The Project Gutenberg eBook of Kate Mulhall
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Title: Kate Mulhall
A romance of the Oregon Trail
Author: Ezra Meeker
Illustrator: Rudolf A. Kausch
Oscar W. Lyons
Margaret Landers Sanford
Release date: February 25, 2026 [eBook #78040]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Ezra Meeker, 1926
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KATE MULHALL ***
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Frontispiece: PRESIDENT AND OLD PIONEER]
Signature of President Coolidge
from the White House,
March 25, 1926.
PRESIDENT AND OLD PIONEER
Calvin Coolidge and Ezra Meeker, two stalwart Americans--the
President a New Englander, and Mr. Meeker a native of Ohio, though
for nearly all his adult life a resident of the Pacific Northwest.
Mr. Meeker was a youth past fourteen when the late John C. Coolidge,
father of the President, was born. Photograph taken on the White
House grounds, near the Executive Offices, in October 1924, just
after Mr. Meeker had flown in an aeroplane from Washington State to
the City of Washington: and the old gentleman took advantage of the
opportunity to say to the President--as he had to President Theodore
Roosevelt near the same spot on November 29, 1907--that the memory of
the Pioneers should be preserved, and the route of the Oregon Trail
suitably and permanently marked.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Frontispiece: EZRA MEEKER]
EZRA MEEKER
Born December 29, 1830. Only survivor (1926) among the adults who
passed over the Oregon Trail in their own outfits at the height of
the migration of 1852. Founder and President of the Oregon Trail
Memorial Association, Inc.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
KATE MULHALL
A Romance of the
OREGON TRAIL
By
EZRA MEEKER
Author of: Ox-Team Days, Pioneer Reminiscences,
The Busy Life of 85 Years, Pioneer Stories for
Children, Story of the Lost Trail to Oregon
Drawings by Margaret Landers Sanford, Rudolf A. Kauach
and Oscar W. Lyons
Map of the Oregon Trail, and photographs
[Illustration: (oxen and wagon)]
Published by
EZRA MEEKER
18 OLD SLIP, NEW YORK CITY
THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED AS A TRIBUTE OF DEVOTION TO
THE MEMORIES OF
PHOEBE BAKER MEEKER
MY MOTHER
ELIZA SUMNER MEEKER
MY WIFE
WHO CROSSED THE OREGON TRAIL AS A YOUNG MOTHER IN 1852,
AND WAS AFTERWARD THE COMPANION OF MANY YEARS OF MY LIFE
THE HEROINES OF THE PLAINS
AND 20,000 PIONEERS
MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN--BURIED IN UNMARKED GRAVES,
ALONG THAT GREAT HIGHWAY OF HISTORY TO THE FAR NORTHWEST
Copyrighted 1926
By EZRA MEEKER
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
FOREWORD: Ezra Meeker, the Author
By Robert Bruce.
CHAPTER I
Early Life in Missouri; A Farewell Party; Kate's Suitors
CHAPTER II
Off for Oregon; Crossing the Missouri; Encountering the Buffalo;
Troubles with the Indians
CHAPTER III
Trials of the Long Trail; Dangerous River Crossings; the Death of
Catherine; West of the Rockies; Separation of the Party; New Homes in
the Oregon Country
CHAPTER IV
A Massacre and a War; Kate Mulhall, Deputy Sheriff; A Race for a
Wife; The Wedding and Charvaree; A Delayed and Adventurous Honeymoon
on Puget Sound
CHAPTER V
An Encounter with Pirates, and a Fortunate Deliverance; Ben Found;
His prompt start for Missouri and unexpected arrival; a Son born to
the Peltons
CHAPTER VI
The Wedding of Ben and Linda; A second Overland Trip; Massacre of
nearly all the Company; Binding up the Wounds; The Trip resumed;
Survivors reach the Oregon Country
CHAPTER VII
Linda's hope never realized; Death of David Mulhall; Craig's promise
remembered; Lessons from a Trail-marking Outfit; Decision to make the
trip
CHAPTER VIII
The Start for the Rockies; Re-discovery of the Old Trail;
Recollections of Burnt River; All signs of Ben's grave obliterated; A
granite Monument erected near the Lone Pine and wagon tire at the
grave of Catherine Mulhall: Closing Scenes
APPENDIX
The Missionary's Story--The Lewis and Clark Expedition; Outline
History of the Oregon Missions; Jason Lee's great sermon; Massacre of
Marcus and Narcissa Whitman; Destruction of the Mission, &c
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
President and Old Pioneer ...... Frontispiece
Ezra Meeker, the author ...... Frontispiece
Condensed map of the Oregon Trail and National Road
Farewell Party at the Mulhall Homestead in Missouri
A near catastrophe in crossing the Missouri
Typical emigrant outfit on the Oregon Trail
Using a wagon-box as a "boat"
Under the Yoke for the first time
A Corral at an overnight stop on the Trail through the Indian Country
Almost "Down and Out"
Monument along the Clover Creek Highway, near Tacoma, Washington
Reduced to a Hand Cart
The honeymoon party on Puget Sound
"Help Yourself
"Babe in the Woods"
Scene after the Massacre
Tracks on the Oregon Trail made nearly a century ago
The lone pine
Jason Lee's great sermon
Dr. John McLoughlin welcoming Mrs. Whitman and Mrs. Spalding to Fort
Vancouver
Arrival of the Sager orphans at the Whitman Mission
------------
The front cover design combines a distant view of the majestic
mountain of the Pacific Northwest with a pictorial representation of
one of the great falls on the western slope of the Rocky
Mountains--both landmarks enshrined in the memories of the few
surviving Pioneers over the Oregon Trail.
{5}
FOREWORD
EZRA MEEKER, THE AUTHOR
A LIFE SPAN OF MORE THAN NINETY-FIVE YEARS FROM THE
ADMINISTRATION OF ANDREW JACKSON TO THE
PRESIDENCY OF CALVIN COOLIDGE
By ROBERT BRUCE
Ezra Meeker was born December 29, 1830, about ten miles east of
Hamilton, Butler County, Ohio, while Andrew Jackson was President of
the United States, John C. Calhoun, Vice President, and Martin Van
Buren, Secretary of State. There had been only six
Presidents--Washington, John Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe and
John Quincy Adams; and the last three were still living.
Considerable numbers could remember listening to the Declaration of
Independence at Philadelphia or elsewhere; a trifle less than half a
century had elapsed since the decisive victory at Yorktown, and
survivors among men who served in the armies of the Revolution were
younger than the average of Civil War veterans in 1926.
Although we are accustomed to think, read and speak of the Oregon
Trail as "old," the route to which that name has since been given did
not come into existence until several years after Mr. Meeker was
born. So the shadow thrown upon the screen of time by the living
figure of this remarkable man is longer than we may say figuratively
is cast by the highway itself; and while the latter has been
gradually passing into the background of history and romance, he is
still carrying forward with singleness of purpose and unabated energy
what will probably be left to posterity as the most important work of
his whole busy life.
Prior to 1830, neither the people east of the Mississippi nor the
Government at Washington had adequate conceptions of the
geographical, political or future commercial importance of the
Pacific Northwest; and the wonderful developments there in the last
seven decades have grown out of the overland migration of the 40s and
50s, or at least owe much to it, historically and practically.
{6}
A most appropriate symbol of the "Course of Empire" from the valleys
of the Mississippi and Missouri to the Columbia River and Puget Sound
country would be a miniature wagon--sometimes idealized as a "prairie
schooner"--carrying many thousands of home seekers into what now
comprises all of Oregon, Washington and Idaho, with contiguous parts
of Wyoming and Montana. Except for that great human movement, of
which the author of this Romance is the only survivor among the men
who went over the Trail with their own outfits in 1852, that region
would have continued primarily a fur-hunting territory for many years
later than was actually the case, and then in all probability have
become a part of the British Dominions in America.
As a youth, Ezra Meeker saw recruits somewhat older than himself
leave for the Mexican War; he was intensely interested in reports
about the far-away and then almost legendary Oregon Country before
there was any established travel to it, and heard echoes of the
discovery of gold in California--though he was not, as frequently
stated, a "Forty-Niner." Accounts of opening the Panama Railroad in
1855, with its considerable effect upon the subsequent emigration to
the Pacific Coast, and of the Crimean War, reached the family cabin
built with his own hands in "Old" Oregon. Mr. Meeker is now the only
one left from the adults residing in Washington Territory when it was
created in 1853.
For more than fifty years he was a farmer and hop grower in the Puget
Sound region, meanwhile spending four winters introducing hops from
Washington and Oregon in the European market; and was also at one
time a prospector and miner in the Yukon. Within the span of his
life the population of the United States has increased from less than
Thirteen Millions, then living mostly along the Atlantic seaboard, to
about a Hundred and Fifteen Millions occupying the whole country to
the western ocean. So far as we have been able to ascertain, Mr.
Meeker is the only person who ever undertook an important work of
fiction in his 95th year; and this has been done to revive and
preserve the experiences and memories of his youth, in connection
with the efforts of two decades to mark the Trail and honor the
Pioneers.
{7}
PREFACE
Having thrice crossed the Oregon Trail by ox-team, first during the
year 1852 accompanied by a courageous young wife, the second and
third times during the years 1906-10, erecting monuments to mark the
Trail and perpetuate the memory of the pioneers who traversed it,
again in an automobile in 1915, and finally over 1,300 miles of it in
an aeroplane in October, 1924, presumably none will question that the
author can write from his own experiences.
One hundred and seventy-one granite monuments have already been
erected on or near-by the general route of the Oregon Trail, along
which twenty thousand died. An effort is now being made to portray
the scenes and experiences of these pioneers in moving pictures with
fidelity to historical accuracy, that present and future generations
may know what happened in the winning of the great Farther West.
The names of the actors in this romance are fictitious; but the
characters are as the writer knew them. The incidents are based on
occurrences in real pioneer life, many of which the author saw, some
of which he experienced, and all he knows to be in accordance with
the truth.
[Signature of Ezra Meeker]
New York City, January 1926.
{8}
[Illustration: Condensed map of the National Road and Oregon Trail,
the first transcontinental route, which did more than any other to
"bind the nation together in a common brotherhood, and thus
perpetuate and preserve the Union." The journeys described in this
volume were made over these two great lines of travel.]
{9}
CHAPTER I
EARLY LIFE IN MISSOURI; A FAREWELL PARTY;
KATE'S SUITORS
Kate Mulhall was just twenty when her father crossed the Missouri
River and the Great Plains on their way to the "Oregon Country."
Prior to the day of their departure for that far-away region of
mystery and romance, she had never been outside the restricted
neighborhood where she was born--in La Fayette County, Missouri,
whose every third inhabitant was a slave; had never seen a railroad,
and until a short time before, not even a cook-stove. All of her
life had been in a real pioneer environment; but she grew up strong,
hearty and self-reliant upon the plain and wholesome food, the pure
air and active outdoor life of what was then the frontier.
She was of the brunette type, with dark hair and lustrous eyes that
fairly sparkled with the delight of being interested in the fields
and flowers, grand old woods full of wild life, birds, animals and
everything about the home or farm. Of more than the average height,
her movement was lithe and free; her form an excellent subject for an
artist's brush. Outdoor life appealed to her nature, and she took a
joyful satisfaction in all of its activities.
Kate was an expert horsewoman and a crack shot {10} with the rifle,
often picking a wild turkey off the lower limb of a forest tree at
one or two hundred yards. In addition to that splendid game bird,
timorous water-fowl were abundant on the rivers and in ponds; deer,
grouse and pheasants in the wood and brakes; rabbits and squirrels
almost everywhere; and the "razor-back" hog, wild and ferocious,
roamed the forests and dense thickets of Missouri in those pioneer
days. Many a litter of pigs, sprung from domesticated ancestors,
lived by digging out edible roots under the surface, or hunted
beneath the heavy fall of autumnal leaves for the more nutritious
acorns, beechnuts and walnuts.
The constant search for food developed an independent life which soon
relapsed into the state of nature; so wild hogs became, like the deer
and turkey, common property for the hunter's rifle. From these
various kinds of game Kate kept the Mulhall family table well
supplied with substantial and seasonable food. Missouri also
harbored among its inhabitants not a few wild men, contact with whom
sometimes involved taking desperate chances.
David Mulhall, Kate's father, was a typical non-slaveholding farmer
of that period in Missouri--honest but not "progressive" in the
present general understanding of that word. He was intensely
prejudiced against the negroes, but bitterly opposed to the
institution of slavery. Because of these well-known views, he was
regarded with suspicion by a majority of his slaveholding neighbors;
and, in fact, {11} looked down upon as belonging to the "poor white
trash" of the South who worked with their hands.
Many others like him migrated from Missouri because of their hatred
of slavery, though usually carrying with them a prejudice against the
black man. Others left that region for "free territory" because of
the bitter class prejudice existing between those who owned negroes
and those who did not; and the latter particularly to save their
children from the necessity of competing with slave labor.
Mulhall was by nature and training an easy-going person, who believed
in "letting well enough alone"; and was, therefore, averse to going
out upon a world of uncertainties, or taking unnecessary chances for
bettering his condition. He was born before the advent of railroads
in the United States, when oxen supplied the principal means of
transportation, and "hog and hominy" comprised the basic food supply
for a majority of the people.
The sickle cut his grain, which was thrashed by the flail; and the
wind separated it from the chaff. Boiled wheat frequently took the
place of white bread, as it was a long distance to a mill and usually
a tiresome wait for the "turn" to have the grist ground; hominy was
often substituted for johnny-cake or corn pone when the meal was all
gone. It is difficult for a generation accustomed to an abundance of
every kind of food, including luxuries, to realize how the American
farmer lived in the early part of the nineteenth century.
{12}
A rather large one-room cabin was the home of the Mulhalls--with a
loft overhead, the fireplace in one end and the bedroom, curtained
off for the parents, in the other. Kate's room was in the loft with
the younger children--all girls--reached only by a ladder fastened to
the wall; the patter of rain on the roof often lulled the youngsters
to sleep, whether they willed it or not.
Kate was not one of those who constantly chafe for things they cannot
have and lament over their fate. She was too healthy in mind and
body to give way to discontent--was satisfied with her lot, and proud
of the class to which she belonged. Nor would she willingly exchange
places with anyone who lived in idleness and comparative affluence
upon the involuntary labor of fellow mortals of a different color.
Fine qualities of head and heart combined with an exceptionally
attractive personality to make her very popular with the young men of
marriageable age and inclinations in all the country around. Nor
were all of her admirers of her own circle; at least one belonged to
those prone to consider themselves superior to white families who
owned no servants. But at the time this story begins, Kate had no
serious intention of taking any step that would abridge her personal
freedom; there was plenty of time for that.
But whenever there were any "doings" in the neighborhood--dances,
spelling bees, sociables or camp-meetings--she was sure to be on
hand, and {13} never lacked for an escort home. Sometimes it would
be Ben Hardy, at other times James Price or one of the Shaeffer boys.
She had never gone anywhere with Isaac Pelton, although she always
treated him in a friendly way at such places, and actually admired
him more than any of the other young men of her acquaintance.
He was a fine looking young man, sensible and well-behaved; but when
the thought that he belonged to the slave-holding class--most of whom
either sneered at her kind of people, or acted patronizingly towards
them--came vividly into her mind she said to herself, in effect,
"Banish the thought! Never will I come to terms of intimacy with one
of those would-be aristocrats, however nice he may be personally."
Isaac was really a victim of circumstances. Born of a slaveholding
family, he had a good education and bore himself like a gentleman,
never assuming any airs of superiority over his neighbors, whatever
their station in life. As a matter of fact, he deplored the
conditions that separated him from those with whom he felt he had
more in common than with his own people. There were many like him in
those days.
Standing six feet in his stockings, he was erect in bearing and
rather slender in frame, though no weakling when it came to physical
prowess; "of stature tall and slender frame, but firmly knit" would
apply to Isaac Pelton. His hair was brown and his {14} eyes grey,
indicating mental alertness; a slightly prominent chin and firm-set
lips stamped him as one not easily swayed from his course.
At a neighborhood gathering just prior to the beginning of this
story, Isaac noticed that Kate had no escort; so, availing himself of
a favorable opportunity, he approached her and in a very gentlemanly
way offered to see her home. It was the first time Pelton had ever
done anything of the kind; Kate seemed embarrassed for a moment, and
blushed perceptibly.
If only her feelings were to guide her actions, she would have
cheerfully accepted the offer, for she really liked Isaac and admired
his many good qualities; but again that class barrier arose in her
mind, and she courteously declined. He knew it would be useless to
try to press his suit further just then; so retired, defeated for the
moment but not discouraged.
Pelton had been studying Kate for quite a while, and as time went on,
the more interested he became; her sterling qualities appeared to
greater advantage every time he had an opportunity to observe her.
He felt that she was the one woman he could love and cherish
throughout his life; and no matter how great the obstacles in his
path, he would win her.
Notwithstanding the rebuff, he felt sure that she had no personal
objection to him, but was actuated by what she deemed a principle.
Were he not the owner of human chattels, he believed his advances
would have been more favorably received; that {15} barrier must
somehow or other be removed before he could hope to be successful.
He was right, but that was a wakeful night for Kate. The more she
thought about it the worse she felt; she regretted wounding Pelton's
feelings, but it would have strained her principles to have accepted
his offer.
As she lay awake pondering over recent events, Kate began to realize
that Pelton was more to her than she had imagined; and remembered the
many small courtesies extended by him when they met at the frequent
neighborhood gatherings. Both were fond of flowers, and she now
recalled the many new bouquets slipped into her hand with a list of
their names and classifications. She remembered, too, that unlike so
many of the neighborhood boys Isaac always had something sensible to
say, and was an attentive listener; that at times he seemed reserved,
almost timid, in her presence.
An almost forgotten incident of two or three years before now came
vividly to her mind; how when the matter came to his attention,
Pelton hunted up and soundly thrashed a ruffian who had used
insulting language to her. These and other incidents helped to
banish sleep. As her mind was absorbed with thoughts relating to
Isaac, in a dreamy sort of way Kate began to realize for the first
time in her life that a strange feeling of more than friendship,
admiration or simply respect possessed her. She loved Pelton in
spite of herself.
Then the hateful words "slave" and "slaveholder" {16} stole into her
mind to break the reverie, causing her to again exclaim half aloud to
herself, "Banish the thought!" The present generation can scarcely
realize the virulence and intensity of the feeling generally held by
the slaveholding class against anyone who condemned that system.
Kate was well aware of this, and naturally inferred that Pelton was
imbued with the same sentiments.
Her attitude was due to some definite facts within her personal
observation or knowledge, of which a single instance will suffice
here. One James Smith, of Pike County, had recently published in a
local paper the following advertisement: "For Sale: six yoke of oxen;
two nigger wenches; four buck niggers; three nigger boys, one barrel
pickled cabbage and various other articles of merchandise," stating
as his reason for selling, "I'm g'wine to Californy." This gave
assurance that the sale was genuine and conveyed the intimation that
bargains in slaves might be picked up there.
After Kate had recovered somewhat from the excitement incident to
refusing Pelton's offer to accompany her home, the mother reminded
her that Isaac did work with his own hands and was shunned by many of
his class because of it. "But, mother," she replied, "you know I
have no thought of marrying anyway!" Nevertheless she could not help
being vexed for allowing herself to be influenced by such a prejudice.
Kate had known Pelton, or rather of him, almost {17} her whole life,
having often seen him at the meeting-house and upon other public
occasions. She was conscious of some admiration for him; but had no
thought of betraying her secret by act or manner, although she may
unconsciously have done so. One thing Kate was sure of--she never
would place herself in a position for others to look patronizingly
upon her; nor would she ever become the wife of a man who held
slaves. Perhaps Kate had never thought about this as a rule of life;
it was an expression of her nature.
According to common gossip in the neighborhood, she had two or three
suitors, but there was nothing to warrant such an assumption. James
Price had been known to spend a Sunday evening or two at the Mulhall
cabin, and Ben Hardy had twice gone home with Kate from singing
school. Coming to Kate's ears, this gossip annoyed her. "Couldn't a
body be civil without being talked about?" she asked herself. Then
her mother would say, "Well, what's the difference? Some people do
get married, you know, and there's no harm in talking about it.
Father and I were married once upon a time, and it didn't hurt us
even if people did talk."
Kate couldn't fathom what was running in her mother's mind, for she
had said time and again that she was not going to marry and leave
home. But when alone, she was troubled by the thought that she did
feel just a little jealous when she heard that Isaac Pelton had gone
home with Linda Shaeffer two {18} Sundays ago, and that James Price
had also paid attentions to her.
"Fudge," she said to herself, "what's the matter with me?" and
pinched her arm until it hurt for having such a thought. She should
really be glad of it, for Linda was her friend. But, in spite of her
effort to banish it, the idea would come back when thinking of Pelton
as Linda's beau.
James Price was of a good family, but several years older than either
of the girls; in fact, as thought in those days, bordering on
bachelordom. He was of good address, but not ambitious to make his
mark in the world, aside from mingling with the petty politicians of
the county; and might have passed for one of them. Price called
twice at the Mulhall cabin and stayed unusually late; there was
nothing to indicate that he had come to "see" Kate, but the sharp
eyes of the mother easily detected the object of his visit, and later
she told Kate so.
The Hardys lived on a rented farm not far from the Mulhalls and they
had been neighbors for several years. Kate and Ben attended school
together, had pulled on the long grapevine in the tug-of-war on the
same team or on opposite sides; had been to candy pullings in the
sugar making season, and twice were the last "spelled down" as
captains of the two opposing camps of spellers. But that they were
old enough to marry seemingly never occurred to either of them.
Ben was the opposite of Kate in complexion, figure {19} and general
appearance. While Kate was very dark, Ben was fair--almost
pale--with deep blue eyes; Kate's eyes were almost coal black and her
face was full, while Ben's was spare. Ben stuttered just a little,
but enough to be noticed and occasionally to amuse those with whom he
was not well acquainted. Ira Hardy, Ben's father, was not thrifty in
worldly matters. Some would say he was shiftless or indolent;
whatever the cause, the elder Hardy suffered by the imputation, and
his son Ben with him.
One day Kate came home from a visit to her Uncle Tim's with the news
that he was going to Oregon. Her cousin Jacob had written of
mountains miles high where you could see snow all summer, and yet it
would be warm in the valley; and the grass remained green all winter.
Potatoes were selling there for three dollars a bushel, eggs sixty
cents a dozen and butter for seventy-five cents a pound; daisies
bloomed in December and apple trees would bear in three years from
the graft. Jacob also wrote that there were no wild turkeys or bees
in all that region; if his father could bring a swarm of honey bees
he would be able to sell them for a thousand dollars spot cash. He
added a statement about there being no slavery in Oregon.
What most impressed father Mulhall was the report of no slavery
there, and that the grass remained green all winter. They all knew
that what Jake wrote would be found true; but he had neglected to
describe the difficulties of a trip to Oregon--the {20} danger,
fatigue, intolerable dust, alkali water and a thousand other things
which would not fit into such a fine picture.
"I tell you, Catherine, if you will agree to it and Kate will go
along, I've a notion to go to Oregon this very next year." "But what
will you do with the farm?" the good wife inquired by way of
response. "What's the use of a farm if we can't make any money on
it? Sam Kemper sold nearly a full steam-boat load of hogs for a
hundred dollars, and just went off leaving his farm to be sold for
taxes." "I'm in favor of going, and that's all I have to say," was
Kate's comment as she climbed the ladder to the loft.
That night again Kate was wakeful; try as best she could to sleep,
her eyes would remain open. Gradually the vision of Oregon faded
from her mind, but that jealous thought of Linda would not down.
Nevertheless, what was Isaac Pelton to her? Didn't she scorn the
very thought; and hadn't she erected a lasting barrier between them?
It soon became known that Squire Mulhall was going to Oregon the next
spring, and an unexpected buyer came for the farm; it went at a low
price, but that was better than leaving it to be eaten up with taxes.
Preparations now began in earnest for the great journey.
Kate wanted the mare Nell to ride, and when she thought about the
side-saddle, remarked to her mother, "I'm going to have a saddle I
can ride with {21} comfort and safety, and they may say what they
please. You and the children must have Dick and Ned and a carriage
like Sam McCoy's," Kate continued; "they'll take you through all
right."
Squire Mulhall was a quiet man, of few words and meant whatever he
said. He did not hesitate to condemn slavery, though not from the
housetop; but would not conceal his real sentiments, thereby
incurring the displeasure of his neighboring slaveholders without
forfeiting their respect. Some other subjects, one of which was the
use of whisky--upon which he held positive opinions--developed real
enemies; he said as little as possible about them, and went the even
tenor of his way.
That was before the time of temperance societies or of saloons as
known in later days, when the school-master, or even the parson,
would take a "wee drop"--sometimes more. Whisky, obtainable in
almost all retail stores at twenty-five cents or less a gallon, was
usually in evidence at social gatherings and often in the harvest
fields.
"Catherine"---the Squire speaking to his wife--"I've a notion to
invite in the neighbors before we go, and include all. Maybe some
won't come, but I want them to know I bear no ill will to any of
them; what do you say?"
"Such a crowd--you wouldn't know what to do with them," was
Catherine's cautious response.
Kate suggested, "Send them to the barn and let them dance on the
thrashing floor."
{22}
"That's the thing," continued Mulhall, "the women folks put off their
extra duds in the cabin, and the men go to the barn--plenty of room
there."
"Anything to please you and Kate; I'll do the best I can, but you're
undertaking a big job," Catherine said.
And so plans were laid for a farewell party during the months before
the start was to be made for Oregon.
"Let me see," asked the Squire, "how will we go about inviting 'em;
post up notices, would you say?"
"You wouldn't want that man Tracer, who treated you so last year and
said so many mean things, would you?" inquired Kate.
"Why not? It didn't hurt me a bit; it did him. Let 'em all come and
wipe the slate clean," Mulhall responded.
"It would be better to write the invitations and send them around,"
Kate said.
"Well, well, have your way," answered the Squire, "but I'd like to
invite everybody."
"How'd you expect to light the barn? Candles would blow out or run
down so fast they wouldn't last long," Catherine asked without
receiving an answer.
Next morning Kate went over to see Ben Hardy--called "Bennie" by
everybody--to ask his help in making ready for the party. Although
just past nineteen, Ben hardly looked like a grown-up. As a boy he
had been a regular "towhead," and his hair hadn't darkened much yet
which, with a light {23} complexion, made him look very young for his
age. Kate and Ben had always been good schoolmate friends, and she
thought no more of asking a favor of him than she would of a younger
brother old enough to help her.
"I golly, you bet I'll help you," Ben said; and at once the two began
the planning.
Squire Mulhall's barn was large, with a capacious thrashing floor
between the two mows, one for grain and the other for hay. A wide
door on either side opened the way for a team to drive in one way and
out the other.
"I've got it," Ben exclaimed after talking about how to light the
barn; "we'll take two or three barrels, knock out the ends, fill them
with dirt and stick torches in the dirt. You just leave it to me,
Kate, and I'll make that barn floor so light you can see to read.
Besides," he added, "it's full moon that night."
Any reader who may have had the experience of cutting down a "coon
tree" by the light of a hickory bark torch will readily understand
the origin of Ben's idea. Coons were plentiful in the Missouri
bottom lands; a story is told that during the Civil War some people
were compelled to adopt a diet of elm bark fried in coon grease as a
substitute for bread and butter.
Meanwhile Squire Mulhall was busy cleaning up things about the barn,
fixing a long table where the women folks could put their
knickknacks, and bought {24} a half dozen tin cups, which he said
would be enough to go around with the "gourds" they had. These were
to be placed by the cider barrel that would stand just outside the
barn where all could help themselves.
Mulhall rode over to see if Pelton would let Andrew come and play for
the dancers, and Jennie help Catherine in the house; and added, "Of
course they can bring Margie along." Pelton had already received an
invitation from Kate, and wondered if it was written in her own hand;
it was real neat and Ben Hardy had delivered it. Pelton didn't dream
of being jealous of Ben, thinking of him as a mere boy, not realizing
there was but a year's difference in age between Ben and Kate.
"Why, yes," Pelton said, "you can call on me to help in any way I
can; and I will bring over a barrel of cider."
Mulhall said he had already provided for a barrel, but Pelton thought
one wouldn't be enough and said he would bring another. One of the
neighbors provided a bushel of hickory nuts; another some walnuts,
and the like. Still another, not to be outdone, brought a good
supply of leaf tobacco he had raised, and a great number of cob
pipes; many women smoked in that day.[1]
Mother Hardy said it would never do to leave {25} Catherine all the
work of providing for so large a crowd, and the other women thought
the same; so word came to her not to bother about the table at the
barn, for they would bring their own dishes and enough of everything
all the people could eat. The fact was, when the word passed around
that Squire Mulhall was going to give a farewell party, with
everybody invited, class prejudice broke down. Or at least it was
suspended; apparently everyone was pleased, and ready to join to make
it a great success.
A few days before the party, a man rode up to the door of the Mulhall
cabin.
"Won't you come in?" was the Squire's greeting. Without seeming to
notice the invitation, the stranger asked, "Is this Squire Mulhall?"
"Yes, won't you come in?" was the renewed invitation.
"I jest come to tell ye," the stranger continued, "I live down in
Jackson Township where that feller last year came and talked so mean
about ye. We believed him and talked about as mean as he did; but it
was all a lie. So we got together yesterday and signed this paper to
let you know afore you go to Oregon that we now know it was all a
lie, and don't want you to hold anything against us. If ye will let
us, we want to bring up a nice fat critter and barbecue it for your
friends; ye needn't turn yer hand over to pay a cent, and we will
bring a lot of things to go with it."
The man's manner was proof of his sincerity. {26} After the Squire
had assured him that he and his friends would be welcome without
bringing anything, but that they might bring whatever they wanted to,
the stranger rode off without going into the cabin.
Hearing what had been said, Kate came near, threw her arms around her
father's neck and kissed him for teaching her by this example to be
kind to one's enemies. She kissed him again and again, while her
tears wetted his cheek as well as her own, saying "I shall never
forget it"; and she never did.
At last the day of the party arrived and with it, true to promise, a
large delegation of men and women from Jackson Township, with two
wagon-loads of lumber and the "critter"--a fine fat beef--in another
wagon to be barbecued. In an incredibly short time the lumber was
unloaded and a dozen willing hands were laying a floor just outside
the barn for dancing, while some were erecting tables and others
digging a pit for the barbecue.
This is no overdrawn picture; the pioneers were accustomed to do for
themselves, and not stand by to be waited on. Thereby hangs a big
story of pioneer life, full of self-reliance and independence, the
simple life that developed manhood and joy in the household and on
the farm.
For the time being, Ben's usual occupation was gone; the older men
fairly drove him away, and told him to be ready to take part in the
dance. The women in the cabin did the same for Kate, who {27} then
started up the ladder to dress for the great occasion.
Andrew and Stinson's colored man Sam often spent happy hours singing
and playing together; and Sam was asked to come along with his banjo.
When the music began every elderly dame remembered her younger days;
soon the cabin was full of dancers as in the long ago, and the songs
were of the kind that bring rapturous joy. Nothing moves the
emotions more than the pathetic melody in the old folklore songs of
the negro race; in this case the souls of the two experts were in the
music.
[Illustration: FAREWELL PARTY AT THE MULHALL HOMESTEAD IN MISSOURI,
BEFORE LEAVING FOR THE OREGON COUNTRY, AS DESCRIBED ON THE OPPOSITE
PAGE.]
The visitors from Jackson Township had also brought fiddlers; dancing
was going on in the barn and on the improvised floor near-by, as well
as in the cabin. For hours the tables were full of happy partakers
of the barbecue and the abundant viands with which they were loaded.
Ben and Kate had planned to have their first dance of the evening
together; so when James Price asked her for it, she told him that he
should have the next. Ben was on hand for the engagement, and from
that moment Price was jealous of him; as the evening wore on Ben and
Kate again danced together, and then Price was sure he had a rival.
Finally Pelton offered and was accepted; to Kate's own surprise she
was dancing with a slaveholder, but justified herself by Squire
Mulhall's lesson of forgiveness, though somehow there was more to it
than she could explain to herself.
{28}
Probably disturbed by the noise and unusual light, the cock crowed at
midnight, but nobody paid any attention to it. At near daybreak the
elderly folk began to leave; but the younger ones said they wouldn't
go home till morning, and didn't. By daylight the hay mow was full
of sleeping men, Andrew and Sam were on their way home nodding, and
the Jackson Township folks were loading their wagons; the big event
passed into history, but the memory of it remained for many years.
During the night word came to the cabin that some of the men were
acting in an unseemly manner. Catherine said to herself she'd bet
the grocer had slipped some whisky into the barrel of cider he sent;
in fact, was sure of it, as what she had tasted seemed unusually
strong. Going out to the barn and biding her time, she threw her
apron over it and opened the faucet; the barrel was soon empty, and
what had been left soaked the ground.
Kate and her father were the last to leave the barn. A bright
shining sun spread over the scene; the symphony of song birds so dear
to Kate's ears had nearly ceased, and the dew on the grass was fast
disappearing, though some of it still glistened in the bright
sunshine. Nell, the favorite mare, whinnied to remind the Squire
that she missed the usual early breakfast; Brindle and Star, though
quietly and contentedly chewing their cuds, looked wistfully at Kate
for her deft hands to relieve their full udders of milk.
{29}
After attending to the wants of Nell and Ned, the Squire hurried to
the cabin where Catherine, who had returned some time before from the
night's activities, lay in peaceful slumber. Kate soon finished her
task, and as usual took the milk to the cabin. The cock of the yard
had ceased to crow, and silence reigned over the scene so recently
one of boisterous joviality.
Throwing herself upon the bed without undressing, face resting upon
her arm, Kate's mind was full of visions as well as of serious
thoughts, particularly of the night just ended. The memory of
Pelton's breath upon her cheek as they participated in the dance
became uppermost in her thoughts; in spite of herself, tears mingling
joy, despair and contrition came involuntarily and wet the pillow.
After what seemed to be hours in this mood, Kate fell into a troubled
sleep which lasted until long after midday, when she was awakened by
the gentle touch of her mother's hand accompanied by words of
affection. "Don't you think you had better have a bite? It's long
after dinner hour; father is up and it would be nice to eat together."
Catherine had arisen a little after the usual hour, and given the
children their breakfast, followed by permission for them to visit
the children of a neighbor for the day, that the sleepers in the
cabin might not be disturbed. Mulhall arose with a slight headache,
which he couldn't account for, unless it was drinking a little too
much "cider"; Catherine kept {30} her own counsel, but of course knew
what was the matter with the Squire's head.
Other influences were at work upon Mulhall; the excitement incident
to the warm greetings of his neighbors, and the general expression of
genuine regret that the community was about to lose so valuable a
member, had their natural reaction. The Squire's thoughts also
turned to the stern responsibilities confronting him, and how he was
qualified to meet them. Had he fully informed himself as to the
obstacles to be encountered; was he personally fitted to safely make
the long trip and not endanger the lives of his family?
In a word, Mulhall awoke in a mood of anxiety, dissatisfied with
himself and in fact with a stroke of the blues, so often fatal to
true happiness. The dinner passed moodily; the Squire had nothing to
say, and Kate very little. Strive as best she might, Catherine could
not arouse the usual cheerfulness, and gave up in despair.
We think of discontent as synonymous with pessimism, unhappiness,
misery and many other ills of life; on the other hand it leads to
enterprise, boldness and progress. Had the pioneers been content
with their lot, they would never have crossed the Missouri River;
there might have been no long western trails, and the Oregon Country
would probably not have been secured to the American Government.
Civilization itself rests upon the spirit of adventurous discontent;
so when Squire Mulhall arose from {31} the table in that frame of
mind, he simply followed in the footsteps of many others, realizing,
however, that he had not taken care to acquaint himself definitely
with what lay ahead of them on the proposed trip.
One day Pelton rode up in front of the cabin, hitched his horse and
came to the door. Kate, not knowing who was there, went to answer
the call.
"Is the Squire at home?" inquired the visitor.
"Yes, he is at the barn," was her reply, as she invited him in while
the little sister ran to call father. Pelton disarmed all
embarrassment by at once making inquiries about Oregon; and Kate
could hardly do otherwise than to take a seat beside him to answer
his questions--and more too--about Oregon and the proposed trip.
Bess returned to say that, "Father will be in as soon as he puts the
team away." Neither Kate nor Pelton showed any signs of impatience
at being left alone; she enjoyed talking about Oregon as much as he
liked to hear her, and so they forgot everything except the topic of
the great trip.
Stamping his feet repeatedly to shake off the mud and partially clean
his boots, father Mulhall's presence was announced; and at once in
true pioneer spirit, he asked Isaac to have his horse put up and stay
to supper. Preparations for a frugal repast were well under way when
Pelton arrived; but it would never do, the mother said, to sit a
neighbor caller to such a picked-up meal. So while the two {32} men
went to the barn to care for the horses, Kate and her mother took
counsel together.
Only a few days before she had picked off a young turkey with her
father's rifle; but the mother said the "leavings would at best make
a mussed-up meal." Just at dusk Kate went off to the barn for a
chicken; she had no trouble securing a desirable fowl and quickly
returned to the house. They had plenty of "sassafras" bark for tea,
and a small portion of last spring's run of maple sugar.
One of the neighbors had found a bee tree and brought over a dish of
honey that the mother had saved for special occasions. Thirty years
before, Daniel Boone discovered bee trees lower down the river; but
the dry plain and lack of timber had served as a barrier to invasions
farther west extending, as we have seen by Jake's letter, to the
Oregon Country--and as we later know, to the whole of the Pacific
coast.
The children had an early supper and were out of the way, leaving
only the four people to partake of the meal and join in the
conversation, most of which was naturally about the proposed journey.
During the evening it developed that Pelton knew more about the
Oregon Country than the Mulhalls; so Kate couldn't help but surmise
that his early inquiry about Oregon thinly veiled the real object of
his visit.
She was puzzled to know how anyone of spirit could come back after
the rebuff she had administered to him; but could not help
acknowledging to {33} herself that she had really enjoyed the visit,
and wondered if she had in any way revealed her inmost feelings.
Long before bedtime she climbed the ladder to the loft determined not
to "make a fool of myself"; but as before, she couldn't go to sleep
until long after their visitor had left.
As Pelton rode home from the Mulhalls, he berated himself for not
carrying out the design that prompted the visit, and let Kate know
that he intended to free his slaves; then his pride would again rise
up to justify hesitation. Would Kate assume that this resolution was
either a subterfuge, or simply to win her hand? Could she respect a
man who would sacrifice a principle, as Kate would assume that all
slaveholders believed that slavery was right? No, he must convince
her by deed to prove the sincerity of his purpose, not by words of
promise actuated by the motive to gain favor in her sight.
Then came the question, could he free all of them? Margie was a
minor and if "free" could, under the laws of Missouri, be taken
before the County Court and bound out to servile employment until of
legal age; this was virtual slavery, and it would unquestionably be
done upon motion by some one of the slaveholding class who might make
application to the court to enforce the law. The secret "Blue
Lodges"--night riders in fact--law or no law, in conjunction with
other organizations of similar aim, virtually ruled the State. When
Pelton arrived home and in accordance with life-long custom called
Andrew, in {34} a fit of absent-mindedness he told him to take care
of "Kate" instead of naming his saddle horse, "med."
"Massa, what's you mean?" asked the servant.
"Oh, I mean Ned, of course," was Pelton's reply.
Andrew chuckled to himself and told Jennie he'd bet Massa had been
off to see Kate Mulhall, bringing a response that she hoped he might
"ketch her." Pelton was vexed at himself, but now recalling the slip
of the tongue, awoke to the consciousness of how completely the one
name had taken possession of his mind. He did not know that another
was awake in the Mulhall cabin loft revolving his own name in her
mind.
The spark of hope to win Kate's hand was almost extinguished; yet he
felt sure that only the slavery question prevented the successful
prosecution of his suit. Pelton thought he knew, and actually did
know, her real feeling toward him, while Kate imagined that she might
have given some manifestation during Pelton's visit--a possible
unguarded word, a tone of the voice that spoke louder than words, or
an expression of the eye that revealed her secret. All these haunted
her wakeful hours, and followed into the dreams of restless slumber.
Who can fathom the essence of pure love, that flows from the heart
like the fragrance of the flowers of the field, that knows no bounds,
breaks all barriers; and, if disappointed, leaves a sting in memory
through life? Such was Isaac's love of Kate. He had known her
independent character and unselfish {35} devotion to her father, and
last though not least, her altruistic actions on many occasions. He
was but two years older than Kate, and in health her equal; why
should he not claim her and establish a happy home? Then that
monster slavery would arise to dispel his dreams.
Pelton had inherited a part of his father's estate, including two
slaves, Andrew and his wife Jennie. Both were older than he; in
fact, Jennie looked after his clothes when he was a boy, and he
thought almost as much of her as of his own mother. Pelton
maintained his own household and "Mamma" Jennie took scrupulous care
of it.
She had a five-year-old girl that Isaac thought the cutest little
thing he had ever seen--fat, chubby and always in good humor; and of
course Jennie thought there never was another such a cute girl as her
Margie. Sometimes a cloud came over her face as she thought what
might happen if "Massa" died, or got in debt and couldn't pay; but as
yet little Margie had no forebodings, and her mother was careful not
to open any way for such thoughts.
Pelton had long contemplated setting free all three of them; but if
he did, what could Andrew do for himself? He might apportion enough
land to make a home for them; but a black man was forbidden by law to
own land, and in fact had no protection for property of any kind. At
one time he had seriously thought of going to Oregon himself, taking
Andrew and Jennie with him to set them free there; but {36} word came
that the pioneers had passed a law[2] forbidding negroes living in
Oregon under penalty of the whipping post, if they did not leave
after due warning. Kate, in entire ignorance of Pelton's troubles
and intentions, looked upon him as one of the class she could never
treat with forbearance.
Up to this time Isaac had kept his own counsel as to his plans; to
let them be known would serve no good purpose and bring upon him a
storm of obloquy and reproach from other slaveholders for endangering
their property rights. Within his recollection, the like had been
done only once in the neighborhood, when Squire Young manumitted
eleven slaves, and finally moved away to escape continual insult
because of his act. Pelton knew, or thought he knew, that Kate's
impulsive action was because of her intense hatred of slavery and
aversion to slaveholders; but anticipated the taunt that he had freed
his negroes as the price of winning a wife.
He had made the fateful visit in an undecided frame of mind--just
drifting, though intending if the opportunity occurred to make a
clean breast of his whole plan. But soon after Kate left the room,
he started for home while she lay sleepless on her bed in the loft.
Here we leave them, each with a troubled mind, to take up another
thread of the story.
[1] The author remembers lighting his mother's pipe with a coal of
fire nearly ninety years ago, before matches had come into general
use.
[2] This law, passed by the Provisional Government in 1843, was never
enforced and soon repealed; but it served to illustrate the intense
prejudice against the black man by pioneer settlers who nevertheless
voted resolutely against making Oregon a slave State.
{37}
CHAPTER II
OFF FOR OREGON; CROSSING THE MISSOURI; ENCOUNTERING THE BUFFALO;
TROUBLES WITH THE INDIANS.
Ben Hardy was employed to help break in the team and for other
necessary preparations; also, if his father would consent, to make
the entire trip with them. Neither Ben, the Squire nor Kate knew
anything about oxen; but all realized that they must have a team.
A few days after the party at the Mulhall cabin, the trio
experimented in breaking in some cows to the yoke. Kate thought
Brindle and Star would make a capital team, and at the first attempt
succeeded in getting the yoke on Star--except that she broke away
from them and circled around the yard with her tongue out, bucking
and fiercely bellowing. Kate quickly climbed the fence in dismay,
wondering why gentle old Star should object to be yoked.
Finally getting both cows under the yoke just before dinner call,
Kate and her father went to the cabin while Ben started home for
lunch. Kate, the first one out after dinner, could hardly believe
her eyes. Star, yoked by them on the off side, stood on the near
side, while Brindle had changed places with her, and was on the off
side. Kate knew perfectly well that she had been yoked up last and
on the near side.
{38}
In her astonishment she at first overlooked the yoke hanging under
the necks of the cows instead of resting on top; they had turned the
yoke, and as a sailor might report such an incident--"the starboard
ox was on the larboard side, the larboard ox on the starboard side,
and the ox-yoke had left the hurricane deck and gone below." Squire
Mulhall could see the humor of the incident, but realized a very
serious side to it, as illustrating how little they knew about
outfitting for the great journey.
He ordered the attempt to break in a team discontinued for the time
being; and the next morning mounted Nell and rode off, ostensibly in
search of a team, though, as he afterwards said, with a notion to
look at the country north of the Iowa line. "But what's the use of
raising corn to burn in the stove to keep from freezing, or bacon as
fuel for racing steamboats?" While in Iowa he was asked if he knew a
man by the name of Pelton reported to live in the county from which
he had just come.
