just occurred under our eyes. Father Grassi has been on the go from early spring, and had lost much sleep in consequence. Has not nature its limits of endurance? As we soon learned from him, he had fallen asleep on his horse, and dreamt that he was flying over the hills on a fiery steed. The dream became strangely confused with the reality; while fast asleep and riding a phantom horse, he whipped and spurred the Cayuse he actually sat upon into that breakneck run.

On Rosary Sunday we broke camp somewhat earlier than on the previous days, and after a few miles, reached a spot near the woods--the country so far being open--where two trails came together. The Indians driving the packhorses took one, while Father Grassi led the rest of the party, who were close to him, by the other, with which he was familiar, as he had raveled over it before. On discovering that we were not on the same path, "it makes no difference," said Father Grassi, "the two trails meet a little farther ahead," and we kept on.

In the meanwhile, the lowering clouds above began to shower down a drizzling rain that kept us drenched through the whole day, until late at night. It was a Kneipp treatment with a vengeance, and rendered the days' travel most disagreeable. Darkness overtook us, and the two trails, so far as we know, had not yet come together. To all appearances we were lost in the woods, about half way between Walla Walla and the Coeur d'Alene Mission. In the rain and without food the whole day from early morning, there was now no hope of food or shelter for the night. The party sought some protection under a large tree, and after many attempts succeeded at last in building up a good fire, which had a cheering effect on our drooping spirits.

But despite his efforts to keep himself and us in a happy mood, it was plain that Father Grassi was worried over the situation. And we were not a little startled when, after Genealogybug2005 ating things with him for a good while, he laid before us the conclusion he

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he had arrived at. We were to kill one of our horses, to have something to eat, and make our way to the Coeur d'Alene Mission as best we could, partly afoot and partly on horseback, taking turns about. The writer thought the walking preferable to being racked on the back of a beast; and as to horse-meat, hunger might make it not only palatable, but dainty and delicious. The butchering of the horse, however, presented the most difficult part of the problem. No one could suggest a practical way of going about it; nothing being at hand to do it with, not even a penknife.

During the day we had strained our eyes for a sight of our missing companions, and now, at night, our ears were eagerly intent on catching some sound of tramping hoofs, the tinkling of the bell on the neck of one of the pack animals, or of a human voice other than that of one of our party. And strange as it may seem, in the stillness of the night we caught now one, now another of these signs, that is, we thought we did, time and time again. But they were all mere fancies, which our imagination worked out of moving branches, the tramping of our own horses, the screeching of owls, and the howlings of wolves an coyotes. Halloo after halloo brought back no response but the empty echo of the woods.

At last, one of the party, Father J. Bandini, who had ascended perhaps for the ninth or tenth time during the night the ridge under which we were camped, though he really heard the bell that hung on the neck of the leading pack horse. In a few moments we all stood on the ridge in breathless attention, while the stillness of the night was now rent by a stentorian "Halloo" from the powerful lungs of Father Grassi. To our great joy, it was directly caught up and responded to, and we felt sure that the response was not an echo. Gradually the answering voice came closer and closer. Before long the whole caravan was again united, and we camped out by the fire the rest of that trying night, the remembrance of which still lingers quite vividly in our mind.

As a mater of fact, in our anxiety to make the point where we were to meet and camp for the night, we had gone considerably beyond it, and in the dusk we had also passed unawares the junction of the two trails. The Indians who followed with the

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tents and provisions, not finding us where we should have been, stove to join us where we might be. We need not state that henceforth we were more chary of losing sight of our traveling companions.

The day before arriving at the Coeur d'Alene Mission, and while nearing the St. Joe, we emerged from the heart of the woods into an open space on top of the hill overlooking the river from the west. The sun shone brightly from near the horizon, standing seemingly on a level with our head; and now, as with our back turned to it, we looked directly before us and straight across the St. Joe, an enchanting scene burst upon our view. A beautiful city, a city, mark you, perfectly laid out, with streets, houses, porches, verandas, squares, parks, etc., lay before us, as if built on and covering more than half the mountain side beyond. It was a mirage, and a most perfect one. We gazed upon it in the greatest bewilderment, and but for the wilderness of all the surroundings, we could not have helped taking the fairy vision for an objective reality.

Ten long days after setting out from Walla Walla, we arrived at the Coeur d'Alene Mission. We shall never forget the warm and hearty reception tendered the travelers by Father J. Caruana, the Superior of the Mission, and Father Gazzoli, his companion.

