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CHAPTER 6
FIN DE SIECLE: NEW HORIZONS
Continued
It was while with this last tribe that the
startlingly unexpected occurred, as Fr. William himself narrated:
While I was there some
of the settlers who were living with squaws exhibited considerable animosity towards me,
partly for the reason that my teachings were designed to break up concubinage, and partly
because they were prejudiced against the Catholic religion. I got the tribe together and
built a church out of logs and brush. After the church was completed, and while I was
celebrating mass, two white settlers, named John Basso and Jonathan Lewis, attempted to
ride into the building on horseback, but the door was too low, so they dismounted and
interrupted the services. After my congregation dispersed they grossly insulted me and
ordered me to leave the place. I refused to do so until I had concluded my labors... The
next day they ordered me to leave the place before noon, and threatened that if I refused
to go they would take me away by force... I had concluded my work that afternoon and
started for Batchee Hootch, the San Joaquin district in Fresno county.
While on the way I saw
a young Indian not more than 22 years of
age lying under a tree and evidently dying of fever. I got off my horse, and after having
given him the necessary instructions, and having obtained his consent, I baptized him.
From there I went to a rancheria where about 400 Indians were waiting for me. When I
arrived I explained the principles of the Christian religion to them, and remained up
around the camp fire until late at night, answering the questions of the chiefs about God,
and the future life, and so on.
It was pretty late that
night when I went to sleep, and I reposed in the open air on a pile of dry grass close by
a blazing fire. I was very much fatigued, and
I never had such a refreshing sleep before. In the morning they brought me a bowl of acorn
mush. I was very hungry, and enjoyed the novel dish
immensely. I arose at sunrise, and proceeded to measure off the ground for a church. It
was to be one hundred feet long by 50 feet wide, and was to be constructed of logs and
brush. While I was so engaged with a couple of the chiefs, five men drove up with their
faces blackened... Two of them were armed with rifles and three with revolvers. They drove
right up to where I was working, and one of them said, addressing me, "Are you here
yet?" This man had a rifle. The other, who was similarly armed, made a remark to the
same purport, and I recognized them as Jonathan Lewis and John Basso. They ordered me to
leave immediately... I asked them whether they owned the land upon which I proposed
erecting the church, and they said they did. So, not knowing whether their statement was
true or false, and not wishing to have any trouble and possibly bloodshed, for the Indians
were very much incensed, I consented to leave...
They
made William mount a mustang and ride ahead of them, taunting him all the time, mocking
the articles of his faith. One of them, with his pistol continually pointed at him sang a
song with the refrain, "Captain, where shall I send the bullet through?", which
must have worried him some. They rode for about ten miles into Green Valley, stopped by a
large tree and dismounted. Lewis warned William once more: "If ever you come back
again you will be hanged on that tree." But as soon as William was free of his
captors he returned to his Indian friends,
... the Indians
manifested great joy on seeing me, because they
had heard of my being spirited away. They were very angry at my treatment, and I advised
them to keep quiet and to refrain from
violence. I put on an Indian's hat and coat, partly covered my face with a handkerchief
and otherwise disguised myself.
Thus equipped, I
started in the night time with an Indian guide on horseback to the place from which I had
been spirited away, arriving there about midnight. As I approached I heard a great cry of
lamentation among the Indians, and was informed that they were bewailing the death of the
young Indian, whom I had baptized on the road side. They were rejoiced to see me, and
built a large fire on the north bank of the San Joachin river. I instructed and baptized
400 that night. They talked about killing the white men who had taken me away, and I had
considerable difficulty in making them consent to remain quiet. At daylight, I arrived at
the tree on which my captors had promised I should be hanged if I returned, and I had
quite a little laugh there to myself.
Fr. William related other personal
experiences, perhaps not so dramatic as the above but equally revelatory of his love and
care for the natives. Once again in Fresno county,
I found a very wild and uncultivated
tribe, without property, and living upon whatever they could lay their hands upon. Iworked
among these with good success and induced them to build little houses for themselves and
lay up provisions for the Winter. They seem to be very good Christians now. They suffered
some persecutions from white men who laid poison for their dogs there and the Indians were
afraid that their children would eat of the poison food. They speak no other
language but their own. They are a branch of the Piutes and are called Monos.
