decided to leave Lovejoy and the guide with the pack-mules. Taking the
fastest horse, and a small store of food, he rode on alone, hoping
to catch the party. To do this he would have to travel on Sunday,
something they had not done before.
Lovejoy saw Dr. Whitman start on his ride, but when the former reached
Bent's Fort four days later he was astonished to find that Whitman had
not arrived there, nor been heard from. As that part of the country was
full of packs of gray wolves, now half-starved on account of the snow,
Lovejoy was alarmed.
If not a prey to the wolves, Whitman must be lost; so his friend took
a good guide from the Fort and started to search for him. He traveled
up-river a hundred miles, and there fell in with Indians who told him
of a lost white man who was trying to find the Fort, and whom they had
directed down the river. Lovejoy went back, and late that afternoon saw
Whitman come riding in, convinced that his journey had been so much
delayed because he had traveled on Sunday.
The party of mountaineers had already left, but a messenger had been
sent after them, and they stayed in camp, waiting for Whitman. Tired as
he was, he started out immediately with a new guide, particularly eager
to join this company, because they were now nearing the outposts of
civilization, where the worst white men and Indians beset the pioneers.
Lovejoy waited at Bent's Fort, and went east with the next caravan that
started for St. Louis.
Whitman came safely through to St. Louis, where he had friends. He was
at once surrounded by trappers and traders in Indian goods and furs
who wanted news of the plains. In his turn he asked news of Congress,
and learned that the Ashburton Treaty, settling a part of the boundary
between Canada and the United States, had been approved and signed, but
that the question of Oregon had not been settled, and from the reports
of what had been said in the debates at Washington he knew that none of
the American statesmen realized what a great prize Oregon Territory was.
He must reach the capital before Congress adjourned if possible. The
rivers were frozen, and he had to rely on a journey by stage, slow at
all times, but especially so in midwinter. He toiled slowly eastward,
taking one coach after another, swinging and swaying and rocking across
the center of the country, and reaching the capital in time to plead the
cause of the northwest.
Washington was used to many strange types of men in those pioneer days,
but even among such Marcus Whitman was a striking figure. He was of
medium height, compact of build, with big shoulders and a large head.
His hair was iron gray, and that, as well as his moustache and beard,
had not been cut for four months. He was of pioneer type, living so
long among Indians and trappers, and watching so constantly for wolves
and bears, that he seemed awkward and uncouth in an eastern city. His
clothes were a coarse fur jacket with buckskin breeches, fur leggings,
and boot moccasins. Over these he wore a buffalo overcoat, with a
head-hood for bad weather. He did not show an inch of woven garment.
Whitman reached Washington in March, 1843, and immediately urged his
case before President Tyler, Secretary of State Daniel Webster, and
many congressmen. He found the densest ignorance concerning Oregon
Territory, a tract of territory which has since been divided into the
three states of Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. A senator had said of
that territory, "What is the character of this country? As I understand
it there are seven hundred miles this side of the Rocky Mountains that
are uninhabitable; where rain never falls; mountains wholly impassable,
except through gaps and depressions, to be reached only by going
hundreds of miles out of the direct course.... Of what use would it be
for agricultural purposes? I would not, for that purpose, give a pinch
of snuff for the whole territory. I wish the Rocky Mountains were an
impassable barrier. If there was an embankment of even five feet to be
removed I would not consent to expend five dollars to remove it and
enable our population to go there." Another statesman declared, "With
the exception of land along the Willamette and strips along other water
courses, the whole country is as irreclaimable and barren a waste as the
Desert of Sahara. Nor is this the worst; the climate is so unfriendly
to human life that the native population has dwindled away under the
ravages of malaria." And newspaper opinions were no more favorable.
