Sovereigns of Themselves:
A Liberating History of Oregon and Its Coast
Volume VIII
Abridged Online Edition
Compiled By M. Constance Guardino III
  And Rev. Marilyn A. Riedel
July 2008 Maracon Productions

Historians M. Constance Guardino III and Rev. Marilyn A. Riedel

I offer thanks to my friends, relatives, and ancestors whose strength of purpose
led me to my own. A special thanks to my co-author,
Rev. Marilyn A. Riedel, for her deep love and dedication to me and this project.
Without her tireless effort and selfless interest,
this liberating history of Oregon would never have been written.

The Great Siwash Returns 1873

 The year 1873 proved to be an exciting year for agent J. H. Fairchild (1873-1875). Early in the year, an Paiute dreamer-prophet Wovoka (1856-1932) came to the reservation stating that if the people danced "long and strong," The Great Siwash would return to help them successfully win a war against the non-indians and then they could regain their old homes and hunting grounds. Some of the Indians believed this Mahdi, while others did not. The employees became fearful but the only real incident to occur was the burning of the teacher’s house. It was never proven, however, that Indians did it.

(1) Women Ghost Dancers (2) Wovoka [1856-1932] (3) Sioux Ghost Dancers

 On April 12, 1873, a permanent company of state militia was organized at Yaquina Bay to protect the pallid population. The recent disturbance from Siletz coupled with the outbreak of the Modoc War in Southern Oregon, caused the bay area settlers apprehension. The following officers were chosen: Judge Daniel Carlisle, captain; William Mackey, first lieutenant; J. H. Blair, second lieutenant; Joseph Thompson, first orderly.
 Despite the formation of the militia, the dancing among the Indians at Siletz did not cease and desist, and was carried on to such an extent that even the most hearty were often compelled to desist from sheer exhaustion; some of the most fanatical, dancing for several days and nights continuously—this in direct opposition to Fairchild's advise and wishes.
 Military personnel made every effort to prove the sayings of the Mahdi unreasonable, but to no purpose. Wildly the dance went on, while settlers looked on with bated breath understanding well that their safety had previously been in the divided sentiment and feeling of that people, for with them no unanimity existed; old feuds had separated tribes into factions. However, Wovoka succeeded in uniting all parties with one idea, and that understandably boding no good to the non-indians.
 As if to add to the general alarm, at this juncture the residence of Edward Sawtell was burned, as many land-grabbers believed, by Indians, causing a general panic among Yaquina Bay residents, who all started "forting up" at different points.
 In the meantime T. B. Odeneal, Indian superintendent of Oregon, visited the agency and found Indians greatly excited over the hostile demonstrations of bay area settlers. The Indians strongly protested that they did not contemplate waging war on the settlers; that they could not afford to do so; and that they well understood that such an act would be the height of foolishness on their part, and that the settlers need have no fear. They were then encouraged to give up their arms to calm the fears of the settlers. They put this matter to the vote, and gave up their knives and every other article with which people could be killed, if required, in order to preserve peaceful relations with the settlers—and diverted the much dreaded war.
 The Paiute prophet Wovoka was believed to have been born in the Sierras of Nevada. By the time of his birth, non-indian settlers had already laid stake to the territory and the Paiute nation saw its world degenerate into a state of cheap labor for whites.
 His father, Tavibo, died and his teenage son became attached to the family of a non-indian rancher named David Wilson. Both Tavibo and David Wilson had a strong theological effect on the young Wovoka, shaping his religious concepts with two very different notions of faith. Tavibo was known as a prophet among his people and preached the concept of a religious dance when Wovoka was still a child. Tavibo claimed that he went into the mountains to speak to the Great Spirits, where he was told the land would open up and swallow the white man, leaving only native peoples to inherit the earth back. However, most of the Paiute people did believe this and Tavibo went back to the mountains, returning with a second revelation that all of the native dead would be resurrected and join those who would reign in this new natives-only world. This prophecy also failed to gain root and Tavibo returned to the mountains for a third time, coming back to his people to warn that those who did not follow the dance of his prophecy would be damned with the non-indians who were predicted to disappear. Curiously, history has recorded many tribal prophets of different nations who shared common visions and warnings. None, up until the time of Wovoka, ever captured a wide following.

Chapter 47: Vision Quest

 Crying for a vision, that's the beginning of all religion. The thirst for a dream from above, without this you are nothing. This I believe. It is like the prophets in your Bible, like Jesus fasting in the desert, getting his visions. It's like our Sioux Vision Quest, the Hanblecheya. White men have forgotten this. God no longer speaks to them from a burning bush. If he did, they wouldn't believe it, and call it science fiction.
 Your prophets went into the desert crying for a dream and the desert gave it to them. But the white men of today have made a desert of their religion and a desert within themselves. The white man's desert is a place without dreams or life. There nothing grows. But the Spirit Water is always way down there to make the desert green again.

 While Tavibo's standing as a prophet waned with each new visit to the mountain, Nevada found itself at a unique theological crossroads. The settlers from the east brought Christianity and missionaries of the Catholic and Mormon faiths worked zealously to "save" native peoples.
 It was under David Wilson's protection that Wovoka, who was renamed Jack Wilson, became exposed to Christian concepts.
 As part of the Wilson household, Wovoka earned the scorn of some of his people, who claimed that his father was really Wilson and not Tavibo. The fact that Wovoka's complexion was light-skinned and that Tavibo translated as "white man" only aggravated the rumors. It is possible that the gossip generated by this contributed to Wovoka's claims that he would save the native peoples. Wovoka eventually left the Wilson household and returned to live among the Paiute; the reason for this departure from his adopted family is not known.
 According to ethnologist James Mooney, who had been able to interview the dreamer-prophet and many of the Ghost Dance leaders, Wovoka had become seriously ill in late December, 1881. By the morning of January 1, 1889, he was clearly a man torn apart by the conflicts of his past. His father's failure to be taken seriously as a prophet, the suffering of the native peoples and his own religious concepts weighed heavily on him. On that day, while he lay in fever, he fell asleep and was taken up to the other world, and here

he saw God, with all the people who had died long ago engaged in their old time sports and occupations, all happy and forever young. He was then given the dance which he was commanded to bring back to his people. Finally, God gave him control over the elements.

 In his dream, Wovoka conversed with God, who promised a new world set aside for the native peoples. The wildlife of the region which was nearly depleted by non-indian settlers would be replenished. The non-indian settlers would vanish en mass and the native dead would be resurrected and reunited with their living ancestors. Suffering, starvation, pain and disease would be wiped away forever. From a theological viewpoint and the safety of hindsight, however, one can detect prophecies which were not tribal in origin.
 Even the most casual churchgoer would recognize the visions of the Book of Revelation in Wovoka's prophecies. Yet Wovoka's audience—the Paiute people and, later, other tribal nations—did not recognize it simply because Christianity did not take root among the native peoples. White missionaries for all of their efforts did not put their faith into the hearts of most native peoples. Wovoka, obviously recognizing this, refashioned the biblical warning to his world. He claimed the native peoples would receive God's favor since it was the non-indian who rejected the Christ. And unlike the New Testament, which was vague concerning the time and place of God's new world, Wovoka spelled out the immediacy of what he said. "Jesus is now upon the Earth," he stated. But again, there is historic contradiction here. Wovoka is quoted as saying he was the Christ and he wasn't the Christ. It would seem that either he excelled at playing to different audiences or was damned to being preserved by prejudiced historians.
 Wovoka added this new world for native peoples would come, but only if ritualistic dance was practiced. In his initial preaching, he instructed his audience to dance five days and four nights, then bathe in a river and go home. Wovoka promised to send a good spirit to his followers, who were to return in three months, at which time he would promise "such rain as I have never given you before."
 The ritualistic dance, which became known as Ghost Dance (Wanagi Wachipi), clearly appealed to the native peoples who were baffled by the pew-bound protocol of Christian faiths. Unlike the calls of his father Tavibo, Wovoka found an audience eager to follow his teachings.
 And unlike the land-grabbing masses greedy to possess the Indians' ancestral homelands, Wovoka preached non-violence.

You must not hurt anybody or do harm to anyone. You must not fight. Do right always. It will give you satisfaction in life.

This philosophy made the Ghost Dance (Wanagi Wachipi) a forward-looking social movement. The dancing itself helped unite and inspire dispirited native communities, and the visions dancers received fostered a revival of traditional culture, which amounted to a form of resistance against overwhelming white pressure to assimilate. Most significantly, the Ghost Dance cut across tribal lines, pointing the way toward 20th Century pan-tribalism.
 Mooney noted that the Ghost Dance was born—not only of despair—but also of hope:

 As it is with men, so it is with nations. The lost paradise is the world's dreamland, before Pandora's box was loosed, when women were nymphs and dryads, and men were gods and heroes? And when a race lies crushed and groaning beneath an alien yoke, how natural is the dream of the redeemer who shall return from exile or awaken from some long sleep to drive out the usurper and win back his people what they have lost...

 Ghost Dance spread to different nations throughout the West with a speed and ferocity unrivaled by any religious frenzy of the day. This turn of events was all the more remarkable for three reasons: the geographic and language barriers among the various nations, the lack of access to media or technology for spreading this news, and the fact that Wovoka never left the Paiute land.
 Instead, members of other nations came to Nevada to learn from him. Why Wovoka did not travel could be attributed to either a fear of unknown territories, a lack of funds to accommodate travel, or even the possibility or enemies.
 Earlier records indicate that Wovoka did venture away from his native lands, and while working in the Oregon hop fields, must have gained some knowledge of the dreamer cult and Smohalla's teachings, some of which he incorporated into his religion.
 The Ghost Dance was initiated into Oregon by followers of Wovoka who had moved northward from Pyramid Lake, Nevada to the Warm Springs Reservation. Oregon Indians may also have visited Wovoka near Walker Lake.
 In Northern Oregon the doctrine was espoused most firmly by the Shahaptian and the Salish.
 Anthropologist Edward S. Curtis wrote that the Salish were animists,

and religious practices centered about the belief that men could obtain the power of supernatural creatures. All, excepting the Flatheads, observed a winter ceremony, usually of four days duration, in which persons possessing guardian spirits sang their sacred revealed songs and danced in a single file around a pole.

 Initially the belief had not been taken up by the Hupa, Klamath, Umatilla, Grand Ronde or Siletz. Fourteen years after the Siletz Reservation was formed, the Ghost Dance movement had grown to cut across most of the linguistic boundaries, and in 1873 coastal tribesmen briefly joined their Warm Springs counterparts in embracing the new messianic religion.
 At Siletz alarmed settlers voiced their concern to local chiefs. The Indians assured them that they contemplated no blood bath and as a gesture of good faith gave up all of their weapons—even small hand knives that were needed for hunting.
 As late as 1915, Indians from Siletz donned the white shirts of the Ghost Dance on Sunday evenings and were observed and respected—rather than feared—by townspeople who came to watch them.

