WHITMAN IN THE PRESENCE OF PRESIDENT TYLER AND SECRETARY OF STATE
DANIEL WEBSTER, AND THE RETURN TO OREGON.
It has been an American boast that the President of the United States
is within the reach of the humblest subject. This was truer years ago
than now, and possibly with some reason for it. Unfortunately the
historian has no recorded account of the interview between the
President, his Secretary of State and Whitman. Whitman worked for
posterity, but did not write for it.
For his long journey over the plains in 1836 and the many entertaining
and exciting events we are wholly dependent upon Mrs. Whitman, and for
the narrative of the perilous ride to save Oregon, we are dependent
upon the brief notes made by Gen. Lovejoy, and from personal talks
with many friends. Whitman always seemed too busy to use pencil or
pen, and yet when he did write, as a few recorded specimens show, he
was remarkably clear, precise and forcible. But while we have no
written statement of the celebrated interview, Dr. Whitman, in many
private conversations with friends in Oregon said enough to give a
fair and clear account of it.
It will require no stretch of imagination in any intelligent reader to
suppose, that a man who had undergone the hardships and perils he had,
would be at a loss how to present his case in the most forcible and
best possible method. He was an educated man, a profound thinker; and
he knew every phase of the questions he had to present, and no man of
discernment could look into his honest eyes and upon his manly
bearing, without acknowledging that they were in the presence of the
very best specimen of American Christian manhood.
Both President Tyler and Secretary of State Daniel Webster, speedily
granted him an audience. Some time in the future some great artist
will paint a picture of this historic event. The old pioneer, in his
leather breeches and worn and torn fur garments, and with frozen
limbs, just in from a four thousand mile ride, is a picture by
himself, but standing in the presence of the President and his great
Secretary, to plead for Oregon and the old flag, the subject for a
painter is second to none in American history.
Some writers have said that Whitman "had a chilling reception from
Secretary Webster." Of this there is not a shadow of proof. It has
also been asserted that Whitman assailed the Ashburton-Webster Treaty.
This much only is true, that Whitman regarded the issues settled as
comparatively insignificant to those involved in the possession and
boundaries of Oregon; but he was profoundly grateful that in the
treaty, Oregon had in no way been sacrificed, as he had feared.
Gen. Lovejoy says: "Dr. Whitman often related to me during our
homeward journey the incidents of his reception by the President and
his Secretary. He had several interviews with both of them, as well as
with many of the leading senators and members of Congress." The burden
of his speech in all these, says Gen. Lovejoy, was to "immediately
terminate the treaty of 1818 and 1828, and extend the laws of the
United States over Oregon." It takes a most credulous reader to doubt
that.
For months prior to Whitman's visit to Washington in diplomatic
circles it was well understood that there were negotiations on foot to
trade American interests in Oregon for the fisheries of Newfoundland.
Dr. Whitman soon heard of it, and heard it given as a reason why the
boundary line between Oregon and the British possessions had been
left open and only the little dispute in Maine adjusted.
According to all reports we can gather from the Doctor's
conversations, there was only one time in the several conferences in
which he and Secretary Webster got warm and crossed swords. Secretary
Webster had received castigation from political leaders, and sharp
criticism from his own party over the Ashburton Treaty, and was ready
to resent every remote allusion to it, as a give-away of American
interests. In defense of Secretary Webster it has been asserted that
"he had no intention of making such an exchange." But his well-known
previous views, held in common by the leading statesmen of the day,
already referred to, and openly expressed in Congress and upon the
rostrum, that "Oregon was a barren worthless country, fit only for
wild beasts and wild men, gave the air of truth to the reported
negotiation." This he emphasized by the interruption of Whitman in one
of his glowing descriptions of Oregon, by saying in effect that
"Oregon was shut off by impassable mountains and a great desert, which
made a wagon road impossible."
Then, says Whitman, I replied: "Mr. Secretary, that is the grand
mistake that has been made by listening to the enemies of American
interests in Oregon. 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." This was the historic wagon. It knocked all the
argument out of the great Secretary. Facts are stubborn things to
meet, and when told by a man like Whitman it is not difficult to
imagine their effect.
He assured the Secretary that the possibilities of the territory
beyond the Rockies were boundless, that under the poorest cultivation
everything would grow; that he had tested a variety of crops and the
soil made a wonderful yield. That not only is the soil fertile, the
climate healthful and delightful, but there is every evidence of the
hills and mountains being rich in ores; while the great forests are
second to none in the world. But it was the battered old wagon that
was the clinching argument that could not be overcome. No four-wheeled
vehicle ever before in history performed such notable service. The
real fact was, the Doctor took it into Oregon on two wheels, but he
carefully hauled the other two wheels inside as precious treasures. He
seems to have had a prophetic view of the value of the first incoming
wagon from the United States. The events show his wisdom.
Proceeding with his argument, Dr. Whitman said: "Mr. Secretary, you
had better give all New England for the cod and mackerel fisheries
of New Foundland than to barter away Oregon."
[Illustration: WHITMAN PLEADING FOR OREGON BEFORE PRESIDENT TYLER
AND SECRETARY WEBSTER.]