"Yes, but what of it?" was the Squire's laconic reply.
"Nothing," the stranger continued, "except he has been looking for
land to settle free negroes on, and the neighbors didn't like it."
Now for once in his life he had something to keep from Catherine, who
had told him what she had surmised--and in fact knew--Kate's secret,
although only through her motherly instinct to read signs often
plainer than words. Again Mulhall wavered; to tell {39} Catherine
what he had heard would be equivalent to telling Kate, the apple of
his eye. He could not bear the thought of losing her; in fact had
resolved never to go to Oregon unless Kate went along.
During the Squire's search for a trained team (labor lost, for there
were only here and there old, slow, broken-down or ill-matched oxen),
he heard of a missionary or itinerant preacher who represented that
he had been in Oregon. Mulhall eagerly took the track of this man
and followed it for days before overtaking him; but was well rewarded
by finding his new acquaintance a very intelligent, well-read man
with large experience in the Oregon Country--just the one he was
seeking.
But he had already been gone a week, was nearly a hundred and fifty
miles from home, and Catherine would soon become very uneasy about
him. The minister would probably also talk more about missionary
work than topics Mulhall was eager to discuss. So on the second day
arrangements were made for the two to go to the Mulhall home where
the missionary could rest from his labors, recuperate his worn-down
horse and confer at more length about outfitting for the trip to
Oregon.[1]
This was done, and following the counsel of the visitor, preparations
for the trip went on apace. The Squire purchased ten trim, well
developed five-year-old steers, not off the range but farm raised,
with two extras as a relief for lame or other temporarily {40} unfit
ones in the teams. In other matters the missionary's advice was
adopted, with the result that when completed Mulhall's outfit was
equal to any he afterwards saw on the plains, and far superior to the
vast majority of them.
Ben Hardy, whose mother hesitated but finally gave way to his
pleadings, was engaged to take charge of one of the teams. Mulhall
offered such liberal compensation that Ben's father also consented,
although the lad was still under age. The Squire knew that Ben would
be true to his interests, and thought of him not as the hired man,
but as one of the family; in fact, he promised Ben one of the teams
for his own when they arrived in Oregon.
Ben had a secret of his own about which Mulhall knew nothing. He and
the Shaeffer boys were friends, and no one suspected that Ben's
frequent visits to their home had any other attraction than a good
time with the boys; nor did they dream that "Bennie," as they called
him, had any thoughts about their sister. But mother Shaeffer had
detected more than mere friendship between Ben and Linda; and under
the circumstances developments were not likely to be long delayed.
Ben resolved to make a clean breast of it and know from Linda's
spoken words that she loved him and would await his return, or
possibly come to him; and firmly concluded not to go unless Linda
would consent. In this mood Ben boldly declared himself to Linda in
a scene that need not be described here. {41} Linda was a dutiful
girl and would have no secret from her mother. "I will go with you
now if mother will consent," she said between smiles and tears; "or
I'll wait until I can come to you." The thought of having Linda go
with him now had never entered Ben's mind until she suggested it,
subject to her mother's consent.
"I'll be true to you, Ben, to the end," she said and submitted
willingly to the sealing of the promise by a responsive kiss. "Come
tomorrow night, Ben, and we'll talk it over with mother;" and so they
parted.
Ben went home living in a new world, with increased confidence in the
future and a happiness never before experienced. This scene was
enacted a week before the start was to be made; and meanwhile Ben was
busy at the Mulhalls' from dawn to twilight. Two ox-teams, each with
two yoke of oxen, and a yoke of cows were used to haul fuel from a
distant woodland for the new owner of the farm, training the teams
and drivers to the road, as well as a token of good will.
Kate and her mother were busy preparing and cooking various articles
of food, while the Squire was laying in a stock of provisions, water
containers, tents and other necessities for a journey of more than
two thousand miles extending over a probable period of six months.
Mulhall had been warned that once across the Missouri River, he would
be in the Indian Country and unable to renew his {42} equipment
except from overloaded outfits, abandoned property, or by dealing
with the sharpers of the so-called trading posts, some of them
regular dens of thieves, often kept by renegade white men.
A mishap to one of the teams on the road detained Ben until long
after dark; and when he reached the Mulhall barn, the teams and all
the loose stock had still to be cared for. So he could not keep his
appointment with Linda; and it was near midnight when he crawled into
the hay mow to snatch a few hours of sleep before daybreak.
"I wonder why Ben didn't come to-night as he said he would?"; and in
spite of all efforts, Linda's voice betrayed her deep solicitude.
"I'll warrant he had good reasons," the mother responded; but Linda
could not be satisfied in her own mind. The great journey was to
begin the following Monday, and it was only seven days before the
start. Upon awaking Tuesday morning, Ben resolved that at all
hazards he would go to see Linda that day.
On his way to the Shaeffer home, conflicting thoughts ran through
Ben's mind. What would Mulhall say? What would his own mother and,
particularly Linda's mother, say? If she could go along, it would
enable them to make an earlier start in life; and each would be
entitled to a hundred and sixty acres of land from the Government
free, whereas in a year or two at most, neither could secure any
without purchase.
It was late Tuesday night when Ben left the Shaeffer {43} home after
a long visit with Linda. The mother did not positively forbid her
going now, but strongly advised against it; upon second thought Linda
herself began to doubt the advisability of such a move, though
willing to go and share the hardships with Ben if he thought best.
With tears that could not be restrained by either, they decided that
Ben had better go alone. Who can fathom the sacrifice of such a
decision or decide as to the wisdom of it? Once made, cheerfulness
returned, plans for the future were laid and sacred vows renewed; and
life opened to them anew.
The wagons were loaded and the tent set up well in advance, so the
start could be made early on the following Monday. When the time
came, Kate had saddled Nell, and Dick and Ned had been hitched to the
carriage for an hour; but the start was delayed, and Squire Mulhall
remained in the cabin. At length, after consulting with Ben, the
conclusion was reached that the ox-teams should go ahead and the
carriage would follow later.
Catherine assumed a bold, cheerful attitude while the preparations
were being made, and concealed her pent-up grief at leaving. Several
of her children were born in the cabin, and one of them had died in
it. She had passed many happy hours within its humble walls, and
tender memories came vividly to mind. Even Mulhall was moved with
emotion as never before, and determined to wait quietly until
Catherine recovered her composure.
{44}
No one without the experience of parting with one can realize the
deep feeling of affection for the home, even if it is only a cabin.
The love of a lowly dwelling is often more intense than that of a
princely palace, for a cabin becomes a part of one's self. No wonder
that the good housewife should shed tears of regret upon parting with
the home she had loved so well and so long.
After all the neighbors who came to bid Godspeed to the Mulhalls had
left, Catherine quietly came out of the cabin, entered the carriage
and drove in the track of the ox-teams without looking back, shedding
a tear or making any sign of distress. The struggle was ended and
the die cast, although the sacrifice required supreme courage.
In spite of all their efforts, Kate and the two younger sisters were
unable to drive the loose stock fast enough to keep up with the
ox-team, and finally lost one cow in the brush. Riding forward to
overtake Ben and have him make an early camp, Kate had a foretaste of
what was ahead of them on the journey.
Ben found a convenient barnyard and plenty of feed for the cattle,
and a cheerful grass plat for the camp. He quickly had the tent up,
fire in the stove and the oxen fed when the carriage and Kate arrived
with the loose stock. Whoever has had the experience of a good camp
under favorable conditions will realize the cheerful atmosphere that
enlivens the spirits of all; the bracing air, the novelty and keen
{45} appetites due to the exertion of the journey, combined to bring
joy and contentment.
They were only eight miles from the old home; but the start had been
made, and all considered it a good distance for the first day. Early
in the calm, warm mid-April evening, the sharp notes of the bob white
quail rang in the ears of the campers, soon followed by the shrill
whistle of the whippoorwill in the near-by meadow. Millions of
fireflies, with their mysterious alternating of light and darkness,
were floating in the air. Contentment reigned supreme in the camp,
and care for the morrow was soon forgotten in peaceful slumber.
Difficulties and trials beset the early part of every trip like the
Mulhalls'. In the deep, sticky Missouri mud, a well trained team
drawing a light load could flounder through with great exertions; but
with half-trained oxen and a heavy load it was frequently necessary
to double the teams, or lighten the loads and make a second trip.
Walking alongside his wagon or prying up a wheel deeply sunk in the
mire, Ben became bespattered with mud from head to foot, but did not
lose patience. The cows would not keep in the road, often compelling
Kate to dismount and go after them on foot. Neither would swear,
though both at times felt like doing so; but when night came, they
laughed off their troubles in the camp.
They had been acquainted for years, but neither had fully measured
the other until now. "I golly, {46} Kate, it's rough driving the
cows, isn't it?" "Yes; but what about the teams? I think you catch
it worse than I do." Their mutual trials drew them closer together;
and each had unlimited faith in the other.
Squire Mulhall had great confidence in Ben when he engaged him for
the trip, but every day his admiration for the lad increased as
better acquaintance brought out his sterling character. Thoughts of
Ben for a son-in-law flitted across his mind, and would involuntarily
return; but he kept it to himself--the second secret from Catherine.
Finally, after a long struggle encountering mud, rain, wind-storms
and quicksand, the Mulhall outfit arrived on the high bluffs
overlooking the Missouri and the great encampment of emigrants.
Hundreds of tents near the ferry landing and extending back from the
river revealed the magnitude of the great western movement of the
50's. Squire Mulhall could not do otherwise than camp with the
motley throng, and turned the ox-teams out to graze with several
thousands of other stock in the river bottoms.
Looking around to size up the situation, he found people there from
several States, of all conditions in life and with nearly as varied
outfits as there were camps--scarcely any two alike. Here was one
bound, like himself, for Oregon; right alongside, another emigrating
to California; next a group of Mormons going to Salt Lake--all
waiting their turn to be crossed over the Missouri by the two scows
called a ferry.
{47}
The throng consisted of all ages from the very old to the infant in
arms, and were in various moods. Near-by would be a religious
meeting with singing, praying and preaching; others were engaged in
pitching quoits, card playing or foot racing--anything to dispel the
tedium incident to the long delay on the Iowa side of the river.
Some of these people had been camping there fully two weeks, waiting
for their numbers to be called, and might be obliged to remain
several days more. A brisk trade in "turns" naturally resulted; in
one case fifty dollars was paid to entitle the purchaser to immediate
crossing.
Open gambling was seen in many places, and a great crowd congregated
around a race-track. In a stroll of a couple of hours Mulhall
noticed a number of intoxicated men, though not many were boisterous;
the intoxicants evidently came from the camps. Here, as back in
Missouri, whisky was pure but cheap (averaging 25c a gallon), and no
regulation as to sale or disposal.
One corner of the encampment was particularly clean and orderly; no
litter of papers or cast-off articles of any kind were in sight, and
there was an entire absence of gambling, card playing or other
amusements. Two of the emigrants in peculiar garb were digging a pit
in which to bury rubbish. The men were usually either reading
well-worn Bibles, writing or amusing the children, while the women
were generally caring for the camp, sewing or knitting; one was
weaving cloth on a hand-loom, and {48} another spinning yarn on an
old-time wheel, the sharp tones of the spindle vibrating in the air.
It was like part of a long established and law-abiding eastern
community transplanted to the edge of civilization. A brief
conversation disclosed that these campers were from a Methodist
settlement in central Indiana, and that their pastor, though
temporarily holding service at a near-by village, was traveling with
them. Mulhall thanked them for the invitation to attend the evening
meeting and continued his stroll, intending to do so if Catherine and
Kate would accompany him.
The next group of camps visited presented a very different
appearance. More than half of the party, which was bound for the
Mormon settlement at Salt Lake City, had recently arrived from
Europe. There were very few men; the greater part were women who
huddled in tents almost devoid of camp conveniences, while a number
of their ragged and dirty-faced children were playing in the vicinity.
Men and women alike showed a sober mien; here and there a man would
be reading a Bible, and Mulhall noticed one reading the Book of
Mormon. Like the Methodists, they held religious services every
evening. There were very few wagons for so large a party, making the
problem of their transportation unusually difficult. In a corner of
the encampment were a number of hand-carts which a portion of those
belonging to this camp intended to use in crossing the plains; and
one man with a {49} wheelbarrow completed the picturesque assemblage.
With the invitation in mind, the Squire and Catherine prepared to
attend the Methodist meeting that same evening. Kate said, "Ben,
let's go, too."
"I golly, Kate, that's just what I was going to say," Ben replied.
So all dressed in their best and walked toward the Methodist camp,
for which they had started, along a path which led near the Mormon
part of the encampment.
Seeing the people gathering for religious services Mulhall, more out
of curiosity than otherwise, suggested that they stop and listen for
awhile. Catherine had only a faint idea of what "Mormon" meant; but
held a deep prejudice against them, and said that she preferred to
attend what she considered a real religious meeting. But as the rest
of the party desired to hear the Mormons, Catherine consented, and
all took seats among those provided for strangers.
The minister, a burly figure somewhat uncouth but evidently sincere,
opened the meeting by reading a chapter from the Old Testament; he
took his text from the chapter read, and to their surprise preached a
real orthodox sermon, differing little from what they had often heard
from itinerant Methodist preachers passing through their
neighborhood. On the way back to their camp Mulhall berated himself
for not attending the Methodist meeting as originally intended; he
resolved to do so the next evening, and all the others said they
would accompany him.
True to the resolution, preparations were made to {50} go as the next
evening approached. Ben had left early in the morning to look after
their cattle running at large in the Missouri bottoms with thousands
of others belonging to the numerous camps, and at dusk had not
returned. Three of the oxen could not be found; whether they had
strayed off on their own account or had been stolen he could not
tell, but strongly suspected the latter. He did not return until
dark and then was tired and hungry; Kate said she wouldn't go until
Ben had dinner, and her mother was of the same mind.
Mulhall lost interest in the meeting when Ben came with the news; the
loss of three of his best oxen would be very serious, and he was then
in no mood to think of anything else. Early the next morning Kate
saddled Nell and Ben borrowed a saddle for Ned; after an early
breakfast the two mounted and started down the wide river bottom to
look for the strays. Toward the end of nearly an all-day search they
were found about seven miles from camp; but from that time on either
Ben or the new hired man always stayed out with the herd.
A few mornings after the night watch had been inaugurated Ben, having
had Dick for a bedfellow the night before, remarked, "I golly, I
snuggled up close to his back and slept as warm as wool." That was
the beginning, for him, of an experience shared by many pioneers,
including the author; and is the origin of the term "bedfellow of the
ox."
A few evenings later, when everything was still and {51} calm, and
not a breath of air stirring, Mulhall, while sitting in front of his
camp, heard a number of voices in the distance. The sound came from
the direction of the Methodist camp; he thought he caught a word or
two, but was not sure.
Just then a gentleman passing by asked, "Do you hear the Methodists?"
"Is that noise of voices we hear the Methodists?" Mulhall asked.
"Yes, they have been going on that way for an hour," answered the
stranger, who passed on and disappeared from sight.
Kate and Catherine had both retired for the night, but Mulhall
resolved to go and hear what they were saying and see what they were
doing. He walked briskly in the direction of the sound, sure enough,
it was a "Methodist awakening," as the participants expressed it.
The reader would not doubt this part of the narrative if he had ever
attended a meeting of the "shouting Methodists" of Indiana in early
days, particularly after a sermon where endless punishment was
preached for unbelievers. Now the Squire saw some of the men and
women who a few days before were sedate in their industrious camp,
shouting and violently gesticulating; some were fairly dancing in an
ecstasy of joy, others praying or lying down as if in a trance or
stupor.
When, after waiting three weeks, Mulhall's turn came to cross the
river, he concluded to send one team and wagon ahead with the tent
and cooking outfit; {52} Ben and Kate went along with it to establish
and prepare the camp for the remainder of the party. About
mid-stream the boat upset. The heavy running-gear of the wagon
immediately sank out of sight; but the bed, though partly submerged,
and with Ben and Kate in it, continued to float, though it was being
carried away from the scene of the mishap by the strong current.
Sometimes the outfit would sink to near the top of the cover, and in
another moment the whirl of the turbulent current would leave the
greater part of it visible again. Ben managed to remove the cover
that had entrapped them, so they were not in immediate danger of
drowning; he at once began throwing heavy things overboard, the stove
first and then whatever else could be found to lighten the load.
At a bend of the river in sight from the crossing, the bed grounded
on a sand-bar projecting upstream from the head of an island, and
swung around broadside, affording the imprisoned occupants a safe
landing. Seeing their peril, two Indians plunged fearlessly into the
Missouri, and swam out to the rescue; others immediately followed in
canoes, and soon landed both of them safely on the west side of the
great river. Yet we sometimes hear thoughtless people say, "there
are no good Indians but dead Indians!"
Kate returned to the Iowa side by the next boat, but Ben remained
awhile longer on the west side to care for the team that had swam
across. One wagon, {53} the yokes, chains and a considerable part of
the outfit had been lost. After arranging for the care of the team,
Ben crossed back about dark to rejoin the remainder of the party
still waiting there, and to consult with the Squire.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: NEAR CATASTROPHE IN CROSSING THE MISSOURI]
Illustrating a scene witnessed by the author and many other Pioneers
to the Oregon Country. The sinking of the wagon, endangering the
life of Kate Mulhall, the heroine of this story, and her rescue by
Ben Hardy, as described on the opposite page, make a stirring
incident of overland travel in the early 50s. An interesting
reference to this "near catastrophe" a half century later, will be
found on page 231.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: TYPICAL EMIGRANT OUTFIT ON THE OREGON TRAIL]
"Prairie schooner" unit of a line made up of vehicles drawn by
horses, mules, oxen or cows, with three yoke of oxen (driven by a man
walking along the left-hand side of the farther yoke), followed by
the captain of the train and protected by an armed guard at the rear.
Many an outfit like this one starting out in good condition was
reduced to the situation illustrated in the drawing on page 75 before
the end of the long journey.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
At the time of the accident, Catherine was at the camp and knew
nothing about it until told by Kate herself; then she fell upon her
knees to offer thanks for the rescue of her daughter. When told that
Kate had been saved by Ben's courage and cool-headed action, she gave
way to tears of joy and gratitude, and exclaimed, "Where is he?
Where is he, the dear, dear boy?" When he arrived, mother Mulhall
kissed him again and again; even the Squire had difficulty in
controlling his emotions, while Kate seemed dazed and said little.
Of course the deep gloom in the camp was accompanied by rejoicing
that there had been no loss of life.
The emigrants flocked around to praise Ben's act of bravery; but he
made light of it, saying anybody but a coward would have done the
same, and he wasn't entitled to any special praise. That evening an
elderly Quaker with his wife and daughter came to Mulhall's camp.
"We came to see thee," he said, "to join in praise to God for his
mercy in restoring thy son and daughter to thee; and further to tell
thee the Spirit moves us to proffer aid to enable thee to repair thy
loss." The Squire was deeply impressed with the evident sincerity of
the man, and felt to some extent relieved {54} from the feeling of
depression he had been striving to dispel.
Catherine was unable to conceal her emotion or control herself; the
shock upon the poor woman's nerves had been too great. Kate arose
from a cot to assure her mother that she would be all right again in
a little while, but seemingly without effect until the Quaker lady's
sympathetic words wrought a change of promised relief.
One of the ferrymen came into the camp and witnessed the scene of the
Quakers striving to alleviate Catherine's anguish. The two women
were about the same age; and the daughter of the Quaker family had
been a great comfort to Kate in her distress. Grasping the
situation, and seeing that he could do nothing at the moment, the
ferryman soon withdrew, beckoning Mulhall to follow him outside.
"I come," he said, "to tell you we think we ought to replace your
wagon and outfit, and will do so to-morrow. A number of parties who
have concluded not to go any farther will sell their wagons and
outfits at a reasonable price. Come and see us in the morning."
At the moment Mulhall was more concerned about his wife than over the
loss of a part of the outfit; but the calls of the Quaker and the
ferryman were appreciated more for the sympathy manifested than for
the offer of material aid. The Quakers stayed until long after
midnight. Catherine had been induced to lie down; and with the hand
of the good {55} Samaritan on her brow, had fallen asleep and
peacefully rested.
Kate's companion had exercised much the same influence upon her as
the Quaker mother had upon Mrs. Mulhall; and shortly after midnight
she also passed from consciousness to sweet slumber. The three
visitors then noiselessly withdrew, and deep silence fell upon the
camp. Catherine slept late and awakened calm, and reassured when she
found that Kate was up and preparing breakfast.
True to promise, on the following day the ferryman gave the Squire
his choice of three wagons and outfits; and before night he was ready
to cross the Missouri to the Indian Country, then extending across
the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean. Mulhall was confronted
with a perplexing situation--one team was now on the west side of the
river, and the other on the east or Iowa side. The hired man, who
shall be nameless, seemed to delight in using his long whip-lash on
the oxen, and goaded them to unnecessary exertion; and had proven
very unsatisfactory in other ways. His language was also offensive;
and when the Squire found that he had been indulging immoderately in
liquor, summarily discharged him.
Fortunately for Mulhall, at this juncture Douglas Craig, the young
man with the outfit presented to him by the ferryman, came highly
recommended and expressed a desire to continue on the trip; the
Squire immediately engaged him, and never had cause to {56} regret
it. As soon as Mulhall could move his camp to the landing, he
crossed over without much difficulty, leaving Ben to follow when he
could get the cattle up from the bottoms.
That night the campers heard the shrill whistle of a steamer from
down the river, and soon saw the lights of the "Ajax" as it moved
slowly up to the landing. A great throng greeted the captain as he
came ashore, and vociferously clamored to be ferried across the
river, with the promise of extra compensation if done that night. So
the occupation of the open-scow ferryman was gone, and the steamer
took its place; after that a hundred wagons with their teams were
crossed by day and nearly as many at night.
One can scarcely imagine the confusion that followed the congestion
on the one road leading, out from the landing place on the western
side of the river. Outfits had been separated and cattle gone
astray, children were separated from their parents, and thieving
Indians mingled with the throng. Mulhall soon brought together his
outfit (small as compared with some trains of fifty wagons) and drew
off to a nearby camping place.
He had been cautioned by the missionary not to join in the rush to
drive furiously forward, as others would certainly be doing. Kate
became very impatient at the delay of a day that her father
considered necessary to have everything in readiness. On the fourth
day they were confronted with a narrow {57} but deep river; and there
was another struggle to get across.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: USING A WAGON-BOX AS A "BOAT"]
Many of the Pioneers crossed the rivers on the Oregon Trail with all
of their outfits, except the oxen, in the manner shown by the
illustration. At best it was a hazardous adventure; at one place on
the North Platte nine men were drowned in making the attempt. The
author crossed the Snake River twice by this method and swam his
oxen; this photograph, taken in 1912 on the "Loup Fork," a tributary
of the Platte River in Nebraska, shows his improvised craft in the
middle of that great stream, and will convey some idea of the dangers
encountered by the emigration of which he was a part. See pages 57,
69-70 and 213.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The confusion was increased by many coming into camp every hour day
and night. Some were using a scow ferry entirely inadequate to
accommodate the great numbers suddenly brought upon the scene; others
were crossing on rafts, and still others in their boat-shaped
wagon-boxes. A few had constructed "bull boats" (a light form of
willow twigs, with a buffalo hide bottom).
Douglas Craig, the new man of the Mulhall outfit, proved to be an
expert horseman and an all-around stockman; he soon managed to get
the cattle over, while Ben crossed the wagons. An account of the
experiences and daily incidents of even one such outfit as Mulhall's
in its slow progress westward would fill a larger volume than this.
So we will attempt only to briefly sketch the trials confronting the
bold pioneers who passed over the Oregon Trail in the early days
before the rivers were bridged, supply depots established or
protection from the Indians given by the Government.
"What's that dark shade on the land?" Kate asked her father as she
rode up to his carriage. Mulhall turned his glass in the direction
indicated for a moment and replied, "Why as I live, that's buffalo."
In the clear atmosphere of the plains an object many miles away often
seems near-by. Kate was ready in an instant to go and bag some big
game, but knew her mother would not consent; so she called to Ben,
{58} "Take my rifle and Nell, and get one. I'll drive your team."
By this time the whole line on the road had discovered the herd, and
nearly all the men were making preparations to join in the big hunt.
Just ahead there seemed to be a great commotion, teams turning out of
the road and horsemen riding furiously back and forth. One, racing
down the line, shouted in a loud voice, "Unhitch, unhitch; form
corrals with your wagons; a buffalo stampede is coming. Quick,
quick; don't shoot, don't shoot;" and like Paul Revere, he passed on
to repeat the warning.
Mulhall had fallen in with several independent outfits and in the
evenings the group had been forming a circle of wagons to guard
against the loss of stock and lighten the burden of the night-watch.
In a very short time the wagons were arranged and the loose stock
placed inside the circle; but the buffalo were all traveling in one
direction on their annual migration, not a stampede. Nothing but
some insurmountable obstacle could turn the herd from the course that
its almost incredible numbers were pursuing.
In their migratory movements buffalo are, as one might say,
controlled by instinct like birds of the air. Here was a living
mass, to all appearances one vast unit, passing over many miles of
the trail, each animal traveling in the same direction as if guided
by a compass or the North Star. The emigrants could do no more than
guard their own stock and let {59} the buffalo continue their
majestic procession for hours.
After the mass had gone on and only stragglers remained in sight, the
ban against shooting was removed and an exciting buffalo hunt was on.
Ben followed Kate's suggestion by taking Nell and trying with his
rifle to bring down a fat buffalo cow. Not being either an expert
horseman or a crack shot, he had a rather prolonged and exciting
race; but finally succeeded in securing a fine heifer. He could have
more easily shot an old buffalo, as many did; but was out more to add
to their depleted larder than for the excitement of the chase.
When Ben returned to camp it was evident that he was in virtual
collapse, his strength nearly gone and his pulse weak. Thoroughly
alarmed, mother Mulhall did everything she could to arouse him from
the stupor into which he had fallen, but all to no purpose. Kate
fairly ran over to the near-by camp for a doctor, who partially
revived him but cautioned him to be careful and patient for several
days. When questioned, the physician answered evasively as to a
possible fatal result.
An epidemic of cholera was ravaging the camps and taking a fearful
toll; only the day before the Squire and Catherine halted the
carriage before a newly made burying-ground and counted forty-four
graves, none more than three days old. Only those in the best of
health seemed immune from the scourge. Mother Mulhall reproached
herself for consenting to {60} let Ben go on the hunt, and retired to
pray in secret for his recovery.
Kate showed unmistakable evidences of deep grief, and also blamed
herself for having encouraged Ben to go; she remained by his bedside
throughout the night, and was reluctant to leave when morning came.
As the day wore on there were signs of recovery, and by the third day
he had sufficiently improved to warrant resuming their journey.
Meantime more than a thousand wagons had passed on, leaving many
detained in stricken camps to bury their dead.
Mulhall had been a witness to the great epidemic that lined the trail
for a thousand miles with uncounted graves of dead pioneers. He had
lost considerable weight on the way; how much he did not know, but
realized the fact by the fit of his clothes. Catherine said the
difference in food had wrought the change, to which the Squire
responded that in such case he would probably lose in strength, while
he felt stronger than for many years before. The fact gradually
dawned upon him that the regular exercise taken on the trip had
increased his strength while reducing his weight.
Under the hot sun Kate became tanned, but lost none of the fire in
her eye nor her cheerfulness of spirit, although her patience was
often tried by the wilful ways of the loose stock. The two little
sisters helped her part of the time, until the sand became too hot
for their bare feet; but were always welcomed {61} in the carriage
driven by their mother. When Ben was transferred to the carriage,
their place of refuge was gone; after that one at a time would ride
behind Kate, or she would often trudge along afoot while the two
little ones rode Nell.
All the past glamour of the trip had now gone out of Kate's mind; but
she could not admit to herself any regret that they were on the way
to Oregon. At least they were free from the hated question of
slavery! Then her mind would revert to Pelton, with the thought that
she might have been too rash in her manner of rejecting his advances;
had she known what her father knew--that Isaac intended at all
hazards to free his slaves--grief would have seized her in spite of
all efforts to restrain it.
Kate had intuitively come to discern what was in her father's mind
with reference to Ben, and believed that her mother felt the same way
as her father. When such thought came into her own mind, the vision
of Pelton rose above them all. Love Ben? Yes--as a brother; and
then she would try to think of something else.
"What's this?" Squire Mulhall asked aloud rather excitedly to
himself, stopping his team in the middle of the road. Soon both
wagons were driven to the outside, opening a passage for other teams
pressing on from behind. "What's happened, stranger that you are
here by the roadside with no team?" It needed only a short time to
explain that the family had started across the plains with a {62}
neighbor who owned a team; but after some altercation, the neighbor
became abusive, stopped and hurriedly pitched the bedding and
clothing of the others out of the wagon, driving on with all the
provisions.
"How long since?" the Squire asked. "About two hours ago," the
stranger answered. "Put your things in my other wagon and let your
wife and children get in here until we reach camp tonight," said the
Squire, thoroughly aroused and with indignation manifest in his
voice. "Perhaps we will overtake the brute by nightfall."
The family consisted of husband and wife, both apparently honest and
intelligent, and three small children, the oldest about eight.
Leaving his team in charge of the stranger as soon as they were back
on the road (which was literally filled with passing wagons and loose
stock), he soon found Kate; and taking Nell, rode on ahead as rapidly
as possible.
He soon encountered a train of a dozen wagons which had no sooner
been passed than another one of thirty was overtaken; each vehicle
closely followed the one in front, and to make headway it was
necessary to ride alongside the road, often obstructed by sage-brush.
That evening the Squire said he believed that he had been obliged to
go around at least five hundred wagons to gain five miles on the
moving trains, all the while keeping a sharp lookout for the outfit
which abandoned the family now traveling with him.
It was learned that the culprit, who had been {63} recognized by the
description, passed on just before dark and would probably travel all
night. Three armed men were mounted and given instructions to
continue on far enough during the night to be sure they were ahead of
the outfit, and then to stop and wait for it. Just at daylight they
overtook the guilty party and soon convinced him that resistance was
useless and submission to arrest his only safe course.
The "unwritten law" of the plains was a tacit consent that all
grievances, misdemeanors or accusations of crime must be laid before
a jury of elderly men; and no one should take the law into his own
hands--in a word, no mob violence. Squire Mulhall soon succeeded in
bringing together several of the older pioneers, who resolved to take
immediate action; swift and adequate justice was administered, and
the incident was almost immediately closed. This code of action
prevailed all along the line; no one was punished without a hearing,
but there were no delays on technicalities, or any appeals.
Mulhall's trail followed the track that Marcus Whitman had made from
the west bank of the Missouri River nearly two decades before, when
that famous missionary was on the way to overtake the expedition of
the American Fur Company before it reached the Indian tribe reported
as hostile to white men passing through their country. It will be
recalled how Dr. Whitman swam the Platte where it was a mile wide,
and re-crossed with the cattle until nearly exhausted, while Mrs.
Whitman and {64} Mrs. Spalding were towed over in a frail bullboat by
two Indian women swimming, accompanied by Indian boys who assisted
them heroically.
On the sixth day out from this river, definite information was
received that a camp of thirty Indian lodges was disputing the right
of the emigrants to proceed farther without payment of toll for each
wagon. A number of outfits which had already refused to pay were
encamped there; Mulhall considered this a wise move until he could
reconnoiter and find out just how serious the situation was.
After the rumor of the obstruction had been confirmed the evening
before, the firing of a rifle startled the camp. Unobserved, Kate
had slipped out of the camp with her rifle; if there was going to be
trouble with the Indians, she would have a fresh load in it. The
next day, when her father had concluded to go ahead and ascertain the
facts about the detention, Kate said she would go along.
Mulhall had not thought of taking arms with him; but Kate noticed
that a number had gone forward carrying their guns, and said it was
better to be prepared. Catherine firmly approved the move, and added
that they would put the camp in best shape possible for defense.
Experienced pioneers all agree that the most retiring and apparently
timid women usually were the most courageous in times of danger on
the plains, whether from Indians or other causes.
Kate mounted Ned, bareback, while her father {65} rode Nell. It was
a ride of six miles past several camps and many teams standing in the
road; and hundreds of excited men were found at the point of
detention. The place chosen by the Indians was a small ravine where
a recent washout had been bridged by a train of emigrants that had
passed on sometime previous.
On the farther side the Indians were camped; most of the men were
mounted, but had not put on their war paint. They were intending to
dispute the crossing until payment was made for passing through their
country--a plausible claim, as the white man's government had made no
treaties with them.
Here the dilemma--whether to pay toll or force their way
through--confronted the responsible men of the emigrant column. Was
it just to force their way across the country if the Indians owned
it? What right had the white man to pass through it, kill their
buffalo, turn his oxen out on their range to eat off the grass, or to
burn the scant supply of fuel?
Many of the pioneers had never thought about this and were puzzled;
but when the Chief said, "One cow, one wagon," all saw instantly that
to submit meant the disintegration or even stopping of the whole
emigration. As that tribe did not claim to own the country farther
than to the next river crossing, a similar demand might be made again
and again.
While the improvised council was discussing this {66} question, there
was a great commotion. Many who did not go near the council had
driven their teams close to the disputed bridge-head, when one bold
pioneer spoke in a loud voice, "You fellows get ready to follow; I'm
going across that bridge if I have to run right over an Injun!" and
he did. The Indian narrowly escaped; other teams followed in quick
succession; the blockade was broken, and for the next twenty-four
hours, day or night, scarce a moment passed without a wagon on that
bridge.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: UNDER THE YOKE FOR THE FIRST TIME]
In their struggles to shake it off, Brindle and Star had reversed the
yoke, as described on page 38. Large numbers of cows were "broken"
like oxen, and in many instances helped to make up a "team." This
incident is recalled, half a century later, by the visit to the old
homestead in Missouri described on page 234.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] See "The Missionary's Story," pages 235-283. E.M.
{67}
CHAPTER III
TRIALS OF THE LONG TRAIL; DANGEROUS RIVER
CROSSINGS; THE DEATH OF CATHERINE; WEST OF
THE ROCKIES; SEPARATION OF THE PARTY; NEW
HOMES IN THE OREGON COUNTRY.
The Dust--clouds of which were so dense that oftentimes the leaders
of a team could not be seen--became almost intolerable. Kate adopted
the sensible practice of starting early in the morning with the
carriage and loose cattle so that her mother might escape as much of
it as possible. One day Mulhall saw her riding hastily back to the
team.
"Father," she exclaimed, "Ned has dropped dead in the harness and the
carriage can't go any farther." Craig had been ill for several days
and Mulhall was driving the team. Leaving it to Kate, he rode ahead
to find Catherine in distress and his favorite, trusty horse lying
stiff beside the carriage. Unsaddling Nell and harnessing her
alongside Dick, the Squire started the outfit on the road, advising
Catherine to camp as soon as a suitable place could be found.
The little twin girls had forgotten their loose stock, which by this
time was widely scattered; part of it had gone on with the other
herds, and some was on either side of the road. One old lame cow,
Beckey, had laid down where the carriage stopped {68} and was
unwilling to resume the journey. It was late in the evening when all
came together at the camp; three head of stock were missing; water
could be procured only from a deep ravine half a mile distant; no
fuel was in sight for a camp fire, and "buffalo chips" had
disappeared from near camping grounds.
With Ben's assistance, Kate unyoked both teams and started the oxen,
whose tongues were out from thirst, and such of the loose stock as
could be found, to the ravine for water. The entire party had been
without water for several hours before reaching camp; and how could
they prepare food without it, or fuel or Kate's help? Anyhow the
oxen must have the first attention, and water procured for the camp;
and it was a question whether or not they could get all the oxen out
of the ravine after their thirst had been slacked. It was past
midnight when Kate lay down to rest, and for the first time on the
trip she gave way to grief. Her mother had gone to bed supperless;
Kate had seen for some time that Catherine's strength was failing,
and realized that the strain was likely to become too heavy for her
to bear--a thought which fairly stunned and even terrified her.
Blaming herself for favoring abandonment of the Missouri borne and
undertaking the long trip, nature finally relieved her by deep and
restful sleep.
Mulhall and his fellow travelers had come to dread river crossings
without bridges or established ferries more than the Indians, dust,
the fatigue, lack of {69} grass for the oxen or anything else on the
trail. All were rejoiced to be safely across one, and hopeful that
the next would be less dangerous; but in this they were often doomed
to disappointment.
As they left the sluggish current of the main Platte River to ascend
its chief tributary the North Platte, the current was found to be
swifter as the trail led gradually up the east slope of the Rocky
Mountains. An account of the crossing of one of these, written upon
the spot at the time by W. P. Woods and preserved in his diary, will
illustrate the difficulty and dangers to be surmounted:
Thursday, June 21, 1849--We made an early start and drove 12 miles to
the mouth of Deer Creek, where we found teams crossing the Platte.
Four boats, each consisting of two dug-outs fastened together, had
been made by emigrants who had crossed before and gone on, others
buying their rights and continuing the work. We paid $3 per wagon
for the use of the boats, and swam the oxen.
Just before reaching here the accidental discharge of a gun by a
member of the Pittsburg Company, who was unloading a wagon to make
the crossing, killed a man from Illinois, the ball passing through
the body just above the heart. A man was drowned here yesterday; and
just 12 miles above seven men have been lost in two days while
rafting their wagons across.
Friday, June 22, 1849--We were roused early, and in good season
commenced crossing our wagons. The line for two miles along the
river bank presented as busy an aspect as it ordinarily does in St.
Louis, or any other small town in the States. Wagons in pieces,
boxes and chattels of all kinds made a scene of extraordinary
activity far out in this uninhabited western country.
Our "boat" was called the "Two Follies and Betsy," from their being
two dugouts, with a log between them. Joining forces with the twelve
Cincinnati mule trains, the "boat" started off in style with 30 men
to cordelle it against the current. The men were obliged to work in
the water, which {70} rendered it quite unpleasant; but by 4 o'clock
P.M. we were across, and then drove the oxen down to swim.
With all of our efforts, swimming and wading from that time until
dark, we could only get three of them across; so had at last to let
them return to the shore, and were obliged to keep watch of them
until morning. The water is remarkably swift and cold, the low
temperature probably due to our proximity to the snows of the
mountains. To the south of us, about four miles from the Platte,
there arises a range of very high pine-clad hills, which appears to
terminate in the Laramie Mountains.
Saturday, June 23, 1849--Again resumed our labors by recrossing the
river for the purpose of crossing our ox-teams, but at first with no
better success than the day before. Here we witnessed scenes far
surpassing anything the imagination ever conceived--the long to be
remembered crossing of the Platte. No pencil can portray or pen
depict the scene as it really was.
Fancy for one moment our feelings on observing the vast aggregation
of oxen, mules, horses and wagons mixed indiscriminately with men
clothed, half-clad and even almost naked, encountering the elements
that were temporarily stopping our progress. By about noon we
succeeded in crossing; but both men and teams were extremely
exhausted.
The onlookers witnessed sights ranging from the laughable to the
alarming. In one place six men were assisted ashore by hanging to
the tail of a mule, with a rider on him at that, while in another
case extreme efforts were being made to save a man from drowning. A
boat, with a wagon containing women and children, sank but was saved
by striking a bar.
I was carried by the swift current outside the jam of cattle, and
saved myself by catching hold of the tail of an ox as I passed him,
and letting him tow me to shore. Those scenes are over, though we
shall long remember them. We yoked our teams and drove on over a
very rough sand road for about four miles, where we encamped on the
river hank to feed our oxen and rest ourselves. Many a man here
wishes himself back in the States.[1]
For a considerable sum, Mulhall secured a means of crossing by a
train which had been provided for the emergency; and though not
detained or endangered, {71} was much relieved when safely landed on
the opposite shore. He knew, however, there were two more crossings
of a mighty river on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains about a
thousand miles ahead of them.
Catherine's strength had rapidly declined, and soon after the
crossing just described it became evident that the day of her long
rest was near at hand. Mulhall's first impulse was to stop and camp
until she recovered her strength; but if he dropped out of the
passing throng and was left alone, the peril of Indians would be
greatly increased. He was in the mountains with no permanent
settlements--in fact none on the whole length of the trail beyond the
Missouri; during the winter which would be coming on with heavy falls
of snow, his teams would undoubtedly perish, and his party suffer for
lack of food and shelter.
Taking charge of the carriage himself and driving carefully, he
fancied that Catherine's strength was gaining; but alas, was doomed
to disappointment. The sorrowful end was not long delayed. Among
the fleeting clouds well up on the eastern slope of the Rockies,
nearly a mile and a half in altitude above the home they had left in
old Missouri, they buried her in the shifting sands of the Sweetwater
River Valley. Her last words to Kate, "Take good care of father,"
rang in her ears ever afterward; and she did--loyally and
faithfully--until the last day of his life.
{72}
Nearly prostrated by the calamity that had befallen them, Kate felt
that she did not want to go any farther; but gradually recovered her
sense of duty to the little orphaned sisters, her father and herself.
The anguish in leaving the lone grave can only be known to those who
have been through some such experience; and the thought that the
little mound of sand would soon be leveled by the fierce winds of the
mountain slope added poignance to the already overwhelming grief.
Craig deeply sympathized with the stricken family. Little Sarah, one
of the twins, who was of an age to realize her great loss and yet not
old enough to be resigned--if that age ever arrives--would not be
calmed when the hour of burial came. She clung to the rough box
containing her mother's body, and with pitiable outcries pleaded with
her father, "don't leave her here; _don't; don't!_"
"Child, do you see the rift in yonder mountains?" Craig asked.
Between deep sobs she answered, "Yes."
"That's Split Mountain, two thousand feet high," Craig continued,
"none other like it anywhere in sight of the trail. The two
mountains stand so close together the space between them seems from
here like a black ribbon, although, we know they are many rods apart."
The child fixed her gaze intently on the mountain while Craig
continued, "That is almost exactly north of where your mother's grave
will be; I saw the North Star last evening just above it."
{73}
Craig had arrested the child's attention for the moment, and in a
tone of sympathy asked, "Did you notice those tracks in the stone
made by the wagon wheels just where we turned off the trail to this
camp? They are so deep they will last forever."
Craig had drawn the child's attention away from the bereavement, but
had not arrested her deep grief; and added, "Those tracks will tell
you where to stop to look for your mother's grave, if you ever come
out to search for it when you grow up to be a woman--no others like
them."
This thought impressed the little girl as no other words Craig had
ever spoken. Between the long infrequent, tremulous sighs that could
not be suppressed, she looked imploringly and trustfully into Craig's
eyes while he continued, "You remember that grave we passed marked by
a wagon tire half sunk in the ground?"
"Yes," answered Sarah, hesitating a moment, "I remember the name,
'Rebecca' inscribed on the tire, but have forgotten the other."
"Winters," Craig thought to himself, and then said, "that's it,
Rebecca Winters. Now my little friend, I'll mark your mother's grave
the same way, so you can find it the longest day you live;" and his
own tears dropped on the hand of his little friend, which he held in
his.
The scene was enough to melt a heart of stone; the faltering voice,
the Scotch brogue, the deep sympathy with the distressed child, and
Sarah's {74} trustfulness somewhat relieved the feelings of all, and
the burial was completed in silence. Craig immediately afterwards
disappeared from the camp, and returned after dark with a wagon tire
noticed a few hours before they had camped. It was from one of the
several wagons that had been burned--mute evidence of a massacre
where none were left to tell the story.
Douglas Craig was an all-around, handy man; in his native country he
had worked as a smithy, and was an expert with metals. Early the
next morning echoes of his work could be heard; he was inscribing the
name, "Catherine Mulhall, died 185-; aged fifty-seven."
All day long this labor of love went on with scarcely long enough
intermission for a hasty dinner. Kate and the little girls went out
in search of flowers to decorate the grave, and were rewarded by
finding an abundance of wild roses and several other varieties of the
flora in that region.
Kate noticed a very small but well formed pine tree that seemed
likely to grow into a suitable landmark. The thought came to her
mind that they might transplant it to grow on the grave; and Ben said
they could, without disturbing the roots.
