The Stories of Old Ignace

Flathead chief and family, 1855--George Catlin

Consider Old Ignace, a trapper, born somewhere near Montreal, who, in the early 19th century migrated west with others so inclined to make a living in the fur trade. This man, Ignace La Mouse, was his name, plied his trade and his faith when he and 23 good friends from out east joined forces with the Flathead people in Montana and Idaho.

Two centuries before, not all had gone smoothly with the Jesuits who left France bound for the New World. There'd been some difficulties, some martyrs in fact when they attempted to bring Christianity to eastern tribes, Mohawks and Iroquois. Old Ignace was Iroquois, but he was also, through two centuries, Roman Catholic through the through. 

Any missionary society in the New World would have loved to count Ignace La Mouse among their own. After he and others found their way to the Flatheads most of a continent away, and once they started in with some serious trapping, he began telling the locals about the blessings of Christianity, specifically, the specific flavor of Christianity the Jesuits had taught him by way of songs and rituals and, as an example, a determination to keep the Sabbath day holy. 

Old Ignace was no slouch. His heart was big; he commanded respect and trust sufficient to make him a grand exemplar of the Christian faith in this newly adopted faraway country. The stories he told the Flatheads of this white man's faith were so charming, so fundamental, that the Flatheads soon made it clear that they should have their own black robe, someone to come and live with them and be their friend and tell them the good news of the gospel. Soon enough, a quartet of locals--Flatheads and Nez Perce--were duly commissioned with some firelit ritual to travel all the way down river and secure for the people at Flathead Black Robe.  

The destination was obvious. Whenever they bound up their furs and loaded them on canoes, they were off to a place called St. Louis, a French-speaking village where, among the fur-traders, a dozen or more Black Robes were said to live. Old Ignace knew something of Lewis and Clark and believed Mr. Clark, the governor, might be of aid. 

It's difficult to imagine their trip--no rest stops, no fast food, no convenience stores, nary a motel down any stretch of river between the Montana frontier and far away St. Louis. Not only that, but the chosen four were not unaware of the prickly bands of First Nations who called the country home--the Sioux, the Blackfeet, and others--none of whom were known for hospitality. If the four frontiersmen were to keep their scalps all the way to St. Louis, they'd have to know when and where to take cover to avoid, well, slaughter.

The trip took months, but, miraculously, they made it, got down to St. Louis and met with the governor, Mr. William Clark, who pointed them toward the church. Incredibly, that first meeting turned into a Babel thing as no one in the seminary could understand a word the Flatheads said. What's worse, two of them became gravely ill. What then transpired can only be imagined. When those St. Louis Jesuits cared for their guests, they witnessed very strange things, behavior that seemed a miracle. These unintelligible Indigenous from some place far, far away up river were somehow, some way already Roman Catholic. 'T'was true. When the sacrament of baptism was given, they rejoiced. They knew. They understood signs and rituals. When presented with a small cross, they kissed it. They somehow understood, even when their language didn't bring them to understanding.

Sadly, however, two of that Catholic corps of discovery died in St. Louis. When the remaining two pilgrims left, homeward bound, they were alone, no black robe of to return to the people. Their experience had been extraordinary, but by the standars of the people back home, the mission had failed.

But there is more to the story. . .