From the outset, and at every audience granted, President Tyler
treated Dr. Whitman with the greatest deference. He was a new
character in the experience of both these polished and experienced
politicians. Never before had they listened to a man who so eloquently
plead for the cause of his country, with no selfish aim in sight. He
asked for no money, or bonds, or land, or office, or anything, except
that which would add to the nation's wealth, the glory and honor of
the flag, and the benefit of the hardy pioneer of that far-off land,
that the nation had for more than a third of the century wholly
neglected. It was a powerful appeal to the manly heart of President
Tyler, and as the facts show, was not lost on Secretary Webster.
The Rev. H. H. Spalding, Whitman's early associate in the Oregon work,
had many conferences with Whitman after his return to Oregon. Spalding
says, speaking of the conference: "Webster's interest lay too near to
Cape Cod to see things as Whitman did, while he conceded sincerity to
the missionary, but he was loth to admit that a six years' residence
there gave Whitman a wider knowledge of the country than that
possessed by Governor Simpson, who had explored every part of it and
represented it as a sandy desert, cut off from the United States by
impassable mountains, and fit only for wild animals and savage men."
With the light we now have upon the subject the greater wonder is that
a brainy man like Webster could be so over-reached by an interested
party such as Governor Simpson was; well knowing as he did, that he
was the chief of the greatest monopoly existing upon either
continent--the Hudson Bay Company. All Dr. Whitman demanded was that
if it were true, as asserted by Mr. Webster himself, in his
instructions to Edward Everett in 1840, then Minister to England, that
"The ownership of Oregon is very likely to follow the greater
settlement and larger amount of population;" then "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."
President Tyler promptly and positively stated: "Dr. Whitman, your
long ride and frozen limbs speak for your courage and patriotism; your
missionary credentials are good vouchers for your character." And he
promptly granted his request. Such promise was all that Whitman
required. He firmly believed, as all the pioneers of Oregon at that
time believed, that the treaty of 1818, while not saying in direct
terms that the nationality settling the country should hold it, yet
that that was the real meaning. Both countries claimed the territory,
and England with the smallest rightful claim had, through the Hudson
Bay Company, been the supreme autocratic ruler for a full third of a
century.
More than half a dozen fur companies, attracted to Oregon by the
wealth flowing into the coffers of the English company, had attempted,
as we have before shown, to open up business on what they claimed was
American soil; but, in every instance, they were starved out or bought
out by the English company. The Indians obeyed its orders, and even
the American missionaries settled in just the localities they were
ordered to by the English monopoly. In another connection we have more
fully explained this treaty of 1818, but, suffice it to say, these
conditions led Whitman to believe that the only hope of saving Oregon
was in American immigration. It was for this that he plead with
President Tyler and Secretary Webster and the members of Congress he
met.
From the President he went to the Hon. James M. Porter, Secretary of
War, and by him was received with the greatest kindness, and he
eagerly heard the whole story. He promised Dr. Whitman all the aid in
his power in his scheme of immigration. He promised that Captain
Fremont, with a company of troops, should act as escort to the caravan
which Whitman was positive he could organize upon the frontier. The
Secretary of War also inquired in what way he and the Government
could aid the pioneers in the new country, and asked Dr. Whitman, at
his leisure, to write out his views, and forward them to him. Dr.
Whitman did this, and the State Historical Society of Oregon did
excellent service, recently, in publishing Whitman's proposed "Oregon
Organization," found among the official papers of the War Department,
a copy of which will be found in the appendix of this volume.
In a Senate document, December 31st, viz., the 41st Cong., February
9th, 1871, we read: "There is no doubt but that the arrival of Dr.
Whitman, in 1843, was opportune. The President was satisfied that the
territory was worth the effort to win it. The delay incident to a
transfer of negotiations to London was fortunate, for there is reason
to believe that if former negotiations had been renewed in Washington,
and that, for the sake of a settlement of the protracted controversy
and the only remaining unadjudicated cause of difference between the
two Governments, the offer had been renewed of the 49th parallel to
the Columbia and thence down the river to the Pacific Ocean, it would
have been accepted. The visit of Whitman committed the President
against any such action." This is a clear statement, summarizing the
great historic event, and forever silencing effectually the slanderous
tongues that have, in modern times, attempted to deprive the old Hero
of his great and deserving tribute.
We will do Secretary Webster the justice to say here, that in his
later years, he justly acknowledged the obligations of the nation to
Dr. Whitman. In the New York Independent, for January, 1870, it is
stated: "A personal friend of Mr. Webster, a legal gentleman, and with
whom he conversed on the subject several times, remarked to the writer
of this article: 'It is safe to assert that our country owes it to Dr.
Whitman and his associate missionaries that all the territory west of
the Rocky Mountains and south as far as the Columbia River, is not now
owned by England and held by the Hudson Bay Company.'"
Having transacted his business and succeeded even beyond his
expectations, Whitman hurried to Boston to report to the headquarters
of the American Board. His enemies have often made sport over their
version of his "cool reception by the American Board." If there was a
severe reprimand, as reported, both the officers of the Board and Dr.
Whitman failed to make record of it. But enough of the facts leaked
out in the years after to show that it was not altogether a harmonious
meeting. It is not to be wondered at.
The American Board was a religious organization working under fixed
rules, and expected every member in every field to obey those rules.
But here was a man, whose salary had been paid by the Board for
special work, away from his field of labor without the consent from
headquarters. It is not at all unlikely that he was severely
reprimanded. The officers of the American Board had no reason to know,
as Christian people can see now, that Whitman was an inspired man, and
a man about his Father's business. It is even reported, but not
vouched for, that they ordered him to promptly repair to his post of
duty, and dismissed him with his pockets so empty, that, when starting
upon his ever-memorable return journey across the plains, "He had but
money enough to buy only a single ham for his supplies."