William explained how he came to know of
them and how he was able to communicate with them
A delegation of them came to Botchee
Hootch for me. They said they had heard of the white prophet and wished him to visit
them. They number about 200, among whom were a few Mission Indians who acted as
interpreters for me. They all embraced the faith willingly and were baptized.
Though William was much impressed with the
religious zeal of the Monos -- they would travel some thirty to forty miles for Mass -- he
also found things that needed correction and he was quick to provide it:
Before I came among them they had a law by
which any doctor of their tribe under whose care two or three persons died, was put to
death. There would be very few doctors left if that were the rule observed among whites. I
stopped that practice altogether, and showed them the folly of their law.
Another instance of William's opposition
to some of the medical attitudes of the Indians was the practice of the
"temescal" or sweat-house. Indians who had some serious ailment were placed in a
narrow hut, resembling a baking oven, and seated there. After being thoroughly sweated
they would emerge and jump into the cold waters of creek or river. Says William,
"This last proceeding sometimes kills the patient very quickly. I explained to them
the folly of this kind of water cure, and they omitted it afterwards with very good
results."
But sometimes the Indian doctor's medicine
worked, and William was objective enough to report it and let it pass:
For all kinds of sores and cancers their
doctors use suction as a cure. I saw one case where the doctor cut open a cancer on a
man's jaw with a piece of broken bottle and sucked the blood out of it. The patient got
better, and seemed to suffer no inconvenience from it.
William reports other interesting bits of
Indian medicine -- often, however, without recounting the results: "I knew an Indian
doctor once who had an idiotic child, and cut open its forehead and the back of its neck
with a piece of broken glass. He then sucked the wounds, hoping to draw out the disease in
that way." Period. Such silence as to consequence instances how Padre Blanco was slow
to judge, much less condemn, the practices of the Indians. Unless the practice was
patently harmful he let it be. He was, however, quick to note the virtues of those he
encountered. Speaking again of the Piutes, and of a particularly poor group of them, he
says: "Towards their sick they are very kind, and they never say a harsh word to or
beat their children. The latter are docile and obedient and it rarely becomes necessary to
punish them." The very young he admires, as here, but also the old and/or infirm.
"The blind Indians," he says, "have some peculiar kind of instinct which
enables them to travel without a guide for forty or fifty miles over a rough country
without losing their way. I saw an old blind Indian once who told me he would like to go
in under a roof because he believed it was going to rain. He said he could feel it, and he
was right, because it did rain in a few hours afterwards.
What he also admired about the Indians was
their eagerness to learn about Christianity, their natural capacity for it and talents to
express it with beauty and delight. And he seems to have respected their way of learning,
expressing, and living their new-found faith.
I had Sunday School every day from
daylight until dark, with intermission only for meals. The major portion of this time was
occupied in teaching them their prayers. They would keep on repeating, "Padre nostro;
padre nostro," until they knew it by heart, and then they would recite a little more
until they knew that, and so on. I also taught them to sing the simple hymns. They have
the finest voices in the world -- strong, clear and mellow
on account of their healthy and well developed lungs. After getting through with the day's
instructions, they would very often sit up until mid-night practicing the hymns they had
learned during the day.
Even their superstitions Dempflin
respected. He simply recounts them with not the slightest hint of disapprobation or
condescension.
Some of the Diggers and Piutes burn their
dead, and the relations of the deceased paint their faces with the ashes of the corpse.
They have but very few superstitions. They regard the eagle with something like
veneration, and when they gather together for a grand banquet, they call it an eagle
feast. They do not like to have an eagle fly over their camp, because they believe it to
be an omen of death. The Monos believe that there is something human about bears and
will not kill them. They believe that the man who kills a bear will be killed himself by
one of those animals. They do not like to kill a rattlesnake for the same reason.