The Louisville _Journal_ wrote, "Of all the countries upon the face of
the earth Oregon is one of the least favored by heaven. It is the mere
riddlings of creation. It is almost as barren as Sahara and quite as
unhealthy as the Campagna of Italy. Russia has her Siberia and England
has her Botany Bay, and if the United States should ever need a country
to which to banish her rogues and scoundrels, the utility of such a
region as Oregon would be demonstrated. Until then, we are perfectly
willing to leave this magnificent country to the Indians, trappers and
buffalo hunters that roam over its sand-banks."
Marcus Whitman had ridden four thousand miles, and starved, frozen,
and never rested in order to overcome such opinions. The President and
Daniel Webster were polite to him, but neither seemed to think much of
the northwest. As he was describing the richness of the country, its
fertile soil, great forests, precious minerals, and delightful climate,
Webster interrupted. "But Oregon is shut off by impassable mountains and
a great desert, which make a wagon road impossible," said he. Whitman
answered, "Six years ago I was told there was no wagon road to Oregon,
and it was impossible to take a wagon there, and yet in despite of
pleadings and almost threats, I took a wagon over the road and have
it now." The missionary's earnest, forceful manner impressed both
President Tyler and Secretary Webster, and gradually they began to think
it might be worth while to protect the claim of the United States to
that country. Finally Whitman said, "All I ask is that you won't barter
away Oregon, or allow English interference until I can lead a band of
stalwart American settlers across the plains: for this I will try to do."
"Dr. Whitman," answered President Tyler, "your long ride and frozen
limbs speak for your courage and patriotism; your missionary credentials
are good vouchers for your character;" and he granted the request.
This was all Whitman wanted, because he believed that under the treaty
then in force between the United States and England the nation that
should colonize the country was to own it. He knew that up to that time
the English Hudson's Bay Company had bought out all American traders or
driven out all settlers, but he hoped he could lead enough emigrants
there now to hold it for the United States.
He next went to the American Missionary Board in Boston, which had
originally sent him out to Oregon. There he met with cold treatment,
and was told he should not have left the camp at Wai-i-lat-pui without
permission from Boston, and that his trip across the continent was a
wild-goose chase. This unmerited rebuke must have hurt him sorely.
He was, however, so filled with eagerness to lead his party of
pioneers west that he did not let it daunt him, but went on with his
preparations. In this he was very much helped by his companion Lovejoy,
who was gathering a large number of emigrants on the frontier awaiting
Whitman's return.
The meeting point of the emigrants was the little town of Weston, not
far from where Kansas City now stands. Here and at various near-by
settlements the pioneers gathered early in the year 1843, waiting for
Dr. Whitman to join them, and for the spring grass to grow high enough
to feed their cattle. As it happened, that year the grass was late, and
the caravan did not get under way until the first week in June. Whitman
himself was delayed through the need of leaving careful instructions
for those who were to cross the plains later in the year. The caravan
started before Whitman arrived, and he did not overtake the advance
guard until they had reached the Platte River. When he did actually join
the emigrants he looked after everything, mending broken prairie wagons,
cheering tired mothers, acting as surgeon and doctor, hunting out fords
through quicksands and rivers, searching for water and grass in the
desert plains, seeking new passes through the mountains, and at night
superintending the building of camp-fires and keeping watch against an
attack by wolves or other wild animals.
The journey from the Platte River as far as Fort Hall, which was near
the eastern border of Oregon Territory, was much like other pioneer
travels through the west. Whitman had been over this trail several times
and the difficulties he encountered were not new to him. At Fort Hall
he had to meet Captain John Grant again, who, as an agent of the Fur
Company, did not want new farmers to settle in Oregon.
