THE START FOR THE ROCKIES; RE-DISCOVERY OF THE OLD TRAIL;
RECOLLECTIONS OF BURNT RIVER; ALL SIGNS OF BEN'S GRAVE OBLITERATED; A
GRANITE MONUMENT ERECTED NEAR THE LONE PINE AND WAGON TIRE AT THE
GRAVE OF CATHERINE MULHALL; CLOSING SCENES.
At last the eventful day for the start arrived amid auspicious
circumstances. The maple leaves were full size, pastures green and
the grains were coming up with promises of a bounteous yield. Silver
tips of new growth ornamented the evergreen trees. Many of the
hardier varieties of rose were in bloom, some for more than a month;
the crocus peeped out in March, followed by numerous other early
flowers. Birds had nested, and the mates were busily occupied in
securing food for the ones that kept the little eggs warm, and for
themselves.
The barn on the Pelton homestead reflected the sunlight from its new
coat of paint, but the residence needed no further attention, as a
heavy film of sand had been blown in with each previous application.
The garden fence was given a fresh cover of whitewash, and everything
was looking in the best of condition. Catherine, now a widow with a
large family, arrived to care for the residence and garden {208}
during the absence of the household; and the tenant for the year had
moved into the old dwelling, the first one built, near-by.
At the hour set for the start, all the travelers were in their places
when Adam said that Sarah, whose arms were resting on the steering
wheel of the automobile she was to drive, should take the lead.
Sarah replied, "No"--that Adam ought to have the honor. The
neighbors who had gathered into a group along the roadside to see
them off wondered what they could be waiting for.
Finally mother Pelton asked, "Will you leave it to me?" Both almost
in one breath exclaimed "Yes." "Go ahead with father, Sarah," was
Kate's quick answer; and the start was made amidst a flutter of
handkerchiefs in the assemblage of neighbors, the tooting of horns on
both automobiles and waving of small American flags.
Adam had displayed real genius in providing a convenient outfit. The
automobile with large wagon-size top and high canvas cover was turned
into a living room, with electric lights and a small heater for the
electric iron or to boil water for tea even while they traveled.
Sarah never tired praising Adam for the very convenient arrangement,
and he in turn gave full credit to her for suggesting the wagon-box
that made it possible.
Pelton soon began to recognize the route traveled on his first trip
to Puget Sound, and also when he visited Linda Hardy and returned
home with little {209} Sarah and Bess. Where Sarah had pitched
headlong off the pony's back into the mud, there was now a thriving
village with brick buildings, a fine Court House, two modest but neat
appearing churches and a commodious hotel. They passed through five
such villages on long stretches of road paved like the main highways
of the eastern States.
On the bank of a large river he found an enterprising city with
thousands of busy inhabitants, where at the time of his earlier
visits there was only a scattered village with temporary shanties,
and stumps obstructing the streets. Now there were brick blocks
several stories high in the central business district, and fine
residences in the outlying sections.
No member of the party had ever seen the rift through which this
stream flows between the mountains, and all were astonished at the
wonderful scenery on both sides of it. There were numerous
waterfalls, one with a perpendicular drop of nearly a thousand feet,
and patches of snow on a background of green, making a vista of
surpassing beauty.
A few days later they came upon the track followed by the Mulhall
outfit half a century before; and Kate quickly recognized the
locality as they approached a second range of mountains. Where only
roving bands of Indians were seen as they journeyed slowly toward the
west on the first trip, vast fields of grain were now growing; and
instead of a few tepees, the dwellings of civilized people dotted
{210} the landscape. A flourishing village with substantial and
well-kept surroundings evidenced the thrift and comfortable
environment of the inhabitants.
The party had just passed through what seemed a desert land,
bordering on and paralleling the great river. Shifting sands had
formed small dunes, which disappeared and formed elsewhere as the
wind changed in direction or velocity. Not a living thing was in
sight, except here and there a clump of stunted sage-brush or
greasewood.
