Lamy of Santa Fe (37 page)

Even the positive aspects of his report led to the same purpose—the need for funds, priests, and religious. The small community of nuns at Santa Fe were “doing well,” but he was already in debt for four years on their account alone. He expected three more Loretto nuns
to join him to go West. When the Paris Society allocated twenty thousand francs in reply to his appeals, he thanked them earnestly, for he needed it immediately to buy “many things at as low prices” as he could—catechisms, prayer books, school books, whatever else might be needed for the new preparatory seminary he would establish for the “many vocations for the priesthood” which he hoped to find locally, for he thought he would never again return to Europe.

For her brother's sake, he had planned to visit Sister Philomène at Riom, but was prevented by demanding business, and also by a spell of poor health. But in making his regrets, he told her of his chalice, and of how, without knowing of the gift, the Abbé Mousset, vicar of Clermont, had presented him there with “a very beautiful pair of cruets,” to complete the furnishings of his own chapel. Gold-plated, like their little tray, they were identical, except that the one for the wine had on its lid a distinguishing tiny bunch of grapes in red enamel. His work done in Paris and his party assembled, he could inform her that they would sail for New York on an American steamer from Le Havre on August first—a twelve-day crossing.

From New York his party set out at once by rail, stage coach, and river, going direct to Independence, Kansas, and in its prairie neighborhood to the west, established a camp at Willow Springs. There Lamy was to await the arrival of the sisters from Kentucky who had agreed earlier to join his convent in Santa Fe. He was delighted to find that Machebeuf had sent four Mexican carters and “thirty good animals” to meet him at Willow Springs. It was good to hear that the rainy weather he had found in the East had reached across the plains, for travellers coming by from Santa Fe told him that there was no trouble in finding water and grass for the crossing.

The month of waiting wore on—the sisters where expected daily but did not appear. The party in camp sent out hunters for buffalo meat. Returning from one of these expeditions, Father Pierre Eguillon, “while putting his gun into the wagon, it slipped through an opening in the [waggon] bed, exploded, and the unfortunate priest received the whole discharge in his right hand.” Taken to Independence for help, he was told by doctors that the hand should be amputated. He refused, clinging to the priesthood which must have him whole. In camp, he was nursed but remained seriously ill.

One day “a bearded stranger” in a long linen coat and carrying a rifle arrived in camp, having heard some of the party speaking French. He asked who they were. They told him, and, assuming he was a hunter, asked his name in turn.

“I am Bishop Miège,” he said, “vicar apostolic of this area.”

Lamy appeared and made him welcome. They had met at the previous
Baltimore Council. Miege's vicariate—known as the “Indian Territory”—was huge, like Lamy's. It embraced a great portion of the plains and all of Colorado, and it bordered on Lamy's diocese on the east and north. He had no town, no cathedral, but lived in a hut at the Jesuit mission near the site of the later Topeka, from which he made his journeys across his empty lands. He was even poorer than Lamy—his sacerdotal equipment consisted of one yellow silk chasuble, which he would lend to other missioners.

The plains hunter went on his way, and Lamy expected to move within a week—his company had been under tents almost a month waiting for the nuns from Kentucky, but he could not risk the coming of hard weather on the plains in autumn, and it was time to go. But another circumstance would have kept him at Willow Springs for a while longer in any case, for he had a spell of illness in late September. Soon recovered, he decided he must not wait any longer for the Lorettines. But what to do with Father Eguillon? He was hardly strong enough to travel, but begging not to be left behind, said he would rather die on the way to the new mission than among strangers. On 5 October, Lamy gave the order to break camp, had Eguillon lifted on a mattress into one of the waggons, the caravan moved out, and before the journey was ended, Eguillon was well again.

