Any person who has read the previous pages of this volume will not charge us with being ignorant of missionary operations on our western coast. Though we were but eight years connected in mechanical and business relations with them, still we have never lost sight of their labors, or their intellectual, moral, religious, political, or physical operations, nor of their personal conduct, or their adaptation to the work assigned them. We have spoken plainly our views, and impressions of the character, conduct, and influence of all prominent men in the country. Our main object has been to introduce the reader to the people of Oregon at the time in which they were acting in a public capacity. The private morals of the country have only been incidentally drawn out by reference to a petition sent to Congress, signed by the Rev. David Leslie, in 1840. In that document Mr. Leslie does himself and the country an injustice, by asserting that “theft, murder, infanticide, etc., are increasing among them to an alarming extent” (Senate Doc., 26th Congress, 1st Session, No. 514). Those charges Mr. Leslie no doubt sincerely thought to be true at that time, from the occurrence of the two most serious crimes about the time he wrote. But such crimes were by no means common.
It is often asked, What good have the missionaries done to the Indians? If this question applied alone to the Jesuit missionaries, brought to the country by the Hudson’s Bay Company, we would say unhesitatingly, None at all. What few Indians there are now in the country that have been baptized by them, and have learned their religious catechisms, are to-day more hopelessly depraved, and are really poorer and more degraded than they were at the time we visited them twenty-two years since, looking carefully at their moral and pecuniary condition then and now. In proof of which we give the following article:—
“Cœur d’Alêne Mission.
“The old Mullan road from the Bitter Root or Missoula River to the Cœur d’Alêne Mission, shows to the traveler little evidence that it was once explored, laid out, and built by a scientific engineer. Decayed remnants of bridges are scattered all along the Cœur d’Alêne and St. Regis Borgia rivers; excavations have been filled up by the débris of fallen timber; huge bowlders that have rolled down the mountain side, constantly crumbling masses of slate, and huge chasms, worn or torn by the furious progress of the streams swollen by the melting snows and spring rains, obstruct entirely the passage of vehicles of all kinds, and render the passage of pack and saddle horses almost impossible. In the distance of eighty miles, you cross these two rivers one hundred and forty-six times, climb the precipitous sides of numerous mountains, continually jumping your horses over fallen timber, and filing to the right and left to avoid the impassable barriers which the mountain tornadoes have strewn in your way. The gorges, through which the road sometimes winds to avoid the mountains of rocks that close in even to the edge of the main stream, are narrow, and so completely shaded, that the rays of the sun have never penetrated, and one everlasting cold chill dampness prevails. Our party were halted for an hour in one of those passes to allow the passage of a herd of two hundred Spanish cattle, and, although when we emerged from the cañon we found the sun oppressively hot, I do not remember ever to have suffered more from cold in any climate or in any altitude. The oppressiveness seemed to spring from something besides the mere temperature. We found but one living thing in those narrow cañons, and that was the most diminutive of the squirrel species. There was no song of birds or whir-r-r of partridge or grouse. It had the silence of the cold, damp grave.
“After arriving within six miles of the mission, the cañon of the Cœur d’Alêne opens out to about four miles in width, and you come suddenly to Mud Prairie,—a broad, open park, with here and there a solitary pine, and the ground covered with a heavy growth of swamp grass, which stock will only eat when nothing better can be obtained. Two hours more, and the mission, with its stately church (so it appears in the mountains), suddenly presents itself to view.
“Dilapidated fences are passed, rude Indian houses made of ‘shakes,’ fields of wheat and vegetables overrun with weeds, and at last, making the one hundred and forty-sixth crossing of the river, you halt your hungry and jaded horses in front of the rudest piece of architecture that ever supported a cross or echoed to the Ave Maria of the Catholic faith. Rude though it is, when we consider the workmen by whom it was constructed and the tools employed, the feeling of ridicule and smile of contempt will give way to admiration of the energy and (though I think mistaken) zeal which sustained the Jesuit fathers during what was to them, at that time, a most herculean labor. The building is 46 by 60 feet, and 30 feet posted, and was two years in process of construction. The workmen were two or three Jesuit priests, assisted by a few Indians, and the reverend fathers showed me a saw, an auger, an ax, and an old jack-plane, their only tools. It is situated on a little elevation from the main valley. On the left is the dwelling of the fathers, and still to the left is the storehouse, hospital, workshop, and building for the sick and crippled recipients of their benefactions. Around the slope of the elevation are scattered Indian huts and tepees, and at its base lies the resting-place of departed Indians who had died in the faith and gone to the hunting-grounds of the Great Spirit. In front of all, the Cœur d’Alêne, seemingly satisfied with the havoc which its furious progress had made, runs slowly and sluggishly along. The interior of the church is a curiosity. Here you see the marks of an unfortunate stroke from a clumsy ax-man; there a big Indian had sawed a stick of timber half off in the wrong place; in another spot, a little Indian had amused himself boring holes with the auger, while the joints ‘broke’ like a log-house before chinking. I was told that in its original construction there was not a nail used; but lately some efforts have been made to smooth down the rough exterior by the addition of cornice and corner-boards.