One of his old associates who had frequent conferences with
Whitman--Dr. Gray--says: "Instead of being treated by the American
Board as his labors justly deserved, he met the cold, calculating
rebuke for unreasonable expenses, and for dangers incurred without
orders or instructions or permission from headquarters. Thus, for
economical, prudential reasons, the Board received him coldly, and
rebuked him for his presence before them, causing a chill in his warm
and generous heart, and a sense of unmerited rebuke from those who
should have been most willing to listen to all his statements, and
been most cordial and ready to sustain him in his herculean labors."
We leave intelligent readers to answer for themselves, whether this
attitude of this great and influential and excellent organization has
not been, in a measure, responsible for the neglect of this Hero, who
served it and the Christian world with all faithfulness and honesty,
until he and his noble wife dropped into their martyr graves? If they
say yea, we raise the question whether the time has not been reached
to make amends?
Dr. Barrows says, in his "Oregon and the Struggle for Possession," "It
should be said in apology for both parties at this late day that, at
that time, the Oregon Mission and its managing board were widely
asunder geographically, and as widely separated in knowledge of the
condition of affairs." Dr. Whitman seems to have assumed that his
seven years' residence on the Northwest Coast would gain him a
trustful hearing. But his knowledge gave him the disadvantage of a
position and plans too advanced--not an uncommon mishap to eminent
leaders. As said by Coleridge of Milton, "He strode so far before his
contemporaries as to dwarf himself by the distance."
He adds that:
"Years after only, it was discovered by one of the officers of the
American Board," that "It was not simply an American question then
settled, but at the same time a Protestant question." He also refers
to a recent work, "The Ely Volume," in which is discussed the
question, "Instances where the direct influence of missionaries has
controlled and hopefully shaped the destinies of communities and
states," and illustrates by saying, "Perhaps no event in the history
of missions will better illustrate this than the way in which Oregon
and our whole Northwest Pacific Coast was saved to the United States."
This covered directly the Whitman idea. It was, as he before stated, a
union of banners--the banner of the cross, and the banner of the
country he loved. It took the spirit and love of both to sustain a man
and to enable him to undergo the hardships and dangers and
discouragements that he met, from the beginning to the end.
From Boston, with an aching heart, and yet doubtless serene over an
accomplished duty, which he had faith to believe time would reveal in
its real light, Dr. Whitman passed on to make a flying visit to his
own and his wife's relations. From letters of Mrs. Whitman, it is easy
to see that her prophecy was true; "He would be too full of his great
work on hand, to tell much of the home in Oregon." His visit was
hurried over and seemed more the necessity of a great duty than a
pleasure.
But the Doctor's mind was westward. He had learned from Gen. Lovejoy
that already there was gathering upon the frontier a goodly number of
immigrants and the prospect was excellent for a large caravan. In the
absence of Dr. Whitman, Gen. Lovejoy had neglected no opportunity to
publish far and wide that Dr. Whitman and himself would, early in the
Spring, pilot across the plains to Oregon, a body of immigrants. A
rendezvous was appointed, not far from where Kansas City now stands,
at the little town of Weston. But they were in various camps at Fort
Leavenworth and other points, waiting both for their guide and for the
growing spring grass--a necessity for the emigrant.
Certain modern historians have undertaken to rob Whitman of his great
services in 1843, by gathering affidavits of people who emigrated to
Oregon in that year, declaring, "We never saw Marcus Whitman," and "We
were not persuaded to immigrate to Oregon by him," etc. Doubtless
there were such upon the wide plains, scattered as they may have been,
hundreds of miles apart. But it is just as certain that the large
immigration to Oregon that year was incited by the movements of
Whitman and Lovejoy, as any fact could be. There is no other method of
explaining it. That he directly influenced every immigrant of that
year, no one has claimed.
True, old Elijah White had paved the way, the year before, by leading
in the first large band of agriculturist settlers; but men of
families, undertaking a two thousand mile journey, with their families
and their stock, were certainly desirous of an experienced guide. They
may, as some of them say, never have met Whitman. He was not one of
the free and easy kind that made himself popular with the masses.
Then, besides all that, fifty years ago plains life was an odd life. I
have journeyed with men for weeks, and even after months of
acquaintance have not known their names, except that of Buckeye,
Sucker, Missouri, Cass County Bill, Bob, etc. Little bands would
travel by themselves for days and weeks and then, under the sense of
danger that would be passed along the line, and for defense against
depredations of some dangerous tribe of Indians, they would gather
into larger bands soon again to fall apart. Some of these would often
follow many days behind the head of the column, but always have the
benefit of its guidance.
That year grass was late, and they did not get fully under way until
the first week in June. Whitman remained behind and did not overtake
the advance of the column until it reached the Platte River. He knew
the way, he had three times been over it. He was ahead arranging for
camping places for those in his immediate company, or in the rear
looking after the sick and discouraged. If some failed to know him by
name, there were many who did, and all shared in all the knowledge of
the country and road which he, better than any other, knew.
In answer to historical critics of modern times we quote Dr. H. H.