[Illustration: THE LAST SIX HUNDRED MILES WERE THE HARDEST]
Instead of appealing only to a few men Captain Grant now spoke to
several hundred resolute pioneers. He told them of the terrors of the
long journey through the mountains and the impossibility of hauling
their heavy prairie wagons over the passes; he recounted the failures
of other pioneers who had tried what they had planned to do; he showed
them in the corral wagons, farm tools, and other pioneer implements
that earlier emigrants had had to leave when they ventured into the
mountains. He stated the difficulties so clearly that this company
was almost persuaded, as earlier companies had been, to follow his
suggestions, leave their farming implements behind, and try to make a
settlement without any of the tools or comforts that were so greatly
needed in that country. Whitman, however, spoiled Grant's plans. He said
to his followers, "Men, I have guided you thus far in safety. Believe
nothing you hear about not being able to get your wagons through; every
one of you stick to your wagons and your goods. They will be invaluable
to you when you reach the end of your journey. I took a wagon over to
Oregon six years ago." The men believed their leader, refused to obey
Captain Grant, and prepared to start on the trail into the high Rockies.
It was the last six hundred miles of the journey to Oregon that usually
made the most severe test of the settlers' endurance. From Fort Hall
the nature of the traveling changed entirely, and was apt to resemble
the retreat of a disorganized army. Earlier caravans, although they had
taken Captain Grant's advice and left many wagons, horses, and camp
comforts behind, had suffered untold hardships. Oxen and horses, worn
by their long trip across the plains, and toiling for long stretches
through the high passes, were apt to perish in large numbers and
frequently fell dead in their yokes on the road. Wagons already baked in
the blazing sun of the desert would fall to pieces when they struck a
sharp rock or were driven over a rough incline. Families were obliged to
join company and throw away everything that tended to impede their speed.
The approaching storms of autumn, which meant impassable snow, would not
allow them to linger. In addition to this there were grizzlies in the
mountains and the constant fear of attack from Indians. Such pioneers as
strayed from the main company were likely to fall in with an enemy that
was continually hovering on either flank of the march, ready to swoop
down upon unprotected men or women. This fear added to the speed of the
journey, and as they progressed the road over which they traveled was
strewn with dead or worn-out cattle, abandoned wagons, discarded cooking
utensils, yokes, harness, chests, log chains, and all kinds of family
heirlooms that the settlers had hoped to carry to their new homes.
Sometimes the teams grew so much weakened that none dared to ride in
the wagons, and men, women, and children would walk beside them, ready
to give a helping push up any steep part of the road. A pioneer who
had once made this journey said, referring to a former trip across the
mountains, "The fierce summer's heat beat upon this slow west-rolling
column. The herbage was dry and crisp, the rivulets had become but lines
in the burning sand; the sun glared from a sky of brass; the stony
mountainsides glared with the garnered heat of a cloudless summer. The
dusky brambles of the scraggy sage-brush seemed to catch the fiery rays
of heat and shiver them into choking dust, that rose like a tormenting
plague and hung like a demon of destruction over the panting oxen and
thirsty people.
"Thus day after day, for weeks and months, the slow but urgent retreat
continued, each day demanding fresh sacrifices. An ox or a horse would
fall, brave men would lift the useless yoke from his limp and lifeless
neck in silence. If there was another to take his place he was brought
from the loose band, yoked up and the journey resumed. When the stock
of oxen became exhausted, cows were brought under the yoke, other wagons
left, and the lessening store once more inspected; if possible another
pound would be dispensed with.
"Deeper and deeper into the flinty mountains the forlorn mass drives its
weary way. Each morning the weakened team has to commence a struggle
with yet greater difficulties. It is plain the journey will not be
completed within the anticipated time, and the dread of hunger joins the
ranks of the tormentors.... The Indians hover in the rear, impatiently
waiting for the train to move on that the abandoned trinkets may be
gathered up. Whether these are gathering strength for a general attack
we cannot tell. There is but one thing to do--press on. The retreat
cannot hasten into rout, for the distance to safety is too great. Slower
and slower is the daily progress."
Marcus Whitman, however, had known these difficulties before, and
guarded his caravan from many of them.
