Journal of Cortez Modrables

July 29, 1877

After the band camped last night, three Indian men rode in. Two were treaty Nez Perce and one was Yakima. They had been in the buffalo country scouting for the army when they heard of the non-treaty Nez Perce troubles. They left the army and hurried to join us. They had a suggestion for the chiefs.

Today, the chiefs held council to listen to the plan of the three warriors, and then again to decide which direction to take.

A white man from Missoula named Duncan McDonald also joined this council. His mother was Nez Perce and he speaks Sahaptin.

The three scouts suggested that the non-treaty bands stop traveling southward up the Bitterroot Valley and turn north into the Flathead Reservation and on to British North America. McDonald promoted the same plan. He offered to guide the band through the Hell Gate valley and the Flathead Reservation. Mister McDonald assured us that the Ni-mi-pu would be safe from army attack in the lands governed by the Grandmother Queen Victoria.

Cortez sat in the council listening to the various suggestions and arguments about the direction that the non-treaty bands should take. He thought about this decision and its importance. The whole future of the bands and their success in staying free might depend on whether they go north or south. He recalled the map that Captain La Mar had hanging on the Jupiter’s wheelhouse wall. That map showed colored detail for the United States with its territories, rivers, towns, and mountain chains. But above the 49th parallel north, all was white with only a few marks. As a thirteen-year-old, he had asked the captain, “Does anyone live in such a barren place as British North America?” The captain just laughed and said, “Maps are useful, but they don’t tell the whole story about a place. You could walk north across the 49th parallel and not see anything differentiating the U.S. from British Columbia.”

Cortez wondered, as he sat listening to the arguments, if the chiefs and warriors really understood the legal significance of the places being talked about. Like the other tribes, the Ni-mi-pu needed no maps to tell them where they were or where they were going, but they talked about which direction would bring the non-treaty bands to safety even though there was no map to tell them where British North America was. The Ni-mi-pu called this place Grandmother’s Land. They knew only that these lands were not controlled by the troublesome U.S. government, but rather by a kindly old queen who protected the Indians.

Duncan McDonald was telling the chiefs that if they went north into British North America, they would be out of reach of the U.S. Army. McDonald’s father had been running a trading post on the Flathead Reservation for many years, and he knew the Salish, Kootenai, and Pend d’Oreille people well and was willing to help the Nez Perce trade and pass through the reservation without conflicts. McDonald said that the few soldiers at Fort Missoula would be about as capable of stopping the non-treaty bands as the soldiers at the barricade.

“This land called British North America, what is it like?” White Bird asked.

McDonald replied, “British North America is much like the land of the Columbia River. There is much game and other food. The Kootenai people live on both sides of the border. They have much land and will not be unfriendly to the Nez Perce. Once in British North America, the mountains to the east can be crossed, as in Montana, to where there is good buffalo hunting.”

White Bird, Toohoolhoolzote, and Red Owl all nodded that they liked this plan to go north. Though he didn’t speak in council unless asked, Cortez’s thought was that the trip would be shorter, with little chance of fighting, and the proximity to the Columbia River Country would make it easier for the Ni-mi-pu to return to their homeland should that ever be allowed.

While many smiled and nodded in agreement to the plan proposed by Duncan McDonald and the three returning warriors, Looking Glass stood before the council and spoke strongly against that choice. He said that he didn’t trust the Salish on the Flathead Reservation after seeing Charlot and his warriors standing with the soldiers at the barricade. Looking Glass also reminded the chiefs that their enemies, the Blackfeet and Bloods, claimed the northern buffalo country as their hunting grounds on both sides of the border. He went on to caution that they didn’t know what these Kootenai might do. They could turn against the non-treaty bands like the Salish did. Looking Glass then stated strongly, “The only true friends of the Ni-mi-pu are the Crow, who are fighting against the army in the buffalo hunting country. Didn’t I fight bravely with the Crow against the Sioux?”

White Bird listened intently to Looking Glass and then, to Cortez’s surprise, agreed. “The bands should go south and then to the buffalo country. Our people know the buffalo country. If we find trouble there, we can then go north to Grandmother’s Land and join up with Sitting Bull’s people in the prairie country east of the mountains.” During all this discussion, Joseph said nothing. Cortez thought perhaps he was too sad to go anywhere but his Wallowa Valley.

On this day, the non-treaty bands were again moving to a new campground—one that had been pointed out to them as a safe place by the Salish chief, Charlot, even though he refused to shake Looking Glass’s hand, saying that the hands of the Nez Perce were soiled with white men’s blood and that he would have no part in helping them fight the army.