Spalding, who says, in speaking of the immigration of 1843:
"And through that whole summer Dr. Whitman was everywhere present; the
ministering angel to the sick, helping the weary, encouraging the
wavering, cheering the tired mothers, setting broken bones and mending
wagons. He was in the front, in the center and in the rear. He was in
the river hunting out fords through the quicksand; in the desert
places looking for water and grass; among the mountains hunting for
passes, never before trodden by white men; at noontide and at midnight
he was on the alert as if the whole line was his own family, and as if
all the flocks and herds were his own. For all this he neither asked
nor expected a dollar from any source, and especially did he feel
repaid at the end, when, standing at his mission home, hundreds of his
fellow pilgrims took him by the hand and thanked him with tears in
their eyes for all that he had done."
The head of the column arrived at Fort Hall and there waited for the
stragglers to come up. Dr. Whitman knew that here he would meet
Captain Johnny Grant, and the old story, "You can't take a wagon into
Oregon," would be dinned into the ears of the head of every family. He
had heard it over and over again six years before. Fort Hall was
thirteen hundred and twenty-three miles from the Missouri River at
Kansas City. Here the Doctor expected trouble and found it. Johnny
Grant was at Fort Hall to make trouble and discourage immigration. He
was working under the pay of the Fur Company and earned his money. The
Fur Company did not desire farmers in settlements in Oregon.
Captain Grant at once began to tell them the terrors of the mountain
journey and the impossibility of hauling their wagons further. Then he
showed them, to prove it, a corral full of fine wagons, with
agricultural tools, and thousands of things greatly needed in Oregon,
that immigrants had been forced to leave when they took to their
pack-saddles. The men were ready, as had been others before, to give
up and sacrifice the comforts of their families and rob themselves at
the command of the oily advocate.
But here comes Whitman. Johnny Grant knows he now has his master. Dr.
Whitman says: "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 through to Oregon six years ago." (Again we see the historic
wagon.) The men believed him. They refused to obey Captain Grant's
touching appeal and almost a command to leave their wagons behind.
Never did an order, than the one Whitman made, add more to the comfort
and actual value of a band of travelers.
One of a former company tells of a packing experience, after
submitting to Captain Grant's orders. He says: "There were lively
times around old Fort Hall when the patient old oxen and mules were
taken from the wagons to be left behind and the loads of bedding, pots
and pans were tied on to their backs. They were unused to such
methods. There would first be a shying, then a fright and a stampede,
and bellowing oxen and braying mules and the air would be full of
flying kettles and camp fixtures, while women and children crying and
the men swearing, made up a picture to live in the memory."
No one better than Whitman knew the toil and danger attending the last
six hundred miles of the journey to Oregon. Col. George B. Curry, in
an address before the Pioneer Society of Oregon in 1887, gives a
graphic sketch, wonderfully realistic, of the immigrant train in 1853.
He says: "From the South Pass the nature of our journeying changed,
and assumed the character of a retreat, a disastrous, ruinous retreat.
Oxen and horses began to perish in large numbers; often falling dead
in their yokes in the road. The heat-dried wagon, striking on the
rocks or banks would fall to pieces. As the beasts of burden grew
weaker, and the wagon more rickety, teams began to be doubled and
wagons abandoned. The approaching storms of autumn, which, on the high
mountains at the last end of our journey, meant impassable snow,
admitted of no delay. Whatever of strength remained of the jaded
cattle must be forced out. Every thing of weight not absolutely
necessary must be abandoned.
"There was no time to pause and recruit the hungry stock, nor dare we
allow them much freedom to hunt the withered herbage, for a marauding
enemy hung upon the rear, hovering on either flank, and skulked in
ambuscade in the front, the horizon was a panorama of mountains, the
grandest and most desolate on the continent. The road was strewn with
dead cattle, abandoned wagons, discarded cooking utensils, ox-yokes,
harness, chairs, mess chests, log chains, books, heirlooms, and family
keepsakes. The inexorable surroundings of the struggling mass
permitted no hesitation or sentiment.
"The failing strength of the team was a demand that must be complied
with. Clothing not absolutely required at present was left on the bare
rocks of the rugged canyons. Wagons were coupled shorter that a few
extra pounds might be saved from the wagon beds. One set of wheels was
left and a cart constructed. Men, women and children walked beside
the enfeebled teams, ready to give an assisting push up a steep pitch.
"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 mountain
sides 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 stench of carrion fills the air
in many places; a watering place is reached to find the putrid carcass
of a dead animal in the spring. 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 daily progress.
"I do not pretend to be versed in all the horrors that have made men
groan on earth, but I have followed the "Flight of Tartar Tribes,"
under the focal light of DeQuincy's genius, the retreat of the ten
thousand under Xenophon, but as far as I am able to judge, in heroism,
endurance, patience, and suffering, the annual retreat of immigrants
from the Black Hills to the Dalles surpasses either. The theater of
their sufferings and success, for scenic grandeur, has no superior.
"The patient endurance of these men and women for sublime pathos may
challenge the world. Men were impoverished and women reduced to
beggary and absolute want, and no weakling's murmur of complaint
escaped their lips. It is true, when women saw their patient oxen or
faithful horses fall by the roadside and die, they wept piteously,
and men stood in all the 'silent manliness of grief' in the camp of
their desolation, for the immigrants were men and women with hearts to
feel and tears to flow."
[Illustration: REV. H. H. SPALDING.]
This, it will be observed, was a train upon the road ten years later
than Dr. Whitman's memorable journey. He was a wise guide, and his
train met with fewer disasters. The Hon. S. A. Clarke in his address
tells how Whitman moved his train across Snake River.
