Lamy of Santa Fe. Paul Horgan

from Cincinnati was obvious. Rome deliberated. In time, the issue would be properly resolved with the creation of the new diocese after all. Meanwhile, one had to do with what one had.

      The national news was stirring—Taylor’s army of Northern Mexico had won a great victory at Buena Vista in late February 1847, a week later on 1 March General Wool took the city of Chihuahua, and before the month was out, Winfield Scott and his amphibious force received the surrender of Veracruz and started inland for the heart of Mexico and her capital, as the summer wore on.

      In July there was distressing news for Lamy. Evidently the fact that central Ohio was not growing so fast as the northern counties moved Purcell to decide that after all Lamy should go to Sandusky permanently for city parish work. In reply to the proposal, Lamy wrote a long and eloquent plea to be allowed to remain at Danville. He reminded Purcell that a year earlier when he, Lamy himself, had proposed moving north, the bishop had said he wished the idea had never been thought of, and it was dropped. But now, Lamy begged to have his weighty reasons for not moving listened to—he was deep in arrangements to build a new brick church at Danville; he had contracted for the land; procured six thousand feet of lumber; “made a bargain with a man to burn a large kiln of bricks”; the congregation had already given him money, even the children; the shingles were ready; everyone felt “in good spirit about the new church.” He had been with them all for eight years, they were all as dear to him as children were to their own father. Now, unless the bishop had decided that his services had become useless among those people, he must earnestly and most humbly “entreat” Pur cell to grant him the favor of not removing him. Yes, and moreover, he had almost completed the restoration of the burned Mt Vernon church, and though he would be “in some debt,” he had “better prospect” before him. He piled reason upon reason in a flow of emotion such as he rarely revealed. City parish instead of the mission rides despite their hardships?

      “I could not bear the idea, unless compelled by obedience, to be confined. I know it would be very injurious to my health, providence seemes to have fitted me for a barbarious [sic] and extensive mission,” he added in innocent prophecy. “I do not complain of hardship, and if my congregation are poor I should thank God to have given me an opportunity of practicing a virtue so dear to my divine master.” More, “If I was to consult my taste I should be obliged to say that I have a great dislike to be charged with the cure of a community on account of my inexperience and of my age for I am only thirty-two.”

      “Dear Bishop,” he pleaded with passion so unlike his customary calm, “please bear with me a little longer. You have too great idea of my capacity as far as I know myself I would be afraid to exercise the ministry in a town or city. You might be too much disappointed in your expectation, if there is a certain good done where I am, though only a little, suffer me to remain here, would it not do more harm than good to remove a general from the army when there is accord and union between him and his subjects, and a great desire on both sides to perform, some achievements according to their number, strength and means? Now Dear Bishop I must acknowledge that never before in my life was I compelled to write a letter with so much repugnance as I have this for I never wished to go against the will of my Superiors, neither do I wish it now. But I hope that whatever I have observed you will believe that I had not the least intention to be disrespectful. I have only candidly expressed my own feelings, knowing well that you would take it in good part, please, excuse me if I have said anything that would give you the least suspicion of my disposition towards you. you have often said that you would not oppose a reasonable desire of any of your priests …”

      Could it have crossed the bishop’s mind that his suppliant protested too much? Gave too many reasons where one good one would do? In any case, what appeared to be Lamy’s overriding purpose was to avoid—but let his own words resume:

      “Your brother (Father Edward Purcell) has likely told you that Mr [Father] Senez desires very much to return to this diocese provided he would be welcome and have great deal to do. he has written to me on the same subject, but before I consent to the condition which he seems to require, for me to live with him, I want some time to reflect upon it. I know, Mr Senez is a good, pious, talented priest, I have been long enough in his company to be convinced of it, but I would be afraid to say without serious consideration that it would be for the greater benefit of both of us to be together, but I would not wish him to know it.…”

      His final point, unelaborated though it was, seemed to have carried more weight than all the earnest arguments which came before it; and a few weeks later Lamy wrote with relief to Purcell, “Your answer to my last letter delivered me of a great anxiety of mind. I was very much afraid to have displeased you.” On the same day he took out his United States citizenship, and when within a week or so he received another plan for his transfer elsewhere, with Father Senez uninvolved, Lamy agreed with abounding alacrity and willingness. He told Purcell on 20 August 1847, now with no talk of bricks, timber and shingles,

      “As you desire me to go to Covington [Kentucky] I am ready to leave Danville at your first orders. You may dispose of me as you please, my duty is to obey cheerfully, if you think I will do better I am perfectly willing to try. one thing which consoles me is to know that I will be so near you …” His work had prevented him from writing to Father Senez. He had heard that some feared Senez would not come at all if he had to stay alone. Would Purcell please write him? As for himself, he would like two or three weeks to settle some affairs at Danville, chiefly concerning the new church. A week later he wrote to the chancellor at Cincinnati giving his final report on Danville, Mt Vernon, Mohican, Pine Run, Mansfield, where he had congregations totalling two hundred fifteen families. Was he to wait for a replacement or come immediately? In any case, he was ready. His new assignment at Covington, which was directly across the river from Cincinnati, would put him distant the whole length of Ohio from Machebeuf at Sandusky. He left his forest parishes with feeling which was returned to him by them all. Something of him remained alive for generations in Danville. In a lovely phrase, Francis Sapp, grandson of the founder George, wrote in reminiscences set down in his last years, that Lamy’s “name is held in benediction by all the old residents of the county, irrespective of creed.” Francis Sapp, a waning old man, speaking with a childhood’s returned simplicity, said that “Father Lama” was a man “so good that everybody loved him. I was a very young boy when he was pastor here, but had such a high esteem for him I thought that God would not let him die but take him to heaven a live body and soul.… He baptized me and called me Francis Sapp.… I think him the most lovely priest I ever knew.… I have sat upon his knee many times….” It is the earliest picture of Lamy at work in the New World.

      xi.

       Lamy to France

      BY AUTUMN 1847, many concerns were resolved. For the nation, the Mexican War drew to a close when Scott took Mexico City on 14 September. In December, at the call of the United States military governor, the conquered and ceded province of New Mexico held an election to vote on joining the Union as a territory. The vote carried—mostly by the ballots of United States troops stationed there, and the mercantile resident-traders of the Santa Fe Trail. Peace was signed on 2 February 1848, with the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo roughly indicating a new boundary between Mexico and the United States. Other sovereignties would be affected by this vast geographical change and soon enough would be dealt with, along with individual destinies linked to it. In Covington, Kentucky, Lamy, the new pastor of St Mary’s, was at work on the tasks he had rehearsed so often before—acquiring land, moulding together a community, planning a church (to stand where the Covington cathedral would eventually be built). He placed the temporal responsibilities of Covington in the hands of a committee, headed by Mr Doyle, father-in-law of Mr McClosky, and including Mr John White and Mr John O’Donnell,’ among others.

      As always, it was slow work, but it went along in Lamy’s familiar pace of deliberate, daily steps which reflected his patience with the day and his long view of the future. He could be in closer touch with Purcell now, for it was only a ferry crossing to Cincinnati, in the passage of the river just above the great bend which turned east and then west again between rolling hills which came down to the banks. The affairs of his new charge seemed to proceed rapidly. The fast-growing city across the river from Covington was a source of supplies far different