Siletz Agent William Bagley Confronts the Ghost Dance 1879

 Most Pacific Northwestern Indians—including those confined to the Siletz Reservation—had grievances aplenty to attract them to the Ghost Dance faith with it promise for their future.
 The letter here quoted is dated February 11, 1879. It is from agent William Bagley to commissioner A. H. Hayt in Washington DC. Bagley asks permission to round up some bands of Indians on the California border, who, under the influence of the Ghost Dance religion, are dreaming of overthrowing the Christians and restoring the ancestral liberties. He sends Rev. John Adams (1847-1928) and Grand Chief George Harney to parley with them:

 Referring to my estimate of funds of this date. I respectfully ask your careful and favorable consideration of the estimate for the removal and settlement upon this reserve of renegade bands of Indians in Southern Oregon and Northern California, and desire to call your attention to a few facts in relation thereto.
 This reserve contains sufficient good land for occupation by Indians to furnish homes for all these bands, where they could be brought under good influences, and in a few years revised to that standard of morality and true manhood which many of the Indians here have already attained to, instead of being as they now are, a nuisance and a blot upon the name of man and who are spreading their moral and heathenish poison over the various reservations on the Pacific Coast. Where they are, and coming in contact as they do with only the basest class of whites, there is not a shadow of chance for their improvement or elevation to citizenship.
 They are all firm adherents to the religion of the dreamers, which is the religion of all the hostile tribes. On the first of last October, there was to be a great coming together of these bands at or near Jacksonville, Oregon, for the purpose of holding a religious dance festival, at which time they proposed to show the reservation Indians some marvelous and mysterious things in connection with their religion. Having many applications from our Indians for passes to go there, and thinking there would be likely to be number of Indians there who belonged here and were without passes, I conceived the idea of sending two of our most truthworthy men to met the renegades in council, and confer with them on the subject of their settlement here. I accordingly selected John Adams, who is a thorough Christian, and a licensed exhorter in the Methodist Episcopal Church, and interpreter George Harney, who sent and met them in council, and drew from them the expression of a desire to change their wild life for a quiet home on the reserve.
 They saw and talked with Indians from Yreka and from various places in California, as well as others from Rogue River and Chetco in Southwestern Oregon, who were very desirous of meeting an authorized agent of the government from this reserve, who would talk with them about coming here.
 The representatives, Adams and Harney, from this agency were so much to superiors of their prophets in point of intellect and a general knowledge of the world that their religious dance was a total failure, so far as obtaining proselytes was concerned.
 From letters received here from citizens of Jacksonville, I found that the good impressions made by our Indians were not confined to the Indians in council, but that the citizens themselves marked the superior intelligence of our Indians. Since their return to the agency after an absence of 24 days, the religion of the dreamers has not flourished here. The route taken by them to reach Jacksonville was via Albany per horseback, thence to Roseburg by rail, thence to Jacksonville by stage, and back the same route. Traveling expenses for the round trip amounting in the aggregate to about $200—which was paid by myself and for which there is yet no provision for reimbursement.
 I am fully convinced that, if provided with the funds asked for and permitted to go in person and visit these bands, I could induce nearly all of them to come and settle permanently, and I respectfully ask that if possible the amount required be allowed.
 Again referring to the matter of traveling expense, I desire to say that a considerable amount of such expense has been incurred in securing the conviction of a party for selling liquor to Indians, reference to which was made in my monthly report for January.
 I respectfully ask permission to pay all the traveling expenses of the Indian witnesses who will appear in court and assist by their evidence in the conviction of such men, and allow them to use their court fees in the purchase of clothing or other articles of utility to them.
 This as an inducement for them to inform on the guilty parties.
 I further respectfully ask to be allowed to reimburse myself for the outlay for traveling expenses of John Adams and George Harney, out of funds allowed this agency for expense for present quarter.
  Very respectfully Your Obedient Servant,
  William Bagley, US Indian Agent

 In the 1880s Wovoka's religion spread to the Fort Hall Reservation, where many Bannock became his converts. The Bannock were able to speak the Shoshoni tongue and they had intermarried with the Southern Shoshoni that it was difficult to fine a pure-blooded Bannock. Thus they became intermediaries between Wovoka and plains tribes on the east. At the height of the Ghost Dance fervor, Bannock returned from the plains with the message of the resurrection of the dead, and, when Plains tribes visited Wovoka, they took Fort Hall Bannock with them as interpreters to facilitate the spread of the Ghost Dance religion.
 Before the massacre at Wounded Knee they had carried the doctrine as far west as the Columbia, having been present at an Indian Pow Wow at the mouth of the Wenatchee River in August 1890. Those as far west as the Okanagan reportedly sent emissaries to the plains to learn of the doctrine. When a white freighter was killed in mid-October 1890, in a remote corner of the Coville Reservation, his supposed killer was lynched by vigilantes. The Indians of the area began dancing what the rumor-ridden white community believed to be the Ghost, or Messiah, Dance, despite the assurances of chiefs Moses and Joseph that they were merely performing traditional winter dances. The white community took no chances, and in 1891 units of the Washington National Guard were dispatched to the Okanagan country. Tensions were eased thanks to the efforts of Indian chiefs and the Rev. Stephen De Rogue, S.J.
 In the summer of 1890, among those who visited Wovoka were two members of the Lakota Reservation at Pine Ridge, South Dakota, named Kicking Bear and Short Bull. They became enraptured by Wovoka's faith and even stated that Wovoka levitated through the air above them. Kicking Bear and Short Bull brought Ghost Dance back to Pine Ridge, but in a very different form which lead to totally unexpected results.
 Wovoka’s faith was based on non-violence with non-indians. In fact, he even urged his followers not to tell the non-indians what they were doing. But as interpreted by Kicking Bear and Short Bull, Ghost Dance took on a militaristic aspect. The Sioux began wearing special garments known as Ghost Shirts, decorated with the images of sun, moon, stars, crosses, magpies, and eagles, hoping that they would make them bulletproof. They also wrapped themselves in American flags, worn upside down as a sign of distress.
 Government agents were permitted to witness the Ghost Dance ceremony and were told what it meant. Kicking Bear and Short Bull added the Indian messiah would appear to the Lakota in the spring of 1891.
 Ghost Dance came to the Lakota with a fury. All activity at the Pine Ridge Reservation was put aside and the native peoples adopted this faith with a mania.  Government agents and non-indian settlers were terrified by this sudden and (to them) bizarre turn of events. Newspapers spread stories of savage Indians in wild pagan practices. Tensions became overpowering in this region as the Lakota people gave all their waking hours to Ghost Dance.
 Blame for Ghost Dance was placed on two people. Wovoka was traced as the father of the Ghost Dance and, when interviewed by James Mooney, the ethnologist and anthropologist with the Smithsonian Institute, Wovoka passed a message to him that he would control any militaristic uprising among the native peoples in return for financial and good compensation from Washington. The offer was ignored. And blame was also put on Sitting Bull, the chief medicine man of the Lakota people. Ironically, Sitting Bull was apathetic to Ghost Dance and only allowed its introduction at Pine Ridge with great caution. His initial qualms were realized: government agents considered Sitting Bull responsible solely due to his leadership role among the Lakota. Tribal police were dispatched to arrest him, but his apprehension resulted in conflict when several Lakota fought to protect him. Sitting Bull was killed in the crossfire on December 15, 1890.
 Fourteen days after Sitting Bull's fatal shooting, the US Army sought to relocate and disarm the Lakota people, who failed to stop their Ghost Dance. On the frozen Plains at Wounded Knee on the Pine Ridge Reservation, government troops opened fire on the overwhelmingly unarmed Lakota people, killing 290 in a matter of minutes. Thirty-three soldiers died, most from friendly fire; 20 Metals of Honor were presented to surviving soldiers.
 As news of Wounded Knee spread though the native tribes. Ghost Dance died quickly. Wovoka's prophecies were hollow: the land would not be returned from the white man through divine intervention. With the suddenness of its birth. Ghost Dance disappeared. By the time of his death on September 20, 1932, he was virtually forgotten by both Indian and non-indian peoples. It would not be until the 1970s and the birth of Native American activism that the story of Ghost Dance was told again—even if its father's life was reduced to footnote status.
 The tragedy of Wovoka is a legacy of pain and suffering among the very people he wanted to save. The songs of the Ghost Dance are silent and the dream of Wovoka vanished in the harsh light of reality. The Christian principles which he laced into his theology were brutally ignored by the soldiers and settlers who held allegiance to their Christ and yet destroyed the native way of life with a brutality unknown in the Gospel teachings.

Peyote Cult Outgrowth of Ghost Dance

 The most significant church to stress psychedelic experience arose from the peyote cult of the American Indians. Known as the Native American Church, its immediate background was the powerful and syncretistic Ghost Dance movement led by the prophet-dreamer who envisioned an apocalyptic return to a kind of Indian Golden Age.
 As taught by Comanche leader, Chief Quanah Parker, the peyote religion was a blend of aboriginal and Christian beliefs. James Mooney, helped Quanah to organize and incorporate the new religion under the name, Native American Church. Like the Ghost Dance, the peyote religion was born of despair, helping the poor full-bloods forget hunger and oppression, lifting up the hearts of their women. Like the Ghost Dance, it soon spread from tribe to tribe, sinking deep roots among the Kowana and Comanche, the Navajo and Apache, Crow, and Cheyenne.
 The missionaries did not take kindly to the new faith, calling peyote a barrier to civilization, "Satan's fruit," or a "deadly drug." They also believed it was "an abomination" because it violated church doctrine which forbade prophesying: "This plant enables the Chichimecas who eat it to look into the future, foreseeing if an enemy will attack them or if the weather will continue fair, and other things of that nature." Therefore it was outlawed and suppressed.
 Peyote has become a pan-Indian, inter-tribal affair, with people borrowing songs and variations of ritual from other tribes.
 Peyote has its own symbolism. The Native American Church's main symbol is the water bird, which is seen again and again in silver jewelry worn by "peyoters." Participants often wear prayer shawls, half red and half blue. Paraphernalia consists of the staff, the feather fan, the gourd rattle, the water drum, and the bone whistle.
 During the night, the peyote goes around four times, so everybody takes four buttons or spoonfuls. The paraphernalia goes around clockwise from person to person, and everybody has the privilege of singing when the staff and the gourd reach him or her—usually four songs at a time. A meeting ends in the morning with food and coffee, friendly talk, good feelings, and being pleasantly tired.

Chapter 48: Mission Siletz

 Fr. Adrian Joseph Croquette arrived in Oregon in 1859, so 20 years after the first priests and three years after the founding of the reservations. He was then 41 years old. Back in Belgium, He had been a brilliant seminarian. Later on, a nephew of his, Deésirée Mercier, would become so outstanding a scholar that Leo XIII would enlist him to pioneer new approach to philosophy and theology in the church. Later still, as primate of Belgium during WWI, Cardinal Mercier would be the cone who kept alive the patriotism of his people throughout the German Occupation. It was also he who founded the famous Malines Conventions between Catholics and Anglicans. The brilliance of Fr. Croquette himself was well known to the archbishop, the most Rev. Bertrand Blanchet, but He was a quiet man, and his fellow priests took his brilliance for granted, as also his deep piety. Their stories about him touched rather on his lack of practical skills and on his propensity for giving away whatever money or useful items came into his hands. Already back in Belgium he had had the same reputation, being known ever to avoid promotions of any kind and to seek only to serve the humblest hamlets of his rural parish.
 Fr. Croquette had a boundless love for his flock. It was not armchair admiration for their culture, such as is found in the Indian Journal of his Episcopal friend, Rev. R. W. Summers. Nor was it exactly a lofty ecumenism. He never incorporated native artifacts or rituals into his liturgy, nor made Grand Ronde's Spirit Mountain, a place of Christian pilgrimage, perhaps honoring the holy spirit on the Feast of Pentecost.