Both busied themselves nearly all day changing the beautiful little
tree to its new home and planted it, with roots undisturbed, at the
head of the grave, with a vigorous wild rose bush. The girls
gathered leaves and decaying wood to mulch the ground. Before
nightfall, the little mound built over the sacred {75} spot was
partially leveled down, covered with flowers and the inscribed wagon
tire set in place.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: A CORRAL AT AN OVERNIGHT STOP ON THE TRAIL THROUGH THE
INDIAN COUNTRY; SEE PAGES 58 and 169]
The illustration shows the nature of the precautions adopted for
defense--soon abandoned when trains began to disintegrate and break
into smaller units, making it easier for the Indiana to attack and
sometimes massacre a company, with a result like that shown in the
illustration opposite page 175.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: ALMOST "DOWN AND OUT"]
Scenes like this were frequent on the Oregon Trail in the 50s, and
are vividly remembered by a few survivors, including the author of
this volume. Many suffered from thirst, hunger and exhaustion,
particularly on long drives through the desert regions; sickness and
death often disrupted or even annihilated families. When wagons were
worn out or broken beyond repair, they were sometimes cut down to
carts or abandoned, and members of the party continued along on foot,
driving their live stock. Most of those who passed through
experiences like this survived the hardships of the overland journey,
and some of them became leading citizens of the Pacific Coast and
Rocky Mountain States.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The throng of moving teams could be traced for miles by the clouds of
dust floating in the air; and the wagons were seen on the trail,
which passed within a half mile of the grave. Both horses lost flesh
until they appeared like skeletons; and it was decided to leave the
carriage there.
Nearly all the horses of the emigrants had died for want of food and
overwork, or both; and Mulhall feared he would soon lose his if
conditions did not improve. He had lost one ox by straying; another,
lamed, was sold to a trader, and now a second one had gone lame. It
became necessary to reduce one team to two yoke, or yoke up an
unbroken cow with the odd ox; the Squire chose the latter
alternative, with one team weakened.
Though at the eastern line of the Oregon Country when the summit of
the Rocky Mountains was crossed, they were not yet half way on the
long journey. Reaching the crest of the Continent at the South Pass,
they camped a short distance off the Trail; and when morning came
found banks of snow in the hollows and on the northern slopes, and
thin ice in the camp bucket.
A month later the party was struggling along the banks of the Snake
River, which had to be crossed twice; and they were still confronted
by the Blue and Cascade Mountain ranges. Apparently it was only a
question of time when Mulhall would be {76} compelled to leave one of
the wagons; this he did at the lower crossing of the Snake River,
where two young pioneers[2] had lashed two wagon-boxes together, and
constructed a platform to enable them to run a wagon onto it and
cross the river without unloading.
Mulhall soon arranged to send over the wagons by this improvised
ferry, swimming the oxen and horses. Ben mounted one of the horses
and rode ahead as a decoy, while Craig and friendly helpers urged the
oxen into the river until deep water was reached, when all followed
Ben's lead and crossed safely. While this was being done, a woman
died from exhaustion, leaving three little orphaned children to the
care of the stricken husband and father--a pathetic incident which
revived Kate's grief.
Men were never more loyal to one another than Ben and Craig were to
Mulhall. From all appearances, they might have been his own sons;
Kate had treated them as brothers and the whole outfit including the
little twins, were like one family.
For several weeks Ben and Craig counseled between themselves as to
the advisability, or possible necessity, of leaving father Mulhall
after the last crossing of the Snake River, and going ahead on foot.
Craig had carefully ascertained the amount of food on hand and
calculated the quantity used each day to supply six persons
constituting the party; and demonstrated to his own mind there was an
insufficient {77} supply for the remainder of the trip, probably at
least another three weeks.
"We ought to go ahead, Ben," Craig said in his broad Scotch brogue,
particularly when considering grave subjects. "The two of us are
consuming one-third of the daily food," he continued; "and, Ben, did
you ever think of what an appalling calamity of famine would have
overtaken us all had it not been for so many[3] dying on the way?"
"Won't you speak to father Mulhall about it?" Ben hesitated to
approach the Squire on the subject lest he might think of the
suggestion as a proposal of desertion. "Well, I'll talk to him,"
Craig said, seeing that Ben was reluctant to do so.
When broached on the subject by Craig, the Squire would not agree to
it at all. The sacrifice and danger to Craig and Ben was too great;
better go upon short rations and all keep together; leave one wagon
and kill one ox--"Anything rather than to have 'the boys' take the
risks and endure such hardships," he said to Kate.
That very morning Kate had given breakfast to two "tramps," who had
been without food for forty hours, "Except a few grasshoppers, but
not many," as one of them, a lad of twelve,[4] naively said, "they
were too hard to catch."
{78}
A near famine now confronted the whole of the emigration; and finally
all agreed that it was best for the two to go ahead on foot as they
had discussed, for the young men could travel farther in one day than
the ox-team could in two. Before reaching a final conclusion Ben and
Kate consulted together, keeping their own counsel as to what passed
between them. Ben and Craig had great respect for the Squire--if
indeed affection would not be the more appropriate word; and it was
with genuine feelings of regret that they parted from him.
On the fifth day, when it was estimated that they were a hundred
miles ahead of "father Mulhall," as they now called him, the young
men met the relief train coming out from Portland to the rescue, and
arranged to have him supplied with such articles of food as they knew
Kate and he needed most. Mulhall received the letter Ben had written
and the provisions with tears of affection for "my boys," as he was
fond of referring to them.
The supplies sent out to relieve the pressing wants of the incoming
pioneers were not for sale, but for relief. If a man could pay, all
right--the money received would be used to purchase more; but the
majority who were unable to do so, were supplied without obligation
as to future payment. Ben and Craig soon felt their strength failing
from reduced rations; so when they heard of supply trains ahead, they
resumed their usual allowance, and soon regained normal condition.
{79}
Knowing that she must be uneasy about him, Ben wrote to his mother at
the end of his journey, and even before he slept under a roof. The
trip had taken nearly two months longer than expected; and now he
learned that another month would be required to send a letter back to
Missouri. Under present circumstances he could not encourage Linda
to think of coming to him, or expect that he could soon return to her.
Would she conclude that his love for her had declined, or lose faith
in him if he wrote of the most insuperable barrier that now lay
between them? At the time it occurred, he had written to Linda the
facts of Kate's and his adventure in crossing the Missouri. The
gossips had wagged their tongues and surmised that because he had
rescued Kate, she would feel under obligations to marry him; and
Squire Mulhall ardently wished that that, or something else, would
bring about such a result.
Ben and Kate were both annoyed, but could do nothing to silence the
busybodies; to deny it would only whet their zeal. So much talk
going the rounds of the camp set Ben to wondering if the same gossip
prevailed in his old neighborhood; and if so whether or not it had
come to Linda's ears.
In this perplexing mood Ben went to bed inside a dwelling for the
first time in more than half a year, and woke up in the morning with
the memory of pleasant dreams of home and Linda. His anxiety to
secure a home in the new country had not abated {80} one jot or
tittle from the time he parted with her on the memorable Sunday
evening before starting with Squire Mulhall for Oregon. The last
words from Linda, "I'll be true to you to the end, Ben," still rang
in his ears as if spoken but yesterday, and had followed him across
the greater part of the continent.
At the parting with Kate he had given up his secret, reluctantly but
prompted by intense loyalty to the girl of his choice. If anything
should happen to him, he wanted Linda to know from Kate of his
undying love for her to the last; and from Kate's own lips, or by
letter from her, the senseless nature of the gossip concerning them.
Another matter he wished to confide to Kate--he was going to Oregon
to secure a home for Linda and himself; and desired to make provision
that Linda should fall heir to it in the event that he should die
before they married. Ben was prompted to these serious thoughts by
the experience of being close to death's door twice on the trip--once
in the near catastrophe while crossing the Missouri, and again at the
buffalo hunt, from both of which he had emerged without serious
consequences.
He regretted to be parted from his mother for her sake and from Linda
for her sake, but took very little thought for himself. The tenets
of endless punishment after death, widely taught in his boyhood days,
never found lodgment in his brain. He believed in a God of love, not
of vengeance; and while clinging {81} to the present for the sake of
those he loved, was resigned at any time to pass to the future life.
Douglas Craig and Benjamin Hardy had become fast friends; their
mutual trials and duties had drawn them closer together as the
journey progressed. "There isn't a lazy bone in Craig's body," the
Squire said to Kate one day, to which she responded that the same
could be said of Ben. Mulhall readily assented, saying that he had
been blessed with "two of the best boys God Almighty ever made;" and
added, "your mother thought the same, God bless her memory." Kate
made no response, but the tears that came to her eyes at the mention
of her mother's name expressed a deep and abiding sorrow.
In the morning Ben learned that it would be eight days before the
next mail to "the States," as the pioneers were accustomed to speak
of all the country east of the Missouri River; and so did not write
to Linda as planned.
"Ben, I've a notion to go with you to hunt a claim," Craig said when
he noticed the preparations Ben was making for the trip. "I don't
like the idea of parting with you just now," he continued; "besides,
maybe it's best for me to take a claim anyway, and not depend
altogether upon working at my trade."
And so the two "boys," who had come down the Columbia River and to
the southern part of the great territory, started off in search of a
home for each. Mulhall had determined to go into the northern {82}
district of the Puget Sound; so they did not expect to meet him until
such time as they learned where he had located. After many days of
searching, the spot that suited them was found, and a line agreed
upon between the two adjoining claims.
"I golly," Ben said, "why can't we build one cabin and locate it for
the line to cut through the middle? You can have your bed in one
end, on your claim, and I can have mine in the other end on my
claim;" and then he added, "if you want to work at your trade a part
of the time you would not lose your residence; and if I"--. But Ben
stopped there, for he was near to revealing his secret, if he had not
already done so by his manner and confusion.
The pact was sealed and the cabin built; and here for the present we
must leave our young friends to trace the fortunes or misfortunes of
Squire Mulhall and his three girls. In due time also we shall learn
whether or not Ben could leave his claim before the four years'
residence required by the law to secure a title; and whether Linda
remained true to him through all that time.
When Ben and Craig passed out of sight over the crest of the hill
ahead, following the trail with packs on their backs, Mulhall could
control his emotion no longer: and tears coursed down his cheeks as
he spoke in a tremulous voice to Kate of their noble character and
self sacrifices. Kate, more demonstrative than her father, gave way
without restraint to manifestation of distress in voice and weeping.
{83} Observing the unusual scene, little Sarah joined with childish
soothing words to Kate and her father; but the more she said the
deeper their distress, until all restraint was abandoned and the
three were relieved by tears and words of praise for the two "boys."
David Mulhall, even though mild-mannered and gentle, was a man with a
stout heart, and fully realized the gravity of the situation
confronting him. It was a race with famine and lingering starvation
or death. If he undertook to increase the speed of travel as some
had done, his oxen would probably fail and leave him without a team;
having noticed several such instances, he resolved to pursue the even
tenor of his way.
The first formidable barrier to be met was the Blue Mountain ranges,
which must be crossed at an altitude of about 4,200 feet; that steep
ascent could not be avoided, and many outfits were stranded along the
slope of the mountain. To lighten the load in the wagon, some
clothing was packed on the horse Ned, while the girls and the Squire
walked.
By a succession of short drives and long rests, the summit was
reached, though a long stretch of rough roads and steep hills was
still ahead. While not hazardous, the descent into the plains
extending to the west and north was tiresome and tedious; it
presented a scene of enchantment seldom equaled--the whole covered by
a carpet of luxurious grass, dotted here and there with bands of
Indian ponies and tepees of Indian villages.
{84}
Mulhall was now about twenty-five miles from the site of the Whitman
Missionary Station, where help was given to all in need until the
fateful day of the massacre, November 29, 1847. Here, at the foot of
the mountain, Mulhall left the trail of Ben and Craig, who had
followed the Columbia route down the river leading to Portland, and
joined the gathering hosts of the migration along the new trail
northward to Puget Sound.
It was a daring and momentous decision. Two formidable barriers were
in the track--the mighty Columbia, the second river in length and
volume of water on the Continent, and the Cascade Range, which proved
to be the most formidable mountain obstruction of the whole trip, far
greater than that of the Rockies.
As they passed the site of the former Whitman Mission, Mulhall
tarried to view the locality which had witnessed the activities of
Dr. Marcus Whitman and his gifted wife, Narcissa Prentiss Whitman, in
their efforts to implant the Christian religion in the breasts of the
Indians, and where they had relieved the suffering of many pioneer
emigrants during eleven years of heroic struggle to maintain their
mission. The day of the supreme sacrifice came unheralded, as
recalled by the grass-grown graves of the thirteen victims, which
Mulhall viewed with bared head in the presence of the three
daughters, who had so recently witnessed the closing of the earth
over the precious remains of their mother. When {85} shown the small
grave and told the story of the drowning of the only child of the
lonesome mother, Narcissa Whitman, Sarah's grief again became
inconsolable, and only with great difficulty was she persuaded to
leave the sacred grounds.
The Columbia River, more than a mile wide and with a swift current,
was directly in their path some thirty miles away. How they were to
cross was not yet definitely known, but it was the general belief
that at the Hudson's Bay Company's fort, situated on the bank of the
river, there would be some means of getting over it.
After two more days of driving, Mulhall drew up to the camp of more
than two hundred detained emigrants. The first train to arrive,
consisting of 148 people with thirty wagons, finding no means of
crossing, undertook to build a boat large enough to carry a loaded
wagon or several oxen.
Driftwood lodged on a sand-bar above the fort furnished the material,
and a whip-saw was set to work cutting the lumber; it ran day and
night, and in eleven days the boat was launched. Then the first
crossing was made, and in four more days all were safely across,
after the loss of fifteen days of precious time.
Whether or not snow in the mountains would block the trail, weighed
heavily upon the minds of the whole company. The abundant grass in
that locality had greatly strengthened the oxen and enabled them to
make good progress, though as no wagons had {86} gone on ahead, it
was necessary at times to stop and open the way. Measured by the
current of the river they must follow, there were still about 200
miles between the crossing of the Columbia and the settlements on
Puget Sound, about 100 of the whole following mountain streams.
Evidences of that drive through the gorges had been left, sometimes
on sand-bars with rounded boulders imbedded in the sand, and then in
the shallow streams. Other marks had been made on slippery boulders,
until deep water compelled the emigrants[5] to cross the river or
open a road through the timber and underbrush--one alternative and
then another, until 62 crossings of the river were thus crudely
recorded.
Just beyond the summit, a rim of almost perpendicular rock was
encountered, so steep that it was impossible to drive the wagons down
the declivity. Three steers were killed, and their hides cut into
strips to lengthen the ropes assembled from the train; in that way
thirty wagons were let down the mountain with the loss of only one of
them. The tree used as a snubbing post was deeply encircled by the
wear of the ropes and finally killed; but it stood {87} sentinel over
the scene for another quarter of a century.
When Mulhall emerged from the deep forests of the foothills west of
the Cascade Mountain range, he was fairly dazed at the sight that
confronted him; and could scarcely believe his eyes. The evergreen
trees were so tall and dense that they obscured the light and made it
difficult to read common print at the noon hour, while the bright
shining sun spread light and warmth over the tops of the forest
giants. All through the mountains, the eyes of the pioneers had
become accustomed to a lesser light than they had encountered in the
open country.
That forest is one of the greatest and most notable on the Continent
or in the world. Giant firs grow to a height of three hundred feet;
large numbers of them measure six feet, with here and there one eight
and in rare cases even twelve feet, in diameter. A monster tree
fifteen and a half feet through at the base, and probably a thousand
years old, could be seen as one laboriously followed the trail.
The mind of the Squire was affected in just about the same way as if
he had suddenly emerged from a dark room into bright sunlight, with
his eyes dimmed by the glare; it required time to recover and grasp
the change. He had arrived at what is locally known as "Elk Plains"
on the eastern margin of the famed Nisqually Plains, a wide extent of
prairie country extending to the Nisqually River, twenty miles away
to the south and nearly that distance to Puget Sound {88} on the
west. The whole intervening space was interspersed with numerous
small, clear lakes with pebbly bottoms into which the creeks emptied
their limpid waters.
Occasionally a creek would issue from a lake fed by springs in the
bottom; in other cases there was no inlet or outlet, and yet the
water was as pure and sparkling as that running in the creeks. Here
and there were small groves of evergreen timber surrounded by the
prairies to lend enchantment to the landscape, a veritable fairy-land
in the eyes of the wearied pioneers. Unexpectedly, off to the east,
a large number of sheep were seen quietly grazing on the stunted
grass that covered the soil.
Starting to drive toward one of the lakes, Mulhall suddenly came upon
a herd of cattle that fled at the sight of his wagon and took refuge
in a near-by grove. Kate was sure she saw three deer fleeing with
the cattle--the latter now as wild as any creature that roamed the
plains. At about the same time, a band of Indian ponies was suddenly
encountered, as the outfit rounded a point of timber; the wild scene
was then re-enacted as the ponies, with heads and tails in the air,
snorted and ran.
The sight of the deer fired Kate's imagination; she thought of the
rifle in the wagon, but could not stop to try her hand on the game of
that region. She thought of Ben, who had saved her life--and Pelton
too. No flowers could grow in the deep forests; but here on the
prairies and margins of the lakes and {89} creeks many species, the
wild rose predominating, grew to perfection. The little sisters
eagerly picked some of the first flowers they had found for many
weeks, and brought them to Kate as they had formerly done to their
mother.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Photograph from Washington Historical Society, Tacoma
[Illustration: MONUMENT TO BE SEEN ALONG THE CLOVER CREEK HIGHWAY,
ABOUT TEN MILES SOUTH OF TACOMA, WASHINGTON]
Here, in Mr. Meeker's story, Kate Mulhall unyoked her oxen for the
last time: see page 89. The inscription on the monument will be
found on the reverse of this leaf.
[Over]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Fac-simile of inscription upon the monument shown on the reverse
of this leaf:
OCTOBER
1853 1913
COMMEMORATING
THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY
OF THE ARRIVAL OF THE
FIRST EMIGRANT TRAIN
COMING DIRECT TO THE
PUGET SOUND VIA THE
NATCHESS PASS. THEY
MADE THEIR LAST CAMP
OCT. 8TH 1853 ON THE
BANK OF CLOVER CREEK
THREE FOURTHS OF
A MILE SOUTH OF THIS
MONUMENT
ERECTED BY
WASHINGTON STATE HIST-
ORICAL SOCIETY--PIERCE COUNTY
PIONEER SOCIETY MEMBERS--DE-
SCENDANTS AND FRIENDS OF
THE NATCHESS EMIGRANT TRAIN
[Over]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The Squire soon came to the camp[6] on the margin of a creek, where
he found more than half of the pioneers who had gone on ahead; and
here, about twelve miles from Puget Sound, Kate unyoked her oxen for
the last time. A fine carcass of beef had been sent there for them
by the Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company with the message,
"divide this among yourselves;" and a near-by farmer brought a
wagon-load of vegetables to give out "free for everybody." Just then
a team arrived from the fort with sugar, salt and other provisions,
of which they were greatly in need, and told the pioneers to help
themselves.
All day and well into the night stragglers came in, some with teams
and others with packs on their backs--all tired and hungry. Fearing
that their teams might be unable to climb the hill out of the valley,
a few had stopped at the last river crossing, and early next morning
an expedition was sent to assist them.
As evening fell, all were safely camped together, with the
consolation that not one life had been lost in the struggle over the
mountain range. All of the {90} 148 attended a prayer-meeting held
by the light of the camp-fires; the pent-up feelings of emotion were
usually accompanied by silent tears of joy, though some gave way to
boisterous manifestations of thankfulness for deliverance from the
hazards of the trail.
Kate's spirits had risen; but not so with her father, who had made
the perilous trip to secure a home and a farm. This charming region
was suitable only for grazing, and besides was in possession of a
foreign corporation. He was now in a strange land, without shelter
for his family of girls or ready money, and so far as he knew without
credit; with winter approaching, he could not stay in camp very long,
and as he said afterwards, "I was stumped to know what to do."
A large majority of those who crossed the mountains with him were in
the same state of perplexity. "I do not believe in that old saying,
'misery loves company.' To be sure, I did love that company of noble
men and women, but not because they faced the trials that confronted
me," was spoken many years later in a reminiscent mood. Mulhall
could not help being relieved at the happiness of the girls,
especially the twins or "little buds," as he fondly called them.
Sarah had recovered from the shock that so depressed her upon the
death of her mother, and would often refer to her with tears of
affection. Not being old enough to enter deeply into or think
seriously of the cares of life, the girls often joyfully roamed the
{91} byways of the trail in search of flowers or anything new.
"Mamma, what kind of a bird is this?" both asked at once. They had
now become accustomed to calling Kate "mamma," and she had not
discouraged them in doing so.
"That's a young robin," Kate answered, as she held the little bird in
the palm of her hand; "where did you get it?" "Mayn't we keep it as
a pet?" Sarah anxiously inquired.
"Yes," Kate answered, "but not as a prisoner;" and added, "it would
be better off with its mother, don't you think?"
"But its mother wasn't there; we found it on the grass and it
couldn't fly," both again spoke at once.
"Yes, but I am sure the mother was taking watchful care of her little
one," said Kate. The girls had set their hearts on having a pet, but
agreed that it was not right to take the young bird away, and
cheerfully returned it to the spot where they found it; after
watching awhile they saw the mother bird come and feed the little one.
The same evening the girls fairly raced to see who should first tell
the story of an apron full of nuts they had found, and now exhibited
them to "mam-ma." "Where did you find them, girls?" Kate asked. "In
a hollow tree, the cutest little place you ever saw," Bess answered.
"But that was the winter store of a squirrel; would it be right to
rob the treasure of the squirrel, which {92} might starve before
winter ended?" The girls hadn't thought of it in that light; next
morning without any further word from "mamma," they returned the nuts
to the "cute squirrel's nest," and then started off for new
adventures and discoveries. All of them were greatly benefited by
the vigorous outdoor life; the father was delighted to see the rosy
cheeks of the little girls and the returned sparkle in Kate's eyes.
"I have in my pocket a document that would be worth thousands of
dollars back in Missouri; but here, where there are no banks, it is
not worth the paper it is written on. What is the good of it if one
can't get the money the writing calls for? No more than a pile of
gold two thousand miles away from anything to eat," he said ruefully
to Kate.
He was not going to be idle; but the more Mulhall looked over the
near-by country, the less he liked it. Passing nearby the Hudson's
Bay Company's fort he decided to go in and thank the Chief Factor for
the beef sent to the pioneers; and to his surprise found a large
stock of well assorted merchandise on the shelves of the store and
numerous customers, principally Indians, buying or bartering furs for
goods.
Asked if he wanted to purchase anything, he answered that he had no
money, whereupon the clerk, Edward Huggins, surmising that he had
something to barter, suggested that he see the Chief Factor. The
Squire hadn't the least thought of buying anything when he went into
the fort; but he did want to see {93} the head official and thank him
for the beef. He met Dr. William F. Tolmie, a slightly corpulent man
with flowing locks and an almost florid complexion, who spoke with a
Scotch brogue and had the bearing of a kindly gentleman.
"Oh, that's nothing at all," he said in response to Mulhall's
expression of thanks; "you could have had much more than that if you
needed it." As the thought of the paper in his pocket and the
possibility of using it to establish a credit flashed through his
mind, he produced the precious document and handed it to the Factor.
A look of surprise followed the examination, for it represented a
large sum for that time and place. "Do you want the money on this?"
the head official quietly asked, to which Mulhall--fairly stunned and
for once off his guard--replied, "Not all of it now, but I do
urgently need some immediate supplies." "You can have either
supplies or cash as may best suit your convenience--all of it, or
part as you may wish, though we would be perfectly willing that you
take all of it."
After a dinner with the Factor while dressed in his well-worn
plainsman's garb, which the host appeared not to notice, the business
was consummated; and Mulhall received from the great Company a
certificate of deposit payable on demand. A cart was loaded with
supplies and dispatched to his camp, and a servant was directed to
take him to it. Mulhall arrived there first, and found Kate a little
dejected, as {94} the flour was all gone and only vegetables were in
sight for the coming meal.
She was surprised when the Squire leaned over her and imparted a kiss
of joy at having rescued his little family from want, while the girls
stood near-by in silent wonder. The pressing situation had been
carefully concealed from the children, who were now accustomed to
being limited in the variety of food; and when told that they could
not have bread for supper, thought nothing of it. They were always
associated with the memory of the cherished wife and mother now
peacefully sleeping in the sands of the Sweetwater Valley near the
summit of the Rocky Mountains; and "let them be happy" ran in the
minds of both their father and Kate.
Within two years after Mulhall had completed this to him important
arrangement, a very different scene was enacted a few miles distant.
The American Government at that time began dealing with the Indians
in the country west of the Cascade Mountains as tribes by making a
treaty[7] with them; and a sorry mess was made of it by adopting the
policy of driving the hardest possible bargains regardless of the
future welfare of the Indian or the white race. Before another year
elapsed a small war followed, with massacres of whites and Indians
alike, a situation in which Mulhall became deeply involved.
The great Hudson's Bay Company that so long ruled the Oregon Country
was an English corporation, {95} with headquarters in London; it was
incorporated May 2, 1670, for the purpose of trading with the Indians
of North America. Owing its origin and growth primarily to the fur
business, it did not undertake to develop the agricultural
possibilities of the country, a policy which had a far-reaching
effect upon the history of that region.
Had the Company encouraged settlement, as the Americans did when they
arrived from the eastern and central western States, the final
solution of the question as to which Government would come into final
ownership of the Pacific Northwest might, and probably would, have
been different. It is generally believed that the firm hold of the
American home builders influenced the minds of the English statesmen
to yield in the final negotiations; they could not very well displace
the large numbers of Americans who came to stay and build up the
country.
Wishing to avoid legal complications in the region where Mulhall and
his comrades had landed, the management of the Company had organized
a subsidiary under the name of the Puget Sound Agricultural Company;
and thus thinly disguised, occupied the Nisqually Plains with their
sheep, cattle and horses, plowed the fields and erected cabins, but
for occupancy by employes instead of independent home builders. The
Factors (managers) of the Corporation were cultured gentlemen, known
for their fair dealings alike with Indians and white people,
following the policy of the parent organization; and it was {96} with
the head official in that district that the Squire had dealt.
After the arrival of the cart loaded with supplies from the fort,
Kate sent part of them to several pioneer families that yet remained
in camp, and then revised the plan for their own dinner. Most of the
big company had scattered, some to the timber camps, others to the
shores of the Sound where shell fish abounded and a few to claims,
already chosen, upon which they proposed to make their future homes.
The first and most urgent problem was that of shelter for so many new
arrivals. In one notable instance a large hollow cedar stump served
as "home" for a family of six until the husband and father was killed
by the Indians. The pathos of that story, with many a parallel in
American history, is mentioned here to illustrate the difficulties
and dangers encountered by the emigration of which the Squire and his
family were a part.
After dinner Mulhall and Kate took counsel far into the night, while
the little girls were sleeping on their beds of boughs as peacefully
as in a palace. The faint yelping of a pack of coyotes in the
distance could be heard; and the cougar (closely allied to the
American panther) that infested the country, was abroad seeking his
prey. But Kate and her father paid no heed except to the all
important subject as to their future; and it was midnight before a
final conclusion was reached.
The opening of a farm under the varied and often {97} trying
conditions prevailing in that region was very different from what
they had been accustomed to in Missouri; and Mulhall was past the
meridian of life. Why should he undergo a long period of toil to
secure a competence, when he was possessed of sufficient means to
live without the sacrifices incident to pioneer life on a new
homestead?
Kate said, "Let's go to the county town where the girls can attend
school and there are neighbors;" her father was of the same mind and
that question was speedily settled. Then they thought of Ben Hardy,
to whom Mulhall had promised one of the teams upon their arrival in
Oregon as extra compensation for his services in crossing over the
trail. Not a word had passed between them about that understanding
at the parting of the Snake River, after which the Squire was reduced
to one team, and it was doubtful whether or not he could complete the
long journey with the one that was left.
"If I only knew where to reach him, I would send him enough money to
buy a team," said Mulhall. Ben had gone into southern Oregon while
the Squire had moved into the northern part, several hundred miles
away; they might be five hundred or even a thousand miles apart, for
Oregon was a big country without roads or the means of speedy
communication. Where Ben had settled, or whither he had gone, was a
problem difficult to solve.
Kate said, "I hear there is a newspaper in Oregon; let's advertise."
Mulhall thought a better plan {98} would be to secure a list of post
offices and address a letter for Ben to all of them; "Anyway," the
Squire said, "we must not leave a stone unturned till we find the
boy." Both retired to sleep and forgot their fortunes or
misfortunes, but with a firm resolution to find Ben if they could.
Following the decision to remove to the county town, Mulhall soon
purchased a nearly finished house at the county seat. The thriving
village, built upon a slope facing west and fronting on a wide bay of
Puget Sound, presented a charming view of the distant range of
mountains bordering on the sea with perpetual snow-mantled peaks; the
landscape of dark evergreen forest covered the islands and mainland
in the nearer view.
The wide bay was dotted with Indian canoes floating on the tide twice
each day; and at intervals a ship would pass or drop anchor in front
of the village to discharge freight or barter for a cargo of timber.
The fort, a group of log cabins situated a short distance back from
the water-front and out of sight of it, commanded a splendid view of
the landscape.
In the farther background, west of the Cascade Range, was Mount
Rainier, completely encircled with a wonderland of timber and
flowers--once seen never forgotten, and always cherished as the sight
of a life-time. That majestic mountain of the American Continent,
"kingly and alone," a great dome separated from the mountain range,
standing nearly three miles high and covered with perpetual snow, is
the father {99} of seven rivers and twenty-eight glaciers, and has a
base of several hundred square miles. The alpine flower beds are
simply wonderful to contemplate; according to John Muir, there are
two hundred square miles between the timber and the summer snow-line
circling the dome, with literally several thousand varieties of
flowers, some of which force themselves up through the receding snow.
Kate at once took up the task of searching for Ben. Writing the
first two words, "Dear Ben," she stopped to ask herself might he not
think she penned them with a deeper meaning than merely a friendly
beginning of a letter? However, Ben was dear to her; he had saved
her life, had been loyal to her father, was always kind to all,
industrious and truthful.
Before she had time to fully analyze what was passing in her mind,
Kate began to realize that she was thinking of Ben more than as a
brother. Her pen hovered over the paper; but she finally laid it
down with nothing more than the two words already written. That
evening at supper Kate asked her father if it would not be best for
him to write to Ben.
"Oh, no! You know I scarcely ever write a letter; besides I am very
busy on the house," replied Mulhall. "You write, Kate, it's just as
well." The Squire did not have the least suspicion of why she should
want him to write to Ben instead of doing so herself. If he had, the
more he would have preferred {100} that Kate write, for he sincerely
wished that she should marry the "dear boy," as he always thought of
him.
Kate did not undertake to write to Ben that night, and the paper with
the two words on it remained on her table untouched. The idea that
Ben might interpret them in a different way from what she intended
would not down, while she half realized that they meant more to her
than she was willing to acknowledge. Not for mountains of gold would
she betray the secret Ben had confided to her, and stand between his
love for her very dear friend, Linda Shaeffer.
But Linda was more than two thousand miles away, with what Kate
thought an insuperable barrier between them. The paper with the
words "Dear Ben," was kept for several days without another word
being added to it; and in fact the letter was never written. Kate
hesitated to trust herself.
Hadn't she now abandoned all hope for the fruition of her first love,
with a pang of regret and bitterness as she thought of Pelton? She
would resolve never to marry, but hereafter devote her life to
altruistic work for young girls. Kate had no knowledge of Isaac's
resolution, while at that very moment he, with the one absorbing
purpose in his mind, was feverishly carrying out plans to make the
trip to Oregon and win her for his wife.
A few days later an advertisement appeared in the two Oregon
newspapers asking Benjamin Hardy to communicate with David Mulhall at
a certain post {101} office, and learn something of interest to him.
As weeks passed without response, the Squire and Kate were greatly
worried, and wondered if some accident had befallen him. She then
began writing to postmasters with no better results.
Kate was almost in despair. Might it not be possible that he had
found a good location, taken up a claim and then started back to
Missouri for Linda? More weeks passed, then months; and yet not a
word came. There was ever a warm corner in her heart for the
playmate and companion of bygone school days; and she would never
relax her efforts to unravel the mystery of his strange disappearance.
Ben was hard at work, in ignorance of the search for him; but often
wondered what had befallen father Mulhall, as he always thought of
the Squire, Kate and the little girls after their separation on the
Snake River. He had written to Linda, but months elapsed and no
answer had come. Though often alone in his cabin with only one
neighbor in sight, he was too busy to be lonesome; Craig was off
working at his trade most of the time while Ben was making
improvements on both of their claims.
Once a month Craig would bring supplies to the cabin, stay over
Sunday and then be off again. They sorely needed a team; and Craig
was gradually saving so that they might be able to buy one by
planting time in the spring. Ben gave no thought to the
understanding by which he was to get a team from Mulhall; he would
have rejoiced to hear of the safe {102} arrival and good fortune of
the kind-hearted family which had treated him so tenderly in his
sickness and, as he believed, saved his life.
Ben had written a second letter to Linda, receiving no reply; but
attributed the delay to the slow and uncertain mail service. He was
now in vigorous health, gaining in weight to surprise even himself;
the pale spare face disappeared and a ruddy complexion took its
place. Pure Oregon air, simple diet and steady work had developed
him so that an old-time acquaintance would hardly have known him.
At last a letter written in a spirit of gloomy forebodings, came from
Linda. She had heard of the misfortunes of the Mulhalls, and could
not see how she could ever reach Oregon; but remembered her vow to be
ever loyal and true to Ben no matter what happened.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: REDUCED TO A HAND CART]
A considerable number of Mormons traveled to Salt Lake City as shown
in this illustration; described on pages 48-49.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] While somewhat unusual to insert a quotation in a work of this
character, no better description of the difficulties and dangers of
crossing the Platte in pioneer times has been, or is ever likely to
be written. E.M.
[2] Edward J. Allen and Ezra Meeker, the author of this historical
narrative.--Editor.
[3] It is estimated that fully 5,000 died that year on the Oregon
Trail.
[4] The author knew the lad who made the remark and of his
experience; he was afterward a successful merchant in Tacoma,
Washington.
[5] The author personally knew a large majority of the people in that
train, several of whom became prominent in the affairs of the
Territory just founded, among them the actual personalities
represented in this story by David Mulhall and his daughter Kate. Of
the 148 comprising it, not one of the adults is now left, and only
two or three of the younger members who vividly remember these
events; their generation has nearly passed, but the memories of their
deeds fortunately remain. E.M.
[6] A granite monument, suitably inscribed, erected by the State of
Washington to perpetuate the memory and location of this camp,
attests the importance of the event. See illustration and
inscription inserted here. E.M.
[7] The Medicine Creek Treaty, December 26, 1854.
{103}
CHAPTER IV
A MASSACRE AND A WAR; KATE MULHALL, DEPUTY SHERIFF; A RACE FOR A
WIFE; THE WEDDING AND CHIVAREE; A DELAYED AND ADVENTUROUS HONEYMOON
ON PUGET SOUND.
The great body of pioneers just arrived, like those who had preceded
them, were honest and earnest Christian people, though as in all
movements of large numbers of men and women, there were a few mere
adventurers. Some left their former abodes for the good of the
country and their own safety; others had fled from the consequences
of unhappy marriages or acts of indiscretion, and though seldom
criminals, preferred to let the past life fall into oblivion.
So a "Mr. Smith" one might meet in the new community may have been
Mr. Jones before leaving his former place of residence. These were
not necessarily bad men in the common meaning of that word, but were
making a new start, generally with the firm purpose of leading
upright lives in the future. The reason for referring to this phase
of pioneer life will appear later.
Many thousands of Indians roamed through the country at the time of
Mulhall's settlement in the new land of opportunity. A friendly
feeling then prevailed between the races as such, and instances {104}
of sincere friendship between individual Indians and whites were not
uncommon. This ought never to have been disturbed.
The honorable policy of the Hudson's Bay Company had won the
confidence of the Indians by always keeping promises and giving fair
value in trading with them; and they were inclined to believe in the
rectitude of white people in general. Unfortunately this good
opinion was soon changed to one of distrust and hatred.
Agents of the American Government came into the country to make what
may, by courtesy, be called "treaties" with the natives. The
simple-minded and unsuspecting Indians were overreached, inveigled
into surrendering their rights to practically their entire hunting
grounds,[1] and otherwise outrageously wronged. Indeed, when the
nature of these transactions became known at Washington, the
Government made restitution so far as possible, but too late to avert
a cruel conflict.
{105}
That followed a massacre on October 28, 1855, by infuriated Indians
of innocent pioneers--men, women and children--thirty miles away. A
friendly native brought the appalling news to Mulhall during the
night of the same day the tragedy occurred. Consternation reigned in
the little village, the people not knowing to what extent the Indians
might go in wreaking vengeance upon the white race.
Measures of defense were immediately taken by the villagers as best
they could but they were not very effective. A log cabin that
sheltered and protected many others besides the owner and his family
was soon built; and is still preserved in the village where Mulhall
dwelt, seventy years after the event.
A breach which at once occurred between the military authorities and
the civil officials nearly came to a clash of arms; confusion reigned
supreme, and conditions verged on anarchy. The military, though now
obliged to wage war against the belligerent Indians, condemned
various acts of the civilians which brought on an unnecessary
conflict. Overnight Mulhall, it might be said by natural selection,
became Sheriff.
By obeying orders from the military headquarters, which ran counter
to those of the civil court, he was arrested for contempt, carried
off to another county and confined. Before being taken away he
slipped a paper into Kate's hand, saying in a low voice, "Conceal it
quick," which she did.
After her father's departure, when immediate {106} danger of further
interference had passed, she opened the letter; and to her surprise
found it contained an appointment as Deputy Sheriff during his
absence. It was a critical situation, in which she held the keys of
the Court House and the jail, and possession of the premises.
Would the opposition use force? and carry her off as they had Sheriff
Mulhall? The military commander said they should not, and sent a
guard to protect her at the jail, while a number of citizens rallied
to her support. Before morning the excitement quieted down, cooler
counsels prevailed, and she was able to safely leave for her home.
Kate found the little sisters terrified, and their eyes reddened by
weeping during most of the night for father and their "mamma." They
did not go to school the next day, but accompanied her back to the
jail where all had dinner together. By her tact and courage, Kate
soon became the heroine of both the military and civil factions, as
well as of the village; and conducted the office without opposition
until the release of her father. This brief reference to a strange
incident of the old frontier throws an additional light upon the
character of Kate Mulhall, and is at the same time an interesting
glimpse of pioneer life.
The jails of that day were without ventilation, sanitary conveniences
or pretense of decency; all prisoners, civil and criminal alike, were
usually huddled together in one room like sheep in a pen. Under
{107} these conditions it is not strange that the Squire's
incarceration soon began to tell upon his health and strength.
* * *
Kate and her father were about a thousand miles out on the Oregon
Trail when Isaac Pelton, still in Missouri, adopted a definite plan
of action. He had discreetly kept his own counsel, planted the crops
as usual and pursued the even tenor of his way as if no changes were
impending.
One Saturday evening he mounted Ned and left home without informing
any one where he was going, or how long he would be gone; and
traveled all night to the county seat of Harrison County, adjoining
the State of Iowa on the North. His mission was to buy a few acres
to give him legal standing as a landholder in that county; this done,
he returned as mysteriously as he had gone.
In its next issue, the _Gazette_, the local county paper, published
an item to the effect that Isaac Pelton had bought land in Harrison
County, Missouri, and was about to remove to his new home. In the
same issue appeared an advertisement offering for sale all his
holdings of real or personal property, but not including his slaves
and teams.
Midsummer had just passed and harvest begun when Pelton and his three
negroes left La Fayette County, in which he had lived so long; there
was no molestation, or even a faint suspicion of what had {108}
prompted the move. Harrison County contained over ten thousand white
inhabitants and only twenty-five slaves; upon arrival there, he filed
his manumitting paper for record freeing the three, and came out of
the Court House to receive congratulations wherever he went.
Andrew and Jennie were in blissful ignorance of their master's
intention to liberate them; and Pelton had been very careful not to
drop a hint of it, acting on the principle that the only sure way to
keep a secret is to say nothing about it to any one. So now, when
the long resolution was an accomplished fact, he felt a heavy burden
lifted from his shoulders, and was in a mood of exultation for having
performed a duty and accomplishing what he had so long contemplated.
The first thing to do, however, was to break the news to Andrew and
Jennie. He was curious to see how they would take it, but was not
prepared for the surprise that followed.
"My Gawd-amighty, Massa, what'll I do?" exclaimed Andrew. "You turn
me out on the world to take care of myself and Jennie and Margie? I
hain't got no sense; I hain't got no nothin. Jennie, honey, what'll
we do? Massa, I love you; I dun want to go way."
Pelton had anticipated a joyous scene to follow the news of their
freedom, but there was nothing but outcries and lamentations. That
was an exceptional case, though one like it occurred in the present
State {109} of Washington, where a slave refused to leave his master;
after a lapse of years, during which the infamous law debarring the
negro from holding land was repealed, he was finally rewarded by
inheriting the property.
After the first outburst of grief, and upon Pelton's assurance that
he could stay with him as long as he lived and that no one could take
Jennie or Margie from him, Andrew shouted with joy and threw his arms
around his old master to express his ecstasy. A new light had shone
upon him.
Just before the falling of the leaves in the autumn after the
departure of Squire Mulhall for Oregon, Isaac wrote to Kate a frank
declaration of his love, and enclosed a certified copy of the court
record confirming the manumission of the three slaves as stated in
his letter. He was restless in the new environment, at best only
temporary; and counted with impatience the days and weeks, and
finally the months, awaiting a response from Kate.
None came. After investigating the reported wreck of a mail steamer,
he became convinced that the letter had been lost; and late in the
midwinter following her departure for Oregon, wrote a second one.
"Kate, come here," Squire Mulhall said one day soon after receiving
mail by the semi-monthly steamer and pointing to an article in the
local paper from his old neighborhood in Missouri, "Do you see that?"
It read, "Isaac Pelton has set his three {110} slaves free and
removed to Harrison County, near the border of Iowa."
Mulhall was surprised when his daughter at once left his presence
without making any comment or showing interest in the item he had
just read. Kate knew that she could not control her emotions, and in
the solitude of her room gave way to self denunciation for her
attitude when Isaac visited their cabin before they left for the
Oregon Country.
During all the trials of the long journey over the Oregon Trail and
the anxieties afterward in their new home, the thought of Pelton
would become upper-most in her mind in spite of all efforts to banish
it. Now that he was no longer a slaveholder, she could cherish a
sentiment for him even though unaccompanied with hope that they would
ever meet again.
Finally, after nearly a year from their parting in the Missouri
cabin, Pelton's second letter arrived. Kate's emotions can better be
imagined than described. Her hopes had been all but extinguished;
and now to have them suddenly revived came almost as a shock of pain,
though mingled with joy.
Kate did not answer at once; anyhow it would be nearly a fortnight
before another mail would be dispatched to "the States." A momentous
question involving the future of her own life was to be decided; and
as the days passed the task became more difficult.
While in this state of mind, one of the little sisters fell seriously
ill, calling for her almost undivided care; and she felt an increased
responsibility for her {111} father and the two orphans. Finally the
letter was written and dispatched; but Pelton left for Oregon before
it was delivered in Missouri, and never received it. The contents
remained a secret in her own breast, and as time passed brought
regret that it had been written.
James Price was an undisguised admirer of Kate, but fearing rejection
of his suit, had never made formal advances, although nothing had
transpired to either encourage or discourage him. He was well aware
that Kate would go to Oregon at all hazards if her father did, but
rather shrank from the thought of accompanying them as a son-in-law
in a subordinate position.
After the Mulhall outfit left, Price berated himself for being such a
laggard and entertaining a false pride; and resolved that he would go
to Oregon the following year. Price did not, like Pelton, disguise
his intention to make the trip or his admiration for Kate; so it
became common talk in the neighborhood that Price intended to go to
Oregon to win her hand.
A year after the Squire had left his home in Missouri, the _Gazette_
published the information that James Price had started for Oregon
with an ox-team, over the route followed by David Mulhall the
previous year. It expressed the hope that he might succeed in
securing a home in the new country; and the people of the
neighborhood interpreted this by adding, in their own minds--"and
what is of equal {112} importance, a wife." Pelton and in fact the
whole neighborhood, knew of Price's admiration for Kate; and when the
item appeared tongues were set to wagging that he was "going there to
marry Kate."
Price was well out on the way before Pelton became aware of it, and
the fact that his rival had gone considerably disturbed his peace of
mind. He believed that the gossip as to what prompted Price to make
the journey was true, but hardly thought he could have any assurance
from Kate that would warrant the trip.
"But suppose Price arrived and should renew his suit, what then?" he
asked himself. He knew that Kate respected Price, and when convinced
that his first letter had been lost, was not sure that she would
receive the second one. The more he thought of it, the more agitated
he became.
"I'll go myself," he said one day; "I can go by the Isthmus and beat
him there yet, and I'll do it."
That night he was troubled with the thought of an unexpected
obstacle. When he freed Margie, Pelton had himself appointed as
guardian to safeguard her liberty and prevent other parties from
depriving her of it under the obnoxious law to which reference has
been made. Who that he could trust would now accept the
responsibility? Any number would be eager to secure her services
while under age; but would shrink from the obloquy that would be
attached to such a transaction.