Following the stream through this cleft in the mountain range, they
were soon overtaken by a sand-storm driven by the force of the
prevailing winds, occasionally encountered by travelers now as by the
pioneers--at first dimming the rays of the sun, and soon entirely
obscuring it. The haze of sand and fine dust hung low on the horizon
like a fog, and darkened one's view of objects even in the near
vicinity. Kate called ahead to Sarah to turn out of the road, which
she quickly did and was followed by Adam.
The two younger members of the party had never before gone through
such an experience, but mother Pelton said it reminded her of scenes
along the Oregon Trail in 185-. She had forgotten that they were on
the branch of the Trail which follows the river, instead of the one
crossing the mountain range, as the Mulhalls had done on the first
trip. Before Adam and Sarah could place their automobiles with the
rear ends to windward and close the front covers, {211} the sand and
dust penetrated their ears and eyes, covered their faces, filled
their hair and as Sarah remarked afterwards, "left us in a woeful
condition."
The electric light was turned on, but the dust that had worked into
the space inside the cover prevented cleaning up until the storm
abated; this it did late in the afternoon, when the journey was
resumed with the people in the car laughing at the appearance of each
other, and the surprise of a lifetime before all of them. About
sunset a modest farmhouse was sighted; as they approached nearer an
orchard of thrifty fruit trees was observed, and soon a large expanse
of growing crops spread out before them in a panorama of living green.
"Neighbor, you have a fine home here so close to the desert we have
just crossed," Pelton said addressing the middle-aged man who, as
soon as he saw the two automobiles approaching from the west, came
out through the gate of the front yard to offer a friendly greeting.
"You are still in the 'desert,' if that is what you call the section
you have just passed through," the stranger responded. "What you see
here is the same, or was when we first came four years ago. Won't
you come in?" The ladies at first objected, saying they were not
presentable. "Oh, that's nothing," continued the homesteader, "it's
clean dirt; we're used to it here. Jane (referring to his wife) I
know will be delighted to have you come in and have supper with us."
{212}
By this time the mistress of the house appeared and seconded her
husband's invitation. Observing the sincerity of the good dame,
mother Pelton was the first to assent, quickly followed by the
others; and in they went--"Dirty faces and all," as Aunt Sarah said
later.
While preparations were being made for the appetizing meal that
followed Pelton expressed surprise that it was possible to have such
a property in the midst of a desert. "I'll tell you all about that
later," said the homesteader, as he repeated his wife's invitation,
"Come to supper." After a bounteous meal of fresh vegetables, fruits
and other farm products, accompanied with a bumper of hard cider, the
travelers were anxious to hear the story of how their host came to
make his residence in that locality.
"You see," he began, "I saw a small patch of reclaimed land with such
fine crops that I at once felt encouraged to try it on a larger
scale. So we bought this tract of 640 acres--a mile square--for a
dollar and a quarter an acre, and in addition took up a desert claim,
making in all nearly a thousand acres of land--or sand, as you
probably think of it. Fortunately the river comes in from the south
with a strong current; my son and I went up far enough to tap the
water, and dug a ditch from it on our land--now you see the result."
"Do you mean to say that when you came here, the land covered by the
orchard, and where your crops are growing was like the desert we've
just {213} crossed?" mother Pelton asked. "Just that," the host
replied.
"Well, it seems to me like a miracle," Pelton responded; "and so it
does to the others." There were many other surprises in store for
the pilgrims as they progressed eastward.
"Yes, I remember this place," mother Pelton said as they descended
the second mountain range. "Father said it seemed like a big hole in
the landscape as we looked down upon it from the other side; but such
a beautiful valley--the Grand Ronde--you never saw." A few days
later, as their automobile ran along a narrow cut in a hillside
parallel to a small river, she commented, "This was the worst road[1]
on all the old Trail--right down in the stream and half the time over
slippery boulders, some of them as big as a wagon wheel; two of the
oxen were down at one time."