Lamy had ten canvas-topped waggons with mule teams, twenty-eight people in his immediate party, and he was the only European in the group who had previously crossed the prairies. But his companions showed fortitude in all conditions of the journey, which would take five weeks. Because water was, after all, hard to find, the stages of the passage were long ones, often lasting until after dark; and in the dark, they often saw Indian campfires only a mile or so away, and in the daytimes, they would often see fresh trails made by Indian parties, and they were always on the alert for attack, but luckily none came. The plains—”those solitudes”—presented, he said, a monotonous aspect, but even so, they were magnificent, “vast and undulant as the sea.” During a certain week the caravan saw not thousands, but hundreds of thousands, of bison in herds so immense that they solidly blackened the prairie in all directions. It took fast horses and crack shots to kill when bison were needed for fresh meat. On every Sunday and feast day the bishop said Mass in his tent and all came together to worship God and ask His protection in their travels. At last, seeing the mountains of New Mexico, they saw also a little crowd of New Mexicans who had ridden to meet them. They gave the bishop's party a good welcome; but it was left to Santa Fe to mount the most brilliant reception. It was so notable that when news of it reached St Louis, De Smet wrote to Santa Fe of his “pleasure in reading about it in the papers.”

With all the civil and military authorities in attendance, several thousand citizens turned out as the party approached Santa Fe, and a company of United States dragoons in full dress with guidons and bugles rode out to form an escort. Dragoon William Drown caught much of the scene in his diary, along with the superior, even contemptuous, tone which the conquering Easterners took toward the older population.

Under the entry for 18 November 1854, he wrote: “We have had a splendid turn-out today. We received orders from the Adjutant-General's office yesterday to be in readiness to start today at twelve M. on the road to Fort Union to meet the Bishop (Lama), who has just arrived from Rome.… We all drew new horse equipments yesterday, and were thereby able to make quite an imposing appearance. We started at twelve M. accompanied by all the bigbugs of the city and about 3,000 of the poorer class of Mexicans, who met the Bishop about five miles out of the city, where we were all wheeled into line—the dragoons on one side of the road and the citizens another, and the mob most anywhere where they could get a good sight at their ‘dear Bishop.' “ The Loretto nuns with their pupils also rode out in coaches. As soon as Lamy came in sight of the city, the bells of Santa Fe began to peal. “The dragoons were the first to salute, with presented sabres and flourishing of trumpets. The Bishop halted opposite our center, and very gracefully returned the salute by taking off his sombrero—which” when he bowed “exhibited the dollar-spot on the summit of his cranium—and thanked us for our kindness to him. He then proceeded on a few yards further, and proceeded to pay his respects to the citizens of the city—about 100 of which were Americans and Europeans—for their uniform kindness and attention. Our company was then desired by him to move in front, and he would be very happy to follow us into the city …” He asked the dragoons to take him into town by the road which led past St Michael's chapel, the oldest church. “We accordingly started off at a full gallop, and the Mexicans crowded in upon the Bishop so close to get a good sight of him that we could not see him at all. He at last sent an express to us, desiring us, if we pleased, not to ride so fast, as he was at least a mile behind us.… We then pulled down to a walk and allowed about fifty ugly faces to pass us. As we neared the city, the whole population was standing in crowds on both sides of the road—men, women, children, dogs, burros, and in fact every living thing that composes a Mexican family, but they, being on foot, were no annoyance to us. We proceeded on into the city by the very road we had gone out about an hour before,” but now what a transformation. An hour ago, the road, all the streets, had been just as usual, plain adobe walls along dusty lanes. But now, “in an hour
all was most beautifully ornamented. Arches of beautifully colored silks, gold crosses, artificial flowers, mirrors, etc. were thrown over the streets in all directions. I noticed that none of the Mexicans dared or did not pass under the arches until the Bishop had passed; but not so with us: we had the honor of being No. 1 and the Bishop No. 2.” They drew up in front of St Michael's, saluting as the bishop dismounted and entered the chapel. There was a brief struggle over who should hold his horse—at least fifty people tried to do so. Drown was given charge of the prelatic horse by his lieutenant and said, “I began to feel rather monkish myself.” Presently Lamy reappeared, now in vestments, which were “truly rich and beautiful.” He remounted and all moved on to the
Castrense
in the Plaza where the bishop sang the Te Deum. When he emerged the procession conducted him to “his residence which … stands in a very narrow street—so much so that we were obliged to charge upon the Mexicans in order to enable him to get to his own house. But he soon saved us the trouble; for as soon as he spoke to the Mexicans himself, they broke like quarter-horses, nearly breaking one another's necks to see who should have the honor of getting out of his way first. When we arrived in front of his gate, we were again wheeled into line to give him a farewell salute, which he returned with many bows and thanks, and we were dismissed. The Bishop is about forty-five years of age [actually forty]; of very prepossessing appearance; speaks English well, and is by birth a Frenchman.”