Spirit Mountain

 Spirit Mountain, the ancient sacred mountain of the Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde, is located about a mile north of Grand Ronde, and was so named because the Indians believed spirits or skookums lived on it. aboriginal culture prompted one to strive to live worthily of the dead, and of the whole of nature. Healing lay in becoming tuned to the holistic world of the Great Spirit, and non-indian ways were often seen to do violence to such harmony, causing epidemics of a psychosomatic nature in Indian boarding schools.
 Rev. R. W. Summers, the first Episcopal pastor of McMinnville, tells how Fr. Adrian Croquette took archbishop Blanchet up Spirit Mountain to see where the Indians went to fast, dance, chant and wait in solitude for the Great Spirit to reveal their individual vocations and equip them with individual charisms. Usually the candidate found his or her answer in the antics of a beast or bird. Aptly, Summers echoes a word of Job in telling of one thus attuned to the Spirit of the Mountain: "league with the stones of the wild; at peace with the beasts of the solitude." (Job 5:23). Spirit Mountain was at one time called Cosper Butte for Martha and David Cosper, early settlers. Dr. Rodney Glisan and other officers stationed at Fort Yamhill climbed this mountain on October 30, 1856, but Glisan does not mention a name in Journal of Army Life.

Tamanamas: The Willamette Meteorite

 In April 2000, an escalating custody battled was being waged between a coalition of Oregon tribes and the American Museum of Natural History over a 15.5-ton meteorite. The Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde filed a claim under the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act (NAGPRA) in November 1999 seeking the return of the Willamette Meteorite to land traditionally held by tribal members. They consider the rock a Spirit that traveled from the moon and called it Sky Person, or Tamanamas in the Chinook language. Tribal members once made pilgrimages to Tamanamas, collecting water pooled in its cavities for medical use and dipping arrows in it for courage during battles or hunts.
 Calling the meteorite a "feature of the landscape," the museum denied the tribe's request and subsequently filed a federal lawsuit, claiming "NAGPRA does not cover this type of object," that aims to invalidate their repatriation claim.
 In 1855, the Confederated Tribes ceded to the US the land where the 4.5-billion-year-old meteorite lay. The government subsequently sold the land to a mining company, from which the museum's new $210-million Rose Center for Earth and Space in New York.
 The tribes reacted angrily to the lawsuit, stating that "the museum should to the right thing and resolve this dispute now, directly with our tribe, instead of marching off to court behind a squadron of attorneys."

The Umatilla Wallula Stone

 In response to a NAGPRA claim, another Oregonian rock was returned to the Confederated Tribes of the Umatilla by the City of Portland in 1996. the ten-ton basalt boulder, known as the Wallula Stone, was covered with petroglyphs and marked the spot where young men were sent to test their strength and courage. The Umatilla had ceded the land where it was found to the US in a 1855 treaty. Unlike the Wallula Stone, the museum argues, the Willamette Meteorite "has never been marked or altered. There's no indication it was ever moved by the tribe. No custody or control was taken over it."

 Nor again was Fr. Croquette's love for his flock a cheap fraternizing, or a rubbing of shoulders on the hunt or the fishing trip. His thoughts concerning each individual were tailored to match his prayer and his everlasting hope for this son or daughter so dear to God. He treasured each one's name and cared enormously that he or she be alive or dead, well or sick, happy or in grief, clothed or naked, well fed or hungry. It was not that he was a great go-between with the civil authorities, some of whose successive representatives despised him. It was simply that he listened, that he cared, that he was always There for their sake alone, and that it did the soul a great deal of good just to tell him what it was suffering.
 Fr. Croquette was no crusader against alcohol or polygamy. When visiting priests would deliver fiery sermons against such vices, he would dutifully stand at their side and translate their words into Chinook jargon for the audience. But afterwards, in the sacristy, he would gently inform the preacher that this was not his own approach.
 In 1988, Pacific Northwest historians Robert H. Ruby and John A. Brown wrote that when Gen. Oliver Otis Howard visited the Grand Ronde, older Indians told him that

...nothing offended them so much as white men attempting to take their women. To the Indians who clung to polygamy despite missionary preachments against the practice it appeared that the agents were trying to destroy their family life by stripping then of their wives.

The commander of the US Army's Department of the Columbia, Howard was a one-armed Civil War hero, a friend of freed blacks, and a man known as the Christian or praying general because he delivered sermons.

Furthermore, as one Warms Springs Indian put it,

I love all my women. My old wife is a mother to the others... I can't send her away to die. This woman [pointing to another] cost me ten horses... I can't do without her. That woman [pointing to still another] cost me eight horses... She will take care of me when I am old. I don't know how to do. I want to do right. I am not a bad man. I know your new law is good; the old one is bad. We must be like the white men. I am a man; I will put away the old law.

 Billy Chinook, who had been a scholar at the Methodist mission at The Dalles and in faraway Philadelphia, said:

I have two wives... If anyone wants one of my wives, he can have her; if he don't, she can stay.

Considering the implications of abandoning "excess wives" for the sake of Christian "purity," Fr. Croquette believed rather in a salutary gradualness, and one suspects that his "translation" toned down much of the brimstone. He foresaw spending the rest of his life with this same flock, and he could afford to take his time. It was a gradualness that went forward by little, carefully timed steps. Time and time again he reached the decision that this or that promising disciple is ready for another step towards the fullness of the Gospel call, and he quietly accompanied the soul upon that step.
 He perceived the value, if not of the aboriginal culture, then certainly of each Indian person in his charge. Among the clergy, he was himself a conversation piece, the merry butt of many a good-natured tale about his helplessness as a cook, as a woodsman, as a financier. Later on, There was sometimes a little bite in such comments, from priests less dedicated to the flock and less loved by the lowliest among them. But no Indian was ever a conversation piece for Fr. Croquette, and much less the butt of even the best-natured joke. He was a man of few words, but if ever He heard a remark disparaging his natives, he suddenly waxed vigorous in the defense of these children of God. He was ever giving them the very shirt off his back, not out of gullibility or "do-goodism," but simply out of the conviction that "you cannot let a child of God go naked."
 Some non-indians were paid lavishly to teach the Indians thrift, tidiness and "civilization." Others made a hobby of documenting their ancestral culture. Fr. Croquette spent his life enjoying their company as fellow children of god, engaged in the adventure of the kingdom.
 It was above all at their deathbeds that he was appreciated by his flock. He knew that, as soon as he left, the family would probably resort once more to the "witch-doctoring" that he officially condemned; but he knew better than to nag them about that. There survived many stories about his journeys to sickbeds amid the worst weather, with miraculous levitations across flooded rivers and always with consolation for the sufferer, drawn from the world of his prayers.

Fr. Croquette Returns to Grand Ronde 1890

 When, around 1890, the reservation was again open to him, he was already an old man and, despite the improved roads and the warm welcome, the journey was taxing on him. He was pleased when the priests at Corvallis were able to take over his responsibility there, and especially when Fr. Felix Bücher naturally invited him to the dedication of the newly-built church, and the old veteran's reply to him has recently been discovered. While excusing himself from attending, because his age precluded so difficult a journey, he eagerly invited Fr. Felix to pay him a visit and recommended a list of available dates.

Siletz Reservation

 Oregon's spectacular seacoast forms the background for the traditional image of Fr. Croquette. He could rightfully have ministered all up and down the 300 miles of its length, but we have no record of his reaching further north than Garibaldi or further south than the Alsea Agency at the mouth of the Yachats. There was, however, a first, exploratory journey, in 1864; on that occasion, his friend and companion, Fr. Fabian Malo, pushed on alone all the way to Fort Umpqua and up to Canyonville. In practice, Fr. Croquette saw his jurisdiction as reaching from Tillamook Bay down to Yaquina Bay, eventually to be whittled down to the little stretch from Woods, on the Nestucca Estuary, down to the mouth of the Salmon River. What weighed most upon his heart, however, was the large Coastal Reservation, administered from an agency at the big bend of the Siletz River.
 The Siletz Reservation had been founded by Joel Palmer. The whites had wished to push the Indians east of the Cascades, but a compromise was reached of confining them west of the Coast Range. The north and south boundaries were not widely known, and invading horde kept pressing for closer confinement. In the earlier years, Indians had not been considered out of bounds anywhere between Astoria and Fort Umpqua, but if they went south of the latter, the whites would immediately lodge complaints and demand their forced return. Fort Umpqua proved to be an impractical boundary, and so its agency office was moved north to Alsea-Yachats. Scarcely had this been done when the land-grabbers demanded a broad corridor inland from Yaquina Bay. Soon afterwards, the Siletz Reservation was further reduced to the short stretch from that corridor up to the Salmon River, a matter of less than a quarter of a million acres. Finally came the sad history of individual allotments and of selling off the "surplus" lands to lumber interests.
 Siletz, even in its reduced state, boasted far more land and better fisheries than Grand Ronde, but it was more difficult of access. Its agricultural potential, and even its milling capacities, were also below those of its smaller neighbor to the north. The first winters at Siletz were thus even more severe than at Grand Ronde, and the decline of the population faster. So much attention had to be paid at Siletz to the basics of keeping the Indians within bounds and supplying them with food, that any thought of education and evangelization tended to be minimized or postponed indefinitely.

Fr. Croquette Visits Siletz Reservation 1860

 Fr. Croquette's first visit to Siletz Reservation is described in a long letter home, telling of a tour of Catholic Oregon, made in May and June of 1860, at the end of his year of apprenticeship. His guide on this tour was a veteran missionary, Fr. Toussaint Mesplié. Their first contact was with the largely Irish military garrison at Fort Hoskins, where they were welcomed. They then crossed the difficult pass and came to a first village of the reservation proper and were welcomed by a Canadian or Iroquois half-breed, Louis Vassal. When they got down to the central agency, however, they were coolly received. The agent, Robert B. Metcalfe, was absent; the priests had met him at the fort and already had his oral permission to preach, but the employees were not content with that and tried to force a delay. The priests knew this came more from the employees' dread of reproof for their own moral abuses than from specifically anti-Catholic or anti-foreign bigotry, but when Metcalfe did return, He had a protestant minister with him and he expressed displeasure at the priest’s defiance of the employees.

(1) Molly Catfish and Mary Yannah (2) Annie Rock (3) Minnie Louie Lane (4) Mitzie Shoemake
 Guadalupe Translations

 Fr. Croquette wrote of his journey to the Oregon Coast:

 On Whit Monday, May 25, 1860, we proceeded to Fort Hoskins, in Kings Valley, 15 miles west of Corvallis. There our brave Irish soldiers, who furnish a large contingent to the US Army, showed themselves true to the traditions of their faith and to their devotion to the Catholic priest. We conducted religious services at Fort Hoskins for several days, the same as at Corvallis, and they were just as sedulously attended by the soldiers and the Catholic families settled in the neighborhood. God granted us also to gather like fruit of grace and like consolations. We registered some 30 communions, and calling at some Indian tipis in the valley, we administered Holy Baptism to four children.
 While at the fort, we met there the agent of the Siletz Reserve, and we made him acquainted with our purpose to visit the Indians under his care, presupposing him leave. He endorsed our plan, and told us that in a few days he would be back from his journey and would take pleasure in making with us the rounds of his wards. There was good ground, however, to doubt that our visit was much to his taste; for he had already held out a proffer to a minister of the Methodist church, of which he was a member, to turn the Indians over to that denomination. Our apprehensions were but too fully justified in the event.

18 Baptized at Logsden Village

 The day after our meeting with him, we left for the reserve, which is located 25 miles west of Fort Hoskins. The direction we followed took us over frightful roads, which in bad weather are all but impassable. Logsden, the first Indian village we reached, rises on the prairie on the north side of Siletz River. The next day, which was Sunday, we offered up the holy sacrifice of the mass in the lodge of a half-breed, Louis Nasal. The house was packed full of Indians, whom we had call together, and who for the first time witnessed the unbloody oblation of the agust victim who died for their sins, and for the first time heard the glad tidings of the gospel announced to them. After mass, we baptized the children, 18 in number, who were brought to us. This ministry accomplished, we left for the agent's residence, some six miles further on. On the way we were attended by several Indian chiefs, who also took it upon themselves to notify neighboring tribes of the missionaries' arrival.