What is striking and warming about Fr.
William, and what endeared him to the Indians he served, was the love and respect that
suffused his service. Other "white men" of his day
looked down upon the Indians, saw them as curiosities. They might even have
regarded them with fear and hostility, or, if they were proper people, might have
proffered their services out of a sense of justice -- to diminish the wrong done to a
violated people. But Fr. William regarded the Indians as truly his brothers and sisters
and of a dignity to match, at least, that of their white supplanters; and he worked among
them because he felt at home with them. "They are good people and worthy of the best
care," was his simple, natural statement to Archbishop Alemany about the Indians
around Merced, California, in preface to a request on their behalf. Out of this basic
attitude grew his happy ministry of love and justice. He seems to have been absolutely
single-minded: everything for the Indians.
Everything he could lay his hands on was
carried off to the Indians. When in his travels the priest came near a religious house he
would always stop. This stay was generally for the night unless the Indians in the
vicinity were numerous. In such an event he would stay as long as his labors required. On
the morning of his departure he would make a tour of inspection of the house, stables and
grounds. Anything which he considered of less use to the Parish priest than to his Indians
he would store away in his buck-board and without saying a word, off he would trot to the
next Indian mission and there distribute his loot. The different priests throughout
California knew our missionary well. They soon learned to lock what they did not want to
lose when he put in an appearance. But Father William was loved by all and no priest has
yet been found who resented his rapacious habits.[5]
Padre Blanco did more for the temporal
welfare of his people than simply bring them second-hand articles. He also tried for
larger benefits and for what we call today "social justice" on their behalf. In
his letter to Alemany, November 24, 1879, William, with his accustomed lapses in spelling,
grammar and clarity, wrote:
They [the Indians in the Merced area] must
have a little proper spot of own land where the priest can give them a Mission without
being interrupted by anyone, where we can hear confessions, where they can be gathered
from Sualnonne [?], Mariposa and part of Fresno Co. and where the Archbishop can easily
approach to confirm them. This place would be the Rancho of James Buttler 10 miles from
Mariposa for it is an old home of the Indians Mr. Buttler is giving to Washinton
Territory. Offers have been made to him for
his land and cattle, he only has posession no title but he told me that he would not make
any bargains with anyone untill he hears from me again.
If the Archbishop could help us and send
me an order of 500 dollars I will get the place, fences, house, improvements and some
cattle or cows and pigs and have wheat put in the ground, government title which will be
given to your Grace.
The Ranch of James Buttler is a very nice
location for the Indians and they will be able to support themselves. Mr. Buttler
has been living and in possession of this land for the past 15 or so years, his possessory
claim is good and a full title can be obtained from the government which I will take up. I
will stop here with Rev. Father McNamara a few days awaiting a reply from your Grace.
In another letter of May 12, 1880 -- this
one to Bishop Mora of Los Angeles -- he again speaks of the hardships of the Indians and
the injustice done to them and asks that something be done about it:
The conditions of the Indians in regard to
their temporal life is bad. In San Jacinto Mr. Burns of San Bernardino is about to
drive them from their homes. At [?] Farly [?] Tomas and others are about doing the same.
At Temecula they are on a sandy creek at agnanea driven away. At San Isidro, Jack Alem [?]
also took the land from the Indians here at Agua Caliente. Governor Downy claims the Ranch
and where the Indians live. I think that if your Lordship comes to the conclusion to form
a permanent settlement for the Indians who have no homes at Pauma Ranch that Pauma could
be settled thickly with Indian families. Besides stealing the land from the Indians the
agent had put Protestant teachers who also not only preach their protestant dirt to them
but also allow the children practice bad morals such is the state of the government of the
present Agent. If Mr. Stanford will be elected and
must exchange the teacher and also some of the Captains I have some good able Indians to
be interpretors for the new Agent and myself can give him important information.
In September of '83 (?) he again wrote to
Bishop Mora, Leland Stanford being now governor of California.