Besides, there was real danger from the "night {113} riders" that
infested the county. The slavery question was in the minds of
everybody; only a small minority believed it was possible to abolish
the system, and very few had the courage to freely express
themselves. It was before the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law of
1850, but the "underground railroad" was in full operation. While
not talking much openly, the Quakers usually supplied the "stations"
for the escape of fugitive slaves.
Eli Sumner, a staunch "Friend" residing not far from the Iowa line,
had a large and commodious barn, as was the Quaker custom, but lived
in an unpretentious house. It was generally believed that he
maintained an "underground station" on his premises, and that
escaping slaves could trust him. Nothing had been proven, but he had
the name of being a Free-soiler; and was therefore under suspicion by
the slaveholding class.
Pelton realized how little time there was to spare if he would beat
Price to Oregon; but he had fully made up his mind to undertake the
long race. Price couldn't average more than fifteen miles a day with
his oxen; and by estimating the distance, Isaac believed he had an
advantage of about three weeks. But he might not make close
connections; and furthermore, had a journey of nearly a thousand
miles before reaching New York, a considerable part of it by
stage-coach.
"I'll trust Sumner," Pelton said to himself and next morning started
off to see him.
{114}
"Yes, thee can bring them up here and I will do the best I can for
them," the Quaker said after Isaac had explained his mission; "but I
do not see why I should be appointed her guardian (referring to
Margie), as Iowa is a free State."
"Yes, but suppose the night riders should once get her across the
line; might she not be helpless?" Pelton responded.
"Well, just as thee thinks; they can have that little house, and I
will give the man employment, or he can work where he wills."
A load was lifted from Isaac's mind when he saw Andrew and Jennie
safely in their new temporary home, and Margie under the guardianship
of the good Quaker. Depositing a considerable sum of money with
Sumner for emergencies, and bidding farewell to them all, he left
with a light heart, determined to send for them some day if he
secured a home in the Oregon Country and won Kate for a wife.
As the weeks passed, the great race was progressing slowly and even
painfully for both participants, Price continued steadily on with
pleasant anticipations of a hearty greeting from his old-time
acquaintance, Squire Mulhall, and at least a cordial reception by
Kate. He knew nothing of Pelton's intentions or movements; if he
had, it would not have hastened his arrival, for his average progress
of two miles an hour could not be increased.
Price had met and overcome the usual difficulties {115} of a trip
over the long trail. Unincumbered with dependents or loose stock,
and with only one comrade selected from among his acquaintances for
dependable character and aptitude for such an undertaking, the cares
of the journey were much less than with those accompanied by their
families.
He had a light-weight covered wagon, in which they could sleep, and
did not a carry a tent. The team consisted of four trim
five-year-old steers broken during the winter to work under the yoke,
and two extras trained to be led behind the wagon. One day's
experiences represented nearly all the trip across the Plains.
Camp was usually made early; one of them would at once take the oxen
to water and grass, while the other would prepare the evening meal.
Then one soon went to bed and the other out with the oxen; the next
morning an early start was made with the night-watcher in the wagon
asleep. Sound and refreshing sleep was possible under the
circumstances and practiced by many, seldom disturbed by the slow
movement of the ox-wagon.
Pelton did not find his journey to Oregon by the Isthmus route an
agreeable one; quite the opposite, with some hardships and a great
deal of discomfort. Three days were lost in New York waiting for a
steamer, followed by nine or ten days on the water, which passed
quite pleasantly, then a crossing of the Isthmus--a difficult matter
in those days, with the ever-present risk of tropical fever.
Emerging on the {116} Pacific side, a second wait of three days
ensued before another--and inferior--steamer could be taken to San
Francisco, where Isaac arrived after heavy seas had blown the ship
two hundred miles out of its course and added considerably to the
delay.
Five days were spent at the Golden Gate before an old and clumsy
looking hulk left for the northern ports; the trip was slow and beset
with dangers, and the boat narrowly escaped destruction while
crossing the treacherous bar of the Columbia River. But at last
Portland, then a little village of probably not more than a thousand
inhabitants, was reached; and as there was then no regular service to
the Puget Sound country, Pelton was obliged to take a steamer plying
on the Columbia River to the Cowlitz River, where a stage line
operated over wretchedly bad roads a considerable part of the way to
Olympia, at the head of Puget Sound; and from Olympia he employed an
Indian with a canoe to take him to the little village where the
Mulhalls had established a residence.
Up to the last moment his mind was tormented with visions of Price.
Had he arrived, and if so, how many weeks before? How had he been
received by Kate? The time that Price could have arrived had passed
by several weeks; and Pelton himself had been delayed long after the
date he had expected to reach his destination.
He soon found the house and walked boldly up to it with mingled
emotions. Kate was in the kitchen {117} preparing the evening meal
with no thought that Pelton was any nearer than 2,000 miles; and when
she opened the door in response to the knock outside, the two stood
face to face. One word from each other sufficed, "Isaac!" "Kate!"
They fell into each other's arms; the long suspense was over, the
race won, the goal attained--and the prize at last secured.
James Price, whom Pelton had feared, was in reality no rival at all,
so far as Kate was concerned. No matter what aspirations he may have
entertained, she had never thought of being anything more to him than
an old-time acquaintance. But the poor fellow never reached the end
of the journey on which he started in the early spring.
While plodding slowly along with his ox-teams, he was overtaken on
the sage-brush plains of the Snake River by cholera, the dread
scourge that proved fatal to many emigrants in those days; and he was
buried in the sands of that desert region. Both Pelton and Kate felt
a genuine pang of grief at the untimely fate of the unfortunate young
man.
* * *
Kate said, "Let's have a quiet wedding and invite three or four of
the near-by neighbors."
"That will never do," Squire Mulhall replied; "let's go to the church
where everybody that wants to can come." Isaac was neutral, only
remarking, "you folks settle it between yourselves."
{118}
Kate hesitated to differ with her father, but she wanted a quiet
wedding; finally the argument ended and all agreed to go to the only
church in the village, and one with a history. That was the first
place of worship in the new Territory where now, more than seventy
years after the events here recorded, stands a granite monument to
perpetuate a part of its interesting record.
It was near the holidays when the eventful Sunday for the wedding
arrived. The Indian conflict was over, but many of the settlers
still remained near the fort; the village was full of people and the
saloons were all open. The clouds hung low, patches of fog just
lifting in sight. When the wedding party arrived, the church was so
filled that the principals had difficulty in entering.
Squire Mulhall had insisted that Kate have a dress to suitably
commemorate the occasion, which had been the principal subject of
talk among the dames of the villages, and the church was crowded with
them at an early hour. Many who had seen Kate as Deputy Sheriff
booted and spurred, with pistol strapped to her person, could
scarcely believe their eyes when they saw the happy, modest and well
dressed young woman soon to become a bride.
All attending the ceremony had donned their best, and some had
supplemented their wardrobe especially for the occasion. The church
was profusely decorated with evergreens so abundant in the recesses
of the forests, and numerous varieties of beautiful ferns, {119} to
which were added many flowers still in bloom, although it was near
midwinter.
Pelton had made one request of the clergyman--to omit the word
"obey;" under existing law the phrase was not mere form, but
literally interpreted. When, immediately after the ceremony, Pelton
handed the bride a sealed envelope, no one in the assembly who saw
the incident was more surprised than Kate herself. "Don't open it
until tomorrow," he said in a low voice; and the incident remained a
mystery.
The Peltons had planned a quiet evening at home with only a very few
selected guests; father Mulhall had apparently acquiesced, but there
were others with plans of their own. Mrs. Pelton--let us continue to
call her Kate, which sounds so much better--wondered why her father
had bought a barrel of apples and some candies, nuts and other
delicacies she found in the pantry.
She suddenly clasped her husband's arm with a tight grip as an
unearthly noise, such as she had never heard before, broke out
nearby. It was no longer the Deputy Sheriff, but the timid bride
looking for protection. Drums beating, horns tooting, guns firing,
beating on tin pans--even the oldtime horse fiddle with its unearthly
tones to make night hideous--to which was added yells and shouting,
all combined to startle. Kate was off her guard for once, and fairly
trembled with excitement until she realized that it meant a
charivaree.
{120}
"Come in, boys," the Squire said, as he opened the door.
"No, we want to see the bride and groom," the spokesman answered.
At first Kate shrank from going out, but after each parley the noise
would resume, as it seemed automatically; and still the bride would
not, as she afterwards said, show herself. Finally a torch-bearing
party was seen approaching, and sweet singing voices were heard--as
much of a surprise to the noisy party outside the residence as to
those inside the house.
It was the church choir giving a serenade. The old Scotch tailor
with his bagpipe was there; the glee club of the village rendered its
best song; the violin and flute added to the music, and with it
dancing began on the sod. "Let's go," said Pelton. "All right,"
answered the bride; and before they could realize it, they were
dancing with the joyous crowd.
It was near midwinter; the falling of the leaves had stripped the
deciduous timber growth of the valley bare, but the evergreens of the
tablelands retained their color as in the summer time. The sheltered
ferns in the deep recesses of the forests were preserved in all their
delicate beauty, while here and there a modest flower peeped from a
sheltered nook. Grass was green in favored places on the common and
in the gardens of the village.
Pelton could scarcely believe his eyes as he viewed the scene,
particularly when it included a ship {121} sailing by; the square
rigged sails of the three-mast schooner was to him a thing of
exquisite beauty, moved by some invisible power. Everything looked
bright, and he was happy; the girl he had sought and won, now his
beloved wife, never before looked so lovely to him.
Kate, no less happy than her husband, pictured to herself a quiet
home where she could live as her mother had done amid the joys of a
pioneer life. Now, more than ever, she realized her deep love for
Isaac, and wondered what life would have been to her without him.
But there was one disturbing element; Bess and Sarah were
unmistakably jealous of Pelton. They had been accustomed to the
undivided love of "mamma," as they continued to call Kate, and were
not easily reconciled to sharing that affection with another. Kate
consulted with Isaac, then with her father, and finally all three
conferred together as to how best to convince the little girls that
her love for them was just as intense as ever.
The Squire suggested that he take the girls on a visit to Ben; they
would enjoy it, and besides he wanted to see the "dear boy" himself.
Pelton thought it would be better not to disturb them until the close
of school, adding that he intended to make a trip to see the country
and wanted Kate to go along if "father" would not be too much
inconvenienced during their absence.
Mulhall cordially seconded the suggestion, saying {122} that he and
the girls could get along splendidly; he would have Clara Laighton,
Kate's dearest friend, come to prepare the dinners in the evening,
while he and the girls could get breakfast, and they take their lunch
to school. The Squire's evident sincerity, bordering on enthusiasm,
relieved Pelton and Kate from any uneasiness regarding his
willingness that the trip should be made, and how the little girls
would get along while they were absent.
So the question came up as to where they should go, how and the
length of time they would probably be gone. The conclusion was
finally reached to take a cruise on Puget Sound; "We can always get
plenty of clams," Kate said, "when the tide is out." She had
utilized clams to feed prisoners in the jail, and knew their value;
besides it would be jolly to dig them and bake them as the Indians
did.
Pelton was in doubt whether to take a boat or canoe; Kate said by all
means a canoe, and explained their pattern for speed and safety, as
exemplified by the clipper ships[2] which carried the Stars and
Stripes to all parts of the world. The marvel of shaping these
canoes from the body of a large tree, guided by the eye alone,
remains a mystery to this day; the Indians did so, but it is
difficult to fully understand how.
{123}
First, the exterior parts are cut down to a solid trunk of wood the
size and shape of the finished canoe. Then follows the more
intricate labor of removing the center, either by chipping off pieces
with rude tools or burning out the excess. Coming down to what is
left for the framework of the canoe, the problem is how deep to cut
without penetrating the outside shell, which seems to be determined
more by instinct than by measurement. They are made in various
dimensions, from the one-man canoe up to a size in which thirty
Indians go boldly out to sea on their fishing excursions.
Pelton secured the service of the native Steicca and his Indian
"klootchman" (wife), who were recommended by the Chief Factor of the
near-by Hudson's Bay Company fort; and hired their five-man size
canoe. Steicca was a person of note among his people, and had gained
the confidence of the men at the fort. He was above the average
stature for his tribe, popularly designated as the "Fish" Indians,
because they depended almost entirely upon sea food; his klootchman
was a comely native from the over-mountain tribe known as the "Horse
Indians."
She kept herself and clothing clean, in contrast with the
carelessness or uncleanliness generally seen among the women of the
tribe to which her husband belonged. Their four-year old boy was
likewise always neat and tidy; and Kate thought he was one of the
most likable urchins she had ever seen.
Pelton had procured a closed tent with complete {124} camping outfit,
which included a mirror for Kate and a bootjack for himself. Nothing
seemed to be overlooked to make her feel at home on their bridal
trip--a honeymoon in a Garden of Eden to them.
They embarked in the early morning observed by many friends and
acquaintances, both men and women, the latter representing nearly
every household of the village. Children were there with handsful of
rice to shower good will upon the heads of their departing friends;
Sarah and Bess looked on, but could not understand what the throwing
of rice meant.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
{125}
[Illustration: THE HONEYMOON PARTY IN AN INDIAN CANOE ON PUGET SOUND,
AND SUDDEN APPEARANCE OF THE HAIR SEAL; DESCRIPTION ON PAGE FOLLOWING]
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Just as Kate and Isaac were settled comfortably side by side in the
capacious canoe, Mrs. Steicca--"Sally" let us call her, instead of
_klootchman_, sat at the post of honor as both captain and pilot,
with paddle in hand ready for the start whenever the word was given.
This was the usual custom among the Indians, who skillfully guided
the canoe in rough waters and boisterous winds, as well as in the
placid waters usually prevailing on the bays of Puget Sound.
As Steicca pushed off the bow of the canoe both paddles were dipped
vigorously into the water, and the handles struck the sides with
resounding thumps, while each hummed in harmonious minor key an
Indian ditty common to the tribe. The dull sound of the paddles
knocking against the side of the canoe, and the voices in unison,
could be heard long after the view of the slowly disappearing craft
had {126} become dimmed to the assembled villagers, who then
reluctantly returned to their homes.
Propelled by the combined strength of both experts, the canoe passed
rapidly through the water, accelerated by the swift current of an ebb
tide. The morning haze had not cleared away and the water was of a
glassy smoothness--not a ripple on the surface near-by--though not
far away there were slightly disturbed patches, when Kate caught
sight of what appeared to be a human head rising out of the deep
water in the wake of the rapidly passing canoe.
"What in the world is that?" she exclaimed as she gazed for a moment
at the seeming apparition, which now quickly disappeared from sight,
and excitedly grasped the arm of her husband. Pelton jocosely
suggested it was a mermaid.
"Do you believe in that stuff?" Kate asked, to which Isaac replied
that at least it looked like the picture of one; and she admitted it
did. In her childhood Kate had read the old-time legends about
mermaids; and knew that all down the ages, the belief in creatures
half human and half fish had existed among thousands. And now, was
it possible that she had a glimpse of one? Kate was not
superstitious, but the sight startled and puzzled her; and the reader
will doubtless also wonder what it could have been.
An old record describing the mermaid states that "they have a way of
lifting their round heads and shoulders from the water with a queer
look of almost {127} human intelligence upon their faces;" and that
is exactly what Kate had seen. The head that had come above the
surface only a few rods in the wake of the canoe, as if to
investigate what had disturbed the repose of its abode, was about the
size of a half-grown girl, with a suggestion of languid eyes and a
plaintive countenance.
Only the face could be seen, and that but for a moment--long enough
to indelibly fix the features in Kate's mind. It was the head of a
hair-seal, common at that time in the waters of Puget Sound. The
sudden appearance of these strange creatures has startled and puzzled
many travelers; and led large numbers of people to believe in the
existence of a real mermaid.
As the canoe sped on its way, the hills on the east shut off the sun,
the channel became narrow and crooked, and the view of waters ahead
vanished, leaving only the high elevations, covered with dense
forests of evergreen fir, in sight on either side. The outlook ahead
seemed as if the party had come to the end of the waters, with a bold
elevation--almost a mountain--directly in front. Just then the canoe
lurched to the eastward, and despite the utmost efforts of the
Indians, shot off the line of travel; then it started as suddenly in
the opposite direction, as if possessed by an evil spirit.
The shadows of the hills bordering the narrow passage and a fleeting
cloud darkened the view as if night was approaching. A dull, subdued
roar {128} comparable to an indistinct echo of a distant sound,
reached the ears of the party. Just ahead, the waters apparently
swelled up above the common level and then broke away to form again
either to the right or left, or both to spread currents running in
circles.
Now the sound became louder from the choppy sea of broken waves,
forming small conical volumes of water mounting in the air and
falling back to the surface. To make matters worse, the whirlpools
drew in short bits of driftwood; and some of the larger pieces
thumped against the sides of the canoe, interfering with the paddles.
The canoe had encountered a tide-rip--water roughened by conflicting
tides or currents, a phenomenon of which neither had ever heard.
Kate spoke first; "I wish we were landed, Isaac, don't you?" Pelton
felt about the same, but made an effort to speak encouragingly.
It was a battle of the tides in a narrow channel of the Sound with a
swift current due to the tide receding toward the sea. The whirling
waters extended from shore to shore, while whirlpools of varying
extent suddenly formed and as quickly vanished, all moving rapidly in
one direction--a grand sight to the beholder from a safe point of
vantage, but to Kate an object of terror.
"_Tenas alia copet_" (it will soon quiet) Sally said, more to herself
than otherwise, perceiving Kate's perturbed state of mind; and
pointed the canoe toward the eastern shore-line. A few minutes {129}
sufficed to reach an eddy outside the disturbed waters, and to shove
the nose of the canoe obliquely and gently over to a pebbly beach.
Sally's boy, named Pete after the great humanitarian, Peter Skene
Ogden, a courageous and trusted Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company,
was the first one out of the canoe. He jumped into the water, waist
deep, and began his pranks in a salt water bath, while the mother
laughingly scolded him for his rashness.
Kate and Pelton were glad of relief from their cramped position in
the canoe, independent of the anxiety of their experience with the
tide-rips. "_Tenas in-e-ti sitcum sum Skookum chuck copet_" (just
after noon the current will quiet), Steicca said; and suggested that
they remain where they were until the tide turned. Kate had learned
enough of the mongrel Chinook jargon to understand what the Indians
said; so she and Pelton readily assented.
A steep bluff prevented exploring the nearby woods, and there were no
trees until near the top of the hill. Steicca at once began
preparations for a brisk fire with the abundant material in sight. A
great mass of driftwood obstructed the shore-line just above their
landing, some half imbedded in the sand and gravel of the beach, and
other debris evidently having been driven beyond the reach of the
highest tide by storms of wind and wave. The dead limbs of these
derelicts supplied excellent fuel to speedily make a roaring fire.
{130}
Kate noticed the Indian gathering and piling small rocks on the fire
while Sally dug a small pit, lined it with loose rock, and built
another fire in preparation for a clambake. As it was near low tide,
the clam beds were exposed and an abundance of the bivalves easily
secured for a bounteous meal. Clams are found on the conveniently
located sloping beaches, and in enormous quantities along the fifteen
hundred miles of the shore-line of Puget Sound waters; so the saying,
"dinner is always ready when the tide is out," was literally true.
Kate forgot the apparition of the head and the whirls of the
tide-rips that had so startled and alarmed her when their attention
was attracted to the picturesque beach, with its many shells and
pebbles of various sizes, shapes and beautiful colors. She at once
began to make a collection of them, without noticing that Pelton had
withdrawn from sight. He had quietly taken his fowling piece and
clambered along the beach to a nearby lagoon, where he soon bagged a
couple of fat mallard ducks.
No one visiting that region now can have any adequate idea of the
vast number of ducks there in the early days. The air was fairly
black with these game birds; he could easily have taken a dozen, but
hastened back with the two for dinner.
"_Nika mamook_," Sally said, when she saw the birds, meaning that she
would cook them; Pelton readily assented and joined Kate in her
search along the beach. The pit of hot rock was nearly ready for
{131} the clams; and Sally soon had the ducks prepared for it. Now
the rocks were smoothed off, the pit enlarged and the whole covered
with a layer of small branches of fir twig ends.
The ducks were placed in the middle of the pit and the remaining
space filled with clams. As a sudden dash of water produced an
abundant supply of steam, the whole was quickly covered with boughs
and ferns, upon which a thin layer of earth was laid and topped by
hot rocks from the larger fire.
It was a clambake by experts. Before that time Kate and Pelton did
not know what the term meant, but they lived to see it become
synonymous with a feast. The "clambake" here supplanted the barbecue
in Missouri, where the ox was roasted on a spit.
As years passed they also witnessed the gathering of a thousand or
more people at the annual jubilee, all partaking of the luscious
contents of an immense clam pit covered with wagon-loads of unhusked
green corn. This institution, the clambake that was for many years
the central attraction for social gatherings, political conventions
and even religious meetings, is only but a memory.
As the time approached for the turn of the tide, Steicca became
impatient to open the pit. There came an interim when the battle of
the waters temporarily ceased, as the ebb tide spent its force and
before the oncoming rush of the flood from the ocean. Steicca knew
that when the flood regained mastery, it would be impossible to stem
the force of the {132} current in the Narrows and round the point to
the large bay ahead. But Sally was unwilling to interfere with her
well-laid plans for the first dinner served to her new friends, the
admired lady of the village they had left, and the gentleman who had
traveled so far to win her.
Indian women, though occupying humble and inferior positions in the
life of their tribes, are not devoid of imagination or true devotion
to their husbands and children. An Indian mother never chastises her
child, and will seldom run counter to the wishes of her husband.
But to open the pit before the contents were ready to serve would
break her heart. In this dilemma, woman-like, she appealed to Kate,
who had watched with interest the painstaking preparations for the
feast and sympathized with Sally in her distress.
"Of course," Isaac said when the situation was explained by Kate,
"I'm willing to stay if you are; it's just as jolly here as around
the point in the big bay." And Sally was soon made happy by the word
they would camp and stop over there until the next tide.
Pelton desired to make the camp leisurely to try his hand, and began
to move the outfit from the canoe. Machinery seldom runs smooth on
first trial, and so it is on a camping trip; several things had been
overlooked or mislaid and a number of surplus articles were found.
The folding cot, stools and the stove came out all right. While
Sally was busy with {133} the clambake, Kate was arranging the
details of the forthcoming meal, for which she had made ample
provision before leaving home.
Steicca had erected their camp, consisting of mats fastened to a
semi-circle of small poles driven obliquely into the ground; such was
the usual temporary shelter of nomad Indians even in midwinter,
affording protection from the wind but little from the rain. Sally
seemed as proud of the camp as Kate was of their new tent and camp
equipage.
While waiting the opening of the clam pit, Sally brought out her
knitting for "Siwash" (Indian) socks, made of coarse thread from wool
carded in her own camp and formed into yarn by manipulating the crude
rolls with the palm of the hand. Indian women are always busy, and
seem at a loss to pass the time without knitting or weaving mats,
making baskets or moccasins, while the average Indian man is
apparently ill at ease when he has something to do.
Sally had some plain shaped plates made from the inner bark of the
cedar with a shallow rim on the outer edge, all water-proof; on
these, as we shall see later, she served the clams and ducks. Having
been busy with her camp work, Sally had forgotten to keep watch of
her boy Pete; but now he must be called in, scrubbed and otherwise
prepared for the meal. Frequent calls, Pete! Pete! brought no
response.
Finally a track was found up a ravine, leading to the discovery of
him perched on the limb of a {134} scraggy tree high above the reach
of his mother. Boy-like, white or Indian, young or old, he had gone,
in search of adventure, and while looking for bird's nests, had
ventured too far to easily return.
Did his mother scold him? Not at all. Indian women do not scold
their children or their men, but sometimes do each other to the point
where words fail, and facial grimaces take their place.
The time had arrived to open the pit, and everything was in
readiness; Sally beckoned to Kate, who came over to the spot with
Pelton, whose curiosity was aroused. Steicca was on hand to see; and
of course Pete was there, subdued and hungry. The outer covering of
stone, earth and boughs were first carefully removed, revealing the
inner covering through which the steam had percolated.
"_Closhe_" (all right), Sally said to herself as she lifted the inner
covering and disclosed the contents cooked to perfection. Both ducks
were handed to Kate (one of which was promptly returned by Pelton),
and the plates piled high with clams. Kate divided her own supplies
with Sally; and the banquet was on in both camps.
Such was the experience of Pelton and Kate in their first camp; her
diary briefly tells the story in these words, "Tuesday ----185-,
broke camp early; encountered tide-rips so strong as to spin the
canoe in a dizzy whirl. Sally lost control for awhile, a little
water spilled over into the canoe; somehow wasn't frightened much."
{135}
A few hours sufficed to bring them into the calm waters of a large
bay where numerous fishing parties, trolling for salmon, were in
sight. Here and there glimpses were had of passing canoes, and the
thump of paddles mingled with songs, loud laughter or talk to distant
parties. The beach for miles was lined with Indian camps, where some
of the men were lounging in listless idleness of mind and body,
seemingly almost too indolent to breathe, while others--and
particularly the women--were industriously drying the fish, or busily
occupied with their crude handiwork.
The catch of salmon was of medium size; sixty-pound specimens were
taken with nets in shallow waters, and there seemed to be no limit to
the supply. Little did Pelton then realize the tremendous commercial
value of this product of the sea, amounting afterwards to hundreds of
millions of dollars annually.
In the far distance a white-topped dome reached above the clouds that
hung upon the lower levels, all reflected in the placid waters of the
bay. Steicca and Sally rested from their labors, and floated with
the tide. A brief entry in Kate's diary describes the scene,
"Beautiful beyond my powers of description--unbroken evergreen
forests in every direction; snow-capped mountains about as far away
as the eye can see; a thousand Indians in sight on the beach and in
their canoes."
Pelton planned to go direct to the forty beautiful {136} islands he
had been told could be visited within the waters of Puget Sound, and
to more carefully examine the country on their return. The day's
sailing, supplemented by four paddles, left the great mountain dimmed
by increased distance, but brought into the far view another of
almost equal grandeur, and opened to larger channels of waters than
any left behind.
A council held in the morning decided that the course should lie to
the dim outline of a headland discernible just above the horizon;
wind and tide were favorable, and with the aid of the two Indians
rapid progress could be made. An alternate course would be to follow
the shore-line down to the objective point, considerably farther and
no less dangerous; and so the direct route was chosen.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: HELP YOURSELF]
Tons of furniture, trunks, provisions and other things were abandoned
along the Trail, often with a sign like the one shown in this
illustration; see pages 42 and 180.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[1] Over nine hundred square miles of territory were ceded, reserving
only six sections for about nine hundred Indians--and that high
ground, heavily timbered and entirely unsuited to their needs. A
more outrageous "treaty" was never made between the Government of the
United States and its Indian wards; its terms would be unbelievable
were they not preserved among the records of the Medicine Creek
Treaty, December, 1864, in the Archives at Washington. In less than
a year conflict broke out, and massacres followed, with losses of
life to both the U.S. troops and the Indians. The latter were
defeated in the field, as noted in the text; but they fared better in
the subsequent negotiations, for as soon as the war ended and the
Government was apprised of the wrong inflicted by that treaty,
suitable reservations were provided.
[2] In 1849, after the discovery of gold in California, it is said
that more than seven hundred cleared from Atlantic ports to San
Francisco; many celebrated clippers made the trip from the East to
the West in the years 1850-51, and very fast passages were common
from 1850 on.
{137}
CHAPTER V
AN ENCOUNTER WITH PIRATES, AND A FORTUNATE DELIVERANCE; BEN FOUND;
HIS PROMPT START FOR MISSOURI AND UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL; A SON BORN TO
THE PELTONS.
Near the noon hour, with the headland yet in the distance, Pelton
noticed two canoes whose occupants were paddling as if speed were a
question of life or death with them. Not long afterward, another was
seen going frantically in the same direction, followed closely by two
more. Steicca observed the racing canoes, but though evidently
disturbed as to the cause, discreetly said nothing.
About the same time Kate saw either a boat or large canoe coming
directly toward them and wondering what it could mean, called Isaac's
attention to it. Sally had likewise discovered the craft and showed
signs of uneasiness. A friend had told the story of how, many years
ago, her little boy was taken captive by the northern Indians,
carried off into slavery, and had never been heard from since.
Somehow the appearance of this boat or large canoe revived the memory
of that occurrence and created a fear for the safety of Pete.
Slavery was once practiced in her own tribe (though at that time
discontinued); but she had been told by other Indians that the
northern tribes were known to still {138} follow the practice, which
seemed corroborated by the taking of her friend's boy. As the large
craft approached nearer, Sally hid Pete under the cover of a mat
beside her with fearsome admonitions that impelled him to lie quiet
and not betray his presence.
Pelton's suspicions led him to slip his fowling piece out of sight,
and Kate's trusted rifle was under the outfit in the bottom of the
canoe. Isaac directed that no sign of fear should be manifested when
they were overtaken, and all intercourse with the strangers be left
to him.
As the pirates came alongside they insolently threw a line over the
bow and stern posts, and then lashed the two canoes firmly together;
being much longer and wider, theirs loomed high above that of
Pelton's. It was of the pattern of the canoe in which the northern
tribes manned with seventy or more men went boldly to sea on their
whaling excursions; while not one of the largest, it would easily
hold twenty men.
Seven were on each side, with paddles in their hands, one at the helm
and a lookout in the bow, sixteen in all stalwart men in size and
physical condition far above the tribes farther south. The same may
be said of their mentality. In the northern tribes were painters and
sculptors of considerable ability, as evidenced by their totem poles,
inscriptions on rocks and ornaments of their mammoth canoes.
There were silversmiths in some of the tribes, as {139} shown by many
specimens offered for sale on occasions of their peaceful visits to
the white settlements. Nor were the women behind the men in ability
for fine work, abundantly illustrated by baskets, mats and other
articles for ornaments or domestic use.
Ethnologists attribute the superiority of these northern tribes in
part to a mixture of Japanese blood from castaways in past centuries,
perhaps even in prehistoric days; facial resemblances suggest the
fact, which seems to be confirmed by the remains of wrecked junks on
the northern coast. These were the people into whose clutches Pelton
and Kate had fallen on their honeymoon trip.
The spokesman for the buccaneers began by saying that they wanted a
tent, one of which was in sight, to which Pelton firmly responded
that he did not have any to spare. He had noticed a ship beating up
the Sound against the wind that had tacked toward them, and realized
that a parley to gain time until the ship came nearer would be their
best chance of escape.
Isaac noticed a silver ring on the spokesman's hand and offered to
buy it for his bride; for a moment the wily savage was thrown off his
guard, and looked Kate over with evident satisfaction. Just then one
of the men said something in a low tone, and after several articles
had been snatched by the robbers, the lines fastening the two canoes
together were suddenly cast off.
This precipitate action was caused by the near {140} approach of the
ship then bearing directly upon them; but unfortunately, it tacked
and bore rapidly away the same moment the lines had been loosened
from the canoe. Instantly all four paddles were frantically wielded
to overtake the ship, until by a supreme effort Steicca broke his.
The Indians soon discovered their advantage, but did not give chase
until they observed that the space between their victims and the ship
was widening. Kate then gave her paddle to Steicca and intently
watched the movement of their recent captors.
"As I live, Isaac, they have started to follow us," she said, as the
bow of the robber canoe was turned toward them, "is your gun loaded?"
"It is not," Pelton answered. "Then load it quick, and be careful,"
she cautioned, speaking while reaching down for her rifle and
ammunition so as to be ready for action at the crucial moment.
Realizing that it was impossible to escape by racing their few
paddles against fourteen, Isaac loaded his gun and deliberately
calmed his nerves for the contest. The ship was now too far away to
render assistance, and the robbers were rapidly gaining on them.
While yet beyond rifle shot, Pelton directed Steicca and Sally to
cease paddling, not to make any movement in the canoe other than to
keep it pointed on its course, and for Steicca to lie down.
"I believe you can reach them now, Kate," Isaac said. "Wait a
minute," came the response in a firm {141} voice, while she stood
upright in the canoe. We may well believe the aim was deliberate,
for the bullet lodged in the body of the lookout, who tumbled off his
perch into the water.
It took but a moment to reload the rifle. Pelton could not reach the
buccaneers with his fowling piece at that distance, and held his fire
in reserve. The robbers stopped to pick up their dead or wounded
comrade.
Sally and Steicca resumed their strenuous paddling as Kate sat down;
but when Isaac saw the Indians coming toward them a second time, he
again directed to cease paddling so their craft would be steady for
aim at the next victim. Onward came the great canoe, again Kate
reserved her fire and was successful in hitting her target--this time
the helmsman. As the canoe swung off its course to within range of
Pelton's gun, he disabled two or more on her broadside.
By this time the ship tacked again and was now approaching, while a
sloop rounded the nearby point and made directly toward the
distressed voyagers. Seeing these, the marauders drew off toward the
eastern channel, and were soon out of sight.
It is unlikely that they ceased the pursuit because of their losses,
for it is a matter of history that once this same tribe had 117
warriors in a combat, besides their women and children. During the
fight 27 were killed and 21 wounded; but they held out stubbornly for
two days, when hunger {142} compelled them to yield. Another
historic reference illustrating the ferocity of this tribe, the
"Haidahs," states that "both ships were attacked by northern Indians
when off the upper end of Vashon Island; all on board, eleven in
number, were murdered and the ships plundered and burned."
When the ship was finally hailed, no explanation was required, as the
pilot had heard the guns; the captain, with the aid of his glass,
knew what had happened. As the canoe came alongside, he cordially
invited all, including the Indians with the Peltons, on board; he
also took up the canoe, as he was intending to cast anchor off the
village from whence they came.
Nothing on the ship was too good for his unexpected guests. The
captain had heard of Kate's experience as Deputy Sheriff, but not of
the wedding. His enthusiasm at that news knew no bounds; by the time
they arrived at the village he insisted that the bride accept a
silver table service which she treasured to the end of her life as
the present from the big-hearted captain.
Pete had the time of his life with the sailors, who were surprised to
see the bright little fellow, up to all sorts of pranks as he
explored the ship from stem to stern and from top to bottom. He and
his mother were fairly loaded down with presents; Pete never forgot
his sailor friends, and in fact became a sailor himself.
The evening after their arrival at the village, {143} Kate and Pelton
rowed out to the ship, still at anchor in the harbor, to offer the
old tar sincere thanks and leave with him some token of good will and
appreciation for the opportune way in which he appeared upon the
scene and rescued them from imminent peril of the northern savages.
Capt. Pierson was past middle age but in perfect health, and an
impulsive jollity pervaded his whole being. He would not listen to
their leaving the ship until after dinner, nor to their profuse
thanks for his act.
"Oh, that's nothing; a man who did not respond in such an emergency
would be a brute. I only wish I could have chastised the rascals,"
he said--and meant it.
The captain belonged to a class of seafaring men (now almost
extinct), which once carried the Stars and Stripes to the farthermost
corners of the earth--free and easy with comrades, but usually a
strict disciplinarian, though sympathetic with his men. He was the
aristocratic ruler of the little world within the bounds of the ship,
their home and castle; all were inured to the hardships of long
voyages without complaint, but every one greatly enjoyed the respite
of a few days in port.
From time immemorial the "ships that go down to the sea" have carried
the commerce of the world, and planted the seeds of civilization in
every clime. It is difficult to realize that all this has been
changed within the range of one span of life. Only a very small
number of sailing ships now leave the ports {144} of the United
States; and the noble "clippers," the pride of the nation at that
period, very seldom grace the waters of the two hemispheres any more.
And the rugged, jolly captains, bronzed and weather-beaten, rough in
speech and stern in looks though usually kind-hearted and generous
beneath the surface, have almost vanished--like their ships.
Seafaring men who navigate the oceans in the immense vessels of the
present time are entirely unlike the old-time sailors in appearance
and actions. The modern crew appear upon our thoroughfares in fancy
uniforms, the officers resplendent in gold braid and gilt buttons,
and the common sailors in natty uniforms, usually without anything to
mar their dandified appearance. One can easily tell that reefing a
mainsail or splicing a rope is no longer part of their duty.
But the old-timers came ashore careless in appearance and rollicking
in manner, out for a good time--ready for a fight or a frolic--and
usually had it. Now they belong to the things that were, and we see
no more of them.
Captain Pierson believed the reason the Indians did not return the
fire was that their spokesman wanted to take Kate captive, for they
could have destroyed the little honeymoon party without mercy. The
confusion incident to the loss of their helmsman, quickly followed by
the wounding of several of their paddlers, and the sudden tacking of
the ship so disconcerted their plans that the marauders barely {145}
had time to get beyond reach of the howitzers on its deck. It was
late when Pelton and Kate fairly tore themselves away from the jovial
captain and left the ship, and long past midnight before the council
of Kate, Isaac and Squire Mulhall broke up, after agreeing upon a
plan of action.
Pelton had several times spoken about his former slaves, Andrew and
Jennie, whom he had left in Iowa; and could not banish from his mind
thoughts of the danger that "night riders" from Missouri might carry
them off into captivity. Besides, Jennie had cared for him with a
mother's solicitude after the death of his own mother while he was
still quite young; and Andrew had always been kind to him in his
boyhood days, as well as faithful to his interest in later life. And
that unsophisticated little girl, Margie! Somehow he could not feel
easy in his mind to leave them where they were; now they were
separated, he realized that he remembered, and appreciated more than
ever before, their kind and considerate acts toward him.
How to bring them on from Iowa to Oregon was a problem with almost
insurmountable obstacles, which Isaac had thoroughly discussed with
Kate, taking advantage of that favorable opportunity to let her know
that he had abundant means in Missouri to provide for their trip--and
to her surprise a fairly large sum besides. While Kate had not
married for money, she was nevertheless gratified to know that Pelton
possessed a goodly fortune, and sympathized {146} with his laudable
desire to expend a part of it to better the condition of his former
slaves.
Kate resolved to share Ben's secret with both her father and husband,
and to suggest that the Squire should go to see or send for Ben. She
would also have her father and Isaac supply him with enough money to
bring Linda to Oregon with Andrew, Jennie and the little girl Margie.
All instantly agreed to the plan, and became so enthusiastic that
they forgot all about their recent escape from death, and the cares
of pioneer life still confronting them.
"I will not go until school is out," the Squire said, "and then will
take the girls with me." He had noticed that they continued to
harbor jealous thoughts toward Pelton. Kate reminded her father that
any considerable delay would make it too late for Ben to cross the
plains the next season. Isaac advised by all means to avoid the
Isthmus route as being too uncertain, dangerous and withal very
expensive.
Pelton announced that he would start at once, and search for a claim
until he found one that suited him; then he would immediately proceed
to prepare a home, and be away most of the time until school closed.
In acceding to this suggestion, the Squire said he would take the
girls over to Ben's claim in the spring, as he intended to care for
it himself while the young man was making the trip; and was
anticipating the opportunity to repay Ben for his faithful and honest
service on the long trail.
{147}
So intent had been the council, that all forgot the lateness of the
hour; the thought of sleep was banished by the excitement incident to
the plans made, but all felt supremely happy. Father Mulhall
suggested that they celebrate a little by an oyster supper, even at
the unseasonable hour; and Kate, who the very evening before had
secured some Puget Sound oysters from an Indian, instantly seconded
the suggestion. Oysters, unlike other shell fish of the Sound, were
rare and confined to small areas of beds.
Kate had learned that though very small--not larger than one's finger
nail--these were very delicious; and had provided them to celebrate
their wedding a month ago to-morrow. And here it was, the date
already ushered in, though the sun had not risen! Her celebration
was intended as a secret to be disclosed as a surprise to her husband
and father to demonstrate how supremely happy she was, not only in
the escape from captivity among the hordes of northern savages, but
as the wife of Isaac Pelton. There was no toastmaster or speeches at
the little banquet that followed; but a spirit of unalloyed
cheerfulness prevailed, and all were very hopeful of what the near
future would bring forth.
Mulhall's search for Ben proved a short one, as the crude records of
the self-surveyed Donation claims quickly revealed the identity of
the nearby participants, and the Squire was delayed only a day in
reaching the location chosen by his young friend. {148} Ben was a
short distance from his cabin splitting rails from a worm fence to
protect the crops of the following season, when the Squire arrived;
and, following the sound of the maul soon came upon Ben intently
engaged at his task, not dreaming of the presence of anyone behind
him.
Mulhall stopped a moment in mute surprise at the change that had come
over the young man. He was looking at a stalwart frame instead of
the slim lad who had helped to train the team in the Missouri
barn-yard; and stood as if fascinated until Ben by a change in
position became aware that a figure was standing near him.
"Why, father!" "Why, Ben!" sufficed for the greeting, but not so the
hand-shakes that followed, for the Squire clasped Ben in his arms,
while tears of joy fell upon his own cheeks. We may well believe
that a pleasant visit followed, but it was soon interrupted by the
important information to be shared between them.
Ben listened, as if in a dazed condition of mind, to words that
seemed to be too good to be true; but when he grasped the full
meaning of the Squire's message, it was Ben's turn to display
so-called weakness; he threw his arms around Mulhall's neck and
planted a kiss upon the furrowed cheek of his friend and benefactor.
But the Squire considered that all he had done, or proposed to do,
was only a recompense in part for a debt that could never be paid in
full.
{149}
"But, father, what am I to do about my claim?" Ben asked after taking
a little time to think over the proposed trip. "Well, I'm going to
stay here until you come back with that young wife; and you may be
sure there will be some crops growing when you return," the Squire
responded. So preparations were made almost at once for the proposed
trip; and time began to pass.
No one could tell how long it would take to reach the old home,
though Ben knew that he must go out to sea over a dangerous bar where
recently there had been a wreck, with the loss of many lives. Thence
on to and across the Isthmus and to New York, where he would reverse
the direction of travel and turn his face westward toward their
former home in Missouri.[1] Parts of the journey would be by
railroad, stage-coach, horseback and steamboat.
We cannot record the incidents of the trip, thrilling though some of
them were; it will suffice here to say that on a frosty noonday in
February, 185-, Ben clasped his surprised mother to his breast with
the utterance of one word, "Mother." The story of another overland
journey from Missouri to the Oregon country will be told after we
have followed the fortunes or misfortunes of David Mulhall, Isaac
Pelton and his bride, and the two little twin sisters.
{150}
It will be remembered that when the Squire left home to find Ben
Hardy, Pelton was preparing to look for a claim where he could
establish the home so long pictured in his mind. In the course of
his wanderings, Isaac had some thrilling experiences which came near
ending in tragedy. The Oregon Country of almost limitless extent--as
one might say, a thousand miles each way--presented many and varied
conditions to confuse and impel one to continued search, with
something new almost every day.
In the small corner of the great region which Pelton examined there
were no roads or provision for crossing rivers, and only a few sparse
settlements. When a cabin was found, he was always assured of a
cordial welcome and the best it afforded; but at length, after a two
days' tramp he was virtually lost, without blankets or food. That
somewhat cooled his ardor; and as he had already overstayed the set
time, Isaac suddenly abandoned the search and turned his face
homeward. He arrived there safely, to the great relief of Kate, who
had become very uneasy at his prolonged absence and non-return at the
appointed time.
Pelton's story of what he had seen and experienced--wading a river
nearly waist deep, slipping off a log into the water and swimming
with his boots on, losing the trail and camping in the deep forest
overnight without fire, blankets or food--cast a shadow over the
bright pictures of a home in the minds of {151} both; but he had
found a magnificent country, and intended to go back and try again.
At first Pelton resolved not to tell Kate of the mishaps of the trip,
of the real hardships endured or how he had come so near to death's
door.
He argued to himself that it would only sadden her and do no good.
Then the question as to whether or not he was justified in having a
secret from his trustful wife would come uppermost in his mind. If
he now began with one, others would surely follow, and the resolve--a
compact with himself--was made that he would have none; so the full
story was told to her.
A month passed and though several trips were made, no location was
yet found to suit him. Finally, he received information from a
neighbor about some excellent land not yet taken; and immediately
starting out to examine the tract, found it even better than
represented. After staking his claim, he returned and informed Kate
of his good fortune in finding a location satisfactory in every
essential respect.
Father Mulhall wrote that Ben had started on his long trip, and was
now well on the way; and that as soon as school closed, he would come
after the girls. He added that he would plant on Ben's claim and
stay with the crops until he returned; and as a postscript, Wouldn't
Kate like to come over with the girls, and see Ben's claim and Craig?
In reality the Squire was lonesome and wanted his daughter with {152}
him for awhile; he also knew that she and the girls would enjoy the
trip--besides he had a surprise in store for them.
Pelton said, "By all means, go; it will be a nice jaunt for the
girls, though a little rough. I'll give each of them a pony to make
the trip horseback, and all can have a jolly good time on the way, as
well as while there." He was enthusiastic in urging Kate to go,
while she didn't feel sure of wanting to do so.