Logsden Camp Gorge 1957
Photo Courtesy of Julie Hendricks

Priests Arrives at Siletz Agency

 At the agency they requested us to put off our intercourse with the Indians until after the agent's return. We tarried two days, and then, on being told that the gentleman was likely to prolong his absence, we concluded, since we had his consent to our mission, to give up all further delay in carrying it out. We began by calling on the Indians, going from lodge to lodge, urging them to assemble at a time fixed upon, in the hall that served as a school. They eagerly responded to our invitation, coming in large numbers to the appointed place, listening attentively to the gladsome news we preached, and bringing us their children to be "born again of water and the holy ghost."
 We asked if they did not wish to have missionaries, giving them to understand that the Catholic priest, not being encumbered with a family, would be a father and a guide to lead them to heaven. Most of these poor people had up to that time no knowledge of the Catholic priest, and, nevertheless, they at once placed all their trust in us, and they longed to keep us with them, despite the fact that from the day of our arrival every exertion had been made and the basest calumnies had been exploited to bias them against us; for among those sent to procure their well-being and to civilize them, there are not a few who take the lead in perverting them and in demoralizing them. No wonder, therefore, that these people, who look upon us as unwelcome censors, dread our presence and seek to keep closed against us the avenues of the reserve. The agent, when he at length returned, showed plainly his displeasure because we had gone on with our work without awaiting his coming. He was accompanied by a gentleman, who, we were told, was a Protestant preacher.
 From the above you may infer that, despite the good intentions of the American government, in the establishment of these reservations for redmen, the missionaries not infrequently meet with obstacles in the exercise of their ministry, not so much on the part of the Indians as on the part of the agents and the employees sent out from Washington.

50 Baptized at Siletz Reservation

 The confidence of the Siletz Indians went out to us withal: they called for the Catholic priest. This success we owe, after God, to the common sense of some of their chiefs, who sided with us and pleaded our case with their subjects. These chiefs did much to clip the wings of the slanders that had been let loose against us. Nevertheless, the wish of the Indians notwithstanding, the founding of a mission on the reserve will suffer many drawbacks, so long as the present state of things lasts.
 We have also learned that since the Indians were brought here, four years ago, their number has considerably decreased, with owning to the change of climate or for other reasons. We were not able to meet them all; many being scattered about along the seacoast, where they are fishing. Still, we baptized, besides those of whom I have made mention above, some 50 of their children.

Priests Depart for Grand Ronde June 6, 1860

 On June 6, 23 took leave of the Siletz Reserve to go to another, situated in a more northern direction. On the way we stayed a day at Fort Hoskins, and we spent a night at the house of a settler who, we were told, owned 300 head of cattle and very extensive lands, but whose house was very far from betraying his wealth. Owning to the droughts that blew on our beds all night, our eyes were much swollen when we awoke in the morning; and as for the beds themselves, they could not be found fault with on the ground of oversoftness. On the 9th, we reached the Grand Ronde. ...

 The main body of the Indians had had no previous acquaintance with the distinction between priests and ministers, but they unanimously rallied to the celibate Catholics and against the dissolute employees. Actually, the priests had obeyed the employees for a day or so; in any case, the 70 baptisms they performed (all recorded in the Oregon City Register) are all of infants. They abstained from even the minimal individual instruction required for baptizing any adults in danger of death. The net impression Fr. Croquette took away was that the Indians desired his services but that the officials were opposed to his coming.
 From 1861 to 1863, Fr. Croquette would be spared confrontation with the authorities at Siletz. The seven or more trips he would make to the coast in that time would consist in short visits to the mouth of the Salmon and the nearby mouth of the Siletz, some 50 canoe-miles from the agency, or else, in adventurous crossings to Tillamook in the north. Only in July 1864, and with Fr. Malo as a companion, did he again venture so far south. Working their way down to the Alsea Agency, which they reached by the Sunday, the two priests were hoping to take advantage of the dignified setting there to climax their work by celebrating their first mass on the Oregon Coast. The plan fell through, probably because of the Indian who was to guide Fr. Malo further south, could not delay. Fr. Malo's route lay first to the Siuslaw River and then on to Fort Umpqua and even up to Canyonville. Fr. Croquette's itinerary, if less distant, was no less arduous. Gradually working towards the Siletz agency, Fr. Croquette was this time welcomed, especially at the military blockhouse, where he lodged between trips out to the various villages.
 There was not at Siletz anything comparable to the corps of godparents which existed at Grand Ronde. Louis Vassel and his household, even in their distant village, could have played such a role, but they were to move quite early up to Grand Ronde, where one of their number, Victoire, became an early pillar of the faith. Thus, the early lists of baptisms sounds very anonymous, as of total strangers, as if the priest chose names by running off the litany of the saints or a list of his own kith and kin. Fr. Toussaint Mesplié had done the same earlier. By now, Fr. Croquette had mastered the Chinook jargon, but religious concepts were new to these Indians, and the time available for each baptism was minimal. On each successive trip, the identities of the children would be better established in terms of age and parentage, but, oddly, not of tribe. Fr. Croquette's nephew, Deésirée Mercier, tells us that the priest realized how many parents, not fully understanding the sacrament, would bring the same children for baptism more than once.

Fr. Croquette Visits Alsea 1865 and 1866

 In 1865 and 1866, Fr. Croquette made the trip as far as Alsea alone. His nephew latter got the impression that he continued as far south as Coos Bay, even through abandoning his horse at the Salmon River. Be that as it may, by the year 1867 Fr. Croquette was able to set up a rhythm for his trips; spending one Sunday at Grand Ronde, another at Saint Patrick's (three and a half miles north of Bellevue), he would then, in turn, spend one at the Siletz Reservation or at Alsea Agency or on Tillamook Bay. Salmon River could be visited in a much shorter run of a day or two. Each coastal site would thus get one visit each year.
 This rhythm, however, was interrupted almost immediately.
 After taking up residence at Grand Ronde, Fr. Croquette tried to contact the Catholics of Siletz at least once a year. The easiest way to do this was to go down the wagon road to the mouth of the Salmon River and then down the beach to the bay at the mouth of the Siletz. On occasion he also got down to the sites of Newport and Toledo, from which he could reach the Siletz Agency itself, though usually only at a season when most of his flock was dispersed for the purpose of fishing. Even so, in one of the annual government reports, it is said that a small building had been set aside at the agency for his use as a chapel.
 Whether or not the archbishop had information of the coming changes in federal policy, where the nomination of Indian agents would be in the hands of the churches, with Frs. Mesplié and Brouillet taking prominent roles in Washington DC, the fact is that Fr. Croquette's old companion, Fr. Mesplié, accompanied him to Siletz Reservation on the trip of 1868.
 In the 1870s, he was largely excluded from the agency by the Grant Peace Policy, though he did keep up indirect contact.

U. S. Grant Peace Policy 1870-1882

 The U. S. Grant Peace Policy operated from 1870 until 1882 at various agencies throughout the country. It was predicted on the principle that in the complex American society rapidly developing after the Civil War, Indians could be saved from extinction only through an enlightened church-oriented policy in the management of their affairs. Pacific Northwest Indians were, indeed, faced with the threat of distinction. Nearly 2,000 Indians had been on the Grand Ronde Reservation in 1856. They were the remnants of eight tribes located there. Only five of the tribes had treaties and received annuities; the remainder depended on funds that the agent might spare them from appropriations for their removal and subsistence. Within a decade of their removal to the reservation a third of the Grand Ronde Indians had died. It was not until 1865 that a special committee of Congress officially recognized that Indians were decreasing by disease, intemperance, war, starvation, and persecution by unscrupulous whites. On the Siletz Reservation, Indians expressed a willingness to resume hostilities because, in their words, they had so much to gain by free roaming off the reservation and by warring against whites and so little to lose. Also on the Siletz Reservation the Indians had a saying, "It is your peace that is killing us."
 There follows a marked curtailing of coastal activities, both to the south and to the north. In 1871 there is no evidence of any trip at all, though one or two Tillamooks were that year baptized at Grand Ronde itself. By that year the new Indian Policy was in force, and the struggle was on to retain Grand Ronde for the Catholics and to regain lost rights at Siletz.