After having talked with Mr. Burns about
the Indians he tells me that there is a most practical gentleman here able to be
Agent for the Indians. his name is M.J. Riley a good Catholic recommended by the Fathers.
has a certificate for teaching schools, living here for 12 years, [??], well acquainted
with the Indians and would be obedient to the
Bishop. Mr. Burns tells me that would not another man be found within three counties
that would suit so well as this man. If your Grace
has not yet seen Mr. Stanford it would be to our advantage
to recommend Mr. Riley. At any rate I told Mr. Burns to tell Mr. Riley to gather as many
names to recommend him and send them to the Bishop
in order to forward them to Washington...
What overall results Fr. William's efforts
had in securing some justice for the native American is impossible to determine. But his
beneficial effect upon many individual American Indians was deep and lasting. In a sketch
of the Yuma Indian School, dated March 14, 1891, we read that
The sisters have been greatly aided in
their good work by the zealous and self-sacrificing
Father William of the Dominican Order at Benicia,
who has endeared himself to the children and to all
the Indians in the neighborhood by his kindness,
generosity and piety. No man has done more in the United
States for the "red man" than Father William. His life written would make an interesting volume; he has devoted
his years in the holy ministry almost entirely to
the wants of the Indian; he has shared their camps,
their food and their life. Thousands have bowed
before him under the words of absolution; thousands
have received from his hands the Bread of Life...[6]
And after nearly a century he is still
remembered with devotion by Indians in the various locales of his ministry. In the Fresno
diocesan newspaper, Register, for September 12, 1976, Charles McCarthy reported
that "Many families still have holy pictures given them by 'Padre Blanco.' A few of
the elderly recall the white-robed Dominican with the dark red beard who baptized them
when they were children. They still sing the hymns he taught them in the Spanish language.
They talk of the priest's little bay horse which was always healthy and fat, though they
never once saw the animal eat." Recently, in Lemoore, California, within the parish
of St. Peter's, a chapel was built by the Indians who first received the Gospel from Fr.
William. The chapel is on the same reservation where Fr. William helped the Indians build
their first chapel which served them for over eighty years until it burned down twenty
five years ago. Monsignor John O'Friel, the present pastor of St. Peter's, reports that
after one hundred years the tribe is still one hundred percent Catholic. They will have
nothing to do with the Protestants, and, he adds, not much more with the local parish!
They cherish the Faith received from Fr. William but also the independence within it, also
encouraged by their Padre Blanco.
In 1894 Fr. William left California,
visited the Master General in Rome, and then returned to Guatemala where he attempted to
work among the natives there as was his original desire. But, as he noted in his
single-page sketch of his religious life, "I was not able to because of the hate and
opposition of the government and all those having died who were of this Province, I
occupied myself for one year giving missions on the border of Chiapas and Guatemala and
now the 30th of May, 1895 I made the trip, I made a trip to Europe in order to regain
strength and especially to put myself personally under the orders of our Very Rev. Fr.
General Andrew Fruhwirth, O.P. who gave me permission to stay some months here in
Germany." What happened between then and 1912 is at present unknown. In the Fall of
1912 we find William in New York where he took sick and was brought to St. Vincent's hospital. A priest who visited him
there described the once tall, strong missionary as now a "thin and
weather-beaten" old man. He was transferred to St. Francis Hospital and died there in
early December, 1912. His body was waked at the St. Vincent Ferrer's priory and was buried
in St. Rose Cemetery, Springfield, Kentucky.
While dying he was happily visited by a
young western Dominican student who had been completing his theology in Washington D.C.,
Fr. William Lewis. It was good, for Padre Blanco and for the California brethren with whom
he served so well for so long, that someone from their (and his) congregation was present
for the last farewell.
Partial Endnotes
click endnote number to resume reading
[5]. Msgr. James H. Culleton, The Register, Annual
Review, 1931, reprinted in Academy Scrapbook, Academy of California, Church
History; Fresno, Feb. 1951, p. 246 -- as in WDA XII:50.
[6]. Cf. Dempflin's file XII:50
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