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}