Methodist Influence in Siletz

 The assigning of Indian agencies to various religious denominations was not only the Grant Peace Policy's most unique characteristic but also its most controversial. It angered churchmen even more than it bewildered the Indians that the agencies were shuffled among the churches like so many decks of cards. Especially unhappy were Catholic churchmen, who, seeking only to propagate their faith, had taken no part in the reform movement from which the policy evolved. The Catholics came out scarcely better in the Pacific Northwest than in the nation at large in the church-shuffling contest with Protestants. In Oregon, they were assigned the Umatilla and Grand Ronde agencies. Under the supervision of the Methodist Episcopal church were the Klamath and Siletz agencies.
 More Indian agencies fell to the Methodists than to any other church although that denomination at that time had come to believe its greatest mission prospects were in Africa and Asia rather than America. According to the Methodist Pacific Christian Advocate of November 16, 1872, the Indians' "inaptitude and distaste for improvement" had smitten them with such deep-seated "deprivation of character" that their redemption was impossible.
 The change in agency appointees from strictly politicians to churchmen made little difference in the management of Indian affairs. As before, some agency officials were good, some were bad, and many were indifferent.
 A friend of the Indians at times compared with Fr. Adrian Joseph Croquette (1818-1902) was Oregon's Indian superintendent, Alfred B. Meacham (1869-1871).
 Unlike Fr. Croquette, Meacham was born into awareness of Indian woes. Experiences in Iowa, California and especially at his state house in Eastern Oregon gave him a chance to develop and popularize theories on Indian needs.
 In 1870, after many Indian Wars, Pres. U. S. Grant decided peace lay in bringing integrity to Indian administration, and for this he involved Christian churches in the choice of officers. Meacham was the key choice for Oregon as a whole.
 On September 14, 1871, Meacham brought the highly regarded mainline Protestant, Felix Brunot, and the early Methodist missionary, Rev. J. L. Parrish, over to Grand Ronde for a big meeting.
 Sharing the slogan, "Christianity is the best civilizer," Meacham naturally saw his own religion, that of temperance and Methodism, as the best for Oregon Indians. Nevertheless, as superintendent and later as author, he roundly condemned even Methodists if they "jockeyed" for jobs or if they preached a gospel less "simple and practical" than his own. He set aside Methodist horror of tobacco to honor the Indian calumet, and he made room for dance and horseback sport.
 Central to his "civilizing" religion were practical steps to eliminate liquor and the buying of women. He put effort into popularizing non-indian weddings and divorces among his charges.
 Other Methodists saw Catholicism as doing no good at all. Meacham tended to identify Irishmen with the liquor trade and to find little value in Catholic worship, but he was willing to praise individual Catholics, and he has nothing to say against Fr. Croquette, whose acquaintance, he seems, strangely, to have avoided completely. Meacham has strong words against the Catholic agent Patrick B. Sinnott's handling of a pet project of his own.
 Grand Ronde was in Sinnott's time, from April 1872 to December 1885, under Methodist auspices, and Meacham saw no harm in that. The first missionary, Rev. J. L. Parrish, had been Methodist, and his successor, Rev. J. Chamberlain, had at least been Protestant. As a compromise for the Catholic mission, the non-Methodist agent was left in charge, and Methodist clergy was brought in only on special occasions. Soon the agent clashed with the Methodists and resigned; the chiefs then petitioned for a Catholic agent and a Sisters' School.
 Meacham, strong on religious freedom, did want the Indians to understand their options. In the interregnum he eagerly exposed them to all that was best in Methodism, even taking three leaders to Salem to share in meetings and in the state fair. Above all, he successfully launched a program to divide land by families, and to provide an excellent mill. His way of dealing with the Indians as "men" won their trust. A number declared themselves in favor of Methodist control, especially those who had happy dealings with local farmers.
 While Meacham was trying to find a way out of the religious issue at Grand Ronde, complaints against his zeal were multiplied, and he was forced to resign. Barely a year later, however, he was asked to lead a peace delegation to the warring Modocs. These shot and half-scalped him, but he recovered and spent the rest of his life agitating for the Indian cause.
 When word had reached Siletz that the appointment of agents there was to be in Methodist hands, the incumbent, who was the trouble-shooting jack-of-all-trades, Benjamin Simpson, a dynamic man, had but one worry; least agents be appointed who were exemplary as preachers but incompetent as businessmen. The first two appointments did seem to fulfill this fear, though in quite different ways.
 In 1856, Simpson had been at Grand Ronde to build its mill and had stayed on as owner-manager of the store and post office at the fort. He had even been elected to the legislature from there. As agent at Siletz, he had been responsible for the defense of the Indians' fishing rights against a bullying poacher from California, and possibly the legal actions resulting from this were a motive in removing him from that scene in 1864. All that year, Simpson served on trouble shooting missions throughout Western Oregon.
 Before Simpson turned over the office as agent to Joel Palmer after eight years of service at Siletz, he warned in his last annual report of October 1, 1871, that, "in the search for piety in those who aspire to office, certain other very respectable and necessary qualities may be lost sight of": and a "talent for affairs" did not always follow godliness. Under the Grant Peace Policy's "talent for affairs" usually meant the degree of efficiency and effectiveness with which an agent and his aides could remake the Indian in the non-indian's image.
 The first agent under the Grant Peace Policy, who served from May 1871 to March 1873, was Gen. Joel Palmer of Dayton, whose earlier foresight had created the Western Oregon reservation in the first place. Palmer arrived at the Siletz Reservation on April 30, 1871, to assume his duties as agent after an unsuccessful attempt to win the Oregon governorship. His aim now was to bring to the post an integrity, comparable perhaps to McLoughlin which would lift all parties to a level of mutual respect and trust, and thus release the energies needed to make the system flourish. Unfortunately, Palmer was so overwhelmed by the continued shabbiness of the daily lives of the Indians and by the makeshift character of the previous agents' interventions that he fell into a rather gloomy despair. Day-to-day feuds and vendettas claimed his personal attention, and longer-ranged plans were ruled out because of expenditures made on stop-gap measures to provide for each successive month. Added to ordinary setbacks, there broke out an Indian war in Eastern Oregon and, in the light of his earlier experiences, Palmer now decided to remove to safer quarters those of his Indians living too close to the non-indians of Yaquina Bay. This move would also free them from the liquor trade, but it meant their abandoning of the provisions they had prepared for the winter. The resulting expenses, and probably also Palmer's apparent lack of a coherent plan for the future, led to his early retirement. There was, however, another dimension to Palmer's failure—a shameful intrigue by an ambitious employee, described in A. B. Meacham's Wigwam and Warpath.
 Caught up in the revivalism of the later 19th Century some Protestant groups tended to equate progress with religious zeal. Believing that secular progress did not come to Indian camps through camp meetings, Palmer came under the attack of a young preacher named Joseph Howard, a quarter-breed married to an Indian, Agnes Harney (1852-1883). Howard, who was employed as agency farmer, reported Palmer to his superior as unfit to be agent. To Howard, Palmer's unfitness was his inability to prove the superiority of Methodism over Catholicism.
 In his 1973 thesis, The Siletz Indians Reservation 1855-1900, William Eugene Kent reflected on the incident:

 Rev. Howard disapproved of the way Palmer was running the reservation and he also believed that the agent lacked zealousness when it came to religion. Palmer was criticized at a Methodist convention, but later it was Howard who was reprimanded by the church. Problems with deeply religious feelings of various denominations were also of concern in Simpson's time.

Methodist officials tolerantly retained both men in their positions and permitted the "Methodist mutiny" to brew on the Siletz, from which they hoped it would not boil over. Unfortunately, Howard's measure of white blood made his rights on the reservation controversial; after repeated accusations of gambling and intoxication while off the limits, and after consultation with Washington, Howard was expelled, in 1882. Agnes was dragged after him by the police. Howard was the forerunner of adult Catholicism at Siletz who was baptized at Saint Paul in 1836. However disgraceful as his expulsion from the reservation, Howard still witnessed baptisms on Yaquina Bay. Two of Howard's goddaughters became the Louises of Siletz. These were Maggie (60) and Frances (23) Harney. The latter soon won over Margaret, wife of Grand Chief George Harney. Maggie was the mother of Chief Harney, the cattle baron chief of the Rogues so highly praised by Joel Palmer.
 Palmer's successor, J. H. Fairchild, was oppressively religious. His motto was "Christianity is the best civilizer," and by that he meant, not a quiet integrity of Palmer's kind, but a vigorous program of almost daily sessions in church, along with formal visits to the homes of the wives of the employees and plenty of mutual admonition in regard to "sabbath-breaking" or any "profanity" of language or kindred vices. The Indians rapidly caught on; a whole new style of mutual etiquette emerged. The old "macho" vices of theft, fighting, wife-beating, inter-tribal feuding and so on, were abandoned, as was the prestige of enduring the guardhouse or the whipping post. Instead, the new virtues of neatness, cleanliness, punctuality and politeness were in honor. If the numbers involved in the church meetings were limited by the room available, their influence nevertheless radiated and there was a whole new concept of what was acceptable conduct.
 Under both Palmer and Fairchild there were setbacks in food production, especially in regard to the potato crops, but they saw an overall advancement in grain crops. Palmer, for all his gloom, makes mention, in both reports, of one bright spot: the cattle raising efforts of the young Rogue River leader, George Harney, the man who was later to be the leader of the Catholics of Siletz.
 Surprisingly, schools were the weak point still. One resident minister earned his living, for himself and his family, by teaching in the day school, but this one was soon to be replaced by a woman teacher. Both Palmer and Fairchild found female teachers peculiarly suitable for Indian children. Efforts to get a manual labor school going seemed doomed to fail; both men saw those earlier efforts of J. B. Clark, Duncan and others, as being too elitist. The obstacle now lay largely in the Indians' continued dread that boarding schools necessarily spelled death for most children.
 Siletz, all this time, was paying enormous costs for transportation; it boasted no mill, whether for lumber or for flour. Palmer had dreams of a portable mini-mill, but Fairchild, with his Methodist business connections, was led into visions of a panacea steam mill of vast productivity. Though it did produce the needed lumber, this mill, along with other expenses, plunged the reservation so deeply into debt that almost all employees had to be dismissed, and Fairchild himself was forced to resign. Out of deference to his moral reform, however, he was allowed to designate as successor the man who had served under him as farmer, William Bagley.
 William Bagley, who served as agent from October 1875 to July 1879, seems to have sustained the high moral tone of Fairchild. Certainly he maintained the veto on any visits from Fr. Croquette, apart from the "No Man's Land" at the mouth of the Salmon River.

School Matron Matilda Taft

 A new style was introduced by another agent, still very much a Methodist: Edmund A. Swan, who served as agent from July 1879 to summer 1883. In his time the veto of Fr. Croquette lapsed, and the center of religious fervor passed from the agency to the newly formed boarding school and to its dynamic matron, Matilda Taft. As in other aspects, so especially in the appointment of this beloved matron, Siletz offers numerous enlightening comparisons with Grand Ronde. Interestingly, her introduction of a bell and of Christmas parties made a big difference in church attendance, for Methodist services were still being held in the schoolhouse. Interest in the meetings, however, had been on the decline, due mainly to a less imaginative pastor. A disastrous fire, in 1882, sent Taft's school into makeshift quarters. Soon a superb new building replaced it, but she left, and never again was lasting harmony achieved among the staff. At Grand Ronde the nuns had suffered from lack of knowledge of English and from inexperience in coeducation, but at Siletz the family life of the staff members brought equally vexing problems: who would do the night nursing during the many epidemics? Who would replace an ambitious teacher when his career found a better opening elsewhere?
 Rival protestant and Catholic groups agreed that both the spiritual and physical welfare of the Indians had to be advanced. Even the Protestant stalwart, Gen. O. O. Howard, a preacher in his own right, was impressed with Catholic efforts. Howard noted the effectiveness of Fr. Croquette, whose ministrations were muzzled on the Methodist Siletz. As Howard put it, priests were effective because they did not try to draw "the broad line that we [Protestants] do between the converted and the unconverted." The general was impressed by the teaching efforts of the sisters on the Grand Ronde, where Fr. Croquette had founded Saint Michael's Mission in the early 1860s.
 One of the changes that occurred during the Palmer years, although introduced long before, was the stronger emphasis on religion and the establishment of a sabbath school. The various reservations throughout the land were assigned to different churches. The Methodists were assigned Siletz but it was not until 1872 that they started any formal religious instruction. The reservation had before, though, been visited by some ministers of various faiths from time to time, with Fr. Croquette, a teacher at Grand Ronde, a yearly visitor. The Indians seemed to readily accept Christianity for the membership rose from 40 in 1873 to 100 in 1874. This was out of a population that had dropped to 1,400 or a loss of approximately 1,000 people in 20 years from the original total.
 Gen. Howard was encouraged by the progress that Indian children on the Grand Ronde were making in speaking English, although during his visit in 1872 they passed his words on to their parents in the Chinook jargon. The Grant Peace Policy had worked no magic in eliminating the babel of tongues on the reservations. On the Skokomish Reservation, the Sunday School, in the words of its Peace Policy missionary, Rev. Myron Eells, began with: "Four songs in the Chinook jargon; then three in English, accompanied by an organ and violin. The prayer was Nisqually, and the lesson was read by all in English..."
 Similarly, John Adams (1847-1928), a Methodist lay minister at Siletz, was for many years a preacher who gave his sermons in Chinook jargon.
 Offsetting the rapid turnover of teachers—many of whom were ordained ministers and functioned as local pastor—the Methodists of Siletz had the wonderful institution of lay preachers. A United Brethren preacher also served in this way. One of these Methodists, Ulysses Grant (1860-1903), was a highly commended policeman and judge on the reservation, but was later tragically murdered. The other, better known, lay preacher was John Adams (1847-1928).
 Adams had been an infant during the Rogue River Wars. He has left a dictated account of days then spent along with his grandmother in a deserted village—a gem of Oregon literature.

John Adams: A Story of Struggle

 One of the greatest stories of those Indians living on the Siletz Reservation in Oregon is that of John Adams (1847-1928), who was born near present-day Ashland, in what was then "Indian Territory," only invaded by a very few hardy non-indian settlers, at the time of his birth. His parents are believed to be Te-cum-tom (Limpy Tyee), of the Rogue nation, and Usuwi, of the Shasta nation. Adams, in his later years, stated that he could not speak his father's language, but spoke the language of his mother's tribe.
 Adams was the first Indian to become a Methodist minister at the Siletz Agency on the Central Oregon Coast.
 He was a Rogue River Shasta, who had been orphaned in the early 1850s during a battle between the Indians of Southern Oregon and Northern California and the miners and soldiers who were invading the country.
 He was left in the forest with his grandmother after his parents were killed and later was adopted by an uncle. In 1924, he shared this spontaneous narrative with ethnologist Edward S. Curtis, who wrote that Adams' narrative would not be remembered for its "historical value"

...but for its intimate view of the inexorable hardships of native life in wartime and of the difficulties attending "reconstruction" of the individual, the following spontaneous narrative of a Rogue River Shasta is given. John Adams paced thoughtfully about the green terrace at Siletz Reservation, and without solicitation began to speak these thoughts.

