We also had one who was the observed of all, Doctor Whitman,
the missionary from Oregon. He is in the service of the
American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions. Rarely
have I seen such a spectacle as he presented. His dress
should be preserved as a curiosity; it was quite in the
style of the old pictures of Philip Quarles and Robinson
Crusoe. When he came on board and threw down his traps, one
said "what a loafer!" I made up my mind at a glance that he
was either a gentleman traveler, or a missionary; that he
was every inch a man and no common one was clear. The Doctor
has been eight years at the territory, has left his wife
there, and started from home on the 1st of October. He has
not been in bed since, having made his lodging on buffalo
robe and blanket, even on board the boat. He is about
thirty-six or seven years of age, I should judge, and has
stamped on his brow a great deal of what David Crockett
would call "God Almighty's common sense." Of course when he
reached Boston he would cast his shell and again stand out a
specimen of the "humans."
I greatly question whether such a figure ever passed through
the Sound since the days of steam navigation. He is richly
fraught with information relative to that most interesting
piece of country, and I hope will shortly lay it before the
good people of Boston and New York. Could he appear in New
York Tabernacle--in his traveling costume--and lecture on
the Northwest coast, I think there would be very few
standing places. Much of his route was on foot and
occasionally on horse or mule back, with a half-breed guide.
To avoid the hostile Indians he had to go off to the Spanish
country, and thence to Santa Fé. A rascally hackman took him
in at New York, and carried him from place to place at his
whim and finally put him down near the Battery, close to his
starting point, charging him two dollars, and it being
midnight he succeeded in the vile extortion.