Up to that date almost no man had crossed into Oregon by the route
he was taking. A few missionaries had made the journey on horseback,
driving some head of cattle with them, and three or four wagons drawn
by oxen had reached the Snake River at an earlier date, but it was the
general opinion of trappers that no large company of people could travel
down the Snake River because of the scarcity of pasturage and the rugged
road through the mountains. It was also thought that the Sioux Indians
would oppose the approach of such a large caravan because the emigrants
might kill or drive away the buffaloes, which were already diminishing
in number and were hunted by this tribe for food.
When they came to cross the Snake River Whitman gave orders to fasten
the wagons together in one long line, the strongest ones being placed in
the lead. When the teams were in position Whitman tied a long rope about
his waist and fastened the other end to the first team. Riding his horse
into the current he swam across the river. He called to the other riders
to follow him, and at the same time to pull on the rope that was tied to
the first team. In this way the leaders were started into the water, and
all were drawn over in safety. At times, however, it took a great deal
of pulling on the ropes by many men to drag the weaker teams to a safe
foothold on the farther bank. The Snake River at the place where Whitman
forded it was divided into three separate rivers by islands, and as
the last stream on the Oregon shore was a deep and rapid current fully
a mile wide, it can be seen what a task it was to get so many wagons,
tired ox-teams, and the great company of men, women and children across
it. But Whitman had solved many such problems before. When he and his
wife went to Oregon six years earlier she had said it was a shame that
her husband should wear himself out in getting their wagon through.
"Yesterday," she said, "it was overset in the river and he was wet from
head to foot getting it out; to-day it was upset on the mountainside,
and it was hard work to save it."
There were over a thousand people in this expedition that was going out
to colonize Oregon for the United States. They had about one hundred
and twenty wagons drawn by ox-teams, which averaged six yoke of oxen to
a team, and, in addition, several thousand horses and cattle, led or
driven by the emigrants. Although they started to travel in one body
they soon found they could do better by dividing into two columns,
marching within easy hailing distance of each other, so long as they
were in danger of attack by the Indians, and later separating into small
parties, better suited to the narrow mountain paths and the meagre
pasture lands.
It is interesting to learn how such a company traveled. At four o'clock
in the morning the sentinels who were on guard waked the camp by shots
from their rifles, the emigrants crept from their canvas-covered wagons
or tents built against the side of the wagons, and soon the smoke of
camp-fires began to rise in the air. Sixty men, whose duty it was to
look after the cattle, would start out from the corral, or enclosed
space, spreading through the horses and cattle, who had found pasturage
over night in a great semicircle about the camp. The most distant
animals were sometimes two miles away. These sixty scouts looked for
Indian trails beyond the herd and tried to discover whether any of
the animals had been stolen or had strayed during the night. If none
were lost the herders drove the animals close to the camp, and by five
o'clock horses, oxen, and cattle were rounded up, and the separate
emigrants chose their teams and drove them into the corral to be yoked.
The corral was a circle about one hundred yards deep, formed by wagons
fastened together by ox-chains, making a barrier that could not be
broken by any vicious ox or horse, and a fortification in case of an
attack by Indians.
The camp was very busy from six to seven o'clock; the women prepared
breakfast; the tents were packed away, the wagons loaded and the oxen
yoked and fastened to their owners' wagons. Each of the two divisions
had about sixty wagons, and these were separated into sixteen platoons.
Each platoon took its turn at leading, and in this way none of the
wagons had to travel continually in the dust. By seven o'clock the
corral was broken up; the women and children had found their places in
the wagons, and the leader, or pilot as he was called, mounted his horse
and was ready to lead the way for the day's journey. A band of young men
who were not needed at the wagons, well mounted and armed, would start
on a buffalo hunt, keeping within easy reach of the caravan and hoping
to bring back food for the night's encampment.
At seven o'clock the trumpet sounded the advance, and the wagon that
was to lead for that day slowly rolled out of the camp and headed
the line of march. The other wagons fell in behind it, and guided by
the horsemen, the long line commenced its winding route through the
mountains.