After a day's rest, with a relay of fresh mounts and pack animals and a replenished commissary, we again set our on our journey. Our party, however, was now minus two, Father J. Bandini, and Brother Terragno, who were to follow later on. WE were at last hearing Frenchtown, when to our right, at a point between Nine Mile Creek and the lower end of the valley, we noticed signs of a camping party. Father Grassi headed in that direction, and no sooner had he recognized the campers, and they him, than a shout of gladness went up on both sides. The campers were Father J. Cataldo and J. Mentrey, with Brother Carfagno, who in obedience to previous orders, issued by Father Grassi himself, were on their way to the lower country. All previous orders were not countermanded by Father Grassi, the primum novens, or head Superior. As a consequence, the two traveling parties were now to unite in one, and go together to Frenchtown, whence the writer, escorted by the two Indians, would continue on his journey to St. Ignatius; while

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the other confreres were to accompany Father Grassi to Hell's Gate on a visit to Father Ravalli, for consultation on sundry mattes concerning the Missions. In this latter direction lay likewise the Rev. R. De Ryckere's road to his Deer Lodge Mission.

Little Annie McMurray, the young miss of ten who, heroine like, had stood the hardships of the long journey with marvelous courage, she too had here her surprise. This she found in the arms of her Father and Sister, who had no sooner heard that she was on our party than they hastened to the camp to meet and take her home.

The occurrences of that last two hours, together with the nearness of the village, appeared to put everybody in a happy frame of mind. Even the writer, despite the damage to his under-garments--we mean those spun by Mother Eve--seemed to share, at least for a while, in the general feeling of buoyant cheerfulness that prevailed. Candidly, however, his blithesomeness was neither over-exuberant nor very substantial. And what a rude shock did it not receive right here, when everybody except himself and the Indians driving the pack animals, started out on a race toward the village!

The rear detachment reached the town when the others were leaving it for Hell's Gate. We had a little rest, and then moved on toward the mouth of O'Keefe's Canyon, where out tent was pitched for the night. The next day's ride proved the longest and most trying of all previous ones; but thanks to god and our Angel Guardian, the evening saw us at last at St. Ignatius. How to sit, stand, walk, now occupied our attention for several days.

Father James Vanzina and two Brothers, J. Specht, better known simply as Brother Joseph, and Vincent Magri, made up at the time the number of our brethren at St. Ignatius. With the addition of our poor selves and the arrival, a few days later, of our traveling companions, Father J. Bandini, the membership was increased to five. Father Grassi, whose headquarters were at this Mission, spent a few weeks with us on a his return from Hell's Gate and St. Mary's. He then went to Helena and other places east of the mountains, whence he returned early in the spring, but only to leave again, soon after, for the lower country.

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Father Vanzini had been our "guardian angel" in the novitiate, and now, a veteran of some years' experience on the Missions, was to initiate us also in the work of an Indian missionary, while in Brothers Joseph and Magri we were to have for companions two of the first missionaries in Montana. To their companionship, which extended over several years, we owe no small part of the missions' early history contained in these pages.

As previously remarked, these Indians have no sound of "r," which they replace by "l;" fence, our Christina name being Laurence, we soon became with them, Lolo, which is the French Laurent. We were in this one of the exceptions, as Indians are wont to call people, even Fathers and Brothers, by this or that exterior peculiarity, which they are exceeding quick to notice in persons. Thus, with them, Father Giordi, was Milkokan (Round Head); Father Grassi, Chiskue (Left-handed); Father Cataldo Kaoshin (Broken Leg); Father Van Goro, Kutenalko (Tall Man); Brother Magri, Chitas, (Lean or Skinny), etc.

We resided at St. Ignatius from the end of October, 1867, to the beginning of November, 1873; and again, from the latter part of December, 1883, to the spring of 1887. The happenings of this period of twenty years are recorded throughout the book. We here mention only a few incidents which are part of the local history of St. Ignatius, or closely connected with it, and which seem best recounted in the present chapter.

A couple of weeks after arriving at the Mission, while sitting beside Father Grassi, who was informing us bout things in general, an elderly Indian entered the room without knocking. Father Grassi asked the man: "Stem?" or, "What do you want?" the Indian answered: "Ta Stem," that is, "Nothing;" and advancing toward the middle of the room, he squatted on the floor, near the stove, "I have asked him what he wants, and he answered 'I want nothing.' But you will see," said the Father to the writer, "that he wants something, though it may take an hour to bring it out." Paying no attention to the Indian, the Father went on with his instructions. After a long while, the Indian made known to Father Grassi that he wanted to go to confession. We rose to leave the room, "Remain," said Father Grassi, "you will not be in the way." The Father moved his chair to where the Indian was squatting

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and seated himself beside him. The penitent produced from under his blanket a bunch of little sticks, held together by a bit of buckskin. He untied the bunch and placed the sticks, which were of different lengths and sizes, on the floor, one by one, under the father's eyes.

