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77 5 / Remember (What We Told You) B y 1855, the time of the treaty, there was a small Catholic school here in Tulalip Bay located at Priest Point.1 There were other missionaries, but I think—by far—the Catholic priests came here first. When I say they came here first, I mean they came even before or just along with the white trappers. The pioneers came right after the trappers. So, these priests were moving across what became the United States, Canada, and Mexico long ago. Father Pierre de Smet was a well-known priest in the Middle West. My father and others of his generation talked about him. They never saw him; they just heard about him. He traveled all over the Middle West—in the Dakotas, in Montana, and Idaho. I think he even touched on Washington Territory. He baptized little children and grown Indians who wanted to be baptized. He did a lot to pacify the Indians. Father de Smet would walk, walk, walk. I guess he went on horseback once in a while. Father Eugene Chirouse and Father Paul Durieu were the first priests in this area. Chirouse was born in France. When he was fifteen years old, he read about the American Indians, and he told his grandmother he was going to dedicate his life to the church and that he would try and reach America. (He was an orphan but he had a grandmother.) He wanted to work with American Indians. Of course, they were all pleased over that idea. Sometimes the religions just make me mad. But when I think of the dedication and the sacrifices of the priests and missionaries, I know their sacrifices were unbelievable. They walked across this country. They had to get across rivers; it snowed, it hailed, the wind blew, and there was the blistering hot sun. Father Chirouse lived at the Mission at Priest Point. He wore a long, black garment to the ankles, with long sleeves. It was supposed to be made 1 In 1864 they moved to Mission Beach and opened the Mission of St. Anne, which burned in 1902. 78 / Remember of heavy, black woolen serge. He had left Montreal years before and his cassock was worn out. It had been patched and was all tattered. So some of the Indian women made him one from white, heavy cotton material that they got at the Nisqually trading post, which was an English trading post north of Olympia. An Indian lady made it just like the black one, but it was white. He wore it until he got a message that the bishop was coming from Portland to visit him in Olympia. Olympia was where the roads ended, but it wasn’t much of a place. Here he had a white cassock and nobody wears those but the Pope. His is supposed to be all black. He worried and worried. They started out for Olympia. Some Indians paddled the canoe for him. Some other Indians went along in another canoe. It was summer. They stopped to eat on the beach and make tea, or he would drink water. The Indians made their own kind of tea and had lunch. Then the Indians said, “We’ll fix his robe.” They picked a lot of wild blackberries—real ripe ones—several bucketsful . They had a small tub, and they smashed them all up and put his robe in. They really soaked it up. They had started out early, so they were days ahead, and it was a good thing because they had to wait a whole day for his cassock to dry. When he put it on, he said it was black, pretty black. They were getting close to Olympia. About a day or two days later a storm came up, and they had to round a point and they tipped over. There he was in the water. The Indians helped him to get to the shore. But the saltwater washed his robe—not white; it was sort of a light lavender or purple. Somebody in Rome can wear a cassock that color but not him. When he met the bishop, he explained it—and besides, he was still wet. But, you know, things like that happened to them. I was just thinking, “Oh, bless their hearts. They were so brave.” Somebody else might say, “Oh, to hell with it. I’ll just wear whatever the Indians have—a blanket.” My mother and father talked...

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