"Oh, I remember this," Aunt Sarah[2] said as they came to a crossing;
"here's where we ferried over on top of two wagon-boxes. I thought
every minute we were going to sink, and to this day cannot see why we
didn't."
"Here's where we left one of the wagons, and Ben went ahead to get
something to eat," mother Pelton {214} said with a sigh, as they were
approaching the locality where Hardy was killed by the Indians.
Would they be able to identify the spot where the massacre occurred;
and if they did, could they find his grave? For some time before
that, the tragedy of nearly a half century before had been crowded
out of their minds by the diverting incidents of the trip; but now it
was their uppermost thought, and the older members of the party
lapsed into silence.
Linda Hardy had so minutely described the river crossing and the
natural objects in the vicinity of it, that all were sanguine of
being able to find and mark the spot. They were convinced that the
crossing had been located, for the approaches on either side fitted
the description; the unmistakable mark of the Oregon Trail was
there--worn deep on both sides of the river, as Linda had said. But
all the ground from river to bluff was now covered by a field of
waving grain, without any trace of the sorrowful interment which took
place there at the height of the overland emigration to Oregon.
Before leaving home, Sarah read a statement to her mother that the
graves of only a few among the twenty thousand who had died along the
Trail could be identified, and wondered if they would be able to find
her grandmother's burial place if they made the trip. Mrs. Pelton
thought they could; but looking over the ground beneath which she
felt sure that the remains of Ben Hardy, who had saved her life, had
been placed after the massacre, she continued {215} in silence as
Adam started across the river to resume the journey along the old
Trail.
They were now traveling up a fertile valley divided into farms,
extensive green alfalfa and grain fields and highly productive
orchards, with evidences of a happy and thriving people living in
peace and security. Several prosperous villages and the capital of a
State were passed where only sage-brush, grasshoppers and
jack-rabbits (some of the more destitute emigrants subsisting on the
rabbits) were seen on the first trip of the older people in the party.
Recrossing to the south side of the Snake River, the travelers were
again in a region of shifting sands and desolation--part of what was
once commonly referred to as the "Great American Desert," and
considered practically worthless by some of the so-called "statesmen"
of two generations before. Meanwhile vast irrigation projects had
been undertaken, and in part completed, with a sure prospect of
developing many rich agricultural areas extending as far as the eye
can see. All of these scenes were new but immensely interesting to
father Pelton.
Three falls, rivaling Niagara in beauty and grandeur, were passed in
quick succession as they continued along that great river; and mother
Pelton recognized the place where she had taken the thirsty oxen down
into the canyon and came so near failing to get them back, as related
in an earlier chapter. Sarah's arms became stronger as she drove the
automobile, and she seemed to be thriving on the dust of {216} the
plains, the smell of the sage-brush, or both. All doubts of her
ability to extend the trip across the Continent if need be, were
dispelled; and the whole party was in good health and spirits.
Ascending to a higher altitude and cooler atmosphere, they left
behind the beet fields and sugar factories, the extensive farms,
alfalfa stacks and well-fed cattle which have taken the place of the
now almost extinct buffalo. Farther up the Rocky Mountain slope,
they entered a region where crops cannot be profitably grown; farms
and buildings gradually disappeared, and the continuous Trail
appeared in all its primitiveness. Now and then an antelope would
cross the track and turn to scan the stranger as with a jealous eye,
arousing in mother Pelton a wish for her rifle, forgetting she might
not be able to draw a bead as in her younger days.
So moderate was the upgrade that the drivers of the two cars scarcely
realized that they were ascending the slope of the Rocky Mountains;
and except for the granite monument in the South Pass, they would
probably not have recognized the actual crossing of the Great Divide.
Another day's run would bring them to the spot they had come so far
to revisit. Mother Pelton felt confident that they could find it;
and Aunt Sarah, though a little girl when the grave was made a half
century before, was sure of being able to do so.
Yet the road did not look at all familiar, or seem natural.