He says: "When the immigrants reached the Snake, Dr. Whitman proceeded
to fasten wagons together in one long string, the strongest in the
lead. As soon as the teams were in position, Dr. Whitman tied a rope
around his waist and starting his horse into the current swam over. He
called to others to follow him, and when they had force enough to pull
at the rope the lead team was started in and all were drawn over in
safety. As soon as the leading teams were able to get foothold on the
bottom all was safe; as they, aided by the strong arms of the men
pulling at the rope, pulled the weaker ones along."
The Snake River at the ford is divided into three rivers by islands,
the last stream on the Oregon side is a deep and rapid current, and
fully half a mile wide. To get so many wagons, pulled by jaded teams,
and all the thousand men, women and children, and the loose stock
across in safety, showed wise generalship.
We here copy "A Day with the Cow Column in 1843," by the Hon. Jesse
Applegate, a late honored citizen of Oregon, who was one of Dr.
Whitman's company in 1843. It is a clear, graphic description of a
sample day's journey on the famous trip, and was an address published
in the transactions of the Pioneer Oregon Association in 1876.
The migration of a large body of men, women and children across the
Continent to Oregon was, in the year 1843, strictly an experiment, not
only in respect to the numbers, but to the outfit of the migrating
party.
Before that date two or three missionaries had performed the journey
on horseback, driving a few cows with them. Three or four wagons drawn
by oxen had reached Fort Hall on Snake River, but it was the honest
opinion of most of those who had traveled the route down Snake River
that no large number of cattle could be subsisted on its scanty
pasturage, or wagons taken over a route so rugged and mountainous.
The emigrants were also assured that the Sioux would be much opposed
to the passage of so large a body through their country, and would
probably resist it on account of the emigrants destroying and
frightening away the buffaloes, which were then diminishing in
numbers. The migrating body numbered over one thousand souls, with
about one hundred and twenty wagons, drawn by ox teams, averaging
about six yokes to the team, and several thousand loose horses and
cattle.
The emigrants first organized and attempted to travel in one body, but
it was soon found that no progress could be made with a body so
cumbrous, and as yet, so averse to all discipline. And at the crossing
of the "Big Blue," it divided into two columns, which traveled in
supporting distance of each other as far as Independence Rock, on the
Sweetwater.
From this point, all danger from Indians being over, the emigrants
separated into small parties better suited to the narrow mountain
paths and small pastures in their front.
Before the division on the Blue River there was some just cause for
discontent in respect to loose cattle. Some of the emigrants had only
their teams, while others had large herds in addition, which must
share the pastures and be driven by the whole body.
This discontent had its effect in the division on the Blue, those not
encumbered with or having but few loose cattle attached themselves to
the light column, those having more than four or five cows had of
necessity to join the heavy or cow column. Hence, the cow column,
being much larger than the other and encumbered with its large herds,
had to use greater exertion and observe a more rigid discipline to
keep pace with the more agile consort.
It is with the cow or more clumsy column that I propose to journey
with the reader for a single day.
It is four o'clock a. m., the sentinels on duty have discharged their
rifles, the signal that the hours of sleep are over; and every wagon
or tent is pouring forth its night tenants, and slow kindling smokes
begin to rise and float away on the morning air. Sixty men start from
the corral, spreading as they make through the vast herd of cattle and
horses that form a semi-circle around the encampment, the most
distant, perhaps, two miles away.
The herders pass to the extreme verge and carefully examine for trails
beyond, to see that none of the animals have been stolen or strayed
during the night. This morning no trails lead beyond the outside
animals in sight, and by five o'clock the herders begin to contract
the great moving circle, and the well-trained animals move slowly
toward camp, clipping here and there a thistle or tempting bunch of
grass on the way.
In about an hour 5,000 animals are close up to the encampment, and the
teamsters are busy selecting their teams, and driving them inside the
"corral" to be yoked. The corral is a circle one hundred yards deep,
formed with wagons connected strongly with each other, the wagon in
the rear being connected with the wagon in front by its tongue and ox
chains. It is a strong barrier that the most vicious ox cannot break,
and in case of an attack by the Sioux, would be no contemptible
entrenchment.
From six to seven o'clock is a busy time; breakfast to be eaten, the
tents struck, the wagons loaded, and the teams yoked and brought up in
readiness to be attached to their respective wagons. All know, when at
seven o'clock the signal to march sounds, that those not ready to take
their proper places in the line of march must fall into the dusty rear
for the day.
There are sixty wagons. They have been divided into sixteen divisions,
or platoons of four wagons each, and each platoon is entitled to lead
in its turn. The leading platoon of to-day will be the rear one
to-morrow, and will bring up the rear, unless some teamster, through
indolence or negligence, has lost his place in the line, and is
condemned to that uncomfortable post. It is within ten minutes of
seven; the corral, but now a strong barricade, is everywhere broken,
the teams being attached to the wagons. The women and children have
taken their places in them. The pilot (a borderer who has passed his
life on the verge of civilization, and has been chosen to the post of
leader from his knowledge of the savage and his experience in travel
through roadless wastes) stands ready, in the midst of his pioneers
and aides, to mount and lead the way.
Ten or fifteen young men, not to lead to-day, form another cluster.