 Pretty tough times! Awful hard time when I'm baby. Rogue River Injun War that time. Well, soldier come, everybody scatter, run for hills. One family this way, one family other way. Some fighting. My father killed, my mother killed. Well, my uncle he come, my grandmother. Old woman, face like white woman, so old. "Well, my poor mother, you old, not run. Soldiers coming close, we have to run fast. I not help it. I sorry. Must leave you here. Maybe soldiers nit find you, we coming back. Now this little baby, this my brother's baby. Two children I got myself. I sorry, I not help it. We leave this poor baby, too." That's what my uncle say.
 Course, I small, maybe two years, maybe three years. I not know what he say. Somebody tell me afterwards. Well, old grandmother cries, say: "I old, I not afraid die. Go ahead, get away from soldiers."
 Well, just like dream. I 'member old grandmother pack me around in basket on her back. All time she cry and holler. I say, "Grandmother, what you do?"
 "I crying, my child."
 "What is it, crying, Grandmother?"
 "I sorry for you, my child. Why I cry. I not sorry myself. I old. You young, maybe somebody find you all right, you live."
 Then I sleep long time. When I wake up, winter gone, springtime come. I 'member plenty flowers, everything smell good. Old grandmother sitting down, can walk no more. Maybe rheumatism. She point long stick, say, "Pick that one, grandson."
 I weak, can't walk. S'pose no eat long time. I crawl on ground where she point. "This one, Grandmother?"
 "No, that other one."
 "This one?"
 "No, No! That one no good. That other one."
 By-me-by I get right one, she say, "Pull up, bring him here."
 I crawl back, she eat part, give me part. Don't like it, me. Too sour. Well, she show me everything to eat, I crawl ground, get roots. Pretty soon can walk. Old Grandmother never walk. Just sit same place all time. One day she point big tree. "You go see. If hole in bottom, inside you find nice, sweet ball hanging up. That's good."
 Well, I find hole, crawl inside. White stuff there, sweet, good. I like that. Every day go to that tree.
 Grandmother say, "S'pose you hear something say 'Pow! Pow!' That's man. You holler, he come help us." But I can't holler, too small, just make squawk. She make new basket, tell me: "Put upside down out there, maybe somebody find it."
 One day hear something: "Pow! Pow!" She's too old for holler, me, I'm too small. Maybe I'm scared too. Well, I crawl inside tree and eat sugar. Pretty soon hear somebody talk. Then I'm 'fraid, hide in tree. Somebody coming! I lay down on ground, hide close. "Where are you? Where are you?" Well, there's my uncle. He pick me up one hand. I 'member hanging over his arm while he go back my grandmother.
 "Well," that man say, "soldiers not stay long that time. Pretty soon come back, can't find you. Think some grizzly bear eat you. Look for bones, can't find bones. All winter I cry. Then I say my wife: "Maybe better go other side today. Maybe find something other side." That's how I find that new basket. Then I look close. Little grass been moved. Pretty near can't see it. Some kind little foot been there! That how I find my old mother."
 Pretty soon soldiers come again. That's the time they leave my Old Grandmother 'cause she can't walk. Maybe she die right there, maybe soldiers kill her. She cry plenty when my uncle take me away. Well, all time going 'round in the woods. After while my uncle get killed. Then I'm 'one. Klamath Injun find me, bring me to new reservation.
 Two my relations, they're married to Rogue River man. They take me, but pretty soon both dead. One Rogue River man say, "Well, you're small. You can't do nothing. I keep you. Long as you like to stay, you stay with me." I can’t talk his language, my mother's Shasta Injun. So we talk jargon. Few years after that, then he die. Then some woman hear about me, say she's my sister. Well, I don't know. I look at her. Don't know her. She take me in steamboat from Port Orford from Portland. It's like the ground falling under me, one side, other side. Can't eat, sick all time. Well, we go to Portland, I'm glad. Eat lots. Then we stay Dayton good many years, come Siletz. I'm young fellow now.

 There is no record of Adams' arrival at the Siletz Agency, but he told Curtis he was a "young fellow" when he arrived at the reservation. According to Curtis, Adams lived with a Galice Creek at the reservation's Upper Farm until he was able to take care of himself.
 Life was hard those days. The Indians were hungry and angry at being brought to the strange land and the agents, seldom the best of men, left much to be desired.
 From the beginning the problem of governing the many tribes had been a constant concern. The agents commissioned to serve the Siletz Agency complained of the difficult of managing the hundreds of Indians who had little in common except their presence on the Coast Reservation.

 This used to be soldiers' house. Some holes there, where posts used to be. I was prisoner once. Soldier gave me wedge and ax, split spruce blocks. Wedge go in, block won't crack. Too green. Soldier say, "Go ahead, split more block."
 I say, "Got no wedge."
 He say, "Twice I tell you go ahead, split more block. You no split more—I fix you!"
 Well, what I going to do? No wedge for split more block, soldier he going fix me. Don't I want get shot. Ball so heavy I can't drag him, have to pack him on my shoulder. Well, I carry that ball, go up to soldier. I lift my ax, say, "Go ahead, fix me!" He try back away, I follow him, keep close so can't use his gun. Then somebody run between us. Another soldier say, "What's a matter you fellow, what's a matter?"
 "Well, I got no wedge for split more block." This man say, "You no split more, I fix you." Don't I want get shot. "He fix me, I fix him plenty." That's what I say.

 Each tribe, often each band within a major tribe, had its own language, making an interpreter necessary. When a council was called, interpreters were needed not only for the agent, but often for conversations among Indian tribes.
 Adams related the tale of a Coast Indian who tried to stone him because his people "make that Rogue River War."

 All this Coast Injun say: "That fellow bad blood. His people make that Rogue River War. They start it. He's bad fellow." They keep talking that way, looking at me. Sometimes throw rocks. One day they start again, maybe twenty. I tired all that talking, get mad. I tired all that talking, get mad. When they throw rocks, I throw too. That's the time lose these front teeth. Got no teeth since then. Rock knock 'em out. When that rock hit me, I get crazy. I start for my house for get gun. They head me off. Can't run fast, feels like my head coming off. All throwing rocks. One fellow's got knife. Says, "We get him!" I grab fence rail, hit him on the neck. He drop, squirm like fish in canoe. Next one come, hit him on head. He drop too. Don't squirm. That rail too heavy, throw him away and run again. Can't get to my house, they head me off. What I going do? Well, I get in fence corner. What I going fight with?
 Some white man on other side say, "Here, Johnny, some rocks." Push some rocks under fence. I say, "Well, you come over help me."
 "No, I 'fraid. Here's more rocks."
 I pick up rocks. Four men get close now. He's got knife, too. Thump! Hit him in ribs. Stagger like drunk. Next man, thump! Hit him in ribs. He go back. Others all stop. Then I jump fence, run home, get my gun. They go back. That's rough times!"

 The difficulty of governing the agency was recognized in 1871 by Oregon Superintendent of Indian Affairs, A. B. Meacham when he announced the assignment of the Siletz Agency to the Methodist Episcopal Church to "guarantee that the Siletz Indians will have every opportunity and encouragement to throw off some of the bad habits acquired by contact with vicious white men." (In the 1870s the religious organizations assumed responsibility for nomination of "moral men" to serve as agents.)
 Many immediate changes were made in the Siletz Indians' daily lives under the supervision of the church.
 Gen. Joel Palmer, agent from January 1871 to December 1872, abolished the buck and gag and the whipping post and seldom used the guardhouse. Palmer was one of the few non-indian men respected by the Indians, having won their confidence in treaty sessions and transportation of the tribes to the reserve. It was during his term as agent that Christianity was introduced to the Indians.

Reverend W. T. Pearce 1912

 In 1912, Rev. W. T. Pearce, missionary to the Siletz Indians, published a brief history of the Siletz Methodist Episcopal Church in the Pacific Christian Advocate, which told of Palmer's evangelistic efforts:
 The old people tell how he used to come down to his officer in the morning, go in and take a book and read a few minutes then get down on his knees and talk to someone that they could not see; after which he would get up and begun the business of the day. This was highly amusing to the Indians who would gather, and looking into the windows, laugh and wonder what the general was doing and who he was talking to. In time, however, they came to inquire what it meant and then the general began to gather them together and teach them the true way of life.

Rev. John Howard

 Through Palmer's efforts a Methodist minister, Rev. John Howard, was sent to the Siletz Mission, and when palmer was succeeded in April of 1873 by Rev. J. H. Fairchild as agent, regular church services were set up and religious instructions given to the Indians.
 During Fairchild's three years in his dual role as agent and minister, many Indians, including Adams, became members of the Methodist Episcopal Church. (Fairchild was assisted in this missionary work by Rev. W. C. Chattin, agency teacher.)
 Adams, in his 20s, had already begun a lifetime of service to his people, including employment as a government teamster, assistant farmer, stable hand, interpreter, freighter, policeman and judge.
 A respected man, Adams represented the tribes in meetings with government officials and was selected by agents as a tribal representative, traveling as far as Jacksonville in an era when Indians were seldom allowed to leave the reserve.
 Adams protested any government mistreatment of his people, but his forthrightness wasn't always appreciated by the Indians.
 Named by the Indians to a seven-man committee to represent the entire reservation in 1892 negotiations with the US to sell approximately 200,000 acres of the reserve, Adams' life was threatened when he took a stand against the sale!
 Acting on his personal motto, "What can be seen, can be fought," Adams and his friend, Harney, tried tried without success to preserve land for allotment to future generations, but on October 31, 1892, they reluctantly joined the other men in signing the sale agreement.
 Adams regarded the government officer of $142,000 for the unsurveyed land as a trick to obtain cheap land for speculators and within a few years his worst fears were realized with the exposure of timber and land frauds.
 In the years following the 1892 sale of tribal lands, Adams, speaking out against irregularities in the allotment procedures, was termed a radical, and allotted land in the Upper Farm area [was wrested] away from the "good people" of the reserve.
 This entire period of his life was one of trials and disappointment, mingled with grief at the loss of several of his family members, including two daughters, Belle and Blossom, two sons, Roy and Wilbur, and his wife, Nettie Newton, leaving only his eldest son, Joseph, alive.
 On June 6, 1893, Adams, now a judge in the Court of Indian Offenses, married Martha Jane Clay, a member of the Klamath Nation.
 Herself no stranger to the misery of reservation life, Martha, 31, had already been married several times and widowed twice. To this marriage she brought four children, Lena and Inez Chapman, and Cecilia and Raymond Clay.
 Following an August 1894 fire the Adameses hastily constructed a new home for their family which now included John Junior. In 1896 another son, Russell, was born.
 Shortly after his father's wedding, Joseph Adams, already recognized as a potential tribal leader, had been sent to Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania. After finishing his studies he entered Dickinson College where he studied medicine, law, religion, and music, never deciding on a career. But respiratory problems had plagued the young Indians and on June 12, 1898, at the age of 23, he died of consumption at his father's home.
 Despite his problems, Adams continued as a leader among his people, highly regarded by government officials and white settlers of the Siletz country.
 Serving as a policeman and later as a judge, Adams sometimes was sent to Portland to appear as a character witness in federal court Indian trials. In their normal line of duty, policemen were regarded as "common foe" of the reservation Indians, and testifying against them was not pleasant.
 But it is for his work as a Methodist minister that Adams is remembered. Beginning as interpreter of early missionary talks at the schoolhouse, he progressed to delivering sermons in jargon to his people.
 As agency interpreter, Adams had enjoyed the favor of successive Methodist agents and been a key member of all their religious meetings, persevering even when the general interest waned in long periods passed without a suitable pastor. In his early 30s, Adams had the full confidence of the agents and of the flock, and so he was readily accepted as preacher, always using the Indian tongue. In 1887-1888, however, when he was also functioning as a teamster for the agency, he came into conflict with a new agent, J. B. Lane, who had been making radical changes, especially at the school (which he virtually closed down). Adams led the appeal against Lane; somewhere in the process lane dismissed Adams as teamster, and there was much recrimination. Lane, in his report, claims that the Methodist flock then wrote Adams off as venal, but Lane himself was soon removed and Adams reinstated with honor. His eloquence at a Fourth of July speech, in 1903, is praised thus:

 The Rev. John Adams, a full-blood Indian, delivered an address on the Fourth in Indian tongue. I was told by the whites who understood, that it was good, patriotic, and full of acknowledgements of the benefits of the school. His gestures were graceful and his carriage commanding.