Afternoon came, and there was no sign {217} by which it could be
recognized--nor anything at sunset. It was then necessary to camp,
as darkness would soon make it impossible to follow the Trail; and a
sleepless night for all followed.
Mother Pelton thought they might have passed the four tracks worn in
the ledge of rocks that was to be the principal guide in reaching it.
Another sign, the North Star, was obscured; and the third help in the
search, the rift in the mountains so well remembered and described by
Aunt Sarah, was not visible. In the morning it was considered best
to drive back over part of the Trail they had traversed the afternoon
before.
"Hold on," suddenly exclaimed Aunt Sarah after a few miles of back
tracking; "I know we're wrong for I remember that rock." She pointed
to a conical pile--almost a mountain--and continued, "See, it looks
almost like a man's head; we passed that the next day after we buried
mother." Then the party turned right-about, and again started
eastward along the Trail; after traveling a few miles, Sarah drew off
to the side of the road and waited for Adam to come up.
He arrived a moment later, wondering why she had stopped, and called
out, "What's the matter?" "Nothing is the matter," Sarah answered;
"but, mother, do you see that old Trail going up the hill? Maybe
that's the one you traveled when you were here before!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Photograph from J. L. McIntosh, Split Rock, Wyoming
[Illustration: TRACKS ON THE OREGON TRAIL (SEE PAGES 217 AND 220)
MADE NEARLY A CENTURY AGO]
Over these four parallel tracks (only two of which show in the
photograph), worn nearly hub deep in places, all the emigrant travel
to Oregon, Great Salt Lake and California passed during the period
covered by this story; and they remain to this day a sight of great
historical interest across a sandstone ledge near Split Rock P. O.,
in the Sweetwater Valley, Wyoming. The early trappers, traders,
explorers and missionaries--Benjamin L. E. Bonneville, Nathaniel J.
Wyeth, Jason Lee, Marcus Whitman, John C. Fremont and many
others--helped to deepen these enduring markers in stone, now chiefly
interesting as evidences of the great westward movement over the
Oregon Trail. Inset: a miniature view of the split in the mountain
rock from which the name of the locality is derived; see also Douglas
Craig's promise to little Sarah, pages 72-73.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The track to which she thus called attention was {218} dim, showed no
signs of recent travel, and had been overlooked as they passed it the
previous day. At several places there were parallel trails, one
along the river with frequent crossings of the stream, the other
across table-lands high above it, and either over or around
projecting edges of the adjacent hills. Neither Aunt Sarah nor
mother Pelton was sure which one they had gone over before, but all
agreed that they should drive out on the abandoned roadway.
This proved not only a tedious but a really dangerous task, as the
elements had destroyed parts of it and cut deep gullies in and across
what was left. Nevertheless Adam believed they were on the right
track; mother Pelton thought the same, and said that the trail looked
more natural to her than the one they had traveled the day before.
Father Pelton took off his coat and joined Adam in some repairs made
necessary by the rough going, and Sarah appeared on the scene ready
to help. Pelton was surprised at how well he was able to do the
unaccustomed work, and greatly relished the dinner mother Pelton and
Aunt Sarah prepared. Hearing the tinkling of a bell over the near-by
ridge during the early afternoon, he strolled off toward the sound;
and soon came upon the bell-wether of a flock of sheep, then the
flock and herder--each equally surprised at the presence of the other.
"Where'd ye come from?" the man asked somewhat abruptly, and yet in a
friendly tone; and {219} almost at the same instant Pelton remarked,
"I didn't expect to find anyone here." After mutual explanations and
cordial greetings--for each was glad to see the other--Pelton
mentioned that he was one of an automobile party trying to reach the
four track ruts in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail.
"I know where it is," the herder responded, "down the river opposite
the lone pine tree." The reader may well imagine the relief and joy
of father Pelton upon hearing the three magic words "lone pine tree,"
as he believed they contained definite information of the lost grave,
which soon afterward proved true.
"You can see the tree for miles around, as it stands out by itself;
everybody wonders how it came to be there," continued the stranger.
