Among other advantages which the Shoshones derived from our missionaries, was the introduction of vaccination.  At first it was received with great distrust, and indeed violently opposed, but the good sense of the Indians ultimately prevailed:  and I do not believe that there is one of the Soshones born since the settlement was formed who has not been vaccinated:  the process was explained by the Padres Marini and Polidori to the native medical men, and is now invariably practised by them.

I may as well here finish the histories of the good missionaries.  When I was sent upon an expedition to Monterey, which I shall soon have to detail, Padre Marini acccompanied me.  Having failed with the Shoshones, he considered that he might prove useful by locating himself in the Spanish settlements of California.  We parted soon after we arrived at Monterey, and I have never seen or heard of him since.  I shall, however, have to speak of him again during our journey and sojourn at that town.

The other, Padre Antonio, died at the settlement previous to my journey to Monterey, and the Indians still preserve his robes, missal, and crucifix, as the relics of a good man.  Poor Padre Antonio!  I would have wished to have known the history of his former life.  A deep melancholy was stamped upon his features, from some cause of heart-breaking grief, which even religion could but occasionally assuage, but not remove.

After his death, I looked at his missal.  The blank pages at the beginning and the end were filled up with pious reflections, besides some few words, which spoke volumes as to one period of his existence.  The first words inscribed were; “Julia, obiit A.D. 1799.  Virgo purissima, Maris Stella.  Ora pro me.”  On the following leaf was written:  “Antonio de Campestrina, Convient.  Dominicum. in Roma, A.D. 1800.”

Then he had embraced a monastic life upon the death of one dear to him—­perhaps his first and only love.  Poor man! many a time have I seen the big burning tears rolling fast down his withered cheeks.  But he is gone, and his sorrows are at rest On the last page of the missal were also two lines, written in a tremulous hand, probably a short time previous to his death:  “I, nunc anima anceps; sitque tibi Deus misericors.”

The Prince Seravalle did not, however, abandon his plans; having failed in persuading the Shoshones, at the suggestion of my father, it was resolved that an attempt should be made to procure a few Mexicans and Canadians to carry on the agricultural labours; for I may here as well observe, that both the Prince and my father had long made up their minds to live and die among the Indians.

This expedition was to be undertaken by me.  My trip was to be a long one.  In case I should not succeed in Monterey in enlisting the parties required, I was to proceed on to Santa Fe, either with a party of Apaches Indians, who were always at peace with the Shoshones, or else with one of the Mexican caravans.