The fact was, she was more inclined to move out on the claim which
she had not seen, while Isaac planned to wait until he could have a
surprise for her in the new house he was contemplating. Kate
suggested building a cabin, where she could be as happy as in a more
commodious residence, to which Pelton assented with a mental
reservation that he would build one for Andrew and Jennie. And if
Kate persisted, they could live in the cabin while the house was
being built, though that would defeat the surprise party he had in
mind.
"Isaac, I believe you want to get rid of me," Kate jestingly said one
day after making up her mind to go with the girls; but lovingly
added, "you'll feel sorry after I have gone." However, they
understood each other and were drawn closer together by the thought
of temporary separation.
Pelton's attention was called to two ponies so nearly alike in build,
size and marks that it required close observation to distinguish
"Tom" from "Jerry"--both beauties, with keen bright eyes, lively yet
{153} docile, and safe for the girls to ride. He did not let the
extra price asked stand in the way of his becoming the owner of them;
and purchased two new saddles and bridles to set them off handsomely.
A small riding whip, though not needed in riding, was attached to
each saddle.
On the afternoon of the last day of school, the ponies were brought
by Pelton's direction into the front yard before the girls came home.
Their manes and foretops were plaited with red, white and blue
ribbons; and they held up their heads as if proud of the decorations.
Before Isaac rode off to the homestead to be gone overnight, Kate was
enjoined not to tell them from whom the ponies came--only to say they
were presents, and "lots" might be drawn to determine which one of
the girls should own "Tom," and which one should have "Jerry."
"Who brought these here, Mamma? Where is he? Tell him to take them
away!" was spoken in such quick succession as to preclude the
possibility of an answer until the questions and the exclamation had
been completed.
"The man said they belonged to two little girls that live in this
house; he left them in the front yard, but went away without any
explanation," Kate replied. All of this was true, though not all
that she knew. Kate and the girls then took hold of the halters, and
led the ponies outside the garden gate.
"What did you mean, Mamma, when you said they belonged to two little
girls that live here?"
{154}
"That's what the man said when he left them and went away."
"But you don't mean it?" persisted Sarah.
"I only told you what the man said."
"Yes, but you don't believe it, do you?" Sarah came back in an
attitude of cross-questioning.
"Look on the pummel of the saddle and see," Kate responded; and in
doing so displayed evidence of knowing more about the case than she
had intended to reveal.
"From Santa Claus to Sarah," the girl read as she held in her hand
the paper just taken from the saddle, unnoticed before. Then she
intently re-read the label, and exclaimed, "Oh, I know--it's from
Uncle Isaac, as sure as I am alive."
For the first time in her life she had called Pelton "uncle"; before
it was either "Mr. Pelton," "Sir," or some monosyllable to address or
make reply. Sarah had recognized the handwriting on the note, and
then knew instantly where the present came from.
Now that she was trapped, Kate gave away the whole plan about the
intended trip to see father and Craig, and have a good time on the
trip besides. Sarah fairly worshiped Craig since the memorable scene
at the lone pine on the Oregon Trail. His promise, "I will mark your
mother's grave so you can find it the longest day you live," had sunk
deep in her memory and fixed in her youthful mind the thought that
some day she would visit {155} the sacred spot and pay homage to her
saintly mother--the germ of a plan that led in later years to a
pilgrimage to the grave, as will subsequently appear.
Next morning the ponies were returned to the front gate of the garden
all ready for a run in the country, and with a riding mare for
"mamma." The girls had not forgotten their experience of riding
"Nell" on the plains, but were at first shy of the ponies. Sarah
soon plucked up courage to mount Tom, while the Indian boy held him;
but in a spirit of mischief, the boy suddenly let go of the halter,
whereupon the pony started off on a canter before the rider was
fairly seated, or could grasp the reins.
Up the village street they went on a gallop, Sarah holding onto the
pummel of the saddle, with her feet dangling in the air outside the
stirrups. Tom stopped of his own accord at the hitching rack in
front of the village store, and Sarah scrambled off the pony's back
as quickly as possible to be out of sight of the idlers there. Her
teacher, happening by and seeing her predicament, held Tom until she
mounted with both feet in the stirrups and reins firmly in hand; then
with the pony under control, she was soon back at the starting place
by the garden gate.
When all three were mounted, the course taken led up the hill and at
a more moderate gait until the prairie was reached. A delightful day
in the wide, open spaces, with a visit to the old camping ground and
a canter back home in the evening, ended their first day of horseback
riding in joviality and {156} pleasure. A few days of such practice
sufficed to prepare them for their long jaunt on the road or trail to
Ben's cabin beyond the big river, over the prairies and through dense
forests.
Following a narrow road the third day out, Sarah leaned over to avoid
the overhanging brush and fell sprawling into a sea of mud, the
saddle having turned to Tom's side. Seeing her sister's predicament
Bess laughed, but Sarah rather pettishly said she couldn't see
anything funny about it, to which sister readily assented, but
admitted that somehow or other she couldn't help it. The incident
had a serious side, as her clothes were now spattered with sticky mud
from head to foot; her shoes were filled with it and even her hair
bedaubed.
It was necessary to stop and clean her clothes, empty her shoes,
gouge the mud out of her ears and wash it off of her face. A few
miles further on, it became Sarah's turn to laugh when Bess was
scraped off her saddle and tumbled over Jerry's rump, holding onto
his tail to lighten the fall; but Bess couldn't see anything funny
about that! After numerous mishaps, the party finally reached the
river steamer, where the ponies were comfortably stalled; then all
the party had a general clean-up on the upper deck, and a good laugh
together as the adventures on the road were recounted.
In two days more of tiresome traveling, with the glamour of a
horseback ride worn off, Ben's cabin was reached and father Mulhall's
welcoming kiss {157} bestowed. Notwithstanding the various
adventures on the trip, all enjoyed the experience, and expressed a
desire to return the same way.
The very next day, Craig came, as he did every other Sunday of the
month, to make good a legal "residence" on his claim. He was a great
favorite with the twins, and the reunion that followed repaid all the
fatigue of their trip. Toward evening he excused himself to visit a
neighbor, and withdrew, leaving his end of the cabin free to the
visitors.
Only a week had passed when, to her father's surprise, Kate announced
that she would start for home the next day after the morrow. He felt
hurt that the daughter he loved so well should cut her visit short;
but nothing he could say would alter her resolution. Kate had a
reason of her own which she did not explain to her father--but which
he would know later, and the reader will probably surmise.
Pelton was as much surprised at her sudden return as the Squire had
been upon her hasty departure; and his plan of introducing Kate into
a finished residence, of which he was certain she would be proud, was
frustrated. He had all the workmen that could be employed to
advantage in hastening completion of the residence, including hot and
cold water under pressure in the kitchen, a convenience she had never
experienced.
Isaac admitted to himself that he was pleased when Kate told him she
preferred to stay for the present in their village home. But when he
returned from {158} the claim on the second Saturday, he found the
drawer of the dresser locked--something that had not happened
before--and his razor, shaving cup and brush outside. Pelton was
becoming conscious that Kate had a secret she didn't want to
disclose, but said nothing about it.
Work on the residence progressed apace; and every Saturday Isaac came
to spend Sunday in the village. Somewhat to his relief, Kate had not
yet expressed a desire to visit the new home; but a month later
Pelton was ready, and to his delight Kate, still without an inkling
of the great surprise in store for her, said that she was willing to
go.
One day, after Kate had been at the new home for a few weeks,
enjoying it with indescribable pleasure, a lady and gentleman drove
up to the front door. Though strangers, she had evidently expected
them, and promptly directed the man where to stable his horses, and
then asked him into the house for lunch, though it was after the
usual hour. The woman went at once to the kitchen and began helping
to prepare the lunch and to make herself otherwise useful.
Isaac came in later, but expressed no surprise at their presence, for
he was also expecting them. Without ceremony, the lady took charge
of the household work, while the gentleman sauntered into the library
and became absorbed among the books in the small but choice selection
on the shelves. Thus a week passed in quiet expectation.
One night a light was left burning in the room {159} up-stairs, and
neither of the visitors retired at the usual hour. The nurse
remained in the room with Kate, and the doctor made frequent visits
there, finally remaining a considerable length of time. Then, in
answer to Pelton's anxious inquiry, he said, "It's a boy, and a
rousing little fellow he is."
When father Mulhall heard that he had a grandson, the mystery of
Kate's early departure was explained; and his slight pique was turned
to joy and exultation, increased by parental pride in the daughter
who had always been so loving and helpful to him. As soon as they
knew about it, the twins were very anxious to see their nephew, and
filled with childlike pride at the prospect of being called "aunt."
[Illustration: BABE IN THE WOODS; SEE ALSO PAGE 188.]
[1] The map of the Oregon Trail and the National Road on page 8 will
give the reader some idea of the principal routes traveled to
Missouri, either from the Atlantic Coast or the Pacific Northwest,
during the period covered by this narrative. E.M.
{160}
CHAPTER VI
THE WEDDING OF BEN AND LINDA; A SECOND OVERLAND TRIP; MASSACRE OF
NEARLY ALL THE COMPANY; BINDING UP THE WOUNDS; THE TRIP RESUMED;
SURVIVORS REACH THE OREGON COUNTRY.
Ben's hair had grown long, his beard had been cropped only with
shears, and his face was tanned by the fierce rays of a tropical sun.
His clothing was begrimed and worn almost threadbare; in appearance
he was very different from the Ben Hardy who had spent the Sunday
evening with Linda Shaeffer just before starting for Oregon with the
Mulhall outfit. It would take considerable preparation to call upon
Linda in presentable clothing; and though very anxious to see her,
Ben shrank from the impulse to do so at once. But his mother said,
"Go as you are; Linda will be rejoiced to see you."
Ben Hardy had traversed, in the opposite direction, the route that
Isaac Pelton took; and for the same object--to secure the girl of his
choice for a life companion. The departure from his Oregon cabin had
been so sudden that there was no time to write of the trip; even if
he had done so, the letter would have gone forward by the same
steamer on which he sailed. Although his trials had been less {161}
severe than Pelton's and the delays not as great, the journey was one
of continuous anxiety and fatigue.
His arrival at the old home in Missouri was unexpected and a great
surprise to all his friends there, naturally most of all to Linda.
Ben's last letter, received only two weeks before, described his
progress in establishing a home for them; but gave no intimation as
to when he would come after her, or how she could go to him. So when
Linda caught sight of Ben passing through the gate in front of her
father's residence, she could not at first believe that she saw
aright, but kept gazing in bewildered wonder and trepidation as he
approached the house.
The change in Ben's appearance had been so great that an acquaintance
could easily have been mistaken in his identity; but Linda, whose
quick eye recognized his familiar movement, rushed from the house and
met him on the walk, half-way between the gate and the veranda steps.
Most readers have known the thrill of such a surprise, though
probably few of the intensity of this one; nevertheless, out of their
own experience, they will understand and appreciate Linda's joy. The
cordial greetings that followed from all the household heartened Ben;
no one seemed to notice his clothes--it was Ben, though greatly
changed, they saw and welcomed.
There was one of the household who in her heart could not
rejoice--not that mother Shaeffer thought Ben unworthy of Linda; but
the realization that the daughter she loved so intensely would be
taken from {162} her, possibly meet a tragic fate at the hands of the
Indians, and certainly encounter the other hazards of a trip to
Oregon, overwhelmed her. Conscious that she might be unable to
compose herself and control her emotions, the good lady withdrew as
quietly as possible to her own chamber, where she gave way to grief
that could no longer be restrained.
Mothers who have had similar experiences of impending separation from
beloved and loving daughters will sympathize with Mrs. Shaeffer; such
is life and the story of each generation! We know that joy in a
steady, overflowing stream often follows grief, which becomes less
poignant with the lapse of time.
As she left the room, Ben caught the expression of distress in Mrs.
Shaeffer's countenance. Could it be possible that Linda's mother was
opposed to their marriage? The very thought disturbed and perplexed
Ben. He did not stay late, though long enough to disclose his plans
for the trip, taking particular care to tell Linda of its
difficulties and dangers. Linda firmly responded, "I am going with
you, Ben;" and with the echo of it in his ears, he rode back to his
mother's home with a light heart, for the moment forgetting the grave
responsibility now resting upon his shoulders.
With only a small amount left from the current funds provided for the
expenses of the trip, the first urgent business was to secure enough
money to purchase an outfit and allow for the expenditures and {163}
any emergencies on the way. Ben had learned by experience that the
popular fallacy, shared by so many, that currency was not needed on
the Trail, was unfounded; and knew to the contrary. The funds upon
which he depended were in three banks of three different counties;
and one of them had suspended payment upon large deposits.
A period of great financial depression had recently swept over the
country. Crops were abundant, but the few existing markets were at
considerable distances, and transportation facilities were entirely
inadequate to move even the portions that could be sold. No
railroads had yet been constructed in Missouri, and it was also
before there were a sufficient number of steamers to serve the needs
of the narrow margin of settlements bordering on the two principal
rivers.
The whole region was without improved roads, but had a superabundance
of products that could not be either consumed or sold at a profit. A
wagon-load of corn would hardly bring enough to buy a pair of boots;
a fat two-hundred pound hog could not be traded for a lady's dress,
or five bushels of corn for a pound of tea or coffee.
Such were the conditions confronting Ben in providing funds for the
purchase of an outfit, with the possibility of not being able to do
so at all. Luckily, he had some certificates of small amounts which
he turned over to father Shaeffer, and thus avoided direct dealing
with the banks.
{164}
The political turmoil which a few years later brought on the Civil
War then scourged the country, and added to the distress of
commercial depression; in fact, was considered by many the greater of
the two evils. Advocates of slavery were becoming more and more
aggressive, while the Free-Soil element grew more firm. The
approaching conflict of arms led many to emigrate as the best way of
escaping from the public and private agitation.
As soon as it became known that Benjamin Hardy had arrived direct
from Oregon, and was intending to outfit an expedition to return over
the Trail the following summer, he was besieged by numerous parties
desiring to join with him, and by a much greater throng seeking
information. They came two, five or even ten together, and finally a
delegation of forty from an adjoining county to discuss the trip and
country with him. Some offered to form a new company under his
leadership for the land of mild climate and great opportunities.
Those importuning strangers became a great burden to Ben, and much of
his time was taken in imparting information, or declining offers to
join his prospective trip. To all he expressed the intention of
going with only two wagons, or three at the most, and not more than
eight of his friends; but gave a truthful report of the dangers and
privations of the Trail, and a good description of the Oregon
Country. Father Shaeffer's farm was better equipped for assembling
an outfit than his mother's; besides the {165} "Shaeffer boys"--all
stalwarts--were eager to help him train the teams, and another one
for Linda's two brothers who had determined to return with Ben to
Oregon. At first he had no other thought than to assemble the outfit
and train the teams at his mother's home, for he desired to be with
her as much as possible while preparing for the trip.
At the same time, Ben could but acknowledge to himself that he wanted
to be near Linda; so arrangements were made for his mother to drive
over every day to help Mrs. Shaeffer prepare for the wedding and make
clothing for the young couple. A part of the cloth was to be woven
on mother Shaeffer's loom by Mrs. Hardy.
* * * * * * * * *
The wedding was a very quiet affair, with only the Shaeffer family,
Ben's mother and family, and a very few friends to witness it. Linda
was dressed in a frock of her own make; she had woven the cloth for
the very occasion while Ben was more than two thousand miles away,
but with an abiding faith that the time would come for her to wear it.
Ben was dressed in a suit Mrs. Hardy made out of "boughten store
cloth," as she described the material; while not a "tailor fit," the
mother was proud of it, and all agreed that she did very well. At
that time the women not only made their own dresses but also the
clothes of the men folks; so it was nothing out of the ordinary for
mother Hardy to make Ben's wedding suit.
{166}
The "boys" all wanted to invite the young folks of the neighborhood
and "have a good time," but mother Shaeffer pleaded for a quiet
wedding; and in deference to her wishes, all of them gave up the
thought. To her the marriage was a solemn occasion, and she could
scarcely restrain the tears while preparations were being made for
it. Ben had come to know the real reason and deeply sympathized with
her; he felt almost a twinge of conscience for taking the dutiful
daughter from the companionship of a loving mother.
Mrs. Shaeffer had great respect for Ben, believed him worthy of her
confidence and a suitable husband for her daughter; but she wanted
Linda to herself. In calmer moments she realized the selfishness of
such an attitude, and how it might affect Linda's later life to
remain with her; but the premonition that something dreadful would
happen on the trip could not be dispelled. Ben was not free from the
thought that disaster might overtake them on the long journey--little
dreaming of the source from which it would come, a peril not
encountered in his former trip with Squire Mulhall.
April, the time set long in advance for their departure, was near at
hand; the teams and outfits had already been purchased, the animals
were thoroughly reliable and well trained, and everything was about
ready for the start to the far West. Robert and Abraham Shaeffer had
also provided themselves with a team and outfit, and were equally
well prepared; {167} two independent outfits satisfactory to Ben with
four stalwart and reliable men, were in readiness making ten
trustworthy adults in the party. There were also three women and
four children, with Andrew, Jennie and their little girl Margie--in
all twenty persons, five ox-teams, one horse-team and a matched-mule
team for Andrew.
But the banks had not yet responded to the extent of the full amount
needed to defray the expense of outfitting, and enough to provide for
necessary supplies and incidental expenses on the road. It seemed as
if they might be held back at the last minute by the difficulties of
securing the necessary funds.
When all the other arrangements had been completed, Ben and father
Shaeffer rode over to the nearest bank; with a determined expression
of countenance, fire in their eyes and resolute tongues, they soon
convinced the cashier that the money should be furnished to Ben as a
matter of right. Thereupon sufficient for all anticipated needs was
handed to him, and that part of the problem solved.
Ben had secured a light wagon, with half-springs under the bed to
shelter Linda night and day, and also himself when not called
elsewhere during the day, or kept out on watch at night. He had
planned to take a full share of the duties and responsibilities of
the trip, no matter how arduous or fatiguing they might be.
Andrew, Jennie and Margie were ready when Ben and Linda arrived. Eli
Sumner, the elderly {168} Quaker in whose care Pelton had left his
former slaves, provided a span of matched tan-colored mules and a
complete outfit for them. All three took an affectionate farewell of
their benefactor, for Sumner had been kind to them--just as good as
"massa," Andrew said; and could not restrain tears of gratitude with
the last shake of the hand.
The ox-teams had been sent several days ahead to the Missouri River
crossing, where Ben was to join them with Andrew, Jennie and Margie.
A great surprise was in store for Ben upon arrival; all the teams of
his party were awaiting him, but the great throng seen there on his
first trip was conspicuously absent. Instead of five hundred or more
wagons on the former occasion, there were now not more than fifty
besides his own little party.
In striking contrast to the pressure of two years before at the ferry
landing, where a long line of emigrants waited their turn to be
carried over, now all were easily crossed about as they arrived.
Stirring memories of his adventure on the previous trip came vividly
to mind. The sand-bar where the wagon-box had grounded with Kate
Mulhall in water waist deep, was there; likewise the little island in
front of the ferry landing where the scow upset, though since
partially worn away by the swirling current of the great river.
Grass was abundant near-by the camp site, instead of being cropped
close as he had seen it the first time. Profiting by Mulhall's
experience with the {169} horse team, Ben determined to provide grain
to last his horses and mules a long way out on the Trail. First he
planned to take another wagon and abandon it when unloaded, thus
strengthening his teams with the extra oxen, but under the
circumstances, he concluded it would be practicable for teams to make
the return trip; so two wagons were secured and loaded with grain.
When fully prepared the crossing was safely made, and the great trip
across the plains started on April 18, 185-, about three weeks
earlier in the season than the previous one. The absence of Indians
was at once noticed by Ben, who caught sight of a few in the distance
the second day out; but they did not come anywhere near the train.
At the crossing of the second river on the fifth day, some of their
tepees were found on both sides of the Trail, and one directly across
it at the usual landing place.
There were a dozen or more lodges with altogether probably fifty
Indians, of which about twenty were men. Ben interpreted their
obstruction of the Trail as a sign of hostile intent; and after
selecting a suitable place for defense in case of attack, he at once
gathered all of his people into camp. The wagons formed a corral,
the guns of the party were carefully examined and an armed guard sent
to the grazing ground with the teams. Every one was cautioned not to
go near the tepees, but to await developments; and although Ben's
camp was only about fifty yards away, no Indian approached near it.
{170}
Little or nothing would be lost by waiting, as other teams were
expected in a few hours; at nightfall seven did arrive with eleven
armed men. Their wagons helped materially to enlarge the protecting
circle, while the men increased the strength of the guard.
At a council that evening it was decided not to go near the Indian
camp for twenty-four hours, unless the red men first came to them;
and to show a bold front, asking no favor except to be allowed to
cross the river undisturbed--and make no concessions. The Indians
evidently did not want a show of arms, their immediate object being
robbery under the guise of collecting toll; they had discovered that
only a few wagons were crossing the river, and thought they could
safely intimidate the smaller numbers.
Realizing the impending danger, Ben at once saw the necessity of
forming a larger company, for there might be fifty thousand warriors
within riding distance of the Trail, and still greater dangers ahead.
That night couriers were sent back to ascertain how many men could
come up on the morrow; and definite information was received that
thirty more wagons would reach their camp before the next night.
When the Indians saw these reinforcements, they silently decamped and
left the crossing unobstructed; but the incident naturally caused
uneasiness in all the camps, as the sequel will show. By later {171}
accounts, at least eleven massacres were perpetrated along the Oregon
Trail by Indians during the overland migrations.
Some of those tragedies were revealed only in part by the irons of
destroyed vehicles, with not a human being left to tell the dreadful
story. Ben concluded that it would be unsafe for the two grain
wagons to return; so he took them over and employed the drivers until
they could find an opportunity of returning with others--or else
continue all the way with him to Oregon.
Four days more of travel brought the train to another river crossing
where they saw eleven nude men, women and children of a party whose
three outfits had been burned, all provisions carried off and their
teams driven away. Why the Indians had spared the lives of the
victims none could tell; they had not been harmed bodily, but
stripped of all their belongings. Ben gave the unfortunates one of
the grain wagons and a team, while the people of the train fed and
clothed them.
They were now in the buffalo country, and near where Ben had gone on
the hunt that had been almost fatal to him on the previous trip
across. He had no desire to duplicate the experience, but there were
four more to feed than originally provided for, they had given the
destitute party a month's supplies with the wagon; and he now
realized the necessity of replenishing their stock of food.
So the camp was put in order and an organized {172} hunt arranged;
teams were sent to bring in the game and preparations made to cure
it. In five days the wagons returned fairly loaded down with jerked
buffalo, and the journey was resumed with a bountiful supply of meat
added to the previously diminished store.
So far Ben's horses and the mule team had felt the strengthening
results of light rations of grain; but by this time nearly all of it
had been fed out. Fortunately, the grass continued to be plentiful
along stretches where, two years before, it had been eaten close to
the ground by the large numbers of cattle and horses, with here and
there a flock of sheep in the emigrant column.
The Trail crossed a wide, open country inhabited by warlike tribes,
some of which were off on hunting expeditions or in forays against
other tribes, and a few had not yet returned from their trapping
expeditions. To the agreeable surprise of the emigrants, very few
Indians were now seen, and those showed no signs of making trouble.
After this had continued for several weeks, vigilance was somewhat
relaxed and the company began to fall apart--a repetition of what had
transpired in previous years, often with disastrous results.
Believing that all danger from Indians had passed, Robert and Abraham
Shaeffer concluded to try their fortune in the California gold mines,
and left the train.
Before he realized what was happening, Ben found {173} himself with
the original company, except for the Shaeffer boys; but was not as
much disturbed about it as he would have been a few weeks before.
The grass was good, and the abundant feed in the vicinity of the
camping places relieved the long tedious night watches, often far
removed from them. His horses, mules and oxen were in good
condition; the cows gave plenty of milk for the company, and the
surplus cream made considerable butter.
Linda was enjoying the trip; if this was "hardship," she could have
endured more of it without complaint. Andrew, who never tired of
entertaining the little camp with his violin and quaint plantation
songs, was happy with Jennie and Margie. Ben was comforted by the
thought that they would soon be in the cabin home to which they had
looked forward so long, and began to count the days--each one
bringing them so much nearer their destination.
So far the trip had been a surprise to Ben, and a marked contrast to
the one he had made with Squire Mulhall only two years before. The
seasons had differed somewhat, but the greatest change consisted in
the overcrowded Trail in 185-, and the much lesser number now.
He had been traveling several days in a wide and fertile valley, now
the pride of a great State, and had just crossed the river for the
first time to the right bank. The spot was ideal for a camp, with an
abundance of grass, plenty of fuel and pure water for all. So
enticing was the scene that Ben concluded {174} to lay over Sunday to
rest the tired teams and the weary members of his party as well.
A low perpendicular bluff paralleled the river, with a narrow portion
of the main valley, which promised ample feed for the teams, between
them. The bluff on one side and river on the other prevented the
stock from scattering; and for once no guard was sent out, as had
been customary heretofore. A strip of wild grass higher than a man's
shoulder bordered a dense growth of brush near the river.
The women took advantage of the stop-over to do their washing near
the river crossing; and one of the men was bagging some of the
numerous rabbits in the valley. Andrew spent most of his time
entertaining others, as usual whenever opportunity offered; two of
the horses had left the range and returned for a bit of bread or lick
of salt. Ben was busily occupied with the cares of the camp, and
planning the next stage of the trip.
On the following day two Indians were seen passing on horseback along
the top of the low bluff; but nothing was thought of it, as there had
been no trouble with them for several months, or for a thousand miles
along the Trail. A small train of wagons crossed the river during
the day and continued on to the west; soon afterward an Indian was
seen fording it at the same place and riding furiously toward the
east. About two hours later the same Indian returned, his pony
exhibiting all the signs of {175} continued hard riding; after what
followed it is certain that he was a scout sent up the Trail to
ascertain whether or not another train was approaching.
During the afternoon two men from a near-by camp went out to milk
their cows and look after the oxen; and to their surprise were unable
to find either. Following on up the valley they soon came upon sure
signs of hurried travel, and realized that the cattle had been
stampeded from some cause not then apparent; after continuing along
the Trail until near dark they were compelled to return slowly to the
camp.
To their amazement they found it in utter disorder, and without a
living soul. Wagons had been run together and partially burned;
remnants of the outfits were scattered in every direction; remains of
dead bodies were heaped upon the fire and in part consumed. The
dreadful fact dawned upon them that the camp had been raided by the
Indians during their absence, and their comrades massacred.
Linda, who had found a near-by refuge, remained in hiding until she
heard voices in her own tongue, and then came out to the desolated
camp. It was too dark to recognize the mutilated bodies, but by a
token on the remains Linda discovered that Ben was one of the slain,
and immediately lost consciousness. The horrors of that long night
are beyond description, as the fears and alarms of a lifetime hovered
over the heads of the sleepless survivors.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: SCENE AFTER THE MASSACRE, AS DESCRIBED ON THE OPPOSITE
PAGE]
This was part of the price which the overland travel of the 40s and
50s paid that the far Northwest might be settled by Americans and
made a part of the United States. At least eleven such catastrophes
are a matter of record. It is, of course, impossible at this date to
recover the graves of the marytred Pioneers; but we can--and
will--erect suitable memorials to the Unknown Dead of the Plains.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
But the first duty was to look after the living and {176} let the
dead rest where they were. One of the men waded the river and
started eastward on the Trail in search of aid, which he fortunately
met within a few miles. Couriers were dispatched east and west to
warn the emigrants and urge volunteers to assemble and punish the
Indians.
In the early morning food and clothing were delivered to the stricken
victims, and soon a train arrived to supply physical comforts to
them. A hundred miles of the Trail were traversed by couriers, and
before night a large number of armed men had assembled; time pressed,
and none was lost.
During the day the trail of the oxen was anxiously located, so it
could be followed at night. Each rider carried his rations in his
pouch, or in packages strapped to his saddle; there was no thought of
bedding or camp equipment, as they intended to march all night in the
hope of overtaking the Indians. It is wonderful what a body of
resolute men can accomplish when all are of one mind.
The trail, which led up the valley for some miles, was easily and
rapidly followed in the night; on the table-lands it was dim, but
recognized without much difficulty. At break of day a secluded spot
was selected, the horses tethered and silence enjoined upon every
one. A cautious reconnaissance had discovered signs of Indians; at
midnight the march was resumed, and their camps sighted at daylight.
Each became his own captain as they descended in fury upon the
slumbering Indians, and during the {177} mêlée that followed neither
age nor sex was spared; women and children were ruthlessly shot down,
and no prisoners taken. The oxen and all except one of the cows and
two of the horses were recovered, but Andrew's mules could not be
found. Orders were then given to assemble all the Indian horses
possible, and shoot them on the spot.
The chastisement was swift, severe and long remembered by the remnant
of the band. While this did not bring the dead to life or heal the
wounds of the living, some reprisal was necessary to deter the
savages from again molesting emigrant trains following the Trail on
peaceful missions of finding homes for themselves and their families.
It was cruel; but the emergency called for desperate measures.
After the massacre Andrew, Jennie and Margie wandered off listlessly
on the Trail leading west, and passing scouts found them later a
short distance from the camp. The Indians were terrified at their
first sight of a negro, evidently believing Andrew to be an emissary
of the evil spirit who could bring dire disaster upon them for any
harm done to him; so he escaped.[1]
As Andrew returned to camp, the shock of the disaster seemed to
awaken him to new duties of life; and a vision opened up before him.
"Massa Ben" was gone, and only he was now left of the men {178} in
the original party. Up to this time he had looked to others for
direction, leaning upon them as a child upon a parent; but now he
must act for and depend upon himself. Without realizing the change,
Andrew became virtual head of the remnant of the party, and quietly
assumed the responsibility.
His first act upon returning to camp was to look after the comfort of
"Missus Linda" and provide a place where she might rest, while Jennie
prepared some nourishment for her. Others had attempted the gruesome
task of separating and identifying the dead; but they were so
mutilated and in such a confused mass that all were finally buried in
one grave.
Andrew's grief at the funeral was inconsolable; falling on his knees
at the grave, he offered up a prayer expressing resignation to God's
will and inspiring hopes for the future, that touched the heart of
every one. While a surprise to all, it was comforting, particularly
to Linda; Andrew's thoughts seemed to be centered mainly on his young
mistress, and he spared no effort to encourage and assist her.
The burial of the victims preceded by only one day the revenge upon
the Indians. Echoes of boasts from the returning party that none had
been spared, children and mothers slain and the wounded dispatched
without mercy, troubled Linda's gentle spirit. She could not
participate in the elation of the men, and recalled what Ben had said
of the "irrepressible conflict" between the Indians and the whites,
as well as Andrew's prayer to "look for {179} relief from God
Almighty," as the fervent negro had expressed it.
An exact account of the massacre will never be known, for none were
left to tell the story. When the attack was made Linda and the three
other women of the train were washing at the river, only a few
hundred yards from the camp, though out of sight from it. Hearing
the guns and seeing many armed Indians near-by, all rushed for the
brush and high grass, hiding as best they could.
Immediately after the interment Linda retired, supperless and
disconsolate, to the temporary camp Andrew had prepared for her. The
situation was indeed very desperate. Her brothers had gone on to
California, the last hired man had left them three weeks before, and
her husband was dead.
Deep grief, prolonged fatigue and loss of sleep finally overcame her,
and she sank into a slumber where sorrow was temporarily forgotten.
Morning brought partial relief; and Linda could then fix her mind on
the emergency that confronted them. As soon as Jennie knew her
"missus" was awake she brought some food, of which Linda partook
sparingly, although it was the first for about thirty-six hours.
The wagon and yokes had been burned, and the clothing destroyed or
carried off with the remainder of the outfit; nothing was left but
the horses, the oxen and one cow. Linda had the helpless colored
man, as she still thought of Andrew, as well as his {180} wife and
child, to consider; but a new courage took possession of her mind and
drove away despair. "I have yet something to live for," she said to
herself.
Summoning Andrew to her bedside, Linda was surprised to note his
confident demeanor. "Yes, missus, I kin drive the oxen, I knows I
kin." "But, Andrew, we have no wagon." "Yes, missus, there's a
wagon down by the ford; I seen it this mornin." When reminded that
the wagon didn't belong to her, Andrew responded, "Everybody takes a
wagon standing on the road, if he thinks it better than hizzen."
Linda remembered the accepted practice of the Trail that abandoned
vehicles, of which there were a great number, became common property;
and followed Andrew to the ford to see the wagon. "Yuse jest take
that; I kin drive it, I know I kin," Andrew confidently reiterated.
"Yuse kin take my wagon (which had not been destroyed by the
Indians), Jennie kin ride the mare and take care of the loose oxen
and the cows, and Margin kin ride in this wagon with me." Evidently
Andrew had been thinking and planning while Linda slept; the new
experience awakened his latent abilities.
Fortunately a considerable part of their money was sewed in a dress
she wore; and some hidden under a false bottom of the wagon-box was
recovered, much to her relief. Linda and Andrew managed to put
together an outfit enabling them to resume the journey. He developed
as the necessity required, {181} Jennie soon became more than a
dependent, and even Margie found incidental ways to be helpful.
Several hundred miles of the Trail were still ahead of them; but each
day brought new experiences and increased confidence. Linda's
strength gradually returned; and Andrew proved that he could drive an
ox-team as well as play the violin, which had been laid aside unused
since the fatal Sunday when "Massa Ben" had been killed. His whole
ambition centered in the welfare of his "missus," and he felt an
obligation to see her safely in the cabin home. As they neared the
end of the journey, Linda became still more self-reliant. She was
surprised at the improvement in Andrew and Jennie, and finally in
herself; and realized in a still larger measure that she had
something more to live for.
Just seven months and one day after she and Ben drove out of the
Shaeffer door-yard in Missouri, Linda drew up unannounced in front of
the cabin which he had built on his claim in the Oregon Country. It
was late in the evening, while the Squire and the girls were at
supper. Hearing a noise outside, Mulhall arose and as he opened the
door Linda was just reaching out to knock for admission; catching
sight of her, the girls screamed with delight and in their hasty
greeting nearly upset the table.
"Where's Ben?" was the first question the Squire asked; but quickly
divining from Linda's countenance that something had happened, the
question {182} was not repeated. He then turned to greet Andrew and
Jennie, and after them Margie. Leaving Linda with the girls, Mulhall
accompanied Andrew to care for the teams, and then learned the
dreadful news; thus he knew there could now be no joyful reunion, and
hastened back as soon as possible.
The sight of the cabin that Ben had built for their home, and the
conveniences he had arranged inside, revived the dormant grief within
Linda's breast until she sank unconscious and helpless to the cabin
floor. Poor woman! She had fortified herself with a resolution to
be brave; but her emotion would not down, and relief came only in
unconsciousness. When she awoke the Squire refrained from asking any
questions about the tragedy, but talked about the country of which
she had seen so little, and discussed plans for the future.
Next morning when Linda's calmness had returned, she voluntarily told
Mulhall the whole story as they wandered over the extensive and
beautiful Donation claim, a mile in length and half a mile in width.
It was an ideal place for a home, nearly all fertile prairie with a
clump of timber in one corner some distance from the cabin, while a
rivulet of pure water fed by springs on the claim flowed through the
land. Small wonder that Ben should have written to her so
enthusiastically about their future home; or that he braved so much
to reach it with her.
He looked forward to a bright future spent in {183} developing and
embellishing this choice tract of land in a salubrious climate, with
the assistance of the young wife whom he adored. But the treacherous
savages in the wilds of what is now part of the State of Idaho put a
cruel end to his joys and hopes. Unfortunate man! But not the only
one, for many like him met a similar fate on the Oregon Trail.
Craig, who had never before seen Linda, came the following Sunday,
and was fairly stunned when told of the disaster. He loved Ben for
the many good traits of his character, and was drawn closer to him
through their mutual adventures. "My lady," he said in a broad
Scotch brogue, "you shall have the cabin and all there is in it; and
I will move the line twenty rods away."
He added something about being able to secure a full claim for
himself, as there was still vacant land adjacent; but made no mention
of the fact that the new boundary would make his own less valuable.
It did not matter very much, for he had long thought that Ben should
come into the ownership of both claims, a mile square in the great
fertile valley. There were many instances in which the earlier
settlers had taken up that amount of land in their own right, under
the law as at first passed; but later settlers were restricted to
half that area.
Craig at once had a new cabin built to comply with the legal
requirements of his own residence; and then without either
ostentation or Linda's knowledge, had his will re-drawn in her favor
instead of {184} Ben's, as the first one read. We are not sure that
Ben knew of the first; both acts were characteristic of Craig's
modesty, forethought and generosity.
Andrew wanted very much to see "Massa Pelton," but hesitated to leave
Linda; he could not tell which he loved best, his old master or the
new missus. Both had been good to him, which was more than he could
say about some others of the white race.
Great numbers, perhaps a majority, of the early settlers in the
Oregon Country had come from slave States, bringing prejudices
against the black man so intense that at first no negro could live in
their midst under pain of the whipping post. Unbelievable! the
reader will exclaim--but yet authentic history. The law had been
passed by the Provisional Government under the stimulus of temporary
and unreasonable excitement, and without due consideration or
deliberation; it was never enforced and soon repealed.
Linda asked the Squire if he thought Pelton would consent to have
Andrew and Jennie stay with her through the winter; but at the moment
Mulhall considered it unlikely. "Won't I have time to write him
before you go with Andrew?" she asked. "I'll wait till you do," the
Squire answered, as he could see the necessity of help for the lone
widow, though he didn't yet know the principal reason.
Linda wrote not to Isaac, but to Kate. After telling her of the
tragedy, she explained that she was looking forward to another one to
live for, which explained why she so much wanted Jennie to be {185}
with her. When Kate told Pelton of the special reason he said, "God
bless her, yes! I would almost say you should also go and be with
her." But Kate had her own household and their own little boy to
care for.
Squire Mulhall was reluctant to leave for home, as he had planned to
do on Ben's arrival; in fact had about made up his mind to stay. But
the girls must be taken back before school opened; and he did not see
how it could be managed unless he made the trip with them, even if he
returned at once to the Hardy cabin. Imagine his surprise when, two
days after Linda received Kate's letter telling her that Andrew and
Jennie could remain with her, Pelton knocked at the door and greeted
the astonished Squire in the cabin.
Isaac explained that he wanted to see his former slaves so badly
that, over-night, he concluded to make the trip; besides Kate had a
small package to send to Linda. He instinctively knew also that the
Squire would want to stay longer with her; so on his return he would
take the girls back in time for school. Andrew fairly shouted with
joy at the sight of his old master; Jennie was no less jubilant, but
had a different way of showing it; not until sleep overtook them,
could either restrain their long pent-up feelings.
The two men counselling together that night agreed upon a course of
action--first, that with Linda's consent an addition would be built
to the cabin, and a {186} one-room cabin put up for Andrew; second,
that Pelton would return home immediately, taking the girls to his
home until Kate could make suitable arrangements for them in their
own home in the village near the school; and third, that the Squire
should stay with Linda for an indefinite time, or at least until
after the approaching event that was to mean so much for her.
It required only one week to have Andrew's one-room cabin ready to
move into, and not much longer to complete the addition to the main
dwelling, more than doubling its rooming capacity. Meanwhile Isaac
had returned home with the girls ready for school. The two men
wanted to build a more pretentious residence, but Linda said she
preferred to live in the humble one that Ben had built with his own
hands.
The little conveniences that he had provided seemed doubly precious
in her eyes; every shelf and cooking utensil, the sheet iron stove
and even the cups he had used all seemed treasures to her. Having
been planned and built to accommodate Craig as well as Ben, the cabin
was commodious and very comfortable. She did want an open fireplace,
that she might enjoy the cheerful glow of the evening fire and the
pure-health giving air; so a large fireplace was built in it.
* * * * * * * * *
The Squire had been busy during the summer, and raised a bounteous
crop on the fresh plowed virgin {187} soil; to protect it during the
winter he had erected a "post-barn" large enough to shelter all the
stock and store the provender. Trunks of beautiful young timber
growths up to a hundred feet in length and practically any size
desired, were easily obtainable. A post-barn was constructed by
planting posts of this timber deep in the ground to support a roof,
using the ground as a floor; with a shelter on the windward side,
stock would be comfortable in the open air of the mild Oregon winter.
Andrew was happy in the thought of staying with Linda, without
expecting compensation for his labor; a wage was something foreign to
his mind. He was denied the privilege of owning a home in his own
right; and what was the use of earning wages, when he could not
enforce collection in courts closed to him? But these things did not
disturb him, as he lived in an atmosphere of love for his master and
missus, Jennie and Margie, and was happy.
December had come, and still the flowers remained in bloom and the
grass green; Christmas was approaching, and the Squire said they
ought to celebrate. He hoped to divert Linda's mind from her great
loss; but was puzzled how to do so. His first thought was to make a
present to her, though uncertain what would be the best selection.
Linda did not enter into the spirit of the suggested festivities--not
that she was brooding over her affliction, for she had regained her
cheerfulness. When Christmas was only three days away, and {188}
before the Squire had made up his mind about the present and the
celebration, a boy of nine pounds appeared in the cabin; and all
agreed that his name should be Benjamin.
Kate--hereafter Mrs. Pelton now that she is a mother--was delighted
when she heard that Linda also had a boy; no trace of jealousy tinged
her thought. Isaac, her own little son, was the brightest and cutest
baby in all the world; there could be no rival to him, and nothing
would excite the remotest feeling of envy. Sincere congratulations
were sent by Mr. and Mrs. Pelton to Mrs. Hardy with a substantial
gift for Benjamin, "the future protector of his mother and a joy
forever."
From some unexplained cause, both mothers felt that the two babes
were to be drawn close together in the experiences of life, as their
parents had been. Mrs. Pelton, whose wishes seemed almost prophetic,
freely communicated these thoughts to Mrs. Hardy--not Linda any more.
Prophecies of later days, like those of olden times, are often
remarkably fulfilled.
The two "babes in the woods," we might almost literally say, grew and
thrived amazingly under the best maternal care and in the healthful
environment of pure air and mild climate. Mulhall zealously guarded
the supply of pure milk and food for the household, and looked after
the little one with an almost paternal affection. After putting it
off as long as possible, he reluctantly informed Mrs. Hardy {189}
that he must soon leave for his own home, and at the same time
lessened her anxieties by saying that he would provide for her
financial needs.
Pelton had reached his own conclusion that Ben Hardy's widow needed
Andrew more than he; and wrote that the colored man could remain with
her a year or longer--practically without limit of time. That was a
sacrifice, as Isaac had planned to have his former slaves near-by,
where he could make their advancing years comfortable and happy; but
was now convinced that Andrew and Jennie would be about as content
where they were as in his own home, and, realized that they would
greatly assist Mrs. Hardy. A second letter, received soon after
father Mulhall arrived home, so informed Mrs. Hardy, to her great joy
and relief; she often wondered if it would ever be possible to repay
this great kindness, forgetting that Pelton was already rewarded by
the consciousness of having contributed materially to the welfare and
happiness of others.
It seemed to the parents an incredibly short time before the "babes"
of the two households became school children. A few years later they
were taking courses in the University, and grew into manhood--the
pride of their elders and an honor to the State which had been
developed out of the region in which they were born. Gradually, too,
the parents in each family realized that they had passed middle life,
and were approaching old age.
Their eyes were dimmed and hearing somewhat {190} dulled, but their
minds were still clear and active; aspirations, hopes and even
ambitions remained with them, while reflections upon past
achievements and some failures (the ripe experience to which there is
no short-cut) brought deeper thought and greater happiness into their
lives. In both the Pelton and Hardy families, the results of
successful endeavor, intellectual development and independence were
manifest in an unusual degree.
Kate--Mrs. Pelton--had changed into a motherly stature so attractive
to her husband and all friends; the active, graceful movement and the
fire of her eye were retained, her complexion was still ruddy, and
there was a sprinkling of grey hairs to lighten the color of the
whole. Pelton continued in excellent health; the active outdoor life
on his farm had developed a sturdy frame, strengthened his muscles
and quickened his mind. Like many other pioneers with great
opportunities before them, he had prospered beyond expectation, and
was in affluent circumstances.
Ben Hardy had located on a Donation claim of three hundred and twenty
acres of such intrinsic value that if he had lived, the rise of land
values in a country of ever-increasing population and prosperity
would have made him a wealthy man. When the Donation Act under which
he took up his claim was passed, the law provided that half of it
should be held by the wife in her own right.
Before that date, and for many years afterward, {191} a wife could
not legally inherit or hold property in fee simple except in the
Oregon Country, under this special act. Incredible as it may seem,
she was also denied the right to control her children, sue in the
courts, speak in public or enter schools of higher education.