"Would you come to our camp a short way over the ridge?" Pelton asked.
"Sure," the man replied and then spoke in a low tone to his dog,
which immediately headed off some of the flock just starting to cross
the ridge.
"Wonderful, isn't it?" asked Pelton, half to himself. To this the
herder made no reply but again spoke to the dog, which he left on
watch while the two men started off toward the camp. On their
arrival, work ceased and all assembled to listen eagerly to what the
stranger had to say.
"Yes, this runs to the four tracks on the Oregon Trail," were his
first words; "you can reach them {220} another way that's open to
travel, but can't get through here in a month's work. Go back about
five miles till you come to the first river crossing," the herder
continued, "turn short around on the river trail about eight miles
till you cross the river twice. Then turn to the right on the old
Trail about half a mile, I should judge, and you will come to the
tracks."[3]
"You can see the lone pine tree from there, and I think from the last
river crossing," the man responded to an eager question from mother
Pelton. After declining an invitation to stop long enough to share
with them in the meal then almost ready to serve, but accepting a
quarter of the pie Aunt Sarah had just baked, the stranger started up
the slope and soon disappeared over the ridge to his flock and
faithful dog.
"What a life!" sighed mother Pelton--"with only his dog for a
companion, no comfort but his frugal meal in a lonely cabin and cold
lunch on the range." The day was too far spent to move their camp,
and although impatient to see the lone pine, which all believed was
the landmark for which they were searching, every member of the party
was anxiously anticipating what the morrow might bring forth.
Following carefully the directions given by the herder, they
approached the second crossing of the {221} river early the next
forenoon. At the first point from which a comprehensive view of the
locality could be had, Sarah unexpectedly held out her hand as a
signal for Adam to stop; and exclaimed in her excitement, "There it
is, mother!" In the far distance a lone pine tree was sighted; and
no one in the party doubted that it had grown from the small tree
planted by Kate Mulhall, Ben Hardy and little Sarah half a century
before.
A short drive brought the two automobiles to where the wagon tracks
had worn deep in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail; but the
lone pine, still a half mile or so away, was the center of all
attraction. Coming nearer, it was discovered that they were on the
wrong side of the ravine; and although not more than a stone's throw
from where they stopped, no road led across to it.
There in lonesome grandeur stood the evergreen sentinel over the
object of their long search, the grave of Catherine Mulhall, mother
of two of the pilgrims and grandmother of the younger ones who drove
the cars. Now a hundred feet high, rising above and throwing its
shadows over the grave, the tree was a thing of beauty, observed by
all who passed in the vicinity; and had given the very appropriate
name--Lone Pine--to the surrounding country.
Retracing their steps to the four tracks and then traveling another
mile or so, they reached the other side of the ravine. After making
several detours and {222} removing a number of obstructions, they
arrived quite late in the day within a hundred yards or so of the
spot. As the nature of the ground prevented the automobiles from
going any farther, they were left in the track, and all proceeded on
foot to the lone pine.
The sun was just sinking behind the horizon in a halo of glory as the
silent and solemn members of the party reached the hallowed spot.
After so long a period of time, the mound of earth had disappeared;
but wild roses were blooming where Kate and little Sarah had planted
the roots when the grave was made. Though corroded and rusty, the
wagon tire which kind-hearted Douglas Craig had placed as a marker
was still there, but the lettering he chiseled upon it had been
completely obliterated.
Kate and the older Sarah, both now well past the meridian of life,
stood in mute contemplation of that which had been uppermost in their
minds for so many long years. Although the poignancy of the grief
then experienced had been mollified by time, yet as darkness came and
they turned to leave the grave, tears coursed down their furrowed
cheeks. Camp for the night was made on the nearest suitable ground,
while a spirit of sadness mingled with a feeling of satisfaction that
the cherished plan had at last been realized, pervaded the little
company.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
{223}
[Illustration: THE LONE PINE]
Marking the spot where Catherine Mulhall was buried a half century
before the scene depicted in the illustration; see pages 73-74 and
119-125
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Now that the grave had been found, the question uppermost with all
was what should be done about it. Kate had often expressed a wish
that the {224} remains be interred alongside her father in the
beautiful cemetery of a village in the Oregon Country; but Pelton
formerly considered this impractical, if not almost impossible.
