Father Whelan – His early history – His appointment to the Mission of Kentucky – His arrival and missionary labors – Promiscuous meetings and dancing – Prejudices of Sectarians – Anecdotes – Father Whelan’s trials and difficulties – His return to Maryland and subsequent life – Rev. Wm. De Rohan – Remarkable adventures of John Lancaster
As we have already seen in the preceding chapter, considerable colonies of Catholics had emigrated from Maryland to Kentucky, in the years 1785 and 1786, especially in the latter. We have also seen what difficulties and dangers they had to encounter, both on their journey westward, and after they had reached their new home in the wilderness. But the privation which they felt most keenly was, that they were without the consolations of their Holy Religion. They formed a flock without a shepherd. No Catholic priest had as yet penetrated those remote wilds; the clean oblation of the New Law had never yet been offered up on the “dark and bloody ground!”
Ireland had the honor of sending one of her sons as the first missionary to Kentucky. One of the principal Catholic emigrants to Kentucky, on his return to Maryland in the spring of 1787, represented the bereaved condition of the Catholic colonists to the Very Rev. John Carroll, then Vicar General of the Bishop or Vicar Apostolic of the London District. He represented, that there were already in Kentucky about fifty Catholic families – the number of which was yearly increasing – and that all of these were totally deprived of every religious succor, which they, however, greatly needed amidst the difficulties and perils that daily encompassed them.
The paternal heart of the zealous Vicar General was moved at this picture of spiritual bereavement; and he determined immediately to supply the pressing wants of so distant a branch of his extensive charge.[1] After mature deliberation, he selected for this difficult and dangerous mission the Rev. Mr. Whelan, an Irish Franciscan, who had been already for some years employed on the American missions.
F. Whelan, it appears, had received his theological education in France, and he had served as Chaplain in one of the French ships of war sent out to the aid of the American colonies in their struggle for Independence. At the happy close of the Revolutionary war, in 1782, being pleased with the new American Government, and strongly impressed with the wants of the American Catholic Church, he determined to select America as the land of his adoption, and to devote the rest of his life to its infant missions. Accordingly, he offered his services to the Very Rev. Dr. Carroll, who cheerfully accepted them. At the time that he was selected for the mission of Kentucky, he was residing with the Jesuits at New Town, in Maryland.
He did not hesitate long ere he accepted the appointment tendered him by his superior. Though past the flower of age, and though he had been trained up amidst the refinements of one of the most highly civilized nations in the world, yet he cheerfully responded to the call, regardless of the hardships and dangers which stared him in the face, on the distant field of his future labours. He immediately took his departure with a new Catholic colony which was emigrating to Kentucky in the spring of 1787; and, after sharing with them in all the privations and perils of their long journey, he happily reached his destination in the fall of the same year. Those who have read the two preceding chapters will be able to estimate the dangers through which he had to pass on his journey westward. The whole country which he traversed from the frontier settlements of Maryland and Pennsylvania to the heart of the wilderness, was infested with savages thirsting for the blood of the white man.
On his arrival, F. Whelan found an ample field for the exercise of his zeal. The Catholics of the infant colonies received him with open arms; many of them had not seen a priest for two years. They were poor, were scattered over an extensive territory, and had no church in which the divine mysteries might be offered up. They were in too destitute a condition to be able to erect even a temporary place of worship. F. Whelan visited the different neighbourhoods in which the Catholics were located, offered up the Holy Sacrifice in the rude log cabins of the country, and labored indefatigably to stir up in the people proper sentiments of piety. He labored day and night, preaching, catechizing, administering the sacraments, and making himself “all to all in order to gain all” to Christ.
He was assiduous in the discharge of his duties. He was never know to miss an appointment, no matter how inclement the season, or how greatly he had been exhausted by previous labours. Often was he known to swim rivers, even in the dead of winter, in order to reach a distant station on the appointed day.[2] On these occasions, the vestments, Missal and ornaments of the altar, which he was compelled always to carry with him, were immersed in the water; and he was under the necessity of delaying divine service until they could be dried at the fire.
During their brief sojourn in the wilderness, his little flock had gradually fallen into many practices which were dangerous to piety. They were in the habit of gathering promiscuously on Saturday evenings and Sundays, and of dancing to a late hour. In the rude state of society at that time, these meetings were often attended with great disorders. F. Whelan was uncompromising in his opposition to such assemblages, and he made every effort to put a stop to them; nor did he relax in his assertions until he had, in a great measure, succeeded in his purpose. He thus had the satisfaction of seeing that his labours were not without fruit; though, with all his exertions, he was unable to have even one Catholic church erected during his short stay in Kentucky.