During the move to this new camp, Cortez rode with Rachel. She seemed happier now that there wasn’t the worry about the soldiers catching the people. The coupled talked about getting married in the Bitterroot Valley, and Cortez told her about the Catholic priest that he had met there as a boy. Perhaps he was still at St. Mary’s Mission in Stevensville just across the river. Cortez suggested that they ride over there and talk with him, or whatever priest might be there.

Rachel agreed with that plan, but was doubtful about finding a Catholic priest willing to marry a Protestant Ni-mi-pu and a Jewish Dreamer. Cortez laughed, then reminded her of Father Dolores on the riverboat when he was a boy coming up the Missouri. He could just see how that priest would react to such a request.

After they were settled at the camp, on a beautiful July morning, Rachel and Cortez both dressed in simple, soyapo clothes and rode their undecorated ponies into Stevensville. As they passed the old trading post of Fort Owen, Cortez told Rachel about trading there with old Major Owen when he was a new Nez Perce. On this day, however, the old adobe fort buildings were filled with white families evidently congregated for protection from the marauding Nez Perce. Cortez simply waved at them as they rode by.

Rachel was nervous as she and Cortez rode into the yard of Saint Mary’s Mission and stopped at the log church. Cortez hopped down and opened the front door for a cautious peek inside. There was no one in the chapel, but he could smell incense so there must have been recent activity there.

Back outside, Cortez helped Rachel down and continued to hold her hand as they walked around into the garden area. She was wearing her white-woman shoes and was wobbly on the soft ground.

Several Salish men were working in the mission garden. When the couple approached, and Cortez greeted them in Sahaptin, they look startled. He then asked where he might find the priest. While the men were still gesturing toward a small log house, a small, middle-aged man in a black robe stepped out and approached Rachel and Cortez.

The little man introduced himself as Father D’Astie in English and studied their faces. Then, in stumbling Sahaptin, he asked, “Why do you ask for a priest?” and thrust his hand toward Cortez.

Shaking the small hand, and speaking English, Cortez began to tell the priest who they were and why they were at the mission.

Father D’Astie took a moment to look the couple over then focused on the young man. “You, Cortez, are obviously a white man. How are you disposed to be traveling with the Nez Perce who have recently murdered white people and are now at war with the army that defends us all?”

Cortez hadn’t expected to be challenged like that, so he carefully avoided any response in anger. “I only want to find a way to give the woman I love a Christian wedding. I have no blood on my hands.” Cortez spread his hands, as a gesture, as he studied the priest’s face to gauge the man’s response. Getting none, he went on to explain, “The two young warriors who attacked the white people were wrong, but they wanted to avenge the murders and the wrongs committed against their families and themselves by the white people. The laws of Idaho and Oregon territories did nothing to right those wrongs. At the time of the attacks, the non-treaty bands were in the process of moving to the reservation as General Howard ordered. The chiefs tried to make peace and stop the trouble, but the army attacked the villages and tried to kill everybody, even the women, children, and noncombatants.” Feeling his face begin to flush in anger, Cortez stepped back to let his words be considered.

Father D’Astie still did not respond, so Cortez took the quiet moment to return to their purpose. “The problem with the Nez Perce is not why Rachel and I are here, so it might be better if I tell you about me and how that might help you to marry us.”

Father D’Astie nodded as if considering the couple’s request, so Cortez began his story. “I buried my parents in the wilderness when I was thirteen. My mother died from cholera because a white Catholic priest hated Jews so much that he destroyed the medicine that would have cured her. My father was murdered by a white man who was robbing him. White men forced me to be left alone in the wilderness. An ancient grizzly bear became my only friend and then my wyakin, as the Indians believe. A Nez Perce boy then found me and became my friend and brother. The Nez Perce family and band gave me a home without judging me. An old shaman named Culculshensah and his wife Willow Woman shared their lodge and food with me and taught me how to heal sickness and injuries. So, you may see me as a white man, but I see myself as a Nez Perce.”

Cortez was so agitated by telling his story that he paced around, while both Father D’Astie and Rachel studied his face. Looking into Rachel’s eyes, he saw sadness distorting her pretty visage. He went on. “Rachel and I have been planning to marry for years. She is a Christian school teacher at Lapwai. We are together with the non-treaty Ni-mi-pu because her village on the Lapwai Reservation was attacked and totally destroyed by the army, even though the villagers, including Rachel’s parents, had no part in the Salmon River killings or the Lahmotta battle. During the attack on the village, a woman and her baby were drowned in the river while trying to escape the soldiers’ brutality. The army has now become the enemy—not the white people. The Nez Perce bands want peace with the white people here in Montana. We have promised to harm no one and to take nothing that is not paid for by fair trade.”