They are ready to start on a buffalo hunt, are well mounted and well
armed, as they need to be, for the unfriendly Sioux have driven the
buffalo out of the Platte, and the hunters must ride fifteen or twenty
miles to reach them. The cow-drivers are hastening, as they get ready,
to the rear of their charge, to collect and prepare them for the day's
march.
It is on the stroke of seven; the rushing to and fro, the cracking of
whips, the loud command to oxen, and what seemed to be the
inextricable confusion of the last ten minutes has ceased.
Fortunately, every one has been found, and every teamster is at his
post. The clear notes of a trumpet sound in the front; the pilot and
his guards mount their horses; the leading division of wagons move out
of the encampment and take up the line of march; the rest fall into
their places with the precision of clock-work, until the post, so
lately full of life, sinks back into that solitude that seems to reign
over the broad plain and rushing river, as the caravan draws its lazy
length toward the distant El Dorado.
It is with the hunters we will briskly canter toward the bold but
smooth and grassy bluffs that bound the broad valley, for we are not
yet in sight of the grander, but less beautiful, scenery (of the
Chimney Rock, Court House, and other bluffs so nearly resembling giant
castles and palaces) made by the passage of the Platte through the
Highlands near Laramie. We have been traveling briskly for more than
an hour. We have reached the top of the bluff, and now have turned to
view the wonderful panorama spread before us.
To those who have not been on the Platte, my powers of description are
wholly inadequate to convey an idea of the vast extent and grandeur of
the picture, and the rare beauty and distinctness of its detail. No
haze or fog obscures objects in the pure and transparent atmosphere of
this lofty region. To those accustomed to only the murky air of the
sea-board, no correct judgment of distance can be formed by sight, and
objects which they think they can reach in a two hours' walk, may be a
day's travel away; and though the evening air is a better conductor of
sound, on the high plain during the day the report of the loudest
rifle sounds little louder than the bursting of a cap; and while the
report can be heard but a few hundred yards, the smoke of the
discharge may be seen for miles.
So extended is the view from the bluff on which the hunters stand,
that the broad river, glowing under the morning sun like a sheet of
silver, and the broader emerald valley that borders it, stretch away
in the distance until they narrow at almost two points in the horizon,
and when first seen, the vast pile of the Wind River mountains, though
hundreds of miles away, looks clear and distinct as a white cottage on
the plain.
We are full six miles away from the line of march; though everything
is dwarfed by distance, it is seen distinctly. The caravan has been
about two hours in motion, and is now extended as widely as a prudent
regard for safety will permit. First, near the bank of the shining
river, is a company of horsemen; they seem to have found an
obstruction, for the main body has halted, while three or four ride
rapidly along the bank of a creek or slough. They are hunting a
favorable crossing for the wagons; while we look they have succeeded;
it has apparently required no work to make it possible, while all but
one of the party have passed on, and he has raised a flag, no doubt a
signal to the wagons to steer their course to where he stands.
The leading teamster sees him, though he is yet two miles off, and
steers his course directly towards him, all the wagons following in
his track. They (the wagons) form a line three-quarters of a mile in
length; some of the teamsters ride upon the front of their wagons,
some march beside their teams; scattered along the line companies of
women and children are taking exercise on foot; they gather bouquets
of rare and beautiful flowers that line the way; near them stalks a
stately greyhound or an Irish wolf dog, apparently proud of keeping
watch and ward over his master's wife and children.
Next comes a band of horses; two or three men or boys follow them, the
docile and sagacious animals scarcely needing this attention, for they
have learned to follow in the rear of the wagons, and know that at
noon they will be allowed to graze and rest. Their knowledge of time
seems as accurate as of the place they are to occupy in the line, and
even a full-blown thistle will scarce tempt them to straggle or halt
until the dinner hour is arrived.
Not so with the large herd of horned beasts that bring up the rear;
lazy, selfish and unsocial, it has been a task to get them in motion,
the strong always ready to domineer over the weak, halt in the front
and forbid the weaker to pass them. They seem to move only in fear of
the driver's whip; though in the morning full to repletion, they have
not been driven an hour, before their hunger and thirst seem to
indicate a fast of days' duration. Through all the day long their
greed is never sated nor their thirst quenched, nor is there a moment
of relaxation of the tedious and vexatious labors of their drivers,
although to all others the march furnishes some reason of relaxation
or enjoyment. For the cow-drivers, there is none.
But from the standpoint of the hunters the vexations are not apparent;
the crack of whip and loud objurgations are lost in the distance.
Nothing of the moving panorama, smooth and orderly as it appears, has
more attraction for the eye than that vast square column in which all
colors are mingled, moving here slowly and there briskly as impelled
by horsemen riding furiously in front and rear.
But the picture, in its grandeur, its wonderful mingling of colors and
distinctness of detail, is forgotten in contemplation of the singular
people who give it life and animation. No other race of men, with the
means at their command, would undertake so great a journey; none save
these could successfully perform it, with no previous preparation,
relying only on the fertility of their invention to devise the means
to overcome each danger and difficulty as it arose.
They have undertaken to perform with slow-moving oxen, a journey of
two thousand miles. The way lies over trackless wastes, wide and deep
rivers, rugged and lofty mountains, and it is beset with hostile
savages. Yet, whether it were a deep river with no tree upon its
banks, a rugged defile where even a loose horse could not pass, a
hill too steep for him to climb, or a threatened attack of an enemy,
they are always found ready and equal to the occasion, and always
conquerors. May we not call them men of destiny? They are people
changed in no essential particulars from their ancestors, who have
followed closely on the footsteps of the receding savage, from the
Atlantic sea-board to the great valley of the Mississippi.