Besides these difficulties with his own flock, he had to encounter the fierce opposition of the sectarians, whose prejudices against the Catholic church were of the grossest character. Misled by the erroneous opinions which their forefathers had inherited from England, they were in the habit of viewing Catholics as idolaters, and the priests as a species of jugglers. Nor were they at all reserved in the manner of exhibiting this prejudice.
F. Whelan was often rudely interrupted in the midst of his sermons, which he delivered with the warmth and eloquence not uncommon to his countrymen. On one of these occasions, while he was preaching in the open air, near the site of the present church of Holy Cross, an ignorant man, a tailor, stopped him in the middle of his discourse. F. Whelan paused, and remarking with a smile, that he supposed every one should know his own trade best, asked the interlocutor – “What was his profession?” The man, somewhat abashed, answered that he was “a tailor.” “Well then,” resumed F. Whalen, “will you be so good as to inform me how many yards of cloth would be required to make a suit of clothes for a man who should stand with one foot on the court-house at Bardstown, and the other on the knob,[3] or eminence near which we are now assembled?” The distance was about ten miles. The tailor was silent. “Do you see,” continued F. Whelan, “this man is wholly ignorant of his own trade, and yet he ventures to instruct me in mine.” The man was non-plussed, and the priest resumed his discourse, amidst the smiles of the audience.
On another occasion, he was attacked by a sort of preacher, who professed to understand every thing that was contained in the Bible. F. Whelan so effectually exposed his ignorance, that the man lodged a complaint against him, stating, among other things, that the priest had called him an ignoramus. F. Whelan called for a New Testament, and pledged himself to prove the truth of the allegation, to the satisfaction of all present. He read the first verse of St. Matthew’s Gospel, in which Jesus Christ is styled “the Son of David, the Son of Abraham;” and asked the preacher “how Christ could be the son of David, who had lived about a thousand years before him, and of Abraham, who had lived at a much earlier period; and how, even if this difficulty were removed, Christ could have two fathers?” The man put on his spectacles, read the passage attentively; and with evident embarrassment, that he supposed there must be some mistake in the text!!
But F. Whelan was destined to encounter difficulties of a much more painful nature, with some members of his own flock. And though it is not deemed necessary to dwell upon these painful occurences at any great length, yet this sketch would be incomplete without a brief explanation of their origin, progress, and results. The early missions of every country have been beset with similar difficulties.
Previous to his departure from Maryland, the Very Rev. Dr. Carroll had thought it prudent to adopt such measures as would secure to him a competent support in the new mission in which he was about to labour. Accordingly, an instrument of writing was drawn up, by which six of the principal emigrants to Kentucky had bound themselves to pay him annually the sum of one hundred pounds in currency – a sum about equal to $280 of our present money. Yet F. Whelan had not been more than six months in Kentucky, when an effort was made by one or two of the principal contractors to have this instrument set aside and declared illegal by the courts of law. The jury decided for the validity of the contract, but, singularly enough, subjoined to their verdict the clause, that the amount called for should be paid in the produce of the country, and not in money.
The prosecutors were foiled, but still resolved to use every effort to be freed from their engagement. For speaking with some vivacity of their conduct at the trial, in the presence of a person who reported his words, probably with exaggerations, to those concerned, F. Whelan was sued for slander, before the same court; and the jury brought in a verdict of five hundred pounds fine, or imprisonment until the payment of this large amount could be secured. At that time, there was not, in all probability, that amount of money in the whole district of Kentucky. F. Whelan was, in fact, about to go to prison, whither he cheerfully offered to go, when the principal prosecutor, a nominal Catholic, offered to go his bail. This man was afterwards heard to boast, that, in the fine imposed, he had an abundant off-set to the amount called for in the article of agreement.
The following incident may serve to show what spirit actuated the jury which gave this strange verdict; and also, what likelihood there was that a Catholic priest could then expect a fair and impartial trial. About ten years afterwards, the Rev. M. Badin was travelling some where in what is at present Shelby county; and he stopped for the night with a man by the name of Ferguson. The conversation turned on Catholics; or the Romans, as they were called by ignorant Protestants; and the man, not suspecting that his guest was a Catholic priest, related the whole affair of priest Whelan’s trial. He stated exultingly that he was one of the jury, and that “they had tried very hard to have the priest hanged, but were sorry that they could find no law for it!!”