However, since the railroad had been built within sixty miles of the
burial place in the mountains, the removal could be made without much
difficulty.
Aunt Sarah said "No"---the spot where her mother had died was too
sacred to be abandoned; and what could ever be more appropriate than
the one under the shadow of this beautiful lone pine? Then tender
memories of the planting of the tree, of Ben Hardy's unselfish life
and Craig's consoling words, came uppermost in her mind.
All agreed that the decision should be made by the two sisters who
had been present at the burial of their mother on the first trip to
Oregon. Adam and his sister Sarah looked on in silent awe as the
situation was discussed; their father also refrained from speaking,
though he held a definite opinion concerning it.
The fatigue of the day, with its exciting incidents and long hours,
finally prevailed and left the momentous question unsettled in
physical exhaustion and finally restful slumber. No further decision
took place, as Kate had been convinced that it would not be advisable
to disturb the remains, and joined with her sister and children in
formulating a definite plan to care for and commemorate the spot.
Pelton said that he would heartily agree to whatever the daughters
{225} and grandchildren should decide--which was to leave the grave
in its solitary grandeur, but to mark it in a permanent and
appropriate way.
Camp was removed to a more convenient location, while the work of
transporting a large granite boulder from where Pelton had found it
in the course of a morning walk through the vicinity, to the head of
the grave progressed for several days, as it was necessary to secure
additional men and teams from a distance. After the huge stone had
been set in place to the satisfaction of all, Adam and the younger
Sarah chiseled upon it in deep sunken letters a brief record of the
revered grandmother, the planting of a small pine tree and beautiful
rose vine that adorned the last resting place of Catherine Mulhall,
the date of her burial in 185-, and also of this visit.
Two weeks passed from the day the pilgrims first sighted the lone
pine tree in the distance to the inscription of the last letter on
the boulder; every member of the party felt that the long journey had
been fully justified, and left the spot with an enduring memory of
the occasion. Father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah concluded to
return home by rail[4]; and a drive of about sixty miles brought them
all to the nearest railroad station. Meanwhile Adam and Sarah
decided to tour the eastern part of {226} the United States, and
possibly cross the ocean before returning to the Pacific Northwest.
One of the automobiles was loaded as freight and way-billed to a
small city that had grown up in what was once the Oregon Country; and
the "old folks" were comfortably settled in a westbound Pullman.
Adam and Sarah waited in their automobile near-by the open car window
until the train bearing father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah
started westward. All of them waved signals of mutual endearment;
and as the train passed out of sight, the young people began their
journey eastward.
"A fine boy--Adam," Kate murmured half-audibly to herself; "and a
dear girl." Pelton at her side added, "If ever parents were blessed
with dutiful children, we have been." At the same time Sarah,
speeding east in the automobile which Adam was driving, could hardly
restrain her tears from the recurrence of many tender memories of her
childhood, and the kindnesses of the parents from whom they had just
parted.
In a tremulous voice she said, "I almost feel that we ought not to
have left them;" Adam felt much the same way, but hesitating to trust
his voice, made no reply. Thus the party separated, the parents
homeward bound and the young people starting east to see more of what
was to them a new world, and possibly to have some adventures thrown
in for good measure.
Soon after the train started, the three elderly {227} people went
forward to the dining car. As the meal progressed, Kate fell into a
reminiscent mood, and looking out of the window, opened conversation
with Aunt Sarah by asking, "Don't you remember that sand-storm in
this vicinity as we passed through in 185-?"