Before the afternoon was over, Lamy and all the new foreigners paid a call of respect at the now overcrowded little convent, and pupils gave florid addresses of welcome. This was followed by “a sumptuous supper,” as Mother Magdalen reported, which was held at the home of Father Carlos. It was a joyful homecoming.

But on the very next day, another procession was held, this one a march for the dead, for on the night of their arrival, Lamy's new sub-deacon, Sébastien Vaur, died of the cholera which had made him ill during three weeks of the plains crossing. The Mother Superior said he was buried “with all the solemnity possible.” Machebeuf preached. His companions had all grown fond of the young man “of many talents and eminent virtue.” They buried him in St Michael's chapel, and Lamy reported his loss to Paris.

But work was waiting, and within a few days the new assignments had been made for parishes by Machebeuf-—Juilliard at Belen, Martin at the pueblo of Isleta south of Albuquerque, while Avel was stationed in Santa Fe. By the end of November, Machebeuf returned to
“mon cher Albuquerque”
—dear to him as the scene of trials which he had overcome to gain the devotion of the people. The bishop was worried about the great cost of caravan travel—other dioceses in America had
means of transportation and communication which he could not call upon. He hoped for additional material help from Rome and Paris. De Smet reported from St Louis that “a great number of boxes have arrived for your lordship and are in care of Mr Walsh.” There were also two small cameos addressed to Purcell, which De Smet, who was going to Cincinnati, would deliver for Lamy.

Vi
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The Old Dean

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MARCH OF THE FOLLOWING YEAR
, 1855, Machebeuf left for the East to collect the three Loretto nuns who had failed to meet the bishop at Willow Springs. One additional sister from St Louis was now to join the others. All was arranged for their emigration. The vicar general, homeward bound, took the occasion to visit the Ursulines whom he had so dramatically removed from France to Brown County, and their pupils now entertained him with a performance of “the beautiful play of ‘Uncle Tom's Cabin,' “ while he sat in their midst “as pleased and happy in listening to their simple play as if he knew nothing of the danger and sins of border life and Indian camps, or the hardships of travel over desert plains.” Soon he was again at St Louis, where the Lorettines were to meet him. On 7 June they took ship aboard the
Genoa
on the Missouri River, for Independence, Kansas. Once arrived at the edge of the plains, they made all the familiar preparations for the plains crossing in company of a trading caravan.

They were well on their way when on 16 July during a halt for breakfast a cry was raised—”Indians! Indians!”—and the travellers looking to the east saw a rise of the land covered with horsemen painted for war. “They swooped down upon us like so many eagles,” declared Sister Ann Joseph. The nuns were hurried into their ambulances which were in the center of the circle of parked waggons. The heavy canvas tops were lashed down. The caravan animals were herded to the center also. It was hot—ninety degrees; and a great stillness was over all. The waggon drivers sat on their high benches. Soon the Indians penetrated to the inner circle and tried to look under waggon covers. Whenever they did so, the drivers cracked their long rawhide whips with the sound of pistol shots. To mollify the Indians,
the caravan traders made them gifts out of their masses of merchandise—blankets, calicoes, manta, sugar, tobacco, molasses—and Machebeuf freely distributed holy medals. He saw a young Mexican boy with the Indians, assumed this was a captive, and tried to have him released, but without success. Inscrutable, willful, and curious as cats, the Indians wrought fear in those whom they came among at such times. If their souls were the immortal charges of the missioners, what they posed as threats to the living were to be met if necessary with outward as well as inward acts. Machebeuf knew Lamy's pastoral circular of the previous February which, citing government orders sending the Army at last into the field to subdue Indian depredations, had decreed that for the duration of hostilities, the prescribed prayers “in time of war” be read at all Masses “for the success and triumph of our troops.” The Collect: “O God, who bringest wars to nought, and by thy mighty protection rousest the assailants of those who trust in thee, help us thy servants who entreat thy mercy, so that our barbarous enemies may be brought low and we may never cease to praise and thank thee: through our Lord.”