It is not at all surprising that all these difficulties combined should have discourage F. Whelan, and hastened his departure from a mission beset with so many hardships, and where his services did not appear to be properly appreciated. Accordingly, he left Kentucky early in the spring of 1790, and returned to Maryland, by the way of New Orleans. He had labored on this rude mission for two years and a half, with a zeal worthy of better success. Faults he may have had; but those who are just will be disposed to make great allowances for the peculiar difficulties of his position. He was alone in the heart of a vast wilderness, with no brother clergyman to assist him with his advice, or to comfort him in his troubles. He was the only Catholic clergyman west of the Allegheny Mountains, except, perhaps, one or two at the Fench stations on the Wabash and the Mississippi;[4] and owing to the circumstance, that the intervening wilderness was infested with hostile savages, the communication with these was perhaps equally as difficult as that with his brethren beyond the mountains. After his return to Maryland, he resumed his missionary labours with his wonted zeal. He seems to have been stationed on the eastern shore, where he continued to discharge his duties until his death, which occurred in 1805 or 1806.
After the departure of F. Whelan, the Catholics of Kentucky were again left without a pastor. In the following summer, however, there arrived among them, in company with a caravan of emigrants from North Carolina and East Tennessee, the Rev. Wm. De Rohan. He seems to have been born in France, of Irish parentage, and was a reputed doctor of the Sorbonne. Some chance had thrown him on the American shores; and a few years previous to his arrival in Kentucky, he had received faculties for a mission in Virginia, from the Very Rev. Dr. Carroll. Shortly afterwards he had travelled to Tennessee, where he remained for more than a year. In Kentucky, he said Mass for the Catholics, visited the sick, and administered the sacraments of Baptism and Matrimony; but he abstained from hearing confessions, as he did not at first believe that his powers extended to this distant mission. He subsequently changed his opinion on this subject, on the ground that Kentucky was a county of Virginia at the date of his faculties, which had been given for the latter State, or portion of it. On being informed of this fact, the Rt. Rev. Dr. Carroll, lately consecrated Bishop of Baltimore, disapproved of his proceedings. Mr. de Rohan cheerfully submitted to the decision of his superior.[5]
We will close this chapter with a brief account of the remarkable adventures of John Lancaster, which occurred during the period of which we have been treating.[6] The recital will show us to what dangers the early Catholic settlers in Kentucky were constantly exposed.
John Lancaster was descending the Ohio river in a flat boat, bound from Maysville to Louisville. His companions on the boat were Col. Joseph Mitchell and son, and Alexander Brown. When they had reached the mouth of the Miami river, on the 8th of May, 1788, the boatmen discovered a large party of Indians lying in wait for them. They did not make this fearful discovery until they were very near the party; and unfortunately the current bore the boat directly towards them. Escape was hopeless. The savages displayed a white flag, in token of friendship: but at the same time leveled their muskets at the man who was at the oar, and would have shot him down, had not the chief interposed. This man was called Captain Jim, or Shawnese Jim, and he spoke a little broken English, which he had probably learned at some of the British military posts in the northwest. He assured the white men that his people meant them no harm, and that they merely wished to trade with them.
Meantime, a skiff manned by four Indians, was seen to put off from the shore, and was rowed rapidly towards the boat, which it struck with so much violence as to upset the skiff, and to precipitate three of the Indians into the river. John Lancaster here showed great presence of mind, by leaping promptly into the river, and aiding the struggling Indians in their efforts to escape from a watery grave. He succeeded, and had reason to hope that he had done much to conciliate their good will – a hope which the event did not however justify. On entering the boat, the Indians seized on the white men, and made them prisoners, two of them struggling violently for the possession of Mr. Lancaster. Some time after they had reached the shore, these same two savages came to blows, and had a desperate fight on the same ground of quarrel, when Captain Jim interposed, and decided in favour of the first who had seized the person of the captive.
The boat was soon rowed to the shore and robbed of all its effects. The Indians then decamped with the booty, and the four prisoners whom they had taken. The first night was devoted to revelry and drunkenness; the savages having carried with them the whiskey with which the boat was partly laden. The prisoners were bound down on their backs to the earth, with cords which were passed around their limbs and bodies, and tied closely to stakes driven in the ground. During the whole night, the rain poured down in torrents, on their faces and bodies; while their only covering was a blanket, their Indian captors having already stripped them of their clothing and money. They passed a sleepless night, witnessing the wild revelry of the Indians, and musing sorrowfully on the dreadful fate which probably awaited them on the morrow.
On the next morning they were released from their confinement, and were hurried on towards the Indian village in the interior, which Mr. Lancaster estimates was about sixty-five miles from the mouth of the Miami, and twenty-five miles lower down the Ohio river. After they had reached their encampment, which was probably one of the Shawnese towns, they were made to witness new scenes of stirring interest. While the captives were gloomily meditating on their probable doom to the stake, the Indian master of John Lancaster suddenly came up to him, and embraced him, shedding tears, and exclaiming, amidst sobs and lamentations, that “he was his brother, who should take the place of one who had been slain during the previous year!” Immediately the Indian ceremony of adoption took place. Mr. Lancaster was stripped of his blanket, and had his body greased with bear’s oil, and painted of a vermillion colour. He was then taught some scraps of an Indian song, and was made to join in the savage festival which ensued. This consisted of songs and the war-dance, one Indian beating time with a stick, the head of which was curiously wrought and trimmed with the hoofs of deer. After the performance of this singular ceremony, he was viewed as having been regularly adopted into the Indian tribe.