 The prominence of Rev. Adams continued until his death, which occurred on August 22, 1928, his last major public appearance, at the age of 81, being the Siletz Memorial Day service that May. It is duly attested in an anonymous manuscript history of the Methodists in Siletz. That history was written soon after 1965, when the Siletz Methodists consolidated with those of Toledo.
 His obituary, which appeared in the Lincoln County Leader on August 30, 1928, described Adams in the most glowing terms:

John Adams, like his uncle [Tyee John], was a man of courage and character. He was converted to Christianity and joined the Methodist Episcopal church when J. H. Fairchild was agent, under the preaching and teaching of Rev. W. C. Chattin, who was then employed as teacher in the school. From that time until his death John Adams lived a true and faithful Christian life. For many years he was a local preacher in the church. He had a fine constitution and a bright mind. He learned the English language and spoke it quite well. Had he been educated he would have made his mark in the world as a preacher. All the agents and superintendents from Fairchild down spoke in highest terms of John Adams as being an honest and a true Christian. He had this name wherever he was known. He always stood for law and order.

 The funeral was held in the Methodist Episcopal church by Rev. F. L. Moore, pastor. The church was filled to capacity, and a good many had to stand outside. It seems the community turned out en masse to pay this last tribute of respect to his memory. Some mourners came from Newport and Toledo to offer their respects.

"A Pioneer Woman of Siletz"

 Five years later, on January 30, 1930, Martha Adams passed away at the age of 70. The paper eulogized her as "a pioneer woman of Siletz" and spoke of her also in the most glowing terms.

 Martha Adams, wife of the late Rev. John Adams a local preacher in the Methodist Episcopal church, and has lived here continually up to the time of her heath. She was received into the church in 1893 by Rev. W. H. Myers who now lives in Eugene City. Adams attended church and Sunday School and was a good Christian woman with a host of friends and no enemies. Her husband was received into the church during the Fairchild administration by the pastor of the church, Rev. W. C. Chatterin, an evangelist.
 Mr. Adams for more than 53 years led a true Christian life and stood for education and Christian civilization and everything that would improve the conditions of his people. He had two sons in the world war, Dick, and Russell, they both came through with honorable records.

 The funeral was held in the Methodist Episcopal church, conducted by F. L. Moore, pastor of the church, and assisted by Rev. Alan Banks of Pentecostal Gospel Church. The choir sang some beautiful songs led by prof. Smith, principal of the high school. A duet was sung by Mr. and Mrs. Banks. The interment took place on Government Hill overlooking the beautiful Siletz Valley.
 Rev. Adams, along with his second and third wives, Nettie Newton (1855-1889) and Martha Jane Huntsucker (1855-1930), is buried at Paul Washington Cemetery, Siletz.

Rev. T. F. Royal

 Rev. T. F. Royal, a member of one of the most outstanding Methodist families in early Oregon, was the best remembered missionary at Siletz. In recognition of civil marriage, and perhaps even divorce, he encouraged monogamy among the Indians and was opposed to the sale of wives.
 In the early days, Methodist missionaries at Siletz had the use of government buildings for their services, and, since the ministers were also employees of the reservation, they lodged in government houses. Thus, when the Grant Peace Policy came to an end, and the minister no longer held a government post, the first need was for a parsonage. This was duly built in 1889 or 1890.
 Only shortly after 1900 was an actual church provided. It consisted of the timbers of an old church at Newport, which were disassembled and brought piecemeal to Siletz. For foundations, it is said that some families contributed the tombstones of their dead! During the week, this building also served as a school. In 1933, a considerable annex was added for Sunday School use and recreation, and shortly after WWI, the whole complex was given a thorough renovation. Unfortunately, in 1948, a fire burned everything to the ground.
 The community rallied and soon had a whole new church, built of cement blocks. A thriving parish life continued, but then came various fluctuations of the local economy and of the resident population, and by 1965 it seemed best for the Siletz Methodists to consolidate with those of Toledo. (Most pastors held Siletz for only a couple of years, and many were serving Toledo at the same time.) The building was then sold. It now serves as the Siletz Church of Christ. It stands on Logsden Road, just across from the entry to Paul Washington Cemetery.
 In 1925, some months before the dedication at Raymond Town, there was an unusual incident which took place at the Methodist church in Siletz, and was recalled by a parishioner:

 Rev. McIntosh was delivering his evening sermon with much shouting, but abruptly he quieted down. A strange expression swept over his face and in the stillness of the crowded church you could have heard a pin drop. Then came the tread of marching feet, and when they were in (the witness's) the line of vision, she could see the white-robed figures of the Ku Klux Klan. They walked up to the pulpit and handed the minister an envelope. Then they right-about-faced, and marched out without uttering a word. After the door had closed on the white-robed figures, the minister opened the envelope and read a note commending him on his good work. Enclosed within was a check for $50.000.

 One cannot help thinking the Klan also intended to signify its displeasure with the other clergyman in town, Rev. Charles Raymond, who was becoming decidedly too popular, and whose dreams about a Catholic resort town should not be seconded.
 Two years previously, the Klan had managed to outlaw Catholic schools in Oregon. Their law would be declared unconstitutional, but not until March 31, 1924, very close to the date of Fr. Raymond's famous trek in search of a site for his dream church. Fr. Raymond himself probably paid the Klan little heed, but leading priests in Portland had been awakened by the crisis and were shaping a whole new tone for church life in Oregon, led by an organization they formed and called The Catholic Truth Society in Oregon.
  The institution of the itinerant preachers, the role of their wives, the hospitality afforded them by Methodist families along their routes, the enduring character of the friendships they formed, the gifts-in-kind made to such preachers in the wealthier towns and intended for free distribution of needier points along the route, the proverbial concern for the Methodists for singing and for temperance, the involvement of the individual missionary at a variety of reservations, the ordination of the individual for lifelong service to the Indians, the hardships of wintry roads, are some of the enduring themes that shaped the Methodist presence in Oregon.

Fr. Croquette Allowed Back to Siletz 1879

 Fr. Croquette was tacitly allowed back to Siletz as early as 1879. About that time, agent Swan, himself a devout Methodist, began to complain bitterly of the extent to which the Methodist Conference sought to control agency affairs. Without doubt, this control was aimed to ensure a mutual support between families that were contributing heavily of their own resources, but it could scarcely be maintained in face of Washington's drift towards more secular policies. By now the position of pastor at Siletz was seen as unwanted; but in 1887 a new solution was proposed: no longer would the pastor earn his family's keep by teaching at the school all week; instead, he would be paid by the Methodist Home Mission Society, who also offered to send a woman missionary and provide a parsonage and a church building. By the time the first such Methodist missionaries arrived, the Rev. C. R. Ellsworth, in 1891, Catholics and Methodists would be regarded as, more or less, twin churches on the reservation. The fraternal harmony of both pastors and flocks would then be praised almost every year. By that time, however, Fr. Croquette had almost been phased out at Siletz in favor of a Fr. Patrick Lynch and, especially, of the German mystic, Fr. Felix Buücher, who was later to succeed him at Grand Ronde.

Siletz Boarding School

 At the Siletz Boarding School, the religious services and instructions on Sundays had by now become a matter of some concern, since the children of Catholic families were expected to attend the Methodist Sunday School. It seems that Archbishop Gross, who used the school facilities for his services, took occasion to reach an agreement for a nonsectarian curriculum of instruction. This held for the next couple of years, until Fr. Felix Büucher's visits became so regular, and the lay leadership, like Frances Harney's (1836-1934) was so competent, that separate Catholic classes thereafter be provided each week.
 By 1885, under Harney's leadership, baptismal classes consisting of the children of several families were being presented to Fr. Croquette on each visit, along with more and more mature adults as well. That year, she married Coquille Charley Johnson, and the following year Chief Harney himself came up to Saint Michael's and married Elizabeth Tole (1870-1958), daughter of a key Catholic family and recent graduate of the Benedictine school. In 1887, Chief Harney was duly baptized into the swelling ranks of fervent Siletz Catholics.

Fr. Felix's Visits to Siletz Begin 1894

 Fr. Felix's visits began in 1894, when he was appointed assistant pastor at Corvallis. In April 1895, an epidemic occurred at the school, which was traced to a backing up of sewage water and gasses under the building. This was brought technically under control by the fall of 1896, with the installation of a whole new water supply and disposal system, but alarm had set in among the staff. When all this, in one form or another, came out in the newspapers, Fr. Felix saw it as his duty to take up residence on the reservation for the people's consolation. This was the very year the Nuns were being phased out as matrons of the Grand Ronde!
 The Harneys gave Fr. Felix the warmest of welcomes and urged the building of a rectory and church. Money for this was generously donated by the wealthy Philadelphia heiress and nun, Mother Katherine Drexel.
 Coming as he did in the spirit of mercy, Fr. Felix had no proselytizing rivalries with the resident Methodist minister, and successive agents stress their gentlemanly harmony. In 1905, however, a new agent took over at a time when both clergymen happened to be absent for along time. In his annual report he commented that religion was not taken very seriously at Siletz and that it would be better to have only one or other of the churches, for he supposed that neither clergymen dared condemn any waywardness least he lose the offenders to his rival. Such could, indeed, have been the case in a situation of this kind, but the fact is that the earlier agents, who really knew the men, denied any such rivalry. They acknowledged that the flocks were small, but saw them as twin elites setting a tone of morality much nobler than would have prevailed without them. Setting aside the question of apostolic succession, which separated the Catholic from the Methodists and provided a theological claim to legitimacy, it is easy to see the providential fittingness for both churches' presence. Without the Methodist enthusiasms of a Fairchild and a Bagley, there would not have emerged a setting that could foster the uniquely beautiful piety and eloquence of a Rev. John Adams. But, equally, a George Harney need a non Methodist setting, almost and anti-establishment context, in order to grow in his charismatic leadership, not only among the Catholics and in the tribal government but also in his nationwide role as companion on the lecture tours of Alfred B. Meacham.