The country through which Whitman had chosen to travel was beautiful
in the extreme; at times the road lay through the great heights of the
Rockies, with a panorama of wonderful charm stretched on the horizon;
at times it lay beside broad rivers where the clearness of the air
brought out all the colors of late summer foliage. The party of hunters
were also scouts for the caravan, searching the rivers for the most
promising fords. Having found one to their liking, they would signal
with a flag to the pilot and his guides to show in which direction to
lead the wagons. These guides kept constantly on the alert, for it would
be hard if they had to march a mile or two out of their way or retrace
their steps because of wrong advice. The rest of the emigrants trusted
the route entirely to their leaders and rode or marched stolidly along,
occasionally stopping to gather a few flowers for the women and children
in the wagons. At noon the whole line stopped for dinner. The scouting
party would carefully choose a good camping place, looking especially
for the grass and water that were so much needed at the end of five
hours of hard traveling. The teams were not unyoked, but only turned
loose from their wagons, and the latter were drawn up in columns, four
abreast. No corral was formed, as there was little danger from Indians
or risk of animals straying in the daytime.
At this noon rest many matters were discussed by the caravan leaders.
Whitman and one or two others had been chosen to decide disputes between
the different members of the party. Orders for the good of the caravan
would be given out at this time, and Dr. Whitman would visit any who
were sick and advise with the various families as to new difficulties
they had met with.
When dinner was eaten and the teams rested the march was resumed, and
continued until sundown, when the scouts picked out the best camping
place for the night. The wagons were driven into a great circle,
fastened each to each, and the cattle freed to seek a pasture; tents
were pitched, fires started, and all hands were busy. The scene was
almost like a small frontier town.
The caravan was divided into three companies, and each of the companies
subdivided into four watches. Each company had the duty of acting as
sentries for the camp every third night, and each watch took its turn.
The first watch was set at eight o'clock in the evening, just after the
evening meal. For a short time there would be talking, perhaps singing,
or the music of the violin or flute. Usually, however, the day's
traveling had been hard and trying, and at an early hour the emigrants
went to sleep.
Late in the summer of 1843 Whitman's pioneers left the mountains behind
them, and came down into the valleys watered by the tributaries of
the Columbia River. As they approached the missionary settlement at
Wai-i-lat-pui a band of Cayuse and Nez Percés Indians came to meet them,
bringing pack-mules loaded with supplies. Few messengers could have been
more welcome. They told Whitman that his wife and friends were still at
the little clearing where he had left them almost a year before, and
were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the new settlers. The
leader thought that the caravan could finish its journey without him
now, so he chose one of his most reliable Indian guides, Istikus, and
placed him in charge of the company. Whitman himself hurried on to the
mission. Back of him rolled the long train of canvas-covered wagons
that had traveled so far over prairies, rivers, and mountains. Almost
a thousand men, women, and children were coming into this far western
section of the continent to settle and hold the country for the United
States.
Whitman's ride changed the situation. No more statesmen could speak
of the impassable mountains or the impossibility of taking settlers'
wagons into Oregon. Before Whitman left Washington Daniel Webster sent
a message to England stating that the United States would insist on
holding all territory south of the forty-ninth degree of latitude. When
President Tyler was told that a caravan of nearly a thousand people
under Whitman's leadership had started for Oregon, a second and more
positive message to the same effect was sent to England. All over the
United States men were now demanding that their government should claim
the country as far as the Pacific coast, and one great political party
took as its watchword the motto, "Oregon, fifty-four, forty,--or fight,"
referring to the degree of latitude they wanted for the boundary line.
The Hudson's Bay Company, finding so large a colony of pioneers settling
among them, was forced to give over its efforts to hold the northwest
entirely for itself. In time the English statesmen agreed to the claims
of the United States, and on July 17, 1846, a treaty was signed, fixing
the boundary between Canada and the United States at the forty-ninth
degree, which gave Oregon to the Republic.