So when Linda became Ben's wife, she had no property rights except
insofar as this special law gave her an equal share in the land upon
which they had settled. Hardy did not live to return to the claim,
but after years of doubt and delay, his widow came into ownership of
half (160 acres) in her own right; and by descent her son received
the other half.
The experiences of these years, and considerable of what may properly
be called semi-litigation, developed Mrs. Hardy's latent ability to
cope with business problems as they arose; so she prospered and
became known as a woman of executive ability. It was in memory of
the husband and for the welfare of her boy, the younger Benjamin,
that she resolved that life was worth living; and right well did she
prove the correctness of the resolution.
Things did not run smoothly during the whole of the long period.
Pelton had been compelled to make one trip to the old home in
Missouri to adjust some business matters. Mrs. Hardy sustained a
loss in consequence of a heavy snowfall, and met some reverses of
minor importance; but the steady development of the country and
consequent increase of land values, proved of great advantage to them
both.
[1] A similar instance is recorded in the case of York, the slave of
Captain Lewis of the Lewis & Clark Expedition, upon whom the Indians
looked with superstitious awe mingled with terror.
{192}
CHAPTER VII
LINDA'S HOPE NEVER REALIZED; DEATH OF DAVID MULHALL; CRAIG'S PROMISE
REMEMBERED; LESSONS FROM A TRAIL-MAKING OUTFIT; DECISION TO MAKE THE
TRIP.
The thread of our story is now resumed at a later date, and in a new
century. Linda Shaeffer, as we first knew her, for many years Ben's
widow, has now passed the meridian of life; her only child, Benjamin,
has grown into manhood and assumed the cares of the farm and home.
Meanwhile the Pacific Northwest has made extraordinary progress, with
an increase in population and improvements in transportation almost
completely changing the old-time pioneer environment.
In the cool evening of a midsummer day, Linda Hardy was sitting in
front of the ivy covered cabin, whose roof was completely overspread
with the bright green of the beautiful climbing vine. Nearly half of
the front side was likewise covered with growths from the same
vigorous stalk at the corner of the cottage; and the foliage on the
roof had reached to the farther end of the cabin, two rods or more
from the roots that supported and gave life to it. The sultry
atmosphere was filled with perfume from a row of sweet peas that
lined the front of a {193} small but well-kept flower garden, mingled
with aroma from a choice variety of roses in bloom, while sweet
clover and various other flowers added to the pleasant fragrance
afloat in the air.
A young man with a glow of health in his countenance was leaning
against the wall of the cabin, with his feet on the rung of the
chair, and a book which he had been reading open upon his knees. In
an abstracted mood he suddenly closed the book, placed his feet upon
the ground and for a moment sat upright, looking out into space as if
unconscious of his surroundings. Recovering himself and looking
straight at the matron sitting nearby, he uttered one word, "Mother!"
"What is it, Benjamin?"
Only partly aroused from his reverie, he seemed unprepared to say
just what was on his mind; so made no immediate or direct reply.
For some years, the youthful Benjamin Hardy had hoped that some day
he could visit the spot where the remains of his father had been
left; but any reference to the tragedy seemed always to greatly
disturb his mother. He had the subject of a proposed trip to the
grave on his mind when, half abstractedly, he had first spoken to
her; now fully awake, he hesitated to continue.
"What is it, Benjamin?" repeated by his mother prompted him to go
farther than he had attempted heretofore.
"Do you believe, mother, if you were to go out on {194} the Trail you
could identify the spot where father was killed?" he asked rather
hesitatingly.
"I know I could--the river crossing, the low bluff and the narrow
strip of valley are all there. I can see them in my mind as plain as
the day it occurred."
"But there are probably several crossings now; how could you identify
the particular one?"
"It was where the Trail crossed and was worn two or three feet deep
on both banks of the river; Ben, I have seen where it was worn down
ten feet deep. Yes, I could find the crossing, and even the spot
where your father was buried."
"Mother, I have long wanted to go, find the grave and put a monument
on the spot."
There was a long silence during which both seemed to be pondering the
subject. The mother spoke first, "Kate has several times written
that she would like to visit her mother's grave and wants me to go
along; but that is nearly a thousand miles, I should judge, beyond
where your father was buried."
As had been the case before, the conversation ended without reaching
any conclusion. Years passed, and from one cause or another, the
journey to visit the grave of Benjamin Hardy, away out on the
sage-brush plains, was not undertaken.
Finally, when the Pelton family and Aunt Sarah were about ready to
make the long-anticipated trip to the grave of Catherine Mulhall near
the summit of the Rocky Mountains, and sent an invitation to Linda to
join the party, she had to sorrowfully decline. {195} For some time
her health had not been good; in fact, she had become a prematurely
broken-down woman without any apparent cause, unless it was the
silent grief gnawing so many years at her heart.
She was never able to revisit the scene of the tragedy where the
young husband whom she adored had been ruthlessly slain by the
bloodthirsty savages; but could not forget the cruel blow fate had
dealt her, and often thought how the bright prospects and hopes of
her young life had been so irretrievably shattered. Though absent in
the flesh, her spirit was ever hovering over the grave by the river.
Isaac Pelton enjoyed doing things, and from the day when he selected
a tract for his home until the final call, he was a busy man. He had
a worthy helpmate in Kate, mistress of the household, who was as busy
in the cabin as he was in the field. After the birth of their eldest
child, a new purpose in life--a bond of union bringing higher aims
and ambitions--opened before them; both enjoyed excellent health and
were supremely happy and contented.
Their thoughts centered on the baby--Isaac Pelton, Jr., and heir to
their estate. Both lovingly watched his growth from day to day and
were well repaid, for the boy grew rapidly in health and vigor
inherited from his parents and aided by the healthful climate and
nourishing food of the frontier farm.
It was before the time of the transcontinental railroads, and the
markets of the world had not yet {196} been opened to that region by
the steamship lines that came later; so the country developed slowly.
The mails were tardy in reaching them, but the few letters were as
welcome and interesting as if delivered the day before or even a
fortnight earlier; and the current literature of the day supplied by
the newspapers of the period, was abundant and furnished subjects for
serious thought. When the steamers were delayed by storms or
accidents, sometimes missing connections that made letters and
newspapers two or three weeks late, plenty of topics were open for
study that had only a passing reading before.
The newspapers occupied the field later taken by the conservative
magazines; the common practice of re-reading articles developed
topics for speculative thinking and deep study as interesting and
often more instructive than when fresh from the mails with only a
light reading. Neither Isaac nor Kate had received more than a
common school education, which was all that was expected in their
childhood days. Little did they realize how they had acquired a
"higher education" in the broad and thorough school of active life;
but such was the accomplished fact with many pioneers of their day.
Pelton never tired of taking their little boy on his knee, and
reading aloud while the mother plied the needle on their garments, or
knitted evenings for companionship as well as to provide them with
comfortable clothing. Another stranger came into their {197}
household; and to the great joy of the mother, it was a girl. "Now
we're even," said Kate; "and let us call the little one Catherine."
She never forgot the grave high upon the mountains, the scene of the
burial of her mother Catherine, or the planting of the little tree
upon it; and always cherished loving thoughts of her. Sarah, one of
the twin sisters, often talked to Kate about it and recalled Craig's
well remembered words, "I'll mark your mother's grave so you can find
it the longest day you live," which had sunk deep into her heart and
kept alive the desire to revisit the sacred spot.
Time passed and another child--a boy--came; Isaac said the name
should be Adam to perpetuate the memory of his own father, Adam
Pelton. Next a girl was born to them; and Kate selected the name
Sarah, after her sister who faithfully administered to the wants of
father David Mulhall to the last days of his life.
There were now in the Pelton household two boys and two girls, each
in time to share in the intense love of their parents, and receive as
much care and attention as the first-born. It was in every respect
an ideal family, held in high esteem by all who dwelt in the
neighborhood.
Isaac and Kate had long wanted the Squire to come and share the
comforts and joys of their household; but he was reluctant to give up
his own home, and hesitated until the unexpected call came. "He
{198} just went to sleep," said Sarah, who watched by his bedside,
and died without a struggle, beloved by his children, respected by
all who knew him, honored by his business associates and the church
to which he belonged. Sarah, who had never married, soon left the
village homestead to live with her sister Kate, and was a welcome
addition to the Pelton household.
As time passed, Sarah's thoughts would revert to her mother's grave,
and the words of Douglas Craig kept echoing in her ears. Even in her
dreams the fond hope of revisiting that well-remembered spot kept
recurring, and strengthening the resolution that some day and somehow
she would realize the hope of making the long journey to where the
little pine was planted and the grave marked by a wagon-tire.
Isaac Pelton, Jr. was a precocious child, and in his father's mind
was destined to be a distinguished citizen of the Republic. He did
come to honorable manhood, married early and made business
connections that called him to a foreign land; but died in middle
age, without returning to America.
His sister Catherine married young, raised a family of six children
and following in her mother's footsteps, filled an honored place in
the community. While experiencing more of the hardships of pioneer
or rather frontier life, she was uncomplaining and happy. Adam and
Sarah, both unmarried, remained at home with their parents, Isaac and
Kate--now "the old folks."
{199}
During the lapse of years, while the events recorded in this volume
were passing, a great change had taken place in nearly all the
world's affairs. From a retrospective view, the transformation in
the facilities and conveniences of life and habits of the people, the
advances in the arts and sciences, and growth of religion and
political freedom in the period from the burial of Catherine Mulhall
on the high mountains, to the arrival of the pilgrimage at her grave,
was greater than in the preceding thousand years.
Within that time, a great Civil War had been fought and the Union
preserved; slavery had been abolished in name, and finally in fact.
After the Emancipation Proclamation, no one could any longer place
men, women and children on the auction block like cattle, sheep or
any other chattel. This was but one step in the great drama of which
it was a part, though the United States had become known throughout
the world as the land of the free, which it was in comparison with
the majority of other countries.
Lincoln, the Great Emancipator, had been assassinated, but his noble
acts and the cruel manner of his death had enshrined him in the
hearts of the liberty-loving people of the world. Religious progress
was no less pronounced than political, though not by legal
enactments. In the beginning of the period here recorded, many
orthodox ministers taught that all who did not believe in the tenets
of their church were doomed to everlasting punishment {200} in a lake
of fire, portraying a God of vengeance, not of love--driving people
into the church through fear and not from motives of righteousness.
A great step forward was the establishment of a uniform common school
system, soon to become free; though crude at the beginning, it
contained the germ of the educational development prevailing at the
end of the period. The marvelous progress in the arts and sciences
is beyond question the most far-reaching of all, medical discovery
increasing the average span of life from thirty-four to forty-five
years by conquering the plagues or epidemics, preventing the spread
of violent diseases and reducing infant mortality in amazing
proportions.
Applications of electricity for power and light have advanced
civilization in many ways; but we are too near to that era to see it
in correct perspective. The discovery and rapid improvement of
internal combustion motors brought the automobile to the state of a
practical vehicle during the period just before the long-anticipated
trip to the grave.
Sarah Mulhall, who never forgot the words of Douglas Craig spoken to
her when in deep grief beside the freshly made grave of her mother,
the little tree, the rose bush and the flowers planted there, or the
inscribed half buried wagon-tire, assured her sister Kate--Mrs.
Pelton--that she could locate the spot. The North Star, the rift in
the mountains and the marks on the trail would be her guides to it.
She was possessed of a competence, more than needed for {201} comfort
during a long life; and was willing to expend any necessary amount to
reach the sacred spot and erect a monument to the memory of their
mother.
* * * * * * * * *
About this time an elderly man who had been among the pioneers of
1852, drove slowly over the old Trail, erecting monuments as he
progressed to preserve its identity, and to perpetuate the memory of
the unknown dead along the way. Upon completion of the Oregon Short
Line R.R., paralleling much of it, the original track had been
abandoned in some places, and became known to many as the "lost
trail." A national interest had been aroused, and two or three of
the States through which it passes had taken measures to aid the
elderly man's work.
Isaac Pelton and Kate often contemplated the possibility of visiting
the grave of her mother, and like Sarah, planned to do so. But while
their family was being raised, and afterward when the children were
attending school, circumstances always seemed to postpone the trip.
Besides, Sarah could not leave her father who wanted very much to go
with them, but was prevented by the hand of time on his shoulders.
If the automobile had come twenty years earlier, the Squire and Sarah
could and would have done so; but the long journey with an ox-team,
or even with a horse and carriage was thought too much for his
strength, and he died without undertaking it.
Adam Pelton, the second son, was of an {202} adventurous nature and
had traveled in foreign lands as well as extensively in his own; he
was in the prime of life and in good health, a thorough mechanic with
experience in repairing automobiles. Returning to the old homestead
after a long absence, he noticed his father's whitened locks, and saw
that his steps were no longer firm. His mother had changed
comparatively little, though now approaching three score years and
ten.
After passing some weeks at home, consulting with his aunt Sarah and
observing the health of his father and mother, he believed they would
be benefited by a trip away from the homestead over the old Trail to
the grave of his grandmother. "It would be nice to make that trip
next summer, father," Adam said one day while they were strolling
over the farm. "You would not need to turn your hand over to do a
thing; sister Sarah says she could drive one of the automobiles, if
we didn't go too far in a day."
Adam then counselled with his father, mother and Aunt Sarah, and near
the end of the talk the mother said, "I'm ready to go; and now what
do you say, father?"
"I'll think it over tonight," Pelton responded. Aunt Sarah spoke up,
"I'm ready to go, Adam is also, and sister--here's three to one;
let's make it unanimous."
For once Pelton wavered; he wanted to go, but questioned in his own
mind whether he was physically able to stand the trip. "Well, I'll
go, unless {203} Dr. Marshall advises against it," he replied, which,
they all knew the doctor would not; and so the momentous decision
that the trip would be made in the spring, when the maple trees were
in full leaf, was reached.
Next morning at the breakfast table everyone was cheerful, and they
began planning the outfit to convey them, discussing what they would
take along, when they would start and about how long it would take.
Adam said it would require two automobiles at least, and perhaps
three would be better. "What would you want three automobiles for?"
his sister Sarah asked in a rather derisive tone.
"The third one to carry the camp outfit," Adam suggested and added,
"we have three elderly people to care for, you know." "Why not build
a wagon-box on the running-gears of an automobile like the one that
went over to mark the Trail?" Sarah responded in real earnest. She
had been reading about the elderly man's trip in a wagon-box on an
automobile, where he had a cook-stove, ate his frugal meals, and had
room for all his outfit, including a bed; and thought it a jolly good
idea.
"Well, you may laugh if you please," she said to Adam, who at first
was not favorable to the idea, "but there's more in it than you at
first imagine. He had springs to the seat, which could be removed
when he wanted to make the bed, and slept nice and dry away from the
lizards, ticks and fleas we hear about." Sarah had read the story
how at one place the fleas {204} had attacked Mrs. Whitman[1] in such
numbers as to blacken her dress and fairly crazed the good lady.
Nevertheless Adam could not refrain from a hearty laugh at the odd
expression, "wagon-box on the running gear of an automobile," to the
annoyance of his sister, who well knew of the word "chassis" as
applied to motor cars. But an old-time wagon-box as an automobile
top appealed to her imagination, and she carried the simile further
in her mind to the wagon instead of the automobile. After a few more
sallies of wit, only part in earnest, mother Pelton spoke half
reprovingly, "There now, children, don't you think you have carried
this far enough?"
Though Kate, as we first knew her, now Mrs. Pelton a matron of mature
age, spoke of them this way in pleasantry, in her heart she felt and
thought of them as her children, and not as a mature man and woman.
Many a mother carries that feeling to the end of her life; God bless
their memories!
Adam and Sarah had much in common, though each held opinions which
they would stoutly defend when occasion seemed to require it. They
often roamed the fields together, and penetrated the forests in
search of flowers, ferns or shrubs, or to study bird and small animal
life. Sarah had a creditable collection, particularly of flowers and
ferns, while Adam mounted his birds and small animals with his own
hands; both collections, jointly cared for and {205} equally prized
by each, were in one room of the residence.
Sarah was a pronounced "woman's rights" advocate, and a staunch
admirer of Susan B. Anthony, while Adam did not hesitate to call her
a crank, and thought a woman's place in the household instead of the
political arena. On various subjects they usually agreed to
disagree; but when it came to the temperance question or religious
opinions, they were of one mind.
Immediately after breakfast, Adam saddled his horse and rode off
without telling anyone where he was going. Notwithstanding his
jocular attitude toward Sarah's wagon-box idea, he had been impressed
with it and went direct to the automobile shop in the city determined
to investigate. "Yes, it's perfectly feasible," they all said when
he explained what was wanted. One mechanic spoke up, "I saw that old
man's outfit with his stovepipe running through the wagon cover just
as if he was in a house."
Without consulting anyone at home, he ordered the chassis and other
fixtures for two automobiles without the tops, in due time justifying
his precipitate action by the explanation that neither Aunt Sarah nor
his father, or both together, should bear all of the expense of the
trip, as each had expressed a willingness to do. Adam said nothing
that evening as to where he had been or what he had done, but at
breakfast the next morning began teasing {206} Sarah about her
wagon-box on the running gear of an automobile, to prepare the way
for the laugh that was on him; and then came out with the whole story
to the great merriment of all. He could enjoy a joke on himself as
well as on another, and joined heartily in the laugh that followed.
Preparations for the great journey progressed during the winter,
three months before they could cross the first mountain barrier
without encountering snow. Time seemed to pass slowly, for all were
eager to start. Maps were sought, guide-books searched and all
obtainable literature on or about the Oregon Trail read, re-read and
studied. With the lapse of years the old track had become famous and
revered by millions as a battlefield, which indeed it was; a traveler
who had passed over it wrote a description and brief history of it as
follows:
Worn deep and wide by the migration of three hundred thousand people,
lined by the graves of twenty thousand dead, witness of romance and
tragedy, the Oregon Trail is unique in history, and will always be
sacred to the memories of the pioneers. Reaching the summit of the
Rockies upon an evenly distributed grade of eight feet to the mile,
following the watercourse of the River Platte and tributaries to
within two miles of the summit of the South Pass, through the Rocky
Mountain barrier, descending to the tide-waters of the Pacific
through the valleys of the Snake and Columbia, the route of the
Oregon Trail points the way for a great National Highway from the
Missouri River to Puget Sound--a roadway of greatest commercial
importance, a highway of military preparedness, a route for a lasting
memorial to the pioneers, thus combining utility and sentiment.
[1] A fragment of history from the life of Marcus Whitman.
{207}
CHAPTER VIII
THE START FOR THE ROCKIES; RE-DISCOVERY OF THE OLD TRAIL;
RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNT RIVER; ALL SIGNS OF BEN'S GRAVE OBLITERATED; A
GRANITE MONUMENT ERECTED NEAR THE LONE PINE AND WAGON TIRE AT THE
GRAVE OF CATHERINE MULHALL; CLOSING SCENES.
At last the eventful day for the start arrived amid auspicious
circumstances. The maple leaves were full size, pastures green and
the grains were coming up with promises of a bounteous yield. Silver
tips of new growth ornamented the evergreen trees. Many of the
hardier varieties of rose were in bloom, some for more than a month;
the crocus peeped out in March, followed by numerous other early
flowers. Birds had nested, and the mates were busily occupied in
securing food for the ones that kept the little eggs warm, and for
themselves.
The barn on the Pelton homestead reflected the sunlight from its new
coat of paint, but the residence needed no further attention, as a
heavy film of sand had been blown in with each previous application.
The garden fence was given a fresh cover of whitewash, and everything
was looking in the best of condition. Catherine, now a widow with a
large family, arrived to care for the residence and garden {208}
during the absence of the household; and the tenant for the year had
moved into the old dwelling, the first one built, near-by.
At the hour set for the start, all the travelers were in their places
when Adam said that Sarah, whose arms were resting on the steering
wheel of the automobile she was to drive, should take the lead.
Sarah replied, "No"--that Adam ought to have the honor. The
neighbors who had gathered into a group along the roadside to see
them off wondered what they could be waiting for.
Finally mother Pelton asked, "Will you leave it to me?" Both almost
in one breath exclaimed "Yes." "Go ahead with father, Sarah," was
Kate's quick answer; and the start was made amidst a flutter of
handkerchiefs in the assemblage of neighbors, the tooting of horns on
both automobiles and waving of small American flags.
Adam had displayed real genius in providing a convenient outfit. The
automobile with large wagon-size top and high canvas cover was turned
into a living room, with electric lights and a small heater for the
electric iron or to boil water for tea even while they traveled.
Sarah never tired praising Adam for the very convenient arrangement,
and he in turn gave full credit to her for suggesting the wagon-box
that made it possible.
Pelton soon began to recognize the route traveled on his first trip
to Puget Sound, and also when he visited Linda Hardy and returned
home with little {209} Sarah and Bess. Where Sarah had pitched
headlong off the pony's back into the mud, there was now a thriving
village with brick buildings, a fine Court House, two modest but neat
appearing churches and a commodious hotel. They passed through five
such villages on long stretches of road paved like the main highways
of the eastern States.
On the bank of a large river he found an enterprising city with
thousands of busy inhabitants, where at the time of his earlier
visits there was only a scattered village with temporary shanties,
and stumps obstructing the streets. Now there were brick blocks
several stories high in the central business district, and fine
residences in the outlying sections.
No member of the party had ever seen the rift through which this
stream flows between the mountains, and all were astonished at the
wonderful scenery on both sides of it. There were numerous
waterfalls, one with a perpendicular drop of nearly a thousand feet,
and patches of snow on a background of green, making a vista of
surpassing beauty.
A few days later they came upon the track followed by the Mulhall
outfit half a century before; and Kate quickly recognized the
locality as they approached a second range of mountains. Where only
roving bands of Indians were seen as they journeyed slowly toward the
west on the first trip, vast fields of grain were now growing; and
instead of a few tepees, the dwellings of civilized people dotted
{210} the landscape. A flourishing village with substantial and
well-kept surroundings evidenced the thrift and comfortable
environment of the inhabitants.
The party had just passed through what seemed a desert land,
bordering on and paralleling the great river. Shifting sands had
formed small dunes, which disappeared and formed elsewhere as the
wind changed in direction or velocity. Not a living thing was in
sight, except here and there a clump of stunted sage-brush or
greasewood.
Following the stream through this cleft in the mountain range, they
were soon overtaken by a sand-storm driven by the force of the
prevailing winds, occasionally encountered by travelers now as by the
pioneers--at first dimming the rays of the sun, and soon entirely
obscuring it. The haze of sand and fine dust hung low on the horizon
like a fog, and darkened one's view of objects even in the near
vicinity. Kate called ahead to Sarah to turn out of the road, which
she quickly did and was followed by Adam.
The two younger members of the party had never before gone through
such an experience, but mother Pelton said it reminded her of scenes
along the Oregon Trail in 185-. She had forgotten that they were on
the branch of the Trail which follows the river, instead of the one
crossing the mountain range, as the Mulhalls had done on the first
trip. Before Adam and Sarah could place their automobiles with the
rear ends to windward and close the front covers, {211} the sand and
dust penetrated their ears and eyes, covered their faces, filled
their hair and as Sarah remarked afterwards, "left us in a woeful
condition."
The electric light was turned on, but the dust that had worked into
the space inside the cover prevented cleaning up until the storm
abated; this it did late in the afternoon, when the journey was
resumed with the people in the car laughing at the appearance of each
other, and the surprise of a lifetime before all of them. About
sunset a modest farmhouse was sighted; as they approached nearer an
orchard of thrifty fruit trees was observed, and soon a large expanse
of growing crops spread out before them in a panorama of living green.
"Neighbor, you have a fine home here so close to the desert we have
just crossed," Pelton said addressing the middle-aged man who, as
soon as he saw the two automobiles approaching from the west, came
out through the gate of the front yard to offer a friendly greeting.
"You are still in the 'desert,' if that is what you call the section
you have just passed through," the stranger responded. "What you see
here is the same, or was when we first came four years ago. Won't
you come in?" The ladies at first objected, saying they were not
presentable. "Oh, that's nothing," continued the homesteader, "it's
clean dirt; we're used to it here. Jane (referring to his wife) I
know will be delighted to have you come in and have supper with us."
{212}
By this time the mistress of the house appeared and seconded her
husband's invitation. Observing the sincerity of the good dame,
mother Pelton was the first to assent, quickly followed by the
others; and in they went--"Dirty faces and all," as Aunt Sarah said
later.
While preparations were being made for the appetizing meal that
followed Pelton expressed surprise that it was possible to have such
a property in the midst of a desert. "I'll tell you all about that
later," said the homesteader, as he repeated his wife's invitation,
"Come to supper." After a bounteous meal of fresh vegetables, fruits
and other farm products, accompanied with a bumper of hard cider, the
travelers were anxious to hear the story of how their host came to
make his residence in that locality.
"You see," he began, "I saw a small patch of reclaimed land with such
fine crops that I at once felt encouraged to try it on a larger
scale. So we bought this tract of 640 acres--a mile square--for a
dollar and a quarter an acre, and in addition took up a desert claim,
making in all nearly a thousand acres of land--or sand, as you
probably think of it. Fortunately the river comes in from the south
with a strong current; my son and I went up far enough to tap the
water, and dug a ditch from it on our land--now you see the result."
"Do you mean to say that when you came here, the land covered by the
orchard, and where your crops are growing was like the desert we've
just {213} crossed?" mother Pelton asked. "Just that," the host
replied.
"Well, it seems to me like a miracle," Pelton responded; "and so it
does to the others." There were many other surprises in store for
the pilgrims as they progressed eastward.
"Yes, I remember this place," mother Pelton said as they descended
the second mountain range. "Father said it seemed like a big hole in
the landscape as we looked down upon it from the other side; but such
a beautiful valley--the Grand Ronde--you never saw." A few days
later, as their automobile ran along a narrow cut in a hillside
parallel to a small river, she commented, "This was the worst road[1]
on all the old Trail--right down in the stream and half the time over
slippery boulders, some of them as big as a wagon wheel; two of the
oxen were down at one time."
"Oh, I remember this," Aunt Sarah[2] said as they came to a crossing;
"here's where we ferried over on top of two wagon-boxes. I thought
every minute we were going to sink, and to this day cannot see why we
didn't."
"Here's where we left one of the wagons, and Ben went ahead to get
something to eat," mother Pelton {214} said with a sigh, as they were
approaching the locality where Hardy was killed by the Indians.
Would they be able to identify the spot where the massacre occurred;
and if they did, could they find his grave? For some time before
that, the tragedy of nearly a half century before had been crowded
out of their minds by the diverting incidents of the trip; but now it
was their uppermost thought, and the older members of the party
lapsed into silence.
Linda Hardy had so minutely described the river crossing and the
natural objects in the vicinity of it, that all were sanguine of
being able to find and mark the spot. They were convinced that the
crossing had been located, for the approaches on either side fitted
the description; the unmistakable mark of the Oregon Trail was
there--worn deep on both sides of the river, as Linda had said. But
all the ground from river to bluff was now covered by a field of
waving grain, without any trace of the sorrowful interment which took
place there at the height of the overland emigration to Oregon.
Before leaving home, Sarah read a statement to her mother that the
graves of only a few among the twenty thousand who had died along the
Trail could be identified, and wondered if they would be able to find
her grandmother's burial place if they made the trip. Mrs. Pelton
thought they could; but looking over the ground beneath which she
felt sure that the remains of Ben Hardy, who had saved her life, had
been placed after the massacre, she continued {215} in silence as
Adam started across the river to resume the journey along the old
Trail.
They were now traveling up a fertile valley divided into farms,
extensive green alfalfa and grain fields and highly productive
orchards, with evidences of a happy and thriving people living in
peace and security. Several prosperous villages and the capital of a
State were passed where only sage-brush, grasshoppers and
jack-rabbits (some of the more destitute emigrants subsisting on the
rabbits) were seen on the first trip of the older people in the party.
Recrossing to the south side of the Snake River, the travelers were
again in a region of shifting sands and desolation--part of what was
once commonly referred to as the "Great American Desert," and
considered practically worthless by some of the so-called "statesmen"
of two generations before. Meanwhile vast irrigation projects had
been undertaken, and in part completed, with a sure prospect of
developing many rich agricultural areas extending as far as the eye
can see. All of these scenes were new but immensely interesting to
father Pelton.
Three falls, rivaling Niagara in beauty and grandeur, were passed in
quick succession as they continued along that great river; and mother
Pelton recognized the place where she had taken the thirsty oxen down
into the canyon and came so near failing to get them back, as related
in an earlier chapter. Sarah's arms became stronger as she drove the
automobile, and she seemed to be thriving on the dust of {216} the
plains, the smell of the sage-brush, or both. All doubts of her
ability to extend the trip across the Continent if need be, were
dispelled; and the whole party was in good health and spirits.
Ascending to a higher altitude and cooler atmosphere, they left
behind the beet fields and sugar factories, the extensive farms,
alfalfa stacks and well-fed cattle which have taken the place of the
now almost extinct buffalo. Farther up the Rocky Mountain slope,
they entered a region where crops cannot be profitably grown; farms
and buildings gradually disappeared, and the continuous Trail
appeared in all its primitiveness. Now and then an antelope would
cross the track and turn to scan the stranger as with a jealous eye,
arousing in mother Pelton a wish for her rifle, forgetting she might
not be able to draw a bead as in her younger days.
So moderate was the upgrade that the drivers of the two cars scarcely
realized that they were ascending the slope of the Rocky Mountains;
and except for the granite monument in the South Pass, they would
probably not have recognized the actual crossing of the Great Divide.
Another day's run would bring them to the spot they had come so far
to revisit. Mother Pelton felt confident that they could find it;
and Aunt Sarah, though a little girl when the grave was made a half
century before, was sure of being able to do so.
Yet the road did not look at all familiar, or seem natural.
Afternoon came, and there was no sign {217} by which it could be
recognized--nor anything at sunset. It was then necessary to camp,
as darkness would soon make it impossible to follow the Trail; and a
sleepless night for all followed.
Mother Pelton thought they might have passed the four tracks worn in
the ledge of rocks that was to be the principal guide in reaching it.
Another sign, the North Star, was obscured; and the third help in the
search, the rift in the mountains so well remembered and described by
Aunt Sarah, was not visible. In the morning it was considered best
to drive back over part of the Trail they had traversed the afternoon
before.
"Hold on," suddenly exclaimed Aunt Sarah after a few miles of back
tracking; "I know we're wrong for I remember that rock." She pointed
to a conical pile--almost a mountain--and continued, "See, it looks
almost like a man's head; we passed that the next day after we buried
mother." Then the party turned right-about, and again started
eastward along the Trail; after traveling a few miles, Sarah drew off
to the side of the road and waited for Adam to come up.
He arrived a moment later, wondering why she had stopped, and called
out, "What's the matter?" "Nothing is the matter," Sarah answered;
"but, mother, do you see that old Trail going up the hill? Maybe
that's the one you traveled when you were here before!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Photograph from J. L. McIntosh, Split Rock, Wyoming
[Illustration: TRACKS ON THE OREGON TRAIL (SEE PAGES 217 AND 220)
MADE NEARLY A CENTURY AGO]
Over these four parallel tracks (only two of which show in the
photograph), worn nearly hub deep in places, all the emigrant travel
to Oregon, Great Salt Lake and California passed during the period
covered by this story; and they remain to this day a sight of great
historical interest across a sandstone ledge near Split Rock P. O.,
in the Sweetwater Valley, Wyoming. The early trappers, traders,
explorers and missionaries--Benjamin L. E. Bonneville, Nathaniel J.
Wyeth, Jason Lee, Marcus Whitman, John C. Fremont and many
others--helped to deepen these enduring markers in stone, now chiefly
interesting as evidences of the great westward movement over the
Oregon Trail. Inset: a miniature view of the split in the mountain
rock from which the name of the locality is derived; see also Douglas
Craig's promise to little Sarah, pages 72-73.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The track to which she thus called attention was {218} dim, showed no
signs of recent travel, and had been overlooked as they passed it the
previous day. At several places there were parallel trails, one
along the river with frequent crossings of the stream, the other
across table-lands high above it, and either over or around
projecting edges of the adjacent hills. Neither Aunt Sarah nor
mother Pelton was sure which one they had gone over before, but all
agreed that they should drive out on the abandoned roadway.
This proved not only a tedious but a really dangerous task, as the
elements had destroyed parts of it and cut deep gullies in and across
what was left. Nevertheless Adam believed they were on the right
track; mother Pelton thought the same, and said that the trail looked
more natural to her than the one they had traveled the day before.
Father Pelton took off his coat and joined Adam in some repairs made
necessary by the rough going, and Sarah appeared on the scene ready
to help. Pelton was surprised at how well he was able to do the
unaccustomed work, and greatly relished the dinner mother Pelton and
Aunt Sarah prepared. Hearing the tinkling of a bell over the near-by
ridge during the early afternoon, he strolled off toward the sound;
and soon came upon the bell-wether of a flock of sheep, then the
flock and herder--each equally surprised at the presence of the other.
"Where'd ye come from?" the man asked somewhat abruptly, and yet in a
friendly tone; and {219} almost at the same instant Pelton remarked,
"I didn't expect to find anyone here." After mutual explanations and
cordial greetings--for each was glad to see the other--Pelton
mentioned that he was one of an automobile party trying to reach the
four track ruts in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail.
"I know where it is," the herder responded, "down the river opposite
the lone pine tree." The reader may well imagine the relief and joy
of father Pelton upon hearing the three magic words "lone pine tree,"
as he believed they contained definite information of the lost grave,
which soon afterward proved true.
"You can see the tree for miles around, as it stands out by itself;
everybody wonders how it came to be there," continued the stranger.
"Would you come to our camp a short way over the ridge?" Pelton asked.
"Sure," the man replied and then spoke in a low tone to his dog,
which immediately headed off some of the flock just starting to cross
the ridge.
"Wonderful, isn't it?" asked Pelton, half to himself. To this the
herder made no reply but again spoke to the dog, which he left on
watch while the two men started off toward the camp. On their
arrival, work ceased and all assembled to listen eagerly to what the
stranger had to say.
"Yes, this runs to the four tracks on the Oregon Trail," were his
first words; "you can reach them {220} another way that's open to
travel, but can't get through here in a month's work. Go back about
five miles till you come to the first river crossing," the herder
continued, "turn short around on the river trail about eight miles
till you cross the river twice. Then turn to the right on the old
Trail about half a mile, I should judge, and you will come to the
tracks."[3]
"You can see the lone pine tree from there, and I think from the last
river crossing," the man responded to an eager question from mother
Pelton. After declining an invitation to stop long enough to share
with them in the meal then almost ready to serve, but accepting a
quarter of the pie Aunt Sarah had just baked, the stranger started up
the slope and soon disappeared over the ridge to his flock and
faithful dog.
"What a life!" sighed mother Pelton--"with only his dog for a
companion, no comfort but his frugal meal in a lonely cabin and cold
lunch on the range." The day was too far spent to move their camp,
and although impatient to see the lone pine, which all believed was
the landmark for which they were searching, every member of the party
was anxiously anticipating what the morrow might bring forth.
Following carefully the directions given by the herder, they
approached the second crossing of the {221} river early the next
forenoon. At the first point from which a comprehensive view of the
locality could be had, Sarah unexpectedly held out her hand as a
signal for Adam to stop; and exclaimed in her excitement, "There it
is, mother!" In the far distance a lone pine tree was sighted; and
no one in the party doubted that it had grown from the small tree
planted by Kate Mulhall, Ben Hardy and little Sarah half a century
before.
A short drive brought the two automobiles to where the wagon tracks
had worn deep in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail; but the
lone pine, still a half mile or so away, was the center of all
attraction. Coming nearer, it was discovered that they were on the
wrong side of the ravine; and although not more than a stone's throw
from where they stopped, no road led across to it.
There in lonesome grandeur stood the evergreen sentinel over the
object of their long search, the grave of Catherine Mulhall, mother
of two of the pilgrims and grandmother of the younger ones who drove
the cars. Now a hundred feet high, rising above and throwing its
shadows over the grave, the tree was a thing of beauty, observed by
all who passed in the vicinity; and had given the very appropriate
name--Lone Pine--to the surrounding country.
Retracing their steps to the four tracks and then traveling another
mile or so, they reached the other side of the ravine. After making
several detours and {222} removing a number of obstructions, they
arrived quite late in the day within a hundred yards or so of the
spot. As the nature of the ground prevented the automobiles from
going any farther, they were left in the track, and all proceeded on
foot to the lone pine.
The sun was just sinking behind the horizon in a halo of glory as the
silent and solemn members of the party reached the hallowed spot.
After so long a period of time, the mound of earth had disappeared;
but wild roses were blooming where Kate and little Sarah had planted
the roots when the grave was made. Though corroded and rusty, the
wagon tire which kind-hearted Douglas Craig had placed as a marker
was still there, but the lettering he chiseled upon it had been
completely obliterated.
Kate and the older Sarah, both now well past the meridian of life,
stood in mute contemplation of that which had been uppermost in their
minds for so many long years. Although the poignancy of the grief
then experienced had been mollified by time, yet as darkness came and
they turned to leave the grave, tears coursed down their furrowed
cheeks. Camp for the night was made on the nearest suitable ground,
while a spirit of sadness mingled with a feeling of satisfaction that
the cherished plan had at last been realized, pervaded the little
company.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
{223}
[Illustration: THE LONE PINE]
Marking the spot where Catherine Mulhall was buried a half century
before the scene depicted in the illustration; see pages 73-74 and
119-125
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Now that the grave had been found, the question uppermost with all
was what should be done about it. Kate had often expressed a wish
that the {224} remains be interred alongside her father in the
beautiful cemetery of a village in the Oregon Country; but Pelton
formerly considered this impractical, if not almost impossible.
However, since the railroad had been built within sixty miles of the
burial place in the mountains, the removal could be made without much
difficulty.
Aunt Sarah said "No"---the spot where her mother had died was too
sacred to be abandoned; and what could ever be more appropriate than
the one under the shadow of this beautiful lone pine? Then tender
memories of the planting of the tree, of Ben Hardy's unselfish life
and Craig's consoling words, came uppermost in her mind.
All agreed that the decision should be made by the two sisters who
had been present at the burial of their mother on the first trip to
Oregon. Adam and his sister Sarah looked on in silent awe as the
situation was discussed; their father also refrained from speaking,
though he held a definite opinion concerning it.
The fatigue of the day, with its exciting incidents and long hours,
finally prevailed and left the momentous question unsettled in
physical exhaustion and finally restful slumber. No further decision
took place, as Kate had been convinced that it would not be advisable
to disturb the remains, and joined with her sister and children in
formulating a definite plan to care for and commemorate the spot.
Pelton said that he would heartily agree to whatever the daughters
{225} and grandchildren should decide--which was to leave the grave
in its solitary grandeur, but to mark it in a permanent and
appropriate way.
Camp was removed to a more convenient location, while the work of
transporting a large granite boulder from where Pelton had found it
in the course of a morning walk through the vicinity, to the head of
the grave progressed for several days, as it was necessary to secure
additional men and teams from a distance. After the huge stone had
been set in place to the satisfaction of all, Adam and the younger
Sarah chiseled upon it in deep sunken letters a brief record of the
revered grandmother, the planting of a small pine tree and beautiful
rose vine that adorned the last resting place of Catherine Mulhall,
the date of her burial in 185-, and also of this visit.
Two weeks passed from the day the pilgrims first sighted the lone
pine tree in the distance to the inscription of the last letter on
the boulder; every member of the party felt that the long journey had
been fully justified, and left the spot with an enduring memory of
the occasion. Father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah concluded to
return home by rail[4]; and a drive of about sixty miles brought them
all to the nearest railroad station. Meanwhile Adam and Sarah
decided to tour the eastern part of {226} the United States, and
possibly cross the ocean before returning to the Pacific Northwest.
One of the automobiles was loaded as freight and way-billed to a
small city that had grown up in what was once the Oregon Country; and
the "old folks" were comfortably settled in a westbound Pullman.
Adam and Sarah waited in their automobile near-by the open car window
until the train bearing father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah
started westward. All of them waved signals of mutual endearment;
and as the train passed out of sight, the young people began their
journey eastward.
"A fine boy--Adam," Kate murmured half-audibly to herself; "and a
dear girl." Pelton at her side added, "If ever parents were blessed
with dutiful children, we have been." At the same time Sarah,
speeding east in the automobile which Adam was driving, could hardly
restrain her tears from the recurrence of many tender memories of her
childhood, and the kindnesses of the parents from whom they had just
parted.
In a tremulous voice she said, "I almost feel that we ought not to
have left them;" Adam felt much the same way, but hesitating to trust
his voice, made no reply. Thus the party separated, the parents
homeward bound and the young people starting east to see more of what
was to them a new world, and possibly to have some adventures thrown
in for good measure.
Soon after the train started, the three elderly {227} people went
forward to the dining car. As the meal progressed, Kate fell into a
reminiscent mood, and looking out of the window, opened conversation
with Aunt Sarah by asking, "Don't you remember that sand-storm in
this vicinity as we passed through in 185-?"
"Indeed I do," was the prompt response, although Sarah had been at
the time a child of only seven years. "The sand blown through the
tent into the dough fairly gritted my teeth when eating the bread
made from it. We had no water in the camp that night, and slept with
dirty hands and faces; my hair, ears and eyes were filled with
sand--but let's talk of something else." By the time the first meal
was finished, they had progressed on their return journey about as
far as in a whole day on the early trip.
As night followed, and while comfortable berths were being made up
for them, Sarah--notwithstanding her admonition to "talk of something
else"--broke into oral expression of the thoughts surging through her
mind. "I guess there will be no 'ticks' in the bed to-night, as we
found them when sleeping on the ground." "Or snakes and other
creeping things," Kate added--"you of course remember the rattler,"
to which Sarah simply nodded to indicate that while she understood,
she was not disposed to pursue the subject any farther. Soon all the
three travelers fell into restful slumber and awoke, greatly
refreshed, beyond the eastern boundary of what was once known
indefinitely as the "Oregon Country," {228} out of which the present
States of the Pacific Northwest had been created within their own
recollections of it.
At breakfast the next morning, while the train was speeding by a
recognized object, Kate exclaimed, "It took us four weeks to travel
over the same ground that we have now passed through in a single
night." Strive as much as they could to banish thoughts of the
hardships encountered on the early trip, the memories of it would not
leave them. Within three days they had covered as much distance as
in the same number of months on the first overland journey.
Alighting from the automobile into which they transferred at the
station nearest their home, Pelton held open the gate for his
"sweetheart" (as he often spoke of Kate); and she paused just long
enough while passing in to say, "God bless you, Isaac; you did the
same when I first came fifty years ago." "And God bless you, Kate,"
he replied as they re-entered their happy home--lovers as in the
early days; and here we must leave them to the enjoyment of
well-spent lives.
CLOSING SCENES
Adam and Sarah continued their travels over the eastern half of the
grand old and historic route which their parents had traversed with
ox-teams more than a half century before. Then the tracks of the
Oregon Trail passed through an Indian country for more than a
thousand miles from the west bank of the {229} Missouri River, where
the last vestige of civilized life except a few widely scattered
trading posts or Government forts, were left behind. Various tribes
of red men possessed whatever claim there was to that vast region;
millions of buffalo roamed in great herds without restriction over
the Plains, while the grizzly bear was a source of danger to man and
of terror to wild beasts in the higher altitudes of the Rocky
Mountains.
From certain points of vantage deer, elk and antelope could be seen
in large numbers. Except for the wild animals, and an occasional
passing throng of emigrants, the country was a solitude, generally
considered unfit for habitation by a civilized race. But on this
motor trip the young people saw evidences of changes and developments
which their parents in the slow, westward moving column of the early
50s, would have considered beyond the range of possibilities.
Soon after leaving the Sweetwater River, traveling east, they passed
through pretentious cities and prosperous villages with church spires
and schools, trading centers, paved streets and large numbers of
comfortable residences--civilization personified in western
enterprise along or near-by the old Trail. Coal, oil, gas and other
natural resources--unknown either to the passing throng of pioneers,
or for many years afterward to the outside world--came gradually to
the knowledge of adventurers and enterprising business men who laid
the foundations for a great {230} commercial prosperity in addition
to the returns from the soil and ranges; and through subsequent
developments on a large scale have made that region a very important
national asset.
The waters of the various streams gathered, controlled and drawn upon
as needed by agriculture, wrought the great miracle of irrigation by
which land formerly believed sterile had been transformed into a
"garden spot" of the United States, many times the area of Lancaster
County, Pennsylvania, or the State of New Jersey, to both of which
that term has been generally applied. Even the rich Valley of the
Mississippi and its tributaries does not exceed in fertility that
once thought to be barren and worthless Plains, when supplied with
water and placed under scientific cultivation.