But while we have been gazing at the picture in the valley, the
hunters have been examining the high plain in the other direction.
Some dark moving objects have been discovered in the distance, and all
are closely watching them to discover what they are, for in the
atmosphere of the plains a flock of crows marching miles away, or a
band of buffaloes or Indians at ten times the distance look alike, and
many ludicrous mistakes occur. But these are buffaloes, for two have
struck their heads together, and are alternately pushing each other
back. The hunters mount and away in pursuit, and I, a poor cow-driver,
must hurry back to my daily toil, and take a scolding from my
fellow-herders for so long playing truant.
The pilot, by measuring the ground and timing the speed of the wagons
and the walk of his horses, has determined the rate of each, so as to
enable him to select the nooning place, as nearly as the requisite
grass and water can be had at the end of five hours' travel of the
wagons. To-day, the ground being favorable, little time has been lost
in preparing the road, so that he and his pioneers are at the nooning
place an hour in advance of the wagons, which time is spent in
preparing convenient watering places for the animals, and digging
little wells near the bank of the Platte.
As the teams are not unyoked, but simply turned loose from their
wagons, a corral is not formed at noon, but the wagons are drawn up in
columns, four abreast, the leading wagon of each platoon on the
left--the platoons being formed with that view. This brings friends
together at noon as well as at night.
To-day, an extra session of the Council is being held, to settle a
dispute that does not admit of delay, between a proprietor and a young
man who has undertaken to do a man's service on the journey for bed
and board. Many such engagements exist, and much interest is taken in
the manner this high court, from which there is no appeal, will define
the rights of each party in such engagements.
The Council was a high court in a most exalted sense. It was a Senate,
composed of the ablest and most respected fathers of the emigration.
It exercised both legislative and judicial powers, and its laws and
decisions proved it equal and worthy the high trust reposed in it. Its
sessions were usually held on days when the caravan was not moving.
It first took the state of the little commonwealth into consideration;
revised or repealed rules defective or obsolete, and enacted such
others as the exigencies seemed to require. The common weal being
cared for, it next resolved itself into a court to hear and settle
private disputes and grievances.
The offender and the aggrieved appeared before it; witnesses were
examined and the parties were heard by themselves and sometimes by
counsel. The judges thus being made fully acquainted with the case,
and being in no way influenced or cramped by technicalities, decided
all cases according to their merits. There was but little use for
lawyers before this court, for no plea was entertained which was
calculated to hinder or defeat the ends of justice.
Many of these Judges have since won honors in higher spheres. They
have aided to establish on the broad basis of right and universal
liberty two of the pillars of our Great Republic in the Occident. Some
of the young men who appeared before them as advocates have themselves
sat upon the highest judicial tribunal, commanded armies, been
Governors of States, and taken high positions in the Senate of the
Nation.
It is now one o'clock; the bugle has sounded, and the caravan has
resumed its westward journey. It is in the same order, but the
evening is far less animated than the morning march; a drowsiness has
fallen apparently on man and beast; teamsters drop asleep on their
perches and even when walking by their teams, and the words of command
are now addressed to the slowly-creeping oxen in the softened tenor of
a woman or the piping treble of children, while the snores of
teamsters make a droning accompaniment.
But a little incident breaks the monotony of the march. An emigrant's
wife, whose state of health has caused Dr. Whitman to travel near the
wagon for the day, is now taken with violent illness. The Doctor has
had the wagon driven out of the line, a tent pitched and a fire
kindled. Many conjectures are hazarded in regard to this mysterious
proceeding, and as to why this lone wagon is to be left behind.
And we, too, must leave it, hasten to the front and note the
proceedings, for the sun is now getting low in the west, and at length
the painstaking pilot is standing ready to conduct the train in the
circle which he had previously measured and marked out, which is to
form the invariable fortification for the night.
The leading wagons follow him so nearly round the circle, that but a
wagon length separates them. Each wagon follows in its track, the rear
closing on the front until its tongue and ox-chains will perfectly
reach from one to the other, and so accurate the measurement and
perfect the practice, that the hindmost wagon of the train always
precisely closes the gateway. As each wagon is brought into position,
it is dropped from its team (the teams being inside the circle), the
team unyoked, and the yokes and chains are used to connect the wagon
strongly with that in its front.
Within ten minutes from the time the leading wagon halted the
barricade is formed, the teams unyoked and driven out to pasture.
Every one is busy preparing fires of buffalo chips to cook the evening
meal, pitching tents and otherwise preparing for the night.
There are anxious watchers for the absent wagon, for there are many
matrons who may be afflicted like its inmate before the journey is
over, and they fear the strange and startling practice of this Oregon
doctor will be dangerous. But as the sun goes down, the absent wagon
rolls into camp, the bright, speaking face and cheery look of the
doctor, who rides in advance, declare without words that all is well,
and that both mother and child are comfortable.
I would fain now and here pay a passing tribute to that noble and
devoted man, Dr. Whitman. I will obtrude no other name upon the
reader, nor would I his, were he of our party or even living, but his
stay with us was transient, though the good he did was permanent, and
he has long since died at his post.