Mr. Lancaster continued a captive in the Indian camp for eight days, during which he made great proficiency in the knowledge of Indian manners and customs. He was called Kiohba, or the Running Buck, from his remarkable activity and fleetness of foot. He was placed on an equal footing with the Indians, and his new brother treated him with great kindness. After some days, however, this foster brother was sent off from the camp, and then he experienced rougher treatment. Captain Jim, under whose charge he was now left, became sullen and vindictive. He quarreled with his wife, who, fearing his vengeance, fled from the camp. Jim immediately pursued her, threatening vengeance, and was soon perceived returning to the camp, after having, in all probability, been her murderer. As he was returning, his daughter, who was well acquainted with her father’s moods, and who had entertained a partiality for Kiohba, said to the latter: puckete – run! He took her advice, and instantly darted from the camp.
On casting a glance backward, from a neighbouring eminence, he perceived Captain Jim beating the elder Mitchell with a tent pole. After his final escape from the Indians, he learned that, soon after his departure, young Mitchell was painted black and burned at the stake; but that his father and Alexander Brown, after suffering almost incredible hardships and privations, were finally ransomed by their friends, and returned to Pittsburgh.
N John Lancaster was soon out of sight of the Indian encampment. He took the direction of the Ohio river, but ran in different directions, and crossed repeatedly the various Indian trails, in order the more easily to elude pursuit. He was particularly fearful of about fifty Indian dogs who had been trained to following the footsteps of man. He was however fortunate enough to escape all these multiplied dangers; and after running for six days, during which his only subsistence was four turkey eggs, which he had found in the hollow of a fallen tree, he safely reached the Ohio river. Exhausted as he was, he immediately tied himself with bark to the trunk of a box-elder tree, and after four hours’ unremitting toil, succeeded in crossing to the Kentucky side. While crossing he had swallowed much water; and he now perceived that his strength had almost entirely failed.
After resting a short time, he determined to float down the river, to the station at the Falls, which he estimated was between twenty and thirty miles distant. Accordingly, he made a small raft, by tying two trees together with bark, on which he placed himself, with a pole for an oar. When a little above eighteen mile Island, he heard the sharp report of a rifle, when, thinking that his pursuers had overtaken him, he crouched down on his little raft, and conceled himself as best he could. Hearing no other noise, however, he concluded that his alarm was without foundation. But shortly after, a dreadful storm broke upon the river; night had already closed in, and he sank exhausted and almost lifeless on his treacherous raft, drenched with the rain, benumbed with cold, and with the terrible apprehension on his mind, that he might be precipitated over the Falls during the night.
At break of day, he was aroused from his death-like lethargy, by one of the most cheering sounds that ever fell on the ears of a forlorn and lost wanderer – the crowing of a cock – which announced the immediate vicinity of a white settlement. The sound revived him; he collected all his energies for one last effort, and sat upright on his little raft. Soon, in the grey light of the morning, he discovered the cabins of his countrymen, and was enabled to effect a landing at the mouth of Beargrass – the site of the present city of Louisville. He immediately rejoined his friends, and their warm welcome soon made him forget all his past sufferings. He lived for many years to recount his adventures; and died a few years ago of a good old age, surrounded by his children and his children’s children.
[1] His jurisdiction extended over the whole territory owned by the United States at the peace of 1782.
[2] These particulars, as well as those preceding and following, have been carefully gleaned from the oral statements of the Very Rev. M. Badin, and of some of the oldest Catholic emigrants to Kentucky.
[3] Now called “Rohan’s Knob”.
[4] We have not been able, from any sources of information within our reach, to ascertain with precision the names and number of these missionaries at that time. In 1779, and probably for some years afterwards, M. Gibault was the priest stationed at Post Vincennes. (See Judge Law’s Speech, sup.cit.) In 1792, M. Flaget, the present venerable Bishop of Louisville, was engaged in this same mission, where he labored for more than two years.
[5] He passed the last years of his life at the theological Seminary of Saint Thomas, where he died piously, about the year 1832.
[6] Our information is derived partly from the journal which Mr. Lancaster has left of what happened to him during the first two days of his captivity among the Indians; and partly from the statement of his respectable widow, to whose clear and retentive memory we are also indebted for much other valuable information.
Just a Fat Sassy Grandma 