Adam and Sarah saw vast areas of grain, immense beet fields with
towering sugar factories, extensive orchards and alfalfa lands
unexcelled in the entire country. The world seemed larger and the
nation greater as our young adventurers continued along the valley of
the Platte River on an excellent modern highway of imperceptible
downgrade toward the Missouri River. Toward evening of the fifth day
after parting from their parents in the Sweetwater Valley, they
entered the suburbs of Omaha, Nebraska, and soon reached the center
of its business activities, surrounded by skyscrapers of many stories.
Sarah, who had never been in a city of that size, {231} was amazed
and thoroughly enjoyed the sights. After an evening walk through the
brilliantly lighted streets, and a couple of hours at the theatre,
both were ready to rest in the luxurious apartments of the hotel, and
slept until late the following morning. At breakfast, the question
of their future movements was discussed, for they were then at the
eastern end of the Oregon Trail[5]--or would be as soon as they
reached the great river now in sight about two miles ahead.
Adam again fell into a reminiscent mood, talking as much to himself
as to Sarah, "When grandfather passed through here half a century ago
on the way to Oregon, all on this side of the Missouri was Indian
country; there was no city--not even a cabin."
"But they didn't cross the river here," Sarah responded. "Mother
said it was several miles farther down; and I would like to see the
place where she was thrown into the water when the scow upset." "And
Ben Hardy saved her life," Adam continued, but added, "it's no use
going there; last evening a man told me that the channel of the river
is now more than a mile away from where it was when grandfather
crossed."
So they concluded to drive over the Missouri to the site of the old
Mormon camp of Kanesville, which they did on a fine modern bridge to
Council Bluffs, Iowa, occupying the location of the log cabin {232}
town that their grandparents saw. "We must stay here to-night," said
Sarah, to which Adam readily assented, though they had traveled only
four miles during the day.
A two-mile walk brought them to a short portion--then still
visible--of the trail over which their grandparents passed when
coming into Kanesville a half century before, though all vestiges of
it within the city had been eliminated. Sarah was reluctant to leave
the spot, and followed along the abandoned track as far as it could
be identified.
Talking more to herself than to Adam, Sarah said, "Oh, if grandfather
could only have come with us"--apparently forgetting that, as the
reader knows, Squire Mulhall had long since been called to his
reward; and then said, "Adam, I want to go on to the old homestead
where mother was born." To this Adam replied, "We will go there if
you want to." So they planned an early start on the morrow for the
old cabin site in Missouri.
Two days sufficed for the trip, which was part of the time over
hard-surfaced highways, and some dirt roads a little rough, but all
the way through a fine agricultural region with evidences of great
crops and abounding prosperity. As they rode along, both wondered
why their grandparents should have left such a country and traveled
two thousand miles over dusty plains and rough mountains to Oregon.
On the morning of the second day out from the "Bluffs," it became
reasonably sure that they would {233} reach the old homestead before
nightfall. Try as much as he could, Adam failed to interest Sarah in
further conversation, for she was in a mood to commune only with
herself.
"Yes, suh, I knows where the Squire's cabin stood; it's all gone now.
The well is there, but the sweep is gone too. Yes, suh, I played the
banjo at the farewell party the Squire gave before he started for
Oregon. Me? Well, they called me 'Stinson's man' then, because I
was a slave; but when Massa Lincoln made us all free, I stayed with
Massa Stinson till he died, and never took another name."
Adam had been advised that this negro, whose hair was white as snow
and who was reputed to be a hundred years of age, could show them the
old cabin site. He lived in a near-by village, was yet able to do
light chores for the white people of the neighborhood, and thus
continued to earn his own living.
"Stinson's man" was regarded the sole survivor of the old slaves of
La Fayette County; in fact no one else, white or black, could be
found who knew David Mulhall. The generation living when the Squire
left his home for Oregon had passed away, except for this aged old
negro who still enjoyed good health and played the banjo for parties,
or for his own amusement.
"Right here was the front door; I knows it for I often stepped it
from the well. Yes, the water is good yet, and there's the
fire-place."
"Here's a piece of broken plate," exclaimed Sarah, {234} as she
picked up a precious relic, which she believed had once belonged to
their grandmother.
The old barn site was located, and the barn-yard where her mother had
climbed the fence when "gentle" old Star, with the yoke on for the
first time, broke away from them and ran about with tongue out,
bellowing like a mad bull. Sarah's mother had often told the story
with a hearty laugh, which brought merriment as the incident was
recalled fifty years later, on the spot where it occurred. Adam
believed that he had located the old barbecue pit in a depression
near the spot his mother had described. Both were reluctant to leave
the grounds, and did not until approaching darkness warned them to
seek accommodations for the night.
"Adam!" "What is it, Sarah?" Adam asked, thinking that his sister
had something on her mind she hesitated to mention. Gathering
courage, she exclaimed, "Adam, I don't want to go any farther, for I
ought to be at home taking care of mother. You know as well as I do
that she is not strong as even last summer; and I should be with her."
"God bless you, my dear! We will start for home to-morrow if you say
so," he replied, throwing his arms around her and imprinting a kiss
upon her cheek in love of his sister, and of the revered parents in
the far West. So our story closes with the sacrifice of a trip they
had expected to extend to Washington City and the Atlantic Coast for
the greater pleasure of returning home sooner as a filial duty.
[1] Along the Burnt River in northeastern Oregon--the subject of
"Westward Ho!" the painting by Emanuel Leutze in the Capitol,
Washington, D.C. While somewhat exaggerated in details, it is a fair
representation of the difficulties encountered by the pioneers on
that part of the overland trip in the early 60s. E.M.
[2] One of the little twins in the early chapters of this story.
[3] Those four parallel wagon tracks, worn nearly hub deep across a
ledge of rock on the Oregon Trail, may be seen to this day in the
Sweetwater Valley near Split Rock, Fremont County, Wyoming; see
photograph opposite page 217. E.M.
[4] Which they did at from thirty to forty miles an hour, almost
continuously day and night, over substantially the same ground they
had traversed half a century before by ox-teams at two miles an hour
for an average of about eight hours a day, with frequent stops to
rest the stock, or on account of bad roads, river crossings or other
hazards of early emigration. E.M.
[5] The beginning of the old Trail to the west-bound traveler
crossing from the Iowa side into the "Indian Country" of the
60s.--E.M.
{235}
APPENDIX
THE MISSIONARY'S STORY
THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION; FOUR INDIANS FROM THE NORTHWEST
JOURNEY TO ST. LOUIS IN SEARCH OF THE WHITE MAN'S RELIGION; OPENING
AND SETTLEMENT OF THE OREGON COUNTRY; HISTORIC CHARACTERS--JASON LEE,
NATHANIEL J. WYETH, MARCUS AND NARCISSA WHITMAN, AND OTHERS;
WHITMAN'S RIDE; MASSACRE AT THE WHITMAN MISSION; NOTABLE INCIDENTS OF
THE EARLY MIGRATION TO OREGON.
A little before sundown a few days after the neighborhood party
described in the first chapter, a stranger rode leisurely up the road
toward the Mulhall farmhouse. Seeing the owner of the place doing
some chores in front of the barn, he accosted him and asked if it
were possible to secure accommodations for himself and mount for the
night. The Squire answered, "Well, stranger, you can see for
yourself that our accommodations are none too good; but if you are
willing to put up with such as they are, you are entirely welcome.
We will do the best we can under the circumstances."
"It is not necessary to put yourself to any extra trouble on my
account," said the stranger, "for I have led a wayfaring life and am
accustomed to roughing it in the broadest meaning of that word."
{236} Mulhall suggested that he dismount, go to the cabin and rest
while he would unsaddle the horse and take it to the barn.
The stranger replied, "My good friend, I truly appreciate your
courtesy; but I have always made it a point to bestow the first care
and attention upon the beast that carries me. Now if you will show
me where to stable him, I will do the rest myself. This faithful
animal has borne me many a long mile upon his back, and it is only
right that I should repay him by devoting a little time to his
comfort."
After hanging up the saddle and bridle, he took from the saddle-bags
a currycomb and brush, which he said he never failed to take along,
and gave the noble animal a thorough cleaning. Then after seeing
that the horse had plenty of hay and grain for the night, he
accompanied Mulhall to the house.
By this time the owner of the place had surmised that his guest was a
clergyman; his language was too precise and his delivery too easy and
natural for the ordinary man found in that part of the world. This
conclusion was verified beyond question when, just before leaving the
barn, he took a well worn Testament from his saddle-bags.
It did not take Catherine and Kate long to prepare a good and
appetizing meal to which the reverend stranger, after asking the
blessing, did ample justice. During the supper Mulhall informed the
guest that he and the family were about to leave their little farm
for the Oregon Country, where conditions {237} were said to be much
more favorable for getting along in the world than in Missouri.
At the mention of Oregon the stranger's face brightened, plainly
indicating that the news was pleasing to him; and said, "You are
doing a wise thing, for that is a grand country with a wonderful
future. The journey ahead of you is long, difficult and more or less
dangerous; but if you get safely through--as I hope and trust you
will--you will be amply repaid for all the hardships and sacrifices
endured. I tell you this advisedly, for I have spent many years in
that favored region, being among the first of our nation to cross the
Continent for the purpose of carrying the light of the gospel to the
benighted savages who dwelt there."
After hearing this statement, every member of the Mulhall family
exhibited the greatest surprise and pleasure at having under their
roof one able to give them first-hand information of the distant
region where they intended to cast their lot; and begged him to tell
them all about it. Heretofore all the knowledge they had of Oregon
was through one or two letters received from parties who had gone out
there a year or two before; and these contained very little
information except that it was a good country for industrious people,
with a mild climate and good market for farm produce.
That was more than they had in Missouri; so they had already
determined to make the venture. But with an unexpected opportunity
to acquire full {238} and accurate information regarding it, they
wished--if he would be kind enough to take the trouble--to hear from
his lips everything of consequence concerning what was to them a
practically unknown country.
The clergyman replied, "My good friends, nothing except expounding
the word of God gives me greater satisfaction and keener pleasure
than to talk about Oregon, and recount the difficulties, tribulations
and heroic actions of those who were in the vanguard of its
settlement; it is a subject of surpassing interest, and has had a
remarkable influence upon the rapid development and material welfare
of our country. The narrative will take considerable time, and
perhaps tire your patience before I am through; but I deem it to your
advantage to have a correct outline of the principal historical
incidents relating to its exploration and settlement.
"It certainly affords me greater satisfaction to go into the subject
thoroughly than to give merely a short summary of those very
important events. If you are willing, when the meal is ended and
everything put away, we will gather around your cheerful and cozy
fireplace; and I will do my best to both entertain and enlighten you."
Soon after supper, the younger children climbed the ladder to their
sleeping quarters while David Mulhall, Catherine and Kate arranged
seats in a semi-circle before the glowing fireplace where the large
backlog furnished sufficient heat and light for {239} the little
cabin. There is no place where a good story can be as effectively
told as before a blazing fireplace on a chilly evening in the mellow
light of the crackling logs, with eager and attentive listeners. In
such a pleasant atmosphere the itinerant missionary now began his
recital:
Half a century ago[1] that vast region known as the "Oregon Country"
had never, as far as any one knows, been penetrated by a white man.
It is true that Captain Robert Gray of Boston, in the good ship
"Columbia" entered the mouth of the great river in 1792, crossed the
dangerous bar and sailed upstream about a dozen miles, naming it
Columbia's River after his vessel.
A few months afterwards Lieutenant W. R. Broughton, of the British
Navy, also entered and proceeded up the mighty river about 100 miles.
But nothing more was known of the "Far Northwest" until the
celebrated exploring expedition of Lewis and Clark crossed the
Continent in 1804-5, arriving at the mouth of the Columbia in
November of the latter year.
While it would be impossible in this recital to give a detailed
account of that memorable expedition, or do justice to the dauntless
courage and perseverance of the remarkable men who conducted it, one
surpassing incident that happened on the journey was primarily the
cause of bringing all that extensive territory under the American
flag. I must crave your patience for devoting some extra time to
describing this most interesting event.
That exploring expedition, as you doubtless know, was conceived by
one of our greatest presidents years before he came to that high
office; but the opportunity for carrying it out did not exist until
he became President. The men chosen to organize and lead the
expedition were selected with fine discrimination for the stupendous
task {240} assigned them, and proved worthy of the trust and
confidence reposed in them by Thomas Jefferson.
After their departure from near St. Louis in the spring of 1804, they
spent about a year and a half ascending the Missouri River, crossing
the mighty "Stony Mountain" range and later the yet more rugged and
precipitous "Bitter Root" Mountains, before reaching the beautiful
open and undulating country on the Clearwater River. It was a joyful
experience for the tired, half famished explorers, descending from
the rugged and inhospitable mountains where game was scarce and
pasturage scant, to find ahead of them as far as the eye could see,
rolling hills carpeted with an abundant growth of bunch-grass, and
watercourses with groves of cottonwood and quaking asp along the
river bottoms. They also found game quite plentiful, and excellent
trout and salmon fishing in the streams.
Before proceeding very far in this region, they suddenly came upon a
few native women and children picking berries. Observing the party
of strange looking beings garbed in unusual attire and carrying
weapons never seen before, the simple-minded natives were terrified.
The women ran, and the children sought refuge under bunch-grass and
bushes, from what they imagined to be supernatural intruders.
In a short time the men caught up with a couple of the squaws, who
expected nothing else than swift and sure death at the hands of these
fierce looking strangers, and bowed their heads in anticipation of
the fatal stroke. By signs and kind words they soon dispelled the
fears of these women of the Nez Perces tribe, which then occupied all
that part of the country. They were dismissed with many presents,
and told by signs to have some of their head men come out to the camp
for an interview.
In a few hours a party of Indians garbed in native finery and armed
with bows and arrows, arrived; but they made no hostile
demonstrations, and were evidently in a friendly mood. Cordial
relations were soon established {241} between the explorers and the
Indians, the latter inviting the white men to their village to
partake of their crude hospitalities.
The explorers were fortunate in having with them as the wife of
Toussaint Chaboneau, their French-Canadian guide, a young and
handsome Indian woman of the Snake tribe--Sahcajahweah, meaning
"bird-woman," commonly known in later history by the shortened and
simplified name "Sacajawea." By her courage, fidelity, tact and
intimate knowledge of aboriginal habits, this remarkable girl wife
assisted materially in extricating the explorers from the many almost
insurmountable difficulties that beset the journey over the Rocky
Mountains and Bitter Root range. It is no exaggeration to say that
but for her, Lewis and Clark might never have reached the shores of
the Pacific.
At the present juncture she was of great assistance. Though not
understanding the Nez Perces tongue, her familiarity with the native
sign language enabled her to make known to the Indians whatever the
white leaders wished to communicate, and explain to her companions
what the former were desirous of expressing. She completely removed
from the minds of the red men any lurking suspicions they might
otherwise have entertained as to the motives and purposes that
brought the white men hither.
The explorers learned from these Indians that the big Chief of the
tribe was encamped about two days' travel down the river, and that a
messenger had already been dispatched to notify him of the arrival of
these strange men in his country. On the following morning the
party, accompanied by a Nez Perces guide, set out to visit the Chief
of this seemingly very friendly tribe. The commanders issued orders
that the men should polish up their accoutrements and make the best
possible appearance; and that their behavior while sojourning in the
country of this tribe should be above reproach, as it was essential
for the success of the expedition to have the friendly cooperation of
these Indians.
{242}
On the evening of the second day the cavalcade of thirty-odd
travelers descending from a rolling plateau, beheld the many lodges
forming the main camp of the Nez Perces tribe situated on a willow
creek bottom, a short distance above where the stream entered the
beautiful Clearwater River, along whose banks were many small groves
of cottonwood, interspersed with clumps of large willows. The camp
presented a picturesque appearance of probably two hundred lodges,
scattered up and down along the little valley for perhaps a mile with
very little regularity in formation. On this occasion it presented a
very animated appearance, for the occupants of each tepee were on the
outside anxiously awaiting the arrival of the wonderful strangers
with bearded faces and carrying loud-noise weapons.
In about the center of the string of lodges was one a little larger
than the rest, in which dwelt the great Chief of the little nation,
who was now standing in front of the lodge entrance arrayed in an
elaborate costume of Indian finery surmounted by an immense
head-dress of eagle feather plumage. He wore a doublet of tanned
deerskin, fringed and decorated with elk teeth and agate stones, and
leggings of the same material; his feet were encased in moccasins
inwrought with the finest embroidery done by Indian women. The
Chief, probably fifty years old, was a well proportioned man of
medium size with regular features and well shaped head; he stood
motionless, with his eyes intently fixed on the approaching column of
white men riding in single file down the gently sloping hillside
towards the row of lodges--a sight never before witnessed by any of
them.
The Indian guide pointed out the lodge of the Chief to Lewis and
Clark, who halted the column; and dismounting a little distance off,
approached it on foot. The Chief did not move a muscle until Captain
Lewis held out his hand with the evident gesture of a friendly
purpose, whereupon he reached out, grasped the extended hand of
Captain Lewis and held it firmly for a little while, muttering
something in a guttural voice which, {243} though not understood, was
evidently intended as a pledge of friendship.
Each one of the party was then presented to the big Chief, who gave
every one a friendly greeting even to the last, the negro man servant
of Captain Lewis, though the stoical Indian could not suppress a look
of wonder as he gazed from head to foot upon the gigantic black man.
The Indians were all filled with strong curiosity at these strange
men with bearded faces and wonderful firearms that sent a leaden
messenger of death faster and more accurate than their most expert
bowman; but neither the white men nor their guns, strange and almost
incomprehensible as they seemed, created anything like the
astonishment aroused at beholding the African, who was a continual
object of their awe and admiration. Little attention was paid to
Sacajawea, for she was of their own race and a member of a tribe with
which they were not too friendly.
The whole assembled concourse of savage tribesmen vied with one
another in offering hospitality to the newcomers, and exhibited
unfeigned pleasure when any of them entered their lodges and partook
of refreshments. Friendly relations between the Americans and Nez
Perces established so long ago under these peculiar conditions, have
continued without a break up to the present time; and let us hope may
never be impaired.
Lewis and Clark acquired much useful information during their sojourn
with this tribe. They were informed that it was yet a long distance
to the "Big Water"--the goal of the expedition; and also learned that
almost insurmountable obstacles would prevent continuing all the way
to their destination on horseback. It would be possible, however, to
reach it by waters all flowing in that direction, finally uniting in
one mighty river which was swallowed up by the "Big Water" near the
setting sun.
Thereupon the explorers set their men to building boats on the banks
of the Clearwater; and it was determined to complete the passage in
that manner. They also made {244} arrangements to leave their horses
with the Indians until their return the following spring, when the
journey towards the "rising sun"--the land of the white man--would be
resumed.
While the Lewis and Clark expedition remained on the Clearwater, the
Indians held their annual rites to placate the wrath of their false
deity, lest he visit upon them dire misfortunes in the form of famine
and pestilence, which at times fell upon their people with serious
consequences. The white men refrained from making any comment upon
these absurd and pagan ceremonies until they were ended. Then having
a council with several of the leading men of the tribe, they
endeavored in the kindest and most inoffensive manner--through the
medium of Sacajawea, who by this time had acquired a considerable
knowledge of the Nez Perces tongue--to point out to the Indians that
the white people were in possession of a much better method of
worshipping the Supreme Being who created the heavens, the earth and
all things therein; and it would be a great blessing if they would
learn to do likewise.
This kindly advice found deep lodgment in the minds of those
untutored children of the wilderness, and was made still more
effective by the earnestness and sincerity of the "bird woman," who
since becoming the wife of Chaboneau had already received
considerable instruction in, the tenets of the Christian religion.
Thus the seed that bore such rich fruit a quarter of a century later,
and actually led to all that vast region becoming a part of the
United States, was planted in what is now our far Northwest.
When the boats were finished the little band prepared to continue its
journey by water. Many presents were distributed to the friendly
Indians before leaving their hospitable village; though trifling in
value, these were highly prized by the natives, and helped to cement
firmly the friendship already started between the two races. In
return the white men received a liberal supply of dried venison and
roots to sustain them during the arduous {245} undertaking still
ahead of them. The Nez Perces also furnished two guides to accompany
the expedition; these proved of invaluable assistance to Lewis and
Clark, particularly in their perilous descent of the Columbia.
That historic journey down the river to the Pacific Ocean was
successfully accomplished; and in the following spring the party
returned to the Indian encampment on the Clearwater, finding all the
horses that had been left with the Indians in fine condition to
re-cross the mountain ranges over which they had come the preceding
summer. While stopping at the Indian village on this homeward-bound
route, the subject of the white man's religion was again broached by
the natives; and once more the leaders of the expedition impressed
upon them the spiritual and temporal advantages of acquiring a
knowledge of the revealed word of God.
This good and salutary advice sank deep into the hearts of the
simple-minded red men, who realized that in many ways the white
strangers were superior to them. They had more effective weapons,
their utensils and implements were beyond the power of any Indian to
make, they could find knowledge in books and talk on paper; they had
far better saddles and bridles, and could kill a deer or a bear with
their smoke-fire guns. Surely then, it was more than probable that
they possessed a better knowledge of worshipping the Supreme Being
than the poor and ignorant Indians--thoughts about which continued to
agitate the minds of this truth-seeking tribe long after the
departure of their good friends, Lewis and Clark.
After the lapse of many years the subject was again brought into
prominence by the arrival in that part of the country of a small
party of full-blooded Iroquois and half-breed employes of the
Northwestern Fur Company from eastern Canada. All of these had
acquired a knowledge of the Christian religion, and lost no
opportunity to impress upon the pagan members of their race its
superiority over the crude and senseless forms still practiced by the
native Indians.
{246}
Coming from people of their own stock, this corroborative testimony
of what Lewis and Clark had told them carried great weight, and
aroused an intense desire for instruction in the white man's faith;
but they could see no possible way to gratify it. How could the
poor, benighted Indians come into contact with the white people, and
acquire their way of worship, when there were none in any region with
which they were familiar? The prospect was indeed gloomy for Indians
seeking the light.
But conditions soon began to change. The Hudson's Bay Company was
securing a firm hold upon the country, bringing in white men,
half-breeds and Indians from Canada to carry on its extensive
fur-hunting business. Trading posts were established throughout the
vast region west of the Rocky Mountains and north of the Spanish
possessions. The Indians welcomed this great commercial enterprise
into their country, for it gave them a market for what they had to
sell, and opportunities to acquire by trade many useful articles
which had never before been within their reach.
Some of these new trading posts were established close to the Nez
Perces country, and the tribesmen soon became frequent visitors to
them. Here again they were told how superior the white man's
religion was to their outlandish and foolish ceremonies. They also
learned that one of the two leaders of the explorers who visited
their country many years before was still living and occupying a high
position, in that department of the Government having the management
and care of Indian affairs. His home was in St. Louis, a city many
miles beyond the great mountains, a distance that would take many
moons to traverse.
These Indians pondered long and seriously what to do under the
circumstances; but no matter how great the distance, formidable the
obstacles or how threatening the dangers of traveling through a vast
region--peopled, indeed, by men of their own dusky race but known to
be fierce, warlike and no respecters of persons--they were {247}
determined to make the attempt. The desire to gain a knowledge of
the white man's religion had taken complete possession of their
minds, and they would not be content until that object should be
attained.
At a joint council of the Nez Perces and Flatheads, one Indian of
advanced age and a young brave of each tribe were selected to go in
search of the explorer they had remembered during the quarter century
since he had been among them, and ascertain the truth of the reported
better religion than their own. During the summer and early fall of
1831, these four delegates traversed more than half of the Continent
from the far Northwest to the junction of the Mississippi and
Missouri rivers.
Arriving at St. Louis after a long, difficult and perilous trip of
which no account was ever made, they were directed to the home of
Gen.[2] William Clark, who received them cordially and during their
stay there often entertained them in his own house. As may well be
imagined, the General was astonished when he learned the purpose that
brought them from such a distance; and although outside his line of
duty, he determined to do everything possible to assist them.
Clark spent considerable time showing them the town and its
attractions; to those children of the wilderness, St. Louis was of
course a strange and wonderful place. It was at that time the
largest settlement in the middle West, and the principal outfitting
point for travel, explorations or hunting expeditions to the Rocky
Mountains or beyond. But the greatest obstacle to the progress of
their mission was the inability of the Indians to speak or understand
our language.
{248}
Before they had been very long in St. Louis, one of the old men
became ill, doubtless from the fatigue of the long journey, change of
diet and impure water of the Mississippi; he soon passed away, and
was buried there. In about two weeks the other old Indian followed
him in death, neither living to know the result of their mission.
The two younger men remained there during the winter, and in the
spring started up the river on their way back to the far Northwest.
One of them died in the Yellowstone region, and the other proceeded
to cross the Great
Mountains alone, finally succeeding, after a long absence,
in reaching his home and kindred.
While they were at St. Louis an Indian agent, William Walker, en
route to the Osage and other tribes beyond the Mississippi, arrived
there with a letter from the Secretary of War, and called upon Clark
for special instructions regarding the Indians he was about to visit.
The General informed him of the Nez Perces and Flatheads under his
roof at the time.
Anxious to see those aborigines from beyond the Rocky Mountains, Mr.
Walker interviewed them and gives an interesting account of their
appearance and the reason for their coming. This was published after
his return from the trip already mentioned; and although he does not
give dates, it has been established from contemporary records that
the Indian delegation was in St. Louis during the winter of 1831-32.
Mr. Walker's letter in the _Christian Advocate_ of March 1, 1833, at
once aroused the greatest interest and religious fervor throughout
the length and breadth of the land. Missionary enthusiasm quickly
arose to fever heat, due to the fact that a party of Indians had
voluntarily come more than two thousand miles over mountain and
desert from near the waters of the Pacific, calling for Christian
enlightenment.
It aroused the apostolic spirit among the churches to a height not
seen in a generation; meetings were held, subscriptions to defray the
expenses came pouring in, and devoted men offered their services to
answer the call. The {249} first in the field were the Methodists,
animated by the evangelical spirit of John Wesley, founder of that
great denomination. Funds were raised, the personnel of the party
decided upon, and all preparations completed for the journey to the
far West in the spring of 1834.
Rev. Jason Lee was placed in charge of the expedition; and I had
abundant opportunity to personally observe how well fitted he was
mentally, physically and spiritually for the serious task.
Arrangements were made for the missionaries to accompany Nathaniel J.
Wyeth, of Boston, who had organized a fur company to carry on that
business in the Oregon Country; and had some forty or fifty men in
his party.
The journey across the Continent was full of exciting
adventures--fording or swimming turbulent and treacherous rivers,
eluding or repelling small bands of predatory Indians, fleeing for
safety from the thunderous charges of stampeding buffalo, and many
incidents of lesser import. But while neither my time nor your
patience will admit of giving a detailed recital of them, one event
which happened on that trip deserves more than passing mention.
After crossing the Rocky Mountain divide, their course was northwest
until they came to the Snake River. While on an exploring trip the
previous year, Mr. Wyeth had decided to erect a trading post at a
point on that stream near where a considerable tributary, the
Portneuf River, enters it and in the midst of a good fur-producing
territory, well adapted for his purpose.
The party camped at this place and remained there a few days.
Besides the men Wyeth had brought from the eastern States, who by
this time had become genuine frontiersmen at least in appearance, he
had taken quite a number of mountain men and independent trappers
into his employ at the Rendezvous on Green River, near the site where
Fort Bridger was located by James Bridger in 1843, about nine years
later. There were also some nondescript characters with no visible
occupation--altogether a motley and extremely picturesque throng.
Many of the men had buckskin suits, embellished with {250} fringes
and decorated with beads; others wore untanned deer and bearskin
garments of almost every conceivable design. A few had coats and
trousers of buffalo hide, and one a complete suit of wildcat skins.
All had beards, some reaching to the belt line, while others were
clipped until they resembled bristles; but there was no evidence that
any man among them possessed a razor.
Though it was midsummer, many wore fur caps and some went bareheaded.
Various kinds and patterns of rifles and muskets were in evidence,
while a few carried Spanish musketoons. Physically they were
somewhat above the average stature of men in "the States." While
encamped there the men spent most of the time playing cards, shooting
at targets or swapping yarns.
It was not the kind of a crowd you would expect to see occupying
church pews or attending Sunday School; but Jason Lee made an
announcement that he would hold services on the Sabbath, and desired
every one to be on hand. They evidently thought it a good joke for
any one to attempt to preach Christianity to such a lawless crowd of
semi-wild and godless men; however, it was a diversion, and all
promised to be there and hear the reverend visitor's message.
Jason Lee was six feet or more in height and slightly stooped; his
head was large and well-shaped, with an undeniable expression of
determination and courage. Yet there was a kindly look in his eye;
and when he smiled, you instinctively knew that beneath his rugged
outward appearance was a genial spirit tempered with seriousness.
Shortly after breakfast he took his Bible and went some distance from
the camp to the shade of large trees, and spent a couple of hours
walking back and forth in serious meditation. About 10 o'clock--the
hour announced for the services--he returned to the camp where the
throng had assembled.
Some were lolling on the grass, others squatting on blankets, a few
listlessly leaning against the trees and others standing by the tent
openings. There were no benches, nor any roof to protect the
audience from the {251} fierce rays of the summer sun; but that did
not matter to men who had lived for years in the open, and were
accustomed to sleep under the canopy of heaven.
[Illustration: REV. JASON LEE'S GREAT SERMON IN THE SNAKE RIVER
COUNTRY, 1834; SEE OPPOSITE PAGE]
Lee took a stand where all might be within range of his voice, cast
his eyes over the unusual assemblage, opened the Bible and read in a
clear and penetrating voice a text from the gospels about the
crucifixion and death of Christ. Then he requested all to join with
him in prayer. Some who had not entirely forgotten their early
training, did so as best they could, while the more hardened sinners
nudged each other in the ribs and smiled--as if to say, "What
nonsense!"
The clergyman was not an eloquent speaker, but forceful and
impressive; and his subject was well suited to call forth all the
earnestness of his nature and the sincerity of his faith. He spoke
for an hour, and before half through had the complete attention of
every one in the audience; those who were at first inclined to scoff
soon lost their indifference and listened with profound attention to
every word. When at the close of his sermon, he quoted dramatically
the words, "Socrates died like a philosopher but Jesus Christ died
like a God," there was such a stillness as if all within hearing were
spellbound; and they were.
I have listened to great orators in the political arena, and on
various occasions to brilliant ministers of the gospel; but have
never known one to so thoroughly magnetize his hearers as Jason Lee
did the trappers, hunters and mountain men who composed that audience
away off in the wilds of the Snake River Country in 1834. It was the
first sermon ever preached west of the Rocky Mountains; and has
probably not been excelled to this day.
Wyeth put his full force at work erecting the rectangular trading
post, more generally known as Fort Hall, for his contemplated
fur-dealing activities. Although it remained only a short time in
the control of that enterprising American, and passed into the hands
of the Hudson's Bay Company upon the collapse of Wyeth's original
enterprise the following year, that frontier {252} establishment was
a very important factor in the great emigration to the Oregon Country.
A day or so after the Jason Lee sermon, the missionary company
departed for its intended destination, the Columbia River, where a
favorable location for a Mission was to be selected. The journey on
horseback for several hundred miles through rugged and broken country
was fraught with many difficulties and dangers, all successfully
overcome.
In September the tired and travel-stained little party arrived at
Fort Walla Walla on the Columbia, the chief trading post and
outfitting headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company east of the
Cascade Mountains, where they were kindly received and hospitably
entertained by Mr. C. P. Pambrun, the official in charge. Here it
was decided to leave the horses and complete the remainder of the
journey by water; and fortunately a party of fur-hunters returning
with a cargo of pelts taken along the waters of the upper Columbia,
was then on the way to Fort Vancouver.
With these the missionaries were given passage, and floated down the
great river in their batteaux. The French-Canadian crew were expert
boatmen and a happy lot to travel with, joking and singing almost
without intermission; their care-free and mercurial natures never
seemed to be ruffled, no matter what obstacles interfered with their
progress. The annual fur-hunting expedition had been very
successful; and they were looking forward to a genuine celebration
upon their arrival at Fort Vancouver, a privilege given to them once
a year.
I shall never forget the mingled feelings of wonder and admiration as
our little party approached the mighty break in the upper levels of
the Cascade Mountains made by the river when, in prehistoric time, it
forced a passage through that gigantic range. The scenery was
superb--nothing grander can well be imagined--magnificent snow-capped
mountains, primeval forests clothed with foliage of various hues
reaching down to the water's edge, and numerous sparkling waterfalls
leaping over the sides of {253} perpendicular bluffs from elevations
of two to six hundred feet.
Occasionally immense basaltic pillars, rising from the bank of the
river to a great height, and some of most grotesque outlines, would
be encountered. There is nothing of the kind in the United States to
compare with that scenery of the Columbia.
Upon reaching Fort Vancouver we met with a truly cordial reception.
That grand old autocrat Dr. John McLoughlin had word of our arrival,
came out to meet us and in the most courtly manner but with
unaffected ease and dignity, ushered us into his private apartments
where he said we were to be his guests during our stay. We greatly
enjoyed the hospitality of the Doctor, especially after our long and
tiresome journey; and have always looked back with sincere pleasure
to the whole-hearted welcome given us by the representative of
another nation, when we might reasonably have been considered in the
guise of intruders.
A day or so after our arrival, Jason Lee unfolded to Dr. McLoughlin
his plans for establishing a Mission among the Flathead Indians. The
Doctor listened patiently as Rev. Mr. Lee related the details
connected with the project; and then while expressing the
satisfaction he felt at having a Mission located somewhere in the
country, he pointed out the stupendous task of conducting it so far
from a base of supplies.
Everything for the Mission must come by water around the Horn, be
unloaded somewhere on the lower Columbia, and then carried by
batteaux and pack animals a distance of five hundred miles
up-country--a very serious handicap. Jason Lee saw it in the same
light, but did not know what else to do.
Dr. McLoughlin suggested founding a Mission in the Willamette Valley
near French Prairie, where a small settlement of French-Canadians
already existed and there were Indians in the vicinity needing
spiritual as well as temporal enlightenment. Such a point would also
be reasonably accessible for receiving supplies by water.
{254}
So convincing were the facts presented by Dr. McLoughlin in support
of the Willamette Valley as compared with the Flathead country for a
Mission location, that Jason Lee decided to accept his views and
followed his counsel. The Doctor also promised to assist it by every
means in his power compatible with his duties as Chief Factor of the
Hudson's Bay Company; and kept his word.
The Mission established in the Willamette Valley was conducted
successfully until measles and other epidemic diseases introduced by
the whites almost completely annihilated the native population, so
that in ten or twelve years after its founding there were no Indian
children to attend its school. During that time, however, the white
population increased rapidly by accessions to the missionary force,
many newcomers brought from "the States" by glowing descriptions sent
back by earlier arrivals, and the even stronger corroboration of the
surpassing advantages of the new country by men returning east for
missionary reinforcements.
In this again, my friends, I cannot but see the interposition of
Divine Providence. Had our Mission been established among the
Flatheads as originally intended, there would have been no such
influx of American citizens as afterwards followed into the disputed
territory to offset the prestige of the British claim, because that
remote interior region offered no such opportunities for settlement
as the salubrious climate and fertile valleys west of the Cascade
Mountains. So I may well say again, "God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform."
While I have told you, and truthfully, that the Methodists were the
first to answer the call from the Indians beyond the Rocky Mountains,
the Presbyterians and Congregationalists soon followed. In 1835 Rev.
Samuel Parker of Massachusetts, and Dr. Marcus Whitman of New York
State, were sent out by the Missionary Board of that church to
examine into the character and disposition of the tribes residing in
the region from which the {255} four Indians made the long journey to
St. Louis in search of the white man's religion, and report as to the
desirability of establishing a Mission among them.
With that purpose in view, Rev. Mr. Parker and Dr. Whitman crossed
the plains, and in the summer of 1835 arrived at a point in the Rocky
Mountains known as the "Rendezvous," a famous place for trappers and
Indiana to congregate for trading in furs and pelts. They found
encamped there several hundred Nez Perces and Flatheads just returned
from a successful buffalo hunt; and through an interpreter learned
that they were very anxious to have white religious instructors sent
out to them.
This convinced Rev. Mr. Parker that the field was a very promising
one. It was therefore agreed that he should accompany the Indians to
their homes and select a suitable location for a Mission site, while
Whitman would return east and arrange for a missionary party to go
out there under his charge the following spring.
Parker impressed upon Whitman the necessity of having the company
well equipped with everything essential for such an arduous
undertaking, and above all else to provide himself with a good wife.
The Doctor laughed and replied, "That is easier said than done;
however, I may make the attempt."
By their genial manners and evident sincerity of purpose, these two
advance missionary agents while at the Rendezvous won the confidence
of the assembled Indians to such an extent that they permitted
Whitman to select two or three young boys to return with him to "the
States," remain there for the winter, and accompany him back. The
Doctor knew that their presence would have the effect of stimulating
the Board to organize and equip a missionary party with the least
possible delay; and would be tangible proof that the Indians were
earnestly seeking religious instruction. Whitman also realized that
the boys would be of great assistance to the missionaries in crossing
the plains and mountains in the spring.
The Doctor and his wards experienced no serious difficulties on the
journey back to civilization, and arrived {256} at his home in
Rushville, Yates County, New York State, early in the winter. He was
dressed in the picturesque garb of the mountain men--buckskin coat
and trousers decorated with fringes on the arms and legs, moccasins
and bearskin cap, and had not been shaved for several months.
Reaching there late on a Saturday, Whitman did not go all the way
into the village or make his presence known until Sunday, when he
proceeded just as he was, and accompanied by the young Indians, to
the church where services were being held; entered, walked up the
aisle, and became the cynosure of all eyes in the congregation. At
first everyone wondered where the uncouth and wild looking individual
came from, and why he should interrupt the services. After gazing
intently at him for a moment or two his mother, who was in the
audience at the time, exclaimed, "Why if there isn't Marcus."
Services were immediately suspended, and all gathered around to
welcome the intrepid Doctor back from the wilderness, where he had
gone as a soldier of the Lord. He was the hero of the hour, and
every community in that part of the State made an effort to honor him.
But there was one locality where he seemed to relish the attentions
paid him more than in any other, and a house to which he made the
most frequent visits. It was not because of the genial hospitality
of the host--which was proverbial in the vicinity; nor altogether the
fascination of his conversation, though he was a man of culture and
refinement, to whom it was a treat to listen.
The admonition of Rev. Mr. Parker was uppermost in the Doctor's mind,
and beneath that roof dwelt the charming daughter of the household he
had known and admired for a long time, and who he hoped entertained
more than a passing regard for him. He now determined to press his
suit with all the energy of his forceful nature. But before telling
you the results of his efforts in that direction, I should give a
brief sketch of the early life of Narcissa Prentiss, a noble
character whose life and deeds will always occupy a very prominent
place among {257} the pioneers of the Oregon Country--more so,
indeed, than any other woman.
She was the daughter of Judge Stephen Prentiss, a highly respected
and well-to-do citizen of the Lake Region in New York State. Careful
attention was bestowed upon her early education and training, and
every possible advantage given her within reach of people in moderate
circumstances in that part of the country at the time.
In her early teens she is described as about the average in height,
the possessor of an unusually fine and well-rounded form, with blonde
hair and blue eyes. She had winning manners and a remarkably sweet,
well trained voice which naturally made her a popular leader in the
church choir and singing circles.
A romantic incident in her early life greatly impaired her happiness
in after years, as will subsequently appear. While attending the
village school one of the pupils, a boy her senior by a few years,
became enamored of her beauty and sprightly manners. He sang in the
same church choir, was a diligent scholar, had a good voice and was
generally acceptable; thrown together in this way, they became very
good friends. On her part this meant nothing more than congenial
companionship, but with him it ripened into a master passion.
In this frame of mind, he asked her to make a solemn promise to
become his wife as soon as circumstances would permit him to assume
the responsibility of providing suitably for her. She laughed
heartily at his boyish assurance, and said that she was entirely too
young to even think of such a thing; besides, when she did, he would
not appeal to her in that light. Even after this rebuff, he still
hoped that by making no further advances for the present, and abiding
his time, she would gradually come to look more favorably upon him.
A few years later Narcissa Prentiss had become one of the most
attractive young women in that portion of the State--not only
beautiful in person, but with a sweet and lovable disposition that
endeared her to all. She also had a serious turn of mind, and was
foremost in every {258} activity connected with the church of which
her family were members.
Narcissa had almost forgotten the school boy proposal when most
unexpectedly the young man, then about to be ordained for the
ministry, again appeared upon the scene. When he called at the
Prentiss home, she received him in the usual friendly manner and
treated him with the greatest cordiality, for they had been
pleasantly associated in the choir, Sunday School and religious
activities of various kinds, never having had any serious
disagreement--unless the incident already mentioned might be so
considered.
After conversing pleasantly for some time on general topics, he said,
"Narcissa, I have called upon you at this time for a special purpose.
You know that I am now about to become a minister of the gospel, may
be sent to distant parts and separated from all my friends of boyhood
days. This is not a pleasant prospect; but I could bear up under all
those things, sustained by the knowledge that it is in the service of
the Master, were it not that I would be leaving behind to me the most
precious thing on this earth--you, Narcissa, the idol of my
affections. Won't you accept the offer of my hand and heart, and be
my helpmate through life?"
Narcissa, who thought she had firmly squelched the earlier fancy, and
that he had long forgotten to think seriously of ever winning her
hand, was dumfounded. But now in far more earnestness than ever, he
had renewed the effort, apparently under the delusion that he might
be successful. In an instant her mind was made up what to say and
how to act; she must let him know once for all that such a proposal
was unwarranted and repugnant to her.
Arising and standing before him in all the dignity of her womanhood,
she asked, "Have I ever acted toward you in a way you might construe
that I entertained any affection for you, or given any grounds for
you to hope that I might have anything more than just a friendly
feeling towards you? If I have so acted, I'm not aware of {259} it.
Now bear this in mind--never under any circumstances would you be
considered in the light of a lover or husband for me!"
A cloud passed over the brow of the young man as he felt the sting of
her reply, and it is generally believed that a vow of eternal
animosity against what he deemed a haughty and insolent young woman
who had repelled his well-intentioned proposal was made by him.
"Some time you may regret this," he remarked, or words to that
effect, and took his departure.
Narcissa, kind hearted and reluctant to hurt the feelings of anyone,
regretted having wounded his vanity and pride so deeply; but thought
that was the only way his persistent suit could be stopped for all
time. This happened some four years before the return of Dr. Whitman
from the Oregon Country to his home in New York State. About a year
after his rejection by Narcissa Prentiss, Rev. Mr. Spalding was
married to Miss Eliza Hart, a very estimable young woman, and sent
west to engage in missionary work.
Marcus Whitman, although making frequent visits to the Prentiss home,
and received on every occasion by the Judge and his family as a
welcome guest and intimate friend, did not attempt as yet to play the
role of suitor for the hand of Narcissa. He must first know that all
arrangements for the projected missionary expedition were
satisfactorily completed before committing himself in any personal
way that might later prove embarrassing.
It was a matter of considerable importance for the Missionary Board
to assemble and outfit a sufficient number of persons for such an
undertaking; and many investigations and calculations had to be made
before a complete organization was effected. It was considered
necessary to have an ordained minister, and difficult to find one
willing to go. But in the early spring the personnel of the party
was decided upon, and the animals, wagons and supplies purchased so
that the westward movement could begin as soon as the season was far
enough advanced.
{260}
Whitman now decided that the auspicious moment had arrived to take
the important step that had been uppermost in his mind since his
return from the Rocky Mountains. He was of a sanguine temperament
and optimistic by nature, with supreme confidence in his ability to
overcome obstacles; in the vital matter now in hand he felt confident
of success, but was anxious to know what the result would be.
With this purpose in view he mounted his horse and rode hurriedly to
the Prentiss home, finding the Judge out but Narcissa there.
Entering the sitting room, he took a seat and without any
preliminaries remarked, "Well, Narcissa, everything is arranged and
the party will start for the great undertaking in just one month from
now. I said the party was complete, which is not quite correct;
there is yet one vacancy and I have come, Narcissa, to ask you to
fill it by becoming the wife of Marcus Whitman, leader of the party.
"I need not tell you that you hold a higher place in my estimation
than any other living mortal; your womanly intuition has long ago
made you aware of that. I also believe that you entertain for me a
feeling of uncommon friendship, at least--if not more. Am I right or
wrong? Answer me, Narcissa."
"Marcus, this is so abrupt you almost take my breath away, but I will
be just as frank," she replied. "I will go with you."
Taking her hands in his and gazing into the depths of her beaming
blue eyes he exclaimed, "I felt in my soul that you would." Drawing
her nearer and enfolding her in his arms, he imprinted a seal of
affection on her lips.