From the time he joined us on the Platte, until he left us at Fort
Hall, his great experience and indomitable energy was of priceless
value to the migrating column. His constant advice, which we knew was
based upon a knowledge of the road before us, was "travel, travel,
travel--nothing else will take you to the end of your journey; nothing
is wise that does not help you along; nothing is good for you that
causes a moment's delay."
His great authority as a physician and complete success in the case
above referred to, saved us many prolonged and perhaps ruinous delays
from similar causes, and it is no disparagement to others to say that
to no other individual are the immigrants of 1843 so much indebted for
the successful conclusion of their journey, as to Dr. Marcus Whitman.
All able to bear arms in the party had been formed into three
companies, and each of these into four watches; every third night it
is the duty of one of these companies to keep watch and ward over the
camp, and it is so arranged that each watch takes its turn of guard
duty through the different watches of the night. Those forming the
first watch to-night, will be second on duty, then third and fourth,
which brings them all through the watches of the night. They begin
at eight o'clock p. m. and end at four o'clock a. m.
[Illustration: REV. CUSHING EELLS, D.D.
Founder of Whitman College.]
It is not yet eight o'clock when the first watch is to be set; the
evening meal is just over, and the corral now free from the intrusion
of horses or cattle, groups of children are scattered over it. The
larger are taking a game of romps; "the wee, toddling things" are
being taught that great achievement which distinguishes men from the
lower animals. Before a tent near the river, a violin makes lively
music and some youths and maidens have improvised a dance upon the
green; in another quarter a flute gives its mellow and melancholy
notes to the still night air, which, as they float away over the quiet
river, seem a lament for the past rather than for a hope of the
future.
It has been a prosperous day; more than twenty miles have been
accomplished of the great journey. The encampment is a good one; one
of the causes that threatened much future delay has just been removed
by the skill and energy of "that good angel" of the emigrants, Dr.
Whitman, and it has lifted a load from the hearts of the elders. Many
of these are assembled around the good doctor at the tent of the pilot
(which is his home for the time being), and are giving grave attention
to his wise and energetic counsel. The care-worn pilot sits aloof
quietly smoking his pipe, for he knows the grave Doctor is "strength
in his hands."
But time passes, the watch is set for the night, the council of good
men has been broken up and each has returned to his own quarters. The
flute has whispered its last lament to the deepening night. The violin
is silent and the dancers have dispersed. Enamored youths have
whispered a tender "good night" in the ear of blushing maidens, or
stolen a kiss from the lips of some future bride; for Cupid, here as
elsewhere, has been busy bringing together congenial hearts, and among
these simple people, he alone is consulted in forming the marriage
tie. Even the Doctor and the pilot have finished their confidential
interview and have separated for the night. All is hushed and repose
from the fatigues of the day, save the vigilant guard, and the wakeful
leader who still has cares upon his mind that forbid sleep.
He hears the ten o'clock relief taking post, and the "all well" report
of the returned guard; the night deepens, yet he seeks not the needed
repose. At length a sentinel hurries to him with the welcome report
that a party is approaching, as yet too far away for its character to
be determined, and he instantly hurries out in the direction seen.
This he does both from inclination and duty, for, in times past, the
camp has been unnecessarily alarmed by timid or inexperienced
sentinels, causing much confusion and fright amongst women and
children, and it had been made a rule that all extraordinary
incidents of the night should be reported directly to the pilot, who
alone had authority to call out the military strength of the column,
or so much of it as was, in his judgment, necessary to prevent a
stampede or repel an enemy.
To-night he is at no loss to determine that the approaching party are
our missing hunters, and that they have met with success, and he only
waits until, by some further signal, he can know that no ill has
happened to them. This is not long wanting; he does not even wait
their arrival, but the last care of the day being removed and the last
duties performed, he, too, seeks the rest that will enable him to go
through the same routine to-morrow. But here I leave him, for my task
is also done, and, unlike his, it is to be repeated no more.
After passing through such trials and dangers, nothing could have been
more cheering to these tired immigrants than the band of Cayuse and
Nez Perces Indians, with pack mules loaded with supplies, meeting the
Doctor upon the mountains with a glad welcome. From them he learned
that in his absence his mill had been burned, but the Rev. H. H.
Spalding, anticipating the needs of the caravan, had furnished flour
from his mill, and nothing was ever more joyously received.
Dr. Whitman also received letters urging him to hurry on to his
mission. He selected one of his most trusty Cayuse Indian guides,
Istikus, and placed the company under his lead. He was no longer a
necessity for its comfort and safety. The most notable event in
pioneer history is reaching its culmination. That long train of
canvas-covered wagons moving across the plains, those two hundred
campfires at night, with shouts and laughter and singing of children,
were all new and strange to these solitudes. As simple facts in
history, to an American they are profoundly interesting, but to the
thoughtful student who views results, they assume proportions whose
grandeur is not easily over-estimated.
But the little band has come safely across the Rockies; has forded and
swam many intervening rivers; the dreary plains, with saleratus dust
and buffalo gnats, had been left behind, and here they stand upon a
slope of the farthest western range of mountains, with the fertile
foot hills and beautiful green meadows reaching as far away as the eye
can see. The wagons are well bunched. For weeks they have been eager
to see the land of promise. It is a goodly sight to see, as they file
down the mountain side, one hundred and twenty-five wagons, one
thousand head of loose stock, cattle, horses and sheep, and about one
thousand men, women and children, and Oregon is saved to the Union.
Who did it?
We leave every thoughtful, honest reader to answer the query.