The sticks represented his sins in thought, deed and according to number and species. The confession was gone through rather expeditiously, and mostly by signs, hardly a work being spoken by either of the two. Having gathered the sticks and thrown them into the stove, our good man left the room looking very happy. Father Grassi made the remark that probably many whites could not examine their conscience half so well as that Indian did his.

It is not known whence these Indians got the idea of thus keeping an account of their failings; but their contrivances has often reminded us of the practical method of recording one's faults proposed by St. Ignatius, the Founder of the Society of Jesus, in his particular Examen.

The Indians had another device for the special remembrances of certain days in the years. It was a wooden stick, from twelve to eighteen inches long and about half an inch thick., on which they would cut a number of notches, one for every day. The Sundays were indicated by a double notch, the proper cut in the form of an X. At the close of each day, the proper cut on the stick would be whittled smooth. They used this especially o recall the coming of the three principal feasts in the year, Christmas, Easter, and that of St. Ignatius, the Patron of the Mission. Before going to the chase, they never failed to ask the missionaries the exact number of days before the feast, and would nick their sticks accordingly, to make sure of not missing the celebration.

Some such device would have been very serviceable to the missionaries in their wild surroundings and isolation. Father Giorda set out one year from St. Ignatius to visit the Coeur d'Alene Mission after Easter, and on reaching the place found our good folks there still keeping Lent. He threw up his arms in surprise, and broke the spell with a joyous and strongly accented: "He is risen, Alleluia." To cap the climax, he found that they had placed Easter on a Wednesday.

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Whatever the cause, some very peculiar cases of absent-mindedness call for a word of comment. Father Van Gorp started from the Mission one day for the Indian Agency, about eighteen miles away. After half an hour or so, he was seen returning. The writer stood in front of the residence, and, somewhat surprised, asked he Father what had brought him back so soon. "I forgot my pipe," was the answer. Innocently and as a matter of course, we asked him whether the pipe he had forgotten was like the one in his mouth. We saw his face flush, and a smile play on his lips, as, turning his horse, he galloped off somewhat faster than he had come. We need not add that Father Van Gorp was thoroughly wide-awake, as the business men of Missoula can testify.

Owing to their small number and the distances and difficulties of travel, it was rare that several Fathers cold meet together. One summer, however, the following found themselves fathered under the same roof, namely, Fathers Giorda, Imoda, Menetrey, Ravalli, and the writer. While sitting in a room 12 x 13 feet, Father Ravalli happened to miss his glasses, and we all began to look for them, the search continuing for some time. There occurred a little mishap, a slight collision of our right temple with the aggressive nose of Father Ravalli. And lo! The Father had on two pairs of spectacles; one pair at his eyes, and the other across his forehead! It seems hardly credible; yet it is true.

But lest all our tales be told about others, here is one on ourselves. One bright summer morning, between ten and eleven o'clock, a couple of Sisters from across the way, called on the writer about some urgent matter. Being bidden in, they were considerably surprised to see the writer at his desk with the lamp burning and the shades drawn. "Father, are you sick?" they inquired somewhat timidly. The query brought us back to our wits. Mechanically in the morning we had gone through what we ordinarily did in the evening; but for the visitors, it is likely that we would have remained under the spell and gone to bed, to wake up all bewildered at seeing creation upset, with the run rising no longer in the east, but in the west.

WE close the chapter with a bear story, a rather novel and peculiar incident belonging to our fist years' residence at St.

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Ignatius. One evening, a little before dusk, Father j. Bandini, who had already become quite proficient in the language, was called to the church to hear a confession. He promptly answered the summons, and while drawing the curtain of his box, was confronted with a most unlooked-for object, a live, black bear, which had found its way into the church, and was in possession of the priest's side of the confessional. The writer was the first whom the Father met as he rushed out to give the alarm; for which, however, there was no real cause. The bear had been a familiar object about the place for a couple of years, having been brought up in the camp from a cub. But the strangeness of the encounter had caused the Father to forget this fact for the moment. Still, the beast had to be shot within the year, as it was growing vicious with age.

But enough of stories. Let us proceed to more important parts of our subject.