* * *
Both were naturally well fitted for the task of bringing the light of
the gospel and the advantages of civilization to the Indians. Marcus
Whitman was strong and rugged, with an unlimited capacity for work;
and although a physician, the missionary life appealed to him much
more than the practice of his profession, due {261} probably to
natural inclination and his early training. A knowledge of medicine
was a valuable aid in a region without professional men.
Narcissa Prentiss was in full health and vigor, capable of enduring
the privations and hardships incident to such a life, and of an
intensely religious temperament. She left home, friends and every
association dear to the majority of womankind, and set forth on a
tremendous journey across deserts and over mountain ranges--the way
beset by difficulties and dangers--in order to lend a helping hand in
carrying the "tidings of great joy" to the natives of the far
Northwest.
A great deal of spoken and written eulogy has been bestowed upon the
devotion to duty, courage and fortitude of Marcus
Whitman--unquestionably in great part well merited. So far, little
has been said in praise of the noble qualities of head and heart
possessed by his wife and coworker in the Lord's vineyard. But as
time goes on I have no doubt that historians and poets will exalt her
virtues and sing her praises.
The marriage ceremony in the Presbyterian Church at Angelica, N.Y.,
in February, 1836, was very quiet and simple, as both were opposed to
any undue publicity. But when the members of the congregation became
aware that the missionary party was about to start, it was arranged
to have a farewell party and services on the eve of its departure.
The little church was crowded to capacity; not only was nearly every
member present, but many who were not affiliated came to bid farewell
and Godspeed to this universally beloved member of the community,
which had been the home of the Prentiss family since 1834.
She took her usual place as leader of the choir, while the eyes of
all were riveted upon the pleasing countenance and attractive form of
the one who was about to leave them--perhaps forever. After the
services and singing of appropriate hymns, a time for greetings was
announced; and the whole congregation surged forward, each anxious to
grasp the hand and say a personal word {262} to her whom they loved
so well and were reluctant to let go. Before being dismissed, all
were asked to join in a parting hymn selected for the occasion.
Narcissa led the singing, and when the last verse--beginning with the
words, "Yes, my native land, I love thee"--was begun, audible sobs
were heard through the audience. Before it was finished the pent-up
feelings of the assemblage were unloosed, and the genuine feeling of
sorrow became contagious; handkerchiefs were pulled out, and there
was scarcely a dry eye in the audience. Only the voice of Narcissa
carried the words all the way through; but she never faltered until
it was finished, when she also gave way to the prevailing emotion.
Rev. Henry H. Spalding and his wife were selected by the American
Board of Home Missions to accompany Dr. and Mrs. Whitman. For some
time past the Spaldings had been engaged in missionary work in the
State of Ohio from where, upon the arrival of the Whitmans from New
York State, the four proceeded to Liberty, Missouri, the point at
which final arrangements for the western journey were to be completed.
The Board of Commissioners probably did not take the precaution of
consulting Dr. Whitman as to his choice of companions for the great
task they were entering upon; could Narcissa have had any voice in
the matter, the Spaldings would certainly not have gone with them.
It is to be regretted, for the good of the cause, that such an
appointment was made, as subsequent events will explain. W. H. Gray,
a mechanic, was also designated by the Board to accompany the
missionaries.
Rev. Mr. Spalding was a stockily built man of medium height, with a
large head and rather high forehead; and was a voracious reader,
especially of books on religious and controversial topics. Although
rated, even by his admirers, as a "peculiar" man, he accomplished
commendable results in the mission field for nearly 40 years. Mr.
Spalding died August 3, 1874, in his 71st year, and is buried in the
Nez Perces country a few miles from Lewiston, Idaho.
{263}
His wife, Eliza Hart Spalding, was rather tall and angular, and
though not possessing regular features, had a kindly and intelligent
expression that won many friends. She had the gift of knowing how to
gain the respect and confidence of the Indians, and was conspicuously
successful as a teacher among them. Gray was a self-important
person, with quite a smattering of learning, but inclined to be
self-willed and even insubordinate.
These men and women established the first Indian Missions in the vast
region between the Rocky Mountains and the Cascade Range, nearest the
tribes who had sent the delegation to St. Louis in 1831, seeking a
knowledge of the Christian faith. About the time the missionaries
arrived at Liberty, a number of hunters and trappers in the employ of
the American Fur Company, under the leadership of two experienced
frontiersmen, Milton G. Sublette and Thomas Fitzpatrick, were
assembled there preparing to leave for the Rocky Mountain region on a
trading and fur-hunting expedition.
By this good fortune, the missionaries were able to travel in the
company of a well-equipped outfit, without fear of molestation by
roving bands of Indians on the way. But not everything required for
the long journey had been secured in time to start with the larger
party, which set out two days in advance. Whitman determined to
catch up with the fur hunters before reaching the most dangerous part
of the route, which he did.
Many days were consumed in traversing the bad roads of western
Missouri, which in the spring in those pioneer days were full of ruts
and mud-holes; and the Doctor was the only one of the party with any
previous experiences in that kind of travel. Early in May they were
on the west side of the Missouri River with their wagons, horses and
cattle all in fairly good shape, but on the south side of the Platte
near its mouth. The latter was nearly a mile wide, and the crossing
of it a very formidable undertaking; but it had to be done, for the
Trail continued westward on the north side.
That might be termed the real starting point on the {264} expedition,
as there every vestige of civilization was left behind, and immense
plains and great mountain ranges inhabited only by Indians and wild
animals, extended far out before them. It was a perilous trip in
those days, even for men fond of adventure and thoroughly accustomed
to hardships.
But in the company were two refined and educated women leaving
friends, kindred and the comforts of civilized life to undergo the
discomforts and face the hazards of the long journey. It was a noble
courage, and heroism of the rarest type. Their names should be held
in high veneration by the Christian people of this land for all time
to come; and I believe they will be.
The crossing of the Platte was difficult and wearing; and the burden
of it fell upon Dr. Whitman, as Rev. Mr. Spalding was ill and unable
to help. Mrs. Whitman and Mrs. Spalding were taken over in a "bull
boat," a contrivance made by stretching a buffalo hide over small
willow growths. In the process of making, the larger ends were stuck
in the ground, and the smaller ones interlapped, after which a fresh
hide was fastened over them and allowed to dry. Then the ends of the
willows were pulled out of the ground, it was turned upside down--and
called a "boat."
Though a very risky affair in which to cross a wide river, there was
no other available conveyance; so they entered it, at least with a
show of confidence, and were carried safely over. An entire day was
required to get the outfit to the other side; Whitman was obliged to
swim back and forth several times, and by evening was completely
exhausted.
Early the next morning a start was made and the animals were urged
forward at the utmost speed under the circumstances, to overtake the
fur-hunters before the Pawnee villages were passed, as unfriendly
Indians might be encountered beyond. I will not enter into a
detailed account of the many events of interest on their way over the
great plains, but cannot refrain from mentioning a few outstanding
features of the journey.
{265}
When they came within sight of the Elkhorn, a tributary of the
Platte, it presented a very menacing appearance at the height of the
flood-water season. Arriving first at the river, the Indian boys
Whitman had taken back with him the preceding winter saw a skin canoe
on the farther side; completely stripping, they wound their shirts
around their heads and swam over, returning with the canoe by the
time the rest of the party came up to the bank. A rope was then
stretched across, and the goods hauled over in the canoe without much
difficulty.
Those Indian boys were very useful to the missionary party in driving
the loose stock, herding, guarding at night and in many other ways.
They seemed more than willing to render assistance whenever the
occasion called for it; and in initiative were equal if not superior
to white youth of the same age.
About a hundred miles east of the "Rendezvous," the party fell in
with a large number of Indians belonging to tribes west of the
Rockies who came over the mountains every year to hunt buffalo. Some
of them had met the Doctor on his previous trip, and remembered his
intention of bringing missionaries to instruct them in the white
man's way of worshipping; now they manifested great pleasure at
meeting the little party on the way to fulfill the promise made the
year before.
The ladies especially aroused the curiosity and wonder of the
savages, who now for the first time beheld a white woman. No sooner
had Mrs. Whitman alighted from her horse than a number of the native
matrons came forward to welcome her; each one of them shook hands
with her, and at the same time placing the left hand affectionately
upon her shoulder, gave her a hearty kiss. Mrs. Spalding was greeted
in a similar manner.
Both were deeply moved by the cordiality and sincerity of their
welcome by those Indian women, and greatly surprised to learn from
this experience that they have about the same manner of salutation as
their civilized white sisters. It goes to show that regardless of
climate or color, human nature is about the same the world over.
{266}
One of the chiefs present when the ladies arrived soon took his
departure, and returning in a short time with his wife, introduced
her to both of them--with a wave of the right hand towards his squaw
and the left towards the white women, at the same time bowing
politely. When the tents were pitched and occupied by Mrs. Whitman
and Mrs. Spalding after the fatigue of the horseback ride, some of
the Indians, with unabated curiosity, remained in the vicinity and
were occasionally bold enough to peep in and then grin with
astonishment.
Arriving at the "Rendezvous," a long-to-be-remembered sight was
presented to their eyes. There were assembled hundreds of trappers,
hunters, traders and packers--in fact all kinds of mountain men--some
of whom had not seen a white woman in more than twenty years; and
there must also have been some fifteen hundred or two thousand
Indians who had traveled there to trade with the American Fur
Company. All of them, white men and Indians alike, were intent upon
having a good look at the first two white women who had ever
penetrated that far into the wilderness, and were to traverse another
thousand miles or so of rough country before reaching their
destination.
Mrs. Whitman thoroughly enjoyed the novelty and excitement of the
strange situation. Some of the mountain men ventured to approach her
and offer some kind of a compliment, which amused her exceedingly;
but she always answered them with gracious and cordial bearing, and
thus became very popular with these semi-wild and reckless
frontiersmen.
Mrs. Spalding was more interested in the appearance of the natives
among whom she had come to teach, and anxious to acquire a knowledge
of the Nez Perces language. Somewhat from anxiety to see how she
would act, the Indians gathered around her while she tried as best
she could to converse with them.
Before the departure of the missionary company for the Columbia
River, a grand reception and display was planned in its honor. On
the appointed day, the Indian {267} warriors formed a procession in
gala dress at one end of the plain, each of the four tribes being
represented by a company in fighting costume--which was breech-clout,
with plenty of paint and feathers. All were mounted on well-shaped
Indian horses, which though not large were spirited and active.
These fighting braves carried their weapons, and in addition many had
drums, horns and other noise-making instruments. When everything was
in readiness the command was given, and there burst forth from every
painted warrior such a wild and terrifying yell as only aborigines
can utter; then, joining in a mighty chorus of barbarous song, the
cavalcade charged down the valley at frantic speed, brandishing their
weapons and beating drums.
Reaching the farther end of the valley, they whirled around and
dashed back with equal impetuosity, afterwards performing skilful
evolutions in front of the missionary tents. The whole maneuver was
conducted like a preconcerted military movement, the force of six or
seven hundred Indians obeying the signals of the leaders with
machine-like precision.
All members of the missionary party had assembled in front of their
tents before this torrent of furious savages approached and swept by
them with wild gesticulations. Their bronze bodies glistened in the
summer sun and quivered with the great excitement under which they
labored in this mimic attack upon an imaginary foe.
In front of the rushing columns rode a huge warrior of the Snake
tribe, known as "Big Foot," more than six feet tall and well
proportioned. His horse was much larger than the ponies of the other
Indians (most of whom rode bareback); and he had a saddle of the
Mexican pattern, probably secured during a foray into the settlements
of New Mexico Territory.
He raised in his stirrups, whirling a Spanish musketoon and yelling
like a demon, his voice being heard above all the din and uproar.
The whole performance was so realistic that before it ended the
nerves of the women {268} were severely tried; and at its conclusion
the Indians crowded around the tents to further gratify their
curiosity.
The missionaries rested for a few days at the Rendezvous on Green
River and then set out for Fort Hall with only one wagon, the other
having been abandoned by necessity farther east. At the fort, then
owned by the Hudson's Bay Company, they were very kindly received,
but told that it would be virtually impossible to travel any farther
with the wagon. However, on account of Mrs. Spalding's delicate
health, Whitman determined not to give it up until absolutely
necessary.
Owing to the deep sand and large sage-brush about twenty miles below
American Falls on the Snake River, and the extremely rocky surface of
the hills, he was obliged to leave the box and rear wheels there,
converting the remainder into a cart which he managed to take as far
as Fort Boise, where that also was abandoned. With the wagon-box was
left something far more valuable to Narcissa Whitman--a little trunk
which she dearly prized as a present from her sister Harriet. Here
is the way she laments the loss of it:
Friday evening
Dear Harriet:
The little trunk you gave me has come with me so far, and now I must
leave it alone. Poor little trunk! I am sorry to leave you. Twenty
miles below the Falls on Snake River shall be thy place of rest, x x
x x. Narcissa.
My good friends, before proceeding farther with my story I must tell
you that about three years ago I visited the home of Judge Prentiss
in New York State; and the fine old gentleman accorded me the great
privilege of copying the voluminous correspondence written by his
daughter on the journey across the Continent and during the years
spent at the Mission station until her unhappy death. I will at
times quote her exact words describing events intimately connected
with her missionary labors.
She possessed the rare gift of expressing in the most lucid language
the condition of her feelings regarding the {269} many trials and
afflictions it was her lot to bear during their life at Waiilatpu. I
have with me copies of all these letters; and will now read her
description of the crossing of Snake River, as must be done more than
once in your own journey to the "Promised Land":
Preparing to cross Snake River. The river is divided by two islands
into three branches, and is fordable. The packs are placed on the
tallest horses, and in this way we crossed without wetting. Husband
had difficulty with the cart, which was turned upside down in the
river, and the mules entangled with the harness. The mules would
have been drowned but for a desperate struggle to get them ashore.
Then after putting two of the horses before the cart, and two men
swimming behind to steady it, they succeeded in getting it over.
I once thought crossing streams would be the worst part of the
journey. I now do so without fear. There is one manner of
crossing--take an elk skin and stretch it over you, spreading
yourself out as much as possible. Let the Indian women put you on
the water, and with a cord in the mouth they swim and draw you to the
other side.
In four or five days more of travel they arrived at Fort Boise, where
the Snake River had to be recrossed. Again I will quote Mrs. Whitman:
22nd.
Left the Fort yesterday, came a short distance to Snake River;
crossed and encamped for the night. The river has three branches
divided by islands. The first and second places were deep but we had
no difficulty in crossing on horseback. The third was deeper still.
This being a fishing post of the Indians, we found a canoe made of
rushes and willows. Mrs. Spalding and myself placed ourselves and
our saddles in it, and two Indians on horseback with a rope towed us
over. The canoe is made of bunches of rushes tied together and
attached to a frame made of a few sticks of small willows. It was
large enough to hold us and our saddles.
The cart which had been brought from the Falls of Snake River
especially for the accommodation of Mrs. Spalding was abandoned here
and the remainder of the trip to Fort Walla Walla made on horseback.
No serious mishaps befell the little party on this part of the
journey, although it was an exceedingly rugged and difficult region
{270} to traverse. They were tendered a very kindly reception at the
fort by the employees of the Hudson's Bay Company, and a boat was
secured to convey them down the magnificent river to Fort Vancouver.
At forts Hall, Walla Walla and Vancouver, where the missionaries were
guests of the great fur company, all were greatly interested in the
two refined and educated American women who had the pluck and
hardihood to undertake such a long and hazardous journey. Upon
reaching the head of the rapids above The Dalles of the Columbia,
Mrs. Whitman gives an interesting account of what had to be done to
pass safely that formidable obstacle to their progress. She says:
8th.
Came last night to the Chute (above The Dalles), a fall in the river
not navigable. There we slept, and this morning made the portage.
All were obliged to land, unload, carry our baggage and even the boat
for half a mile.
I had frequently seen a picture of Indians carrying a canoe, but now
saw the reality. We found plenty of Indians here to assist in making
the portage. After loading several with our baggage and sending them
on, the boat was turned over and placed upon the heads of about
twenty of them, who easily marched off with it.
September 9th.
We came to The Dalles just before noon. Here our boat was stopped by
two rocks of immense size and height, all the water of the river
passing with great rapidity between them in a very narrow channel.
We were obliged to land and make a portage of two and a half miles,
carrying the boat again.
The Dalles is a great fishing resort for Indians of several tribes;
we did not see many, however, for they had just left.
[Illustration: DR. JOHN McLOUGHLIN, CHIEF FACTOR OF THE HUDSON'S BAY
COMPANY, WELCOMING MRS. MARCUS WHITMAN AND MRS. HENRY H. SPALDING AT
FORT VANCOUVER ON THE COLUMBIA RIVER, IN THE FALL OF 1836: SEE
OPPOSITE PAGE]
At Vancouver they were also cordially received and hospitably
entertained by that grand old man, Dr. John McLoughlin. It was a
never to be forgotten sight for me to observe this representative of
the all-powerful English fur company, of towering stature and
knightly dignity, standing with hat in hand at the portal of the fort
graciously bending to salute and welcome the two first white women to
set foot upon the immense territory over which he then held
undisputed sway. It was not a mere formal {271} greeting, but a
genuine expression of satisfaction to see devoted men and women
coming into the territory to improve both the spiritual and temporal
condition of his Indian wards, in whose welfare he was deeply
interested--for McLoughlin was by nature benevolent.
In consultation with Whitman, he advised the latter to establish his
Mission somewhere east of the Cascade Mountains, for the reason that
the Indians of the interior were mentally and physically superior to
those near the coast, as well as more likely to adopt the rudiments
of civilization and accept Christianity from the missionaries.
Thereupon Whitman, Spalding and Gray returned up the Columbia to the
vicinity of Fort Walla Walla for the purpose of selecting a site,
while the women remained at Fort Vancouver as Dr. McLoughlin's guests
until a Mission House could be erected.
After looking over the country for several days they decided that a
point called Waiilatpu, on the Walla Walla River about thirty miles
from its mouth, would be a desirable location for a Mission, as it
was convenient to the habitat of the Cayuse and Walla Walla tribes
and reasonably near the headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company for
that vicinity, in case trouble should arise. Work was immediately
begun upon the construction of a comfortable log dwelling roofed with
poles covered with straw and dirt thrown upon the top, which very
well suited the purpose for which it was intended.
A site for another Mission to be in charge of Rev. Mr. Spalding was
located among the Nez Perces on the Clearwater River about 100 miles
northeast of Waiilatpu. Mr. Spalding then returned to Fort Vancouver
for the ladies, while Dr. Whitman continued work on the dwelling. In
about three weeks Mrs. Whitman arrived at Waiilatpu, and the
Spaldings went on to the Clearwater.
At this isolated and unattractive Mission in the midst of uncivilized
and unappreciative aborigines, practically shut off from people of
her own race and tongue, Narcissa Whitman spent eleven long weary
years in the prime of her young womanhood, endeavoring to enlighten
the {272} minds and improve and elevate the morals of the savages,
with no hope or prospect of being rewarded in this life, except by
the consciousness of doing the utmost for her fellow mortals, and
that her work might be pleasing in the eyes of God. The sacrifice of
her own life was her only visible reward.
In 1839 a great sorrow fell upon the Whitman household. They had a
beautiful little girl, an only child who was suddenly snatched away
from her loving parents, without the slightest inkling of approaching
danger or cause for apprehension. The poignancy of Mrs. Whitman's
grief was intensified by the peculiar circumstances surrounding them
at the time.
She was in a wilderness inhabited by cruel and treacherous Indians,
cut off by nearly three thousand miles from the old home and her own
family, with only Dr. Whitman to lend a helping hand or console her
with a loving voice; and he was overwhelmed with pressing duties.
Her anguish was beyond description, but with true Christian courage
and exalted faith she bowed to the Divine will. What sublime
resignation!
I have a copy of the characteristic letter she wrote to her father on
that sorrowful occasion, from which I will now read:
Waiilatpu, Sept. 30, 1839.
MY DEAREST FATHER:
Doubtless before this you have heard through the Board of the
melancholy death of our most precious and only child, Alice Clarissa.
That we loved her most ardently is true, and we feel keenly the
severe pangs of a separation from her. Yet it is the Lord that hath
done it, and He has dealt with us as a tender parent deals with the
children He loves. O, how often have I felt and thought what a
privilege it would be, if I could see and unburden to my dear parents
the sorrows of my broken and bleeding heart since we have been bereft
of our dear, sweet babe.
Although deprived of this inestimable consolation yet, dearest
father, I desire to ask you to unite with us in praise and gratitude
to God who has so mercifully sustained me, and that when crushed to
the earth because His hand lay heavily upon me, His grace was
manifest to preserve and sustain my soul from murmuring or repining
at His dealings with us.
{273}
This unspeakable consolation is ours, that our daughter is at rest in
the bosom of Him who said, "Suffer the little children to come unto
me, for of such in the kingdom of heaven." Young as she was, we
could plainly see a manifest relish and enjoyment in singing and
worship; the last month of her life she commenced learning to read,
and improved rapidly.
I would describe to you if I could her bright, lively appearance on
Sabbath morning, the day of her death. She had always slept with me
until just a week before then, and that night she proposed, of her
own accord, to sleep on the mat on the floor. This gave me a very
strange and singular feeling, for I never before could persuade her
to lie away from me, not even in her father's arms * * *. It being
very warm, and because she preferred it, I let her sleep on the floor
all night--but did not sleep much myself. Ever after this I made a
bed for her by the side of mine, where I could lay my hand upon her.
Her appearance at worship in the family was deeply interesting. For
some time she had been in the habit of selecting the hymn she wished
us to sing, and that morning her choice was "Rock of Ages Cleft for
Me." Oh, if dear father and mother could have seen with what
animation she sang, and how her sweet voice soared above ours!
* * * * * * * * * * *
Dear father, when you sing this hymn think of me, for my thoughts do
not recur to it without almost overcoming me and bringing fresh to my
mind how she appeared when she last sang it.
NARCISSA.
That letter bears the impress of having been written by a superior
woman suffering the keenest pangs of a mother's grief, yet bearing it
with all the fortitude and resignation of the early Christian martyrs.
The tragedy happened on a Sabbath morning, while Dr. and Mrs. Whitman
were reading the scriptures. Alice Clarissa went to bring some water
from the river which flowed near-by the Mission House, as she had
done many times before. She went from the house with a cup in each
hand, bounding down to the river bank to fulfill her errand, and
returned no more.
How it happened is simply conjecture, as there was no witness when
the cold waters of the Walla Walla River fanned out the precious life
of this first white American {274} child born west of the Rocky
Mountains. The little mound that marked her grave not far from the
house was kept green and bedecked with flowers until the day of the
massacre and destruction of the Mission.
The missionaries--particularly Rev. Mr. Spalding and Dr.
Whitman--never worked in harmony after their arrival in the Indian
country. It is said that the bitterness of Mr. Spalding against Mrs.
Whitman continued from the time he was a suitor for her hand; and
that the rankling of it led at least to a lack of co-operation on his
part with his successful rival, the Doctor, in carrying on the
Mission work. I will read a letter of Mrs. Whitman to her father,
which throws a flood of light upon the subject:
Waiilatpu, Walla Walla River,
Oregon Territory, Oct. 10, 1810.
MY DEAR FATHER:
The missionaries' greatest trials are but little known to the
churches. I have never ventured to write about them for fear it
might hurt. The man who came with us ought never to have come. My
dear husband has suffered more in consequence of his wicked jealousy
and great pique towards me than can be known in this world. Not he
alone but the whole Mission suffers, which is most to be deplored.
It has nearly broken up the Mission.
The pretended settlement with father before we started was only an
excuse; and from all we have seen and heard, both during the journey
and since we have been here, the same bitter feeling exists. * * *.
I never did anything before I left home to injure him, and nothing
since; and my husband is cautious in speaking and thinking evil of
him or treating him unkindly; yet he does not, nor has he received
the same kindness from him since we have been missionaries together.
Every mind in the Mission that he has had access to he has tried to
prejudice against us, and did succeed for awhile, which was the cause
of our being voted to remove and form a new station. This was too
much for my husband's feelings to bear, and so many arrayed against
him for no good reason. He felt as if he must leave the Mission, and
no doubt would have done it had not the Lord removed from us our
beloved child. This affliction softened his feelings and made him
willing to submit to the will of the Lord, although we felt that we
were suffering wrongfully.
The death of our babe had a great effect upon all in the {275}
Mission; it softened their hearts towards us, even Mr. S's for a
season. * * * The Lord in His providence has brought things around in
such a way that all see and feel where the evil lies. Some of them
are writing to the Board; and it may require his removal or return to
effect it, not so much for his treatment towards us as some others
also.
* * *. I have long desired to have some few judicious friends know
our trials, so that they may understand better how to pray for us.
If this Mission fails, it will be because peace and harmony does not
dwell among its members. Our ardent desire and prayer is that it may
not fail. It is this state of things among us that discourage us.
When we look at the people and the providence of God, we are more and
more encouraged every year.
As ever, I remain, your affectionate daughter,
NARCISSA WHITMAN.
During the early days of the Mission the Whitmans devoted themselves
almost exclusively to the difficult task of inducing the Indians to
receive instruction in both spiritual and temporal matters. The
Doctor was rough and ready in his manner, outspoken in his opinions
and, particularly, vigorous in his actions; when the Indians did not
do exactly as he thought they should, he openly showed his
disapproval and scolded them.
This helps to explain why the Mission was not as successful as it
might have been; but Whitman was nevertheless a thoroughly sincere
and honest man, always prompted by high motives. Due somewhat to the
lack of harmony in the establishment there, the Board finally
concluded that Waiilatpu should be abandoned.
Very different indeed was the disposition of the lovable and
sweet-tempered woman, Narcissa Whitman, his helpmate in the work. By
kindly manner and tactful methods she endeared herself to those in
her special charge, and was eminently successful in the care and
management of children.
WHITMAN'S RIDE AND THE MASSACRE
Having learned that the Board had ordered the abandonment of two
stations, including the one at Waiilatpu, Whitman asked the
missionaries to convene at that place {276} for consideration of what
steps should be taken to have the order rescinded. Upon arrival of
some of them, he called the meeting without awaiting the arrival of
those coming from a greater distance, as he deemed the matter too
urgent to be postponed even a day. It was decided to have the Doctor
proceed immediately to the East to lay the whole matter before the
Board.
Accordingly Whitman, accompanied by A. L. Lovejoy, left Waiilatpu
October 3, 1842, on the long and afterward famous horseback ride over
the Rocky Mountains and through the vast prairie country during the
winter. He was the kind of man no dangers or difficulties could
deter; and although he underwent great privations, successfully
completed the trip.
His reception by the Board was by no means cordial; but in a forceful
way he showed the serious consequences that would follow the
abandonment of the Missions. Finally convinced by his logic, the
Board rescinded the order, which action was the object for which the
ride was undertaken. After that he visited his old home in New York
State.
Westbound during May of the following year, Whitman overtook the 1843
emigrants somewhere along the Platte River and traveled with them as
far as Fort Boise on the Snake River. Worried about affairs at
Waiilatpu after so long absence, he then went on ahead.
From that time on the affairs of the Mission were still more
unsatisfactory; and the Indians gradually became alarmed at the
number of immigrants arriving in the country, bringing the measles
and other diseases generally fatal to the natives. Whitman was very
successful in treating his own people, but the great majority of
affected Indians succumbed to the diseases contracted from the whites.
The more superstitious ones began to imagine that the Doctor was
using "bad medicine" to kill them off so that his white brothers
could have their lands, an idea which became an obsession with them.
It did not bear fruit for awhile; but as time went on and conditions
showed no {277} signs of change, the foolish natives determined to
destroy the station and kill the missionaries. The latter had been
forewarned more than once by friendly Indians to be on their guard,
as something desperate might happen; but they did not take it
seriously.
On Monday, November 29th, the first of the fatal blows fell. Whitman
was in the sitting room talking with Mrs. Osborne who lived in an
adjoining room. An Indian came to the door, knocked and asked to see
the Doctor about some medicine; he stepped into the outer room where
several were assembled, and talked with them about their sick. While
thus engaged one of them suddenly drew a tomahawk from beneath his
blanket and delivered a crushing blow upon Whitman's head.
Then pandemonium broke loose, and with frightful yells the savages
began the slaughter of the defenseless inmates. In only one instance
was any resistance offered; when attacked by an Indian with a knife,
the school-teacher grappled with his assailant and struggled for his
life until dispatched by another of the natives.
Mrs. Whitman was shot through the breast by a renegade half-breed,
Joe Lewis, and afterwards beaten over the head and face with clubs
until life was extinct. She was the only woman slain, the others
being made captive and confined in one of the Mission houses. The
reign of terror continued through Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday,
with several other murders of the white people. Two seriously ill
men were dragged out of their beds and clubbed in a most barbarous
manner until they expired.
It is surprising that, wrought up to such a high state of frenzy
against the Mission and its inmates, the Indians did not also
massacre the fifty or more women and children who fell into their
hands. Through the untiring efforts of Peter Skene Ogden, Chief
Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, the latter were ransomed after a
few weeks' captivity.
The Whitman Massacre was one of the saddest and most revolting
episodes in the annals of missionary effort in North America. It
cast a shadow over the land, and {278} caused those who were active
in the movement for the regeneration of the red men to almost abandon
it in despair.
No doubt you think it strange that in telling you about the Oregon
Country, its exploration and early settlement, I should have devoted
so much time to the expeditions, labors and sufferings of the
missionaries. But it was owing primarily to the initiative from
those sources that the Pacific Northwest, with all of its wonderful
resources and possibilities, became known to the people of "the
States"; large numbers were thus encouraged to emigrate to it, aiding
materially in bringing all of that vast region under the flag and
within the dominion of our beloved country.
Otherwise the choicest portion of that territory would in all
probability have passed into the possession of a foreign power. Is
not that a good reason for occupying so much time in recounting their
efforts and exploits? I will now give briefly a few of the
outstanding incidents since the migration to the Oregon Country began
in the wake of the missionaries.
THE PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT
In the spring of 1843, a kind of Provisional Government for the
Oregon Country was organized at a meeting of settlers held at
Champoeg in the Willamette Valley. Previous attempts had been made
for that purpose, but owing to divergent views, they had ended in
failure.
Now, however, at a gathering in March, 1843, called ostensibly for
the purpose of taking steps to protect the settlement from predatory
animals and known as the "Wolf Organization," a resolution was
introduced and carried to appoint a committee of twelve to formulate
a plan. At the meeting held on May 2nd attended by both British and
American partisans, the vote was very close, the advocates of a
Provisional Government winning by a slight margin.
It was so close that there was difficulty in determining {279} which
side had the majority; so after one or two unsuccessful attempts to
decide by a _viva voce_ vote, an agreement was reached to have a
division and count--those in favor of the proposal going to the
right, while those opposed went to the left. Joseph L. Meek, a man
of splendid physique and the hero of many adventures in the Rockies,
clad in the garb of the mountaineers, with sparkling eyes, a voice of
command and the air of a Major General, stepped to a niche in history
as he strode to his position crying out, "Who's for a divide! All in
favor of the report and organization follow me."
The hunters and trappers who were present followed his lead, and so
carried the day for the proponents of the measure. More than half
the Americans present voted against it, because they (wrongfully)
believed it a scheme of the Mission party to secure control of the
organization. Were it not that quite a number of French-Canadians
favorable to self-government voted in the affirmative, it would have
lost.
On the following day, May 3rd, the Provisional Government was duly
organized--a date and event long to be remembered. That government
was ably and wisely carried on for a term of six years, until the
United States assumed jurisdiction in 1849.
Dr. John McLoughlin recognized it, as he never would have done were
it not worthy of respect. It demonstrated that the Oregon pioneers
were capable, resourceful and not mere imitators of other men. Their
deeds should be admired and their names venerated.
I might add that the entire white population of the Oregon Country at
that time was only a little more than two hundred. But the tide had
set in, and nearly five times that number were already assembled at
different points on the Missouri River preparing to start overland.
THE 1843 MIGRATION
This was in many respects the most remarkable and important migration
that ever left the Missouri River {280} for the far Northwest.
Although numerically far below those of the following years, it was
the first company regularly organized to go out to that territory
with the sole object of making permanent settlements, and growing up
with it.
The people composing it were not influenced to any considerable
extent by the evangelical movement, but mostly farmers, tradesmen and
mechanics determined to find and make the best of opportunities for
improving their material condition. It was the first migration to
succeed in taking wagons beyond Fort Hall to the banks of the
Columbia and down along the south side of that river to The Dalles,
thence by batteaux or rafts to Fort Vancouver and the Willamette
Valley, thus blazing a trail for future thousands to follow.
Among those emigrants were several men of unusual ability and
forceful character, who were subsequently very successful and
attracted wide attention. Peter H. Burnett--keen, alert and
ambitious, the possessor of an almost inexhaustible fund of
information and anecdote--became the first Governor of California,
1849-51.
Another one was J. W. Nesmith, witty and brilliant, later United
States Senator from Oregon. Jesse Applegate, one of the men who came
over the Oregon Trail in 1843, was a versatile writer, forceful
speaker and a leading worker in the ranks of every progressive
movement in the Pacific Northwest during his long and useful life
there.
These men had the hardihood to attempt a feat considered utterly
impracticable by those who had passed and repassed over that route on
horseback for many years. When asked for his opinion as to the
feasibility of taking the wagons to the Columbia, Richard Grant, the
Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Hall, made this
characteristic and undoubtedly honest reply, "I will not say that
Americans cannot do it, but for myself I cannot see how it would be
possible."
The news that a large company of home seekers had succeeded in
driving their teams and four-wheeled vehicles {281} all the way
through by that route caused widespread rejoicing throughout "the
States," and virtually settled the question as to which nation the
region should belong.
THE UNFORTUNATE SAGER FAMILY
Of the many tragic and pathetic incidents along the Trail during the
early migration to Oregon, none surpasses that of this most bereaved
and sorely afflicted family. Mr. Sager, a blacksmith, went in 1838
from Ohio to Missouri; in the fall of 1843 he moved to St. Joseph in
that State, and in the spring of 1844 joined the Gillman party bound
for the Oregon Country. He was accompanied by his wife and six
children, the eldest a boy of fourteen (a seventh was born on the
road), making five girls and two boys.
While crossing the Platte River one of his wagons in which Mrs. Sager
was riding, overturned and so seriously injured her that she never
entirely recovered from it. Near Fort Laramie the oldest girl fell
under the wheels of the wagon and was rendered helpless during the
remainder of the journey. At Green River, Mr. Sager died leaving an
invalid wife, a crippled daughter and six children, the youngest a
baby only a few weeks old.
In the party was an unmarried German doctor of a benevolent
disposition who, seeing the straits to which the family was reduced,
volunteered to drive and care for the oxen and assist the
unfortunates to their destination. Mrs. Shaw, a kind hearted woman
of the train, took the infant in charge. At Fort Bridger the greater
part of the property brought that far by the emigrants, among them
the Sagers, had to be abandoned, making their lot still harder, for
henceforth they must travel in a cart.
Notwithstanding all that could be done to alleviate the sufferings of
the ill and weak mother, she could no longer endure the hardships of
the journey; and gave up her spirit in the wild and forbidding region
of the Snake River. Delirious at the time, she called upon her dead
husband to take good care of their little ones.
{282}
Mr. Shaw went to the Whitman Mission to see if Dr. and Mrs. Whitman
could be prevailed upon to assume the care and custody of the
orphans. Though prompted by their natural inclinations to do so, the
Whitmans hesitated to assume the additional responsibility.
While in this uncertain frame of mind, the two-wheeled vehicle with
its cargo of six ragged and travel-stained children appeared upon the
scene. It was utterly impossible for those kind-hearted people to
resist that appeal. When the question of the infant came up, the
Doctor could not see how it could be managed; but Mrs. Whitman turned
to him and said, "I would like to have the baby most of all."
[Illustration: ARRIVAL OF THE SAGER ORPHANS AT WAIILATPU, THE WHITMAN
MISSION IN THE OREGON COUNTRY, FALL OF 1844: SEE OPPOSITE PAGE]
The arrival of the cart load of orphans at Waiilatpu presented a
sight worthy of the brush of some great artist to transfer it to
canvas, for such a combination of circumstances seldom occurs in real
life. All that then remained of their once complete outfit was in
the foreground; and the emaciated, nearly exhausted oxen dropped down
to rest as soon as they were unyoked. John, the oldest boy, was
seated in the front end of the cart, his ragged garments covered with
a heavy coating of grey dust from the sagebrush plains, while his
woe-begone countenance and tear-stained cheeks clearly indicated his
supreme anguish.
Francis, the younger boy, was leaning on one wheel of the cart, his
head resting on his arm and sobbing audibly. On the near side, the
three little girls were huddled together bareheaded and barefooted,
looking at the boys and then at the house, dreading whatever might
happen. Close to the oxen stood the German doctor with his whip in
hand and kindly eyes viewing the scene with suppressed emotion.
The baby member of the family was in the care and custody of Mrs.
Shaw, whose husband somewhat thoughtlessly asked Mrs. Whitman if she
had any children of her own. Stopping at the threshold, the good
woman pointed to the little grave on the side of a small mound easily
seen from that point, and replied, "The only child {283} I ever had
sleeps yonder." In the tone of her voice and the expression of her
face there was unspeakable sadness. Only a few years later John and
Francis were brutally murdered at the same Mission House by
infuriated Indians, and all the girls taken into captivity. That
family certainly was tried in the crucible; and never in my
experience have I found a parallel to it.
* * *
Up to the present time fully nine-tenths of the emigrants going to
the Oregon Country have settled in the Willamette Valley--a very
large and fertile valley, probably seventy or eighty miles long by
some ten or twelve in width. It is flanked on either side by ranges
of heavily timbered hills, and traversed by the large Willamette
River, which is fed by numerous streams issuing from the adjacent
mountains on its course northward to join the mighty Columbia. The
climate is remarkably mild and entirely free from extremes of
temperature; and its very fertile soil produces small grains such as
wheat, oats and barley, in great abundance. Vegetables of every kind
grown in the temperate zone do remarkably well, while fruits such as
apples, pears, plums and cherries are not only raised in great
quantities, but are generally superior to the same varieties in the
Atlantic States. Fish and game are also quite plentiful. Since the
discovery of gold in California, that region has been an excellent
market for everything raised at fancy prices; if this condition
continues, the Oregon farmers will soon be more prosperous than the
California gold miners.
There is also a vast region north of the Columbia, heavily timbered
but interspersed here and there with numerous fertile valleys, which
in recent years have been receiving many immigrants who claim to see
a great future ahead. Even in the eastern portion of the territory,
which is still occupied almost exclusively by Indians, shrewd men see
possibilities of large settlements springing up within the next few
years.
It is a wonderful country to which you are going, and you will
probably never have cause to regret the decision.
[1] As this narrative was told in the early 1850s, "half a century
ago" refers to the period shortly after 1800.--E.M.
[2] Companion of Capt. Meriwether Lewis on the Lewis & Clark
Expedition of 1804-6; 1st Lieut. U.S.A., Jan. 31, 1806 (resigned Feb.
27, 1807); appointed Brig.-Gen. of Militia by Thomas Jefferson, March
13, 1807; Governor of Missouri Territory 1813-21, and afterward,
including the time of the visit of these Indians, Superintendent of
Indian Affairs at St. Louis until his death in 1838. Brother of Gen.
George Rogers Clark.
{284}
THE WORK BEGUN AND CARRIED ON FOR TWO DECADES BY EZRA MEEKER TO BE
CONTINUED ON A LARGER SCALE BY THE OREGON TRAIL MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION,
INC. OBJECTS: PLAN: MEMBERSHIPS:
More than twenty years have elapsed since the author started, January
29, 1906, on a return trip over the Oregon Trail, which he had
traversed with an ox-team when just past 21 years of age, accompanied
by a brave young wife and a babe, nearly fifty-four years before.
The first journey was in search of a home in the Oregon Country, of
which he has now been a resident for over seventy-three years; and
the second one to rescue from impending oblivion the memories of the
Pioneers by rediscovering the Trail they followed, and erecting
permanent monuments to honor their heroic achievements.
A third trip was made with the ox-team in 1910 to continue and
enlarge the effort; a fourth one with an automobile in 1915 to enlist
the co-operation of the motoring public in the great work, and
finally a fifth by aeroplane in October, 1924, when he looked down
from the air at a speed of 100 miles per hour upon the route
previously followed at an average of about two miles an hour by a
migration of at least three hundred thousand, of whom not less than
twenty thousand gave up their lives on the way. Although a total of
nearly two hundred monuments and markers have been {285} placed along
or nearby the old tracks, the plan as a whole is still incomplete;
and the desirability of carrying it forward beyond the limitations of
a single life, unquestionable.
On January 9, 1926, the OREGON TRAIL MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION, INC. was
organized under the laws of the State of New York, for the following
specific purposes:
1. To search out, identify, suitably and permanently mark the line
of the Oregon Trail, in so far as possible at this time, with or
without visible marks of the old tracks.
2. To erect suitable monuments or memorials on or nearby the sites
of historical forts, trading posts or other important landmarks along
the Trail, such as Fort Kearney, Fort Laramie, Fort Hall, Fort
Bridger and others of distinct historical interest.
3. To restore the Whitman Mission in the County of Walla Walla,
State of Washington, as the same existed at the date of the Massacre,
November 29, 1847; to establish, or promote the establishment of, a
park or other memorial to appropriately commemorate the sacrifice of
Marcus and Narcissa Whitman, and the other victims of that historic
tragedy; also to identify other localities where massacres are known
to have taken place, and to suitably mark them.
4. To promote, encourage or portray in moving pictures, vividly
recording the historic scenes on the great emigration over the Oregon
Trail, with a reproduction of the characteristic scenery along the
route, for use in the schools of the Nation, teaching exact and
truthful history by such methods.
5. To collect and preserve written accounts, objects of interest and
other things pertaining to the history of the winning of the Pacific
Northwest; to deposit same with the historical societies, preferably
in the States where found, or to designate a Museum or {286} museums
to preserve such records, relics or objects of interest as may be
donated or otherwise acquired; and erect a suitable memorial to the
Pioneers, most appropriately in the City of Washington.
Membership consists of two classes--Annual and Life. Any citizen of
the United States, of adult age, shall be eligible for membership by
the payment, annually, of two dollars ($2); or for a Life Membership
by one payment of fifty dollars ($50). No assessment of members
shall be made; nor shall membership involve any financial obligations
beyond the stated fees or dues to the Corporation.
The considerable number of men and women who have already become
identified with the organization are devoting their time and money to
perpetuate the memory of the Pioneers, all but a few of whom have
gone to their reward, and to preserve the history of the great
overland migration which was the principal factor in advancing the
northwestern boundary of the United States to the Pacific Coast.
Work will be started in the field as soon as sufficient funds are
secured to enable it to be carried forward on the high standard
outlined. Success in accomplishing these objects depends upon public
confidence and support; and the reader of this volume is invited to
become a member.
OREGON TRAIL MEMORIAL ASSOCIATION, INC.
Ezra Meeker, Rev. David G. Wylie, D.D., LL.D.
President Secretary
18 Old Slip, New York City
{287}
WORKS BY EZRA MEEKER
LOVED BEFORE SEEN (1874), a Story of Pioneer Life.
WASHINGTON TERRITORY WEST OF THE CASCADE MOUNTAINS (1870), a
descriptive pamphlet, out of print and rare; as high as $100 has been
paid for single copies.
FARM AND HOME, an editorial series of 52 numbers, 1884-6; newspaper
publication only.
HOP CULTURE IN THE UNITED STATES (1883); rare and out of print.
PIONEER REMINISCENCES OF PUGET SOUND, AND THE TRAGEDY OF LESCHI
(1905); 550 pages in two volumes under one cover, silk cloth binding,
$15.00.
SHORT STORIES FOR CHILDREN, each with a moral.
THE LOST TRAIL (1911-12-15), a booklet of 32 pages, of which several
editions totaling a hundred thousand copies, have been issued.
THE OREGON TRAIL, VENTURES AND ADVENTURES, revised and republished
under title of THE BUSY LIFE OF EIGHTY-FIVE YEARS (1916); 400 pages,
$1.65, postpaid.
FIFTY YEARS OF PROGRESS IN WASHINGTON (1915); 400 pages, $5.00
postpaid.
KATE MULHALL, a Romance of the Oregon Trail (1926); this volume, $2
postpaid, with the usual discounts to the trade.
In active preparation (1926): A CENTURY OF BUSY LIFE--the biography,
varied experiences as pioneer, farmer, author and traveler, including
four years in Europe, and the "homespun" philosophy of Ezra Meeker,
1830-1930 (borrowing a few years from the future, through which the
author confidently expects to live, and thus justify the title chosen
for this work), amplifying and carrying forward THE BUSY LIFE OF
EIGHTY-FIVE YEARS in more definite historical retrospect.
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