“Rachel, will you please tell me your story,” Father D’Astie asked as he turned to face the frightened intended bride. “Why do you want to marry this complex young man?”

Rachel trembled as she was obliged to face the priest. The young woman, who had always looked Cortez in the eye when she spoke boldly to him, was now very timid about facing Father D’Astie and speaking her mind. Her words were soft and hesitant. “I love Cortez. He has always been good to me.” Cortez could barely hear this simple statement. Father D’Astie, also, was obviously straining to hear.

Father D’Astie again addressed Rachel. “I’ve heard of the schools and Presbyterian Mission established by Reverend Spalding at the Lapwai Indian Agency. They teach you to leave the Indian ways and to become as white people. How would they feel about your returning to the old ways of the Nez Perce and becoming a squaw to a shaman who practices the heathen ways of a Dreamer?” The priest paused, waiting for a response, but Rachel remained silent, with head bowed, so he went on. “Your bands will not be bothered by the Flatheads or the settlers here in the valley, but the army will surely continue after you. The soldiers may be slow, but they will not let the last battles in Idaho go without punishment. You will not have a happy future with the non-treaty bands. I can predict that.”

Rachel appeared even more shaken by the priest’s lecture, and Cortez saw tears forming in her eyes. He ached to hold her close and tell her that everything would be alright, but he held back in the presence of the priest. A sinking feeling in his gut told Cortez that this priest would not marry them.

Cortez thanked Father D’Astie for his time and started guiding Rachel back to their ponies. Then Father D’Astie followed after them, saying, “Rachel. Cortez. Stay with us here in the Bitterroot. You could use your education and knowledge to make good lives for yourselves here. If you would do that, and you, Cortez, would accept Christianity, I would be happy to marry you.”

This proposal caught them both by surprise, so Cortez took a moment to respond, “We will think about this, Father, thank you.”

Rachel smiled at the priest for the first time, and they mounted their ponies and started back toward the village. But Cortez again felt rejection for who he was—as he had as a Jewish boy. Father D’Astie’s last statement, Cortez knew, would appeal to Rachel.

Many Ni-mi-pu had come into Stevensville to trade and buy needed items. Some warriors were strutting and parading as if they enjoyed the looks of the white people on the street. Most of the white people were men, there only to trade or watch over their businesses. Most women and children were being hidden from the feared Nez Perce.

Rachel and Cortez saw a couple of young braves who had gotten hold of some whiskey and were whooping and making themselves foolish. Looking Glass and some older warriors had found them and were trying to make them leave town and return to the campground on the other side of the river. The chief was using his whip to encourage them.

Rachel caught the eye of some young white men watching the scene. Cortez had to admit that she looked very pretty in her white woman’s clothes this morning. One of the sports tried to show off to the other two by approaching Rachel in a bold way. Cortez stepped up to intercept him. The sport seemed surprised at the straightforward look of warning. Rachel saw the situation and took Cortez’s arm to show that they were indeed together. “What would you have done if the man had wanted to fight, Cortez?” She asked. Cortez was pleased to see a twinkle in her eyes. “You are a shaman who carries no weapon.”

Feeling the familiar teasing, the young shaman answered, “I can handle all three of those soyapo sports without a weapon. See these hands. See these arms. I’m not a warrior, but I can wrestle three soyapos any time. Samuel and I grew strong wrestling each other, teaching each other many different moves. Only Samuel can sometimes beat me at wrestling.”

Rachel laughed at the boasting. “So, you can take on three soyapos—one soyapo against three,” she said and laughed at her joke.

This teasing irritated Cortez a little, so he retorted, “No, it would be one Ni-mi-pu shaman against three soyapo sports. Do you want me to show you?” He turned, as if going back to challenge the young soyapos.

Rachel squeezed Cortez’s arm tight. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you remember that our chiefs promised we wouldn’t make any trouble in the Bitterroot Valley? But I’m sorry that I called you a soyapo. I was just teasing.”

Cortez took Rachel’s hand again as they continued down the street. She didn’t resist, even though she had been taught at the Lapwai Mission that such showing of affection in public was inappropriate.

The couple had reached the edge of Stevensville when Rachel proposed, “Let’s walk back down the street where the houses are, Cortez. Would you ever consider living here or some other little town in the valley?”

This question bothered Cortez, but didn’t surprise him. He responded by asking, “Rachel, are you thinking about staying here as Father D’Astie suggested?” He dropped Rachel’s hand without consciously realizing it. A feeling of tension overcame the short period of fun.

“Well, you did tell the priest that we would think about his suggestion.” Rachel’s face showed her thoughts, and Cortez’s face surely showed his attitude of resistance.