“The priests are very jealous of their claims to the territory around the mission, and regard the unlimited control of the Indians as a right which they have acquired by their self sacrificing labors, and as a duty on the part of the Indians in return for the salvation of their souls and absolution from their sins. For my part, from an acquaintance with twelve tribes of Indians, among whom the gospel has been preached, and the forms, mysteries, and ceremonies of the Catholic Church introduced, I have failed to see a soul saved, or one single spark of Indian treachery, cruelty, or barbarism extinguished. The lamented General Wright thrashed the murdering propensities of the Cœur d’Alêne Indians out of them. The balance of their virtues—stealing, drinking, and supreme laziness—they possess in as large a share as they did before the heart of Saint Alêne was sent among them. I would like to give a favorable portrait of this mission and its occupants, if I could. I would like to say that the reverend fathers were neat, cleanly, intelligent, hospitable individuals, but there are too many who travel that road, and it would be pronounced false. I would like to say they were sowing the seed of civilization and cultivating it successfully in the untutored mind of the poor red man, but truth forbids. I would at least be glad that they urged upon the Indians to obey the laws of this government and respect the property of its citizens, but must leave that task to some one who has never bought of them horse meat for beef, and traveled for days on foot, because they would not, from pure deviltry, sell him one horse out of a band of two or three hundred. I say not these things with any reference to the Catholic Church or its belief, nor am I forgetful of what I have read of the Jesuits of St. Bernard and their acts of humanity; but for the filthy, worthless, superannuated relics of Italian ignorance, who have posted themselves midway between the extremes of Pacific and Atlantic civilization, acknowledging no law save that of their church, I have not the slightest particle of respect, and believe with an old packer, ‘that it was a great pity General Wright had not carried his threat into execution, and blown the den over the range.’”[21]
[21] From the Oregon Herald of May 5, 1866.
These Indians were among the most honest, peaceable, and hopeful of any west of the Rocky Mountains. The mission here spoken of is the one represented by Fathers De Smet and Hoikin as their most successful one west of the mountains. We have reason to believe that Colonel Dow’s statements are correct, from remarks made by other travelers, as also from Father Joset’s own confession. On the 61st page of “Indian Sketches,” he says: “I have been here nearly fifteen years; I am not yet master of the language, and am far from flattering myself with becoming so. My catechist remarked to me, the other day, ‘You pronounce like a child learning to talk; when you speak of religion we understand you well, but when you change the subject it is another thing,’ That is all I want, I have at last succeeded in translating the catechism; I think it is nearly correct. You can hardly imagine what it cost me to do it; I have been constantly at it since my arrival here; I finished it last winter; nevertheless it is short; it has but fourteen lessons; it is based upon the first part of the Catechism of Lyons. This catechism is printed, not on paper, but on the memory of the children.”
According to Father Joset’s own statement, it has taken him nearly fifteen years to learn their language sufficiently well to teach the children fourteen lessons in the catechism, about as much time as some of our Protestant missionaries have consumed in translating the whole of the New Testament, and a large part of the Old, into heathen languages, besides establishing schools, where they teach the people to read the pure word of God and practice its sacred principles, instead of following the traditions of men.
Father Joset continues: “From the end of November to Palm Sunday, on which day this ceremony (children’s first communion) took place, they had catechism at the church three times a day, and it was rare that one missed the exercise; besides this, there was a repetition every day, either before the chief or the catechist. I give catechism three hundred times a year. I doubt whether there is a catechist in the world more utterly deprived of the means of encouraging his pupils. Some prayer beads would have been a great reward, but I could give them nothing but a medal to each, as a memorial of their first communion.”
This reverend father, in speaking of the Church of the Sacred Heart, as it is called, says: “It is a magnificent monument to the faith of the Cœur d’Alênes, who have given the lie to their name by its erection. If it were finished, it would be a handsome church even in Europe. The design is by Father Ravalli; it is ninety feet long by forty wide; it has twenty-eight pillars, two and a half feet square by twenty-five feet in height; all the rest is of timber, and in proportion.”
Compare this with Colonel Dow’s description of the same building. It will be seen, by the quotations we have given, how these “filthy, worthless, superannuated relics of Italian ignorance” employ themselves and the Indians under their instruction. None but a bigot or a Jesuit will pretend that such instructions tend to enlarge, to elevate, or civilize the savage mind. We have only to look to countries grown old under just such teachings, to see its legitimate results.