Katherine Mary Drexel (1858-1955)

 There was no church at Siletz when Fr. Felix took up his residence there, but plans were made immediately to build one. "Practically a whole year or more I spent among the Indians," he wrote, "until a little church and residence was built to the glory of the Blessed Virgin Mary." The church and rectory were provided through the generosity of Reverend Mother Katherine Mary Drexel (1858-1955), Foundress of the Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament, Cornwell Heights, Pennsylvania. The background of the Siletz parish, as well as the account of dedication ceremonies of the new church, was given in The Catholic Sentinel:

 The Indians of Siletz Reservation had been for many years attended by that venerable missionary from Grand Ronde, Msgr. Croquette. A large number had become Catholics. When Pres. Grant made his famous division of the reservations among the different denominations, the Siletz Indian Reservation was given over to the apostolic care of the Methodists. Msgr. Croquette was informed that his presence was no longer required on the reservation. Thus years rolled by and these poor Indians had not the chance of receiving the ministrations of the Catholic priest.
 Soon after the inauguration of Grover Cleveland into the presidency for the first time, the US Indian agent appointed by him wrote to Archbishop Gross that a Catholic priest would be a very welcome visitor to the reservation. Taking with him the venerable Fr. Croquette, the archbishop himself went immediately to the reservation. He was most kindly received by the agent. His grace can testify that on all subsequent visits he has always been received with great courtesy. At his first visit the most reverend archbishop was edified to notice, that, although deprived for many years of their priest, the Indians had kept their faith, and all efforts of the ministers had failed to pervert a single one. He preached to them and they nearly all came to hear the sermons. From that time there has been an occasional visit by the priest.
 About a year ago that eminent Catholic lady, Reverend Mother Katherine Drexel, granted the request of his grace and consented to donate $2,000 for the erection of a church and parsonage on the Siletz Reservation. The work was begun under the supervision of the missionary priest Rev. Felix Büucher. The rainy season had set in when the building was completed. The roads, bad enough in summer, became simply impassible in winter. The dedication of the new church was, therefore, postponed until the summer.
 On last Sunday afternoon, July 31, the most reverend archbishop arrived at the reservation. Some miles from the reservation a large body of Indians in wagons and on horseback, headed by Chief Harney, who bore a large and beautiful American flag, met his grace and escorted him to the reservation. Far in the distance the gilt cross on the steeple of the church can be seen, and shines more conspicuously, owning to the grove of green pines to the rear of the church. The church is a handsome building, being 22 by 48 foot. It has a gallery for the organ and choir, and a sacristy. The priest's dwelling adjoining the church, has six rooms. A bell weighing 550 pounds has been presented by Messrs. John Kern and brother of Portland.
 Sunday, August 1, was adorned with Oregon's most delicious summer weather. Immense crowds of Indians had assembled for dedication of the church. The US Indian agent and other white gentlemen and ladies living on the reservation also came. At 10am the most reverend archbishop, assisted by very Rev. Severin Jurek and Rev. Felix Buücher, blessed the church. As his grace had received some time ago a large box of altar ornaments and church articles sent him by a society of ladies in ever-generous France, he could give a supply of decorations and vestments that added to the beauty of the church.
 After the dedication ceremonies, high mass was sung by Very Rev. Severin Jurek. An organ had been procured for the occasion; Mr. Hoffman accompanied with the violin, and all were extremely pleased with the music. After the gospel his grace preached a sermon, and the large audience paid exquisite attention. Towards the end of his discourse the archbishop congratulated the Indians on the possession of this fine church. He informed them that they should contribute to the support of their pastor. When afterwards the collection box was passed around nearly every Indian present gave him money, and some even who are not Catholic made an offering. In the afternoon at 3:30 o'clock, his grace having given an instruction in which he explained the part which the bell plays in Catholic worship, blessed it. It has a very sweet sound, and the Indians are highly pleased at having this fine bell. The services of the day closed with the benediction of the most blessed sacrament.
 The new church is dedicated under the title of "Our Lady of Guadalupe," that remarkable shrine which the Sacred Mother of God made for herself among the lowly Indians of Mexico, wherein innumerable graces and blessings for soul and body have been obtained by her all-powerful intercession. May this gracious lady, who offered her divine son on Calvary make a shrine for herself of Oregon; and then, for its people too, will be realized what is written in the Bible: "They found Jesus with Mary, his mother."

 In 1885, when Grover Cleveland (1837-1908) became president of the US for the first time, an effort was made to mend such grievances as the Indian has suffered under the U. S. Grant Peace Policy, and so, in Oregon, a warm invitation was extended to reestablish the Catholic presence at Siletz. After a few tentative efforts, archbishop William Gross happily found that two priests of the new Salvatorian order, currently resident in Corvallis, were eager to serve both Siletz and Toledo as well. But this was a time of financial setback and money for building projects was hard to come by. Nevertheless, the archbishop happened to have a generous Benefactor back East, whose prime interest lay with missions for Africans or Native Americans.
 Archbishop Gross had previously served as bishop of Savannah, Georgia (1873-1885), where his projects for Black Catholics had been generously helped by a wealthy heiress of Philadelphia, Katherine Mary Drexel (1858-1955). Soon after his promotion to Oregon City, he again contacted Ms. Drexel, on behalf of Catholic Indians east of the Cascades (1889-1891), and so now, in 1895, he naturally turned to her to provide Fr. Felix Buücher with a church and rectory at Siletz.
 Katherine's grandfather, Francis Martin Drexel (1792-1863), was born in Dornbirn, Austria. In 1817, he escaped from Europe at the time of the Napoleonic Wars, and had rapidly gained a reputation as a portrait painter for wealthy families in Philadelphia and throughout the Americas. He also had a genius for investing the considerable earnings his artwork brought him. In 1838, he established in Philadelphia a brokerage office, originally for dealing in foreign currencies and securities, which developed into the banking house of Drexel & Company. In 1847, Katherine's uncle, Anthony Joseph (1826-1893), became a member of the firm and the dominating influence during its period of expansion. After 1863, F. M. Drexel founded Drexel, Morgan, and Company in New York. The firm specialized in government bonds, railroads, mining, and real estate. He was co-owner with George W. Childs of the Philadelphia Public Ledger. In 1892, F. M. Drexel was founder and benefactor of Drexel Institute (enrollment 7,269) of Philadelphia. This business acumen proved to be of great advantage in times of nationwide financial crisis, and it was duly inherited by his sons, along with his deeply Catholic faith. Once of these sons, Drexel's father, Francis Anthony Drexel, also inherited his father's artistic ability, though more as a musician than as a painter.
 Katherine's mother died when she was still an cradle, but she was blessed with an excellent stepmother and with an Irish governess, Ms. Cassidy, who deserves to be compared with Helen Keller's (1880-1968) Ann Sullivan.
 F. M. Drexel had three daughters, but no sons; and when his second wife also died relatively young, he came up with an extraordinary plan for his daughters; financial future. He was glad to see them use their enormous fortune for the support of Catholic charities, but he did not want any less loftily motivated husbands interfering with their judgment in that regard. He therefore made out a complicated testament, in which his millions could go only to his daughters and to any offspring of theirs, and if there were no surviving offspring, then it would revert to favorite Catholic charities of his own prior choosing.
 Two of the daughters eventually married. One of these died rather soon, in childbirth, and her child died with her. The other spent many happy years with a husband who shared her charitable ideals, but she too eventually died childless. Each of these deaths left Katherine with responsibility for an ever greater share of the vast inheritance. She considered entering a convent and putting it all in the hands of an administrator. But from childhood she was convinced that her wealth should go effectively to the benefit of the ever-neglected African and Native American population, and her spiritual advisors warned her that the only way to guarantee this was to become a nun under an understanding bishop, and to use his overriding authority to ward off those seeking funds for unrelated causes.
 When Archbishop William Gross first contacted Reverend Mother Drexel on behalf of Siletz, she had already entered the Sisterhood. In 1889, she served her novitiate with the Sisters of Mercy. She became the Head of Sisters of the Blessed Sacrament for Indians and Africans in 1891, a new order created by Leo XIII (1810-1903) at her request. She established a mother house in Cornwell Heights, Pennsylvania in 1892, from which the Sisters were sent to serve missions for Native Americans in the Pacific Northwest and to work with African Americans in the Deep South and in northern cities. In all, she founded 63 schools for African and Native American people. In 1894, Reverend Mother Drexel founded Saint Catherine's School in Santa Fe, New Mexico. In 1915, she founded Xavier University of Louisiana in New Orleans (enrollment 3,467), which became the Catholic church's only American college for blacks.
 Twice her travels brought her to Portland in person, but on neither occasion could she visit Siletz. The first visit was made in 1884, while her father was still alive. He had helped to finance the new transcontinental railroad and his whole family was invited to ride it as guests of honor. Reverend Mother Drexel's other passage through Portland was on a tiring business trip in 1935, when her health was about to collapse.
 On this second journey, she was already in her late 70s and needed to provide for her work to continue after her death, since, as her father's will had specified, the entire fortune would then pass to other hands. The strain of this trip, and the effort to make each foundation financially self-sufficient, soon ruined her health. But this infirmity did not shorten her life, for she enjoyed another 20 years funneling her father's wealth to her beloved blacks and Indians.
 Like Fr. Felix Buücher, Reverend Mother Drexel was a mystic, and her spiritual personality was reflected in the journals her Irish governess had long since taught her to enjoy keeping. Unfortunately, her many letters to Fr. Felix have perished, but all of his to her are extant. At the bottom of Fr. Adrian Crockette's Christmas letter to her in 1934, after 40 years of correspondence and shortly before that final passage through Portland, she jotted a telling comment: "a very saintly and very humble priest."
 A leader in race relations, Reverend Mother Drexel was also an able administrator who attracted more than 500 women to her Order before her death on March 3, 1955, at the age of 96. In 1964, steps were taken toward her canonization. Pope John Paul II gave her the title of "Blessed," the rank immediately below "Saint." Her holiness manifest itself in the ease she demonstrated with prelates and statesmen and persons of wealth. She was skilled in business and in assuring a sound financial basis for her undertakings, able to give the needed administrative leadership and to delegate the more personal tasks to colleagues. She was never condescending to those she wished to help, nor did she pretend to offer them a leadership from within. Rather, she knew well how to find out what real needs existed, and which of them she was equipped to meet. And she met them—as with Fr. Felix—for decades on end. This endless goodness of hers created a setting rich in friendships. It is a highlight in Oregon history for the little parish of Siletz to have a woman foundress like Blessed Katherine Drexel, who may one day be called "Saint."

Our Lady of Guadalupe

 It was Reverend Mother Drexel who submitted the name for the church in Siletz. It is not known exactly when she submitted this choice, but by January 29, 1869, Archbishop William Gross was already taking it for granted, and from then on it appeared in various documents.
 “Guadalupe” is the name of an old Mexican shrine. It had long been popular in the Southwestern US, but in 1895 it was virtually unknown further north. Then, precisely in October 1895, a major pageant was held in Mexico, which surely found echo in Catholic newspapers available to Reverend Mother Drexel; a papal coronation of Guadalupe's image, done on the 15th of that month.
 Guadalupe seems not to have been one of Reverend Mother Drexel's major meditative themes, though it could well be that she gave financial help when, a year or two later, a newly arrived Irish priest, Fr. George Lee, published the first English language book on this devotion. Fr. Lee was then stationed at Dequesne University in Pittsburgh, which was closely connected with the convent of the Sisters of Mercy where Reverend Mother Drexel had done her Novitiate in 1889.
 The archbishop and Fr. Felix apparently welcomed this choice, but the title hardly caught on among the parishioners. Siletz was the first non-hispanic church in the country named for Guadalupe, and so unusual a title could not but prove an embarrassment in face of Oregon's often anti-Catholic public. As with other Marian churches in the archdiocese, therefore, the full devotional title was telescoped to Saint Mary's. Soon, a Jesuit priest made this abbreviation semi-official. He also changed the name of Newport's Star of the Sea to the old Jesuit standby, Sacred Heart. Today, however, when Guadalupe is so dear to the vast majority of American Catholics, Siletz is proud to reclaim her.
 The classic telling of the Guadalupe apparitions, which took place in 1531, is found in an Aztec pamphlet, first published in 1649 and today known as the Nican Mopohua. There is discussion among scholars about how this account was put together, but none question that certain highly poetic sections of it stem from an author with an extraordinary mastery, both of the Aztec