"Indeed I do," was the prompt response, although Sarah had been at
the time a child of only seven years. "The sand blown through the
tent into the dough fairly gritted my teeth when eating the bread
made from it. We had no water in the camp that night, and slept with
dirty hands and faces; my hair, ears and eyes were filled with
sand--but let's talk of something else." By the time the first meal
was finished, they had progressed on their return journey about as
far as in a whole day on the early trip.
As night followed, and while comfortable berths were being made up
for them, Sarah--notwithstanding her admonition to "talk of something
else"--broke into oral expression of the thoughts surging through her
mind. "I guess there will be no 'ticks' in the bed to-night, as we
found them when sleeping on the ground." "Or snakes and other
creeping things," Kate added--"you of course remember the rattler,"
to which Sarah simply nodded to indicate that while she understood,
she was not disposed to pursue the subject any farther. Soon all the
three travelers fell into restful slumber and awoke, greatly
refreshed, beyond the eastern boundary of what was once known
indefinitely as the "Oregon Country," {228} out of which the present
States of the Pacific Northwest had been created within their own
recollections of it.
At breakfast the next morning, while the train was speeding by a
recognized object, Kate exclaimed, "It took us four weeks to travel
over the same ground that we have now passed through in a single
night." Strive as much as they could to banish thoughts of the
hardships encountered on the early trip, the memories of it would not
leave them. Within three days they had covered as much distance as
in the same number of months on the first overland journey.
Alighting from the automobile into which they transferred at the
station nearest their home, Pelton held open the gate for his
"sweetheart" (as he often spoke of Kate); and she paused just long
enough while passing in to say, "God bless you, Isaac; you did the
same when I first came fifty years ago." "And God bless you, Kate,"
he replied as they re-entered their happy home--lovers as in the
early days; and here we must leave them to the enjoyment of
well-spent lives.
CLOSING SCENES
Adam and Sarah continued their travels over the eastern half of the
grand old and historic route which their parents had traversed with
ox-teams more than a half century before. Then the tracks of the
Oregon Trail passed through an Indian country for more than a
thousand miles from the west bank of the {229} Missouri River, where
the last vestige of civilized life except a few widely scattered
trading posts or Government forts, were left behind. Various tribes
of red men possessed whatever claim there was to that vast region;
millions of buffalo roamed in great herds without restriction over
the Plains, while the grizzly bear was a source of danger to man and
of terror to wild beasts in the higher altitudes of the Rocky
Mountains.
From certain points of vantage deer, elk and antelope could be seen
in large numbers. Except for the wild animals, and an occasional
passing throng of emigrants, the country was a solitude, generally
considered unfit for habitation by a civilized race. But on this
motor trip the young people saw evidences of changes and developments
which their parents in the slow, westward moving column of the early
50s, would have considered beyond the range of possibilities.
Soon after leaving the Sweetwater River, traveling east, they passed
through pretentious cities and prosperous villages with church spires
and schools, trading centers, paved streets and large numbers of
comfortable residences--civilization personified in western
enterprise along or near-by the old Trail. Coal, oil, gas and other
natural resources--unknown either to the passing throng of pioneers,
or for many years afterward to the outside world--came gradually to
the knowledge of adventurers and enterprising business men who laid
the foundations for a great {230} commercial prosperity in addition
to the returns from the soil and ranges; and through subsequent
developments on a large scale have made that region a very important
national asset.
The waters of the various streams gathered, controlled and drawn upon
as needed by agriculture, wrought the great miracle of irrigation by
which land formerly believed sterile had been transformed into a
"garden spot" of the United States, many times the area of Lancaster
County, Pennsylvania, or the State of New Jersey, to both of which
that term has been generally applied. Even the rich Valley of the
Mississippi and its tributaries does not exceed in fertility that
once thought to be barren and worthless Plains, when supplied with
water and placed under scientific cultivation.
Adam and Sarah saw vast areas of grain, immense beet fields with
towering sugar factories, extensive orchards and alfalfa lands
unexcelled in the entire country. The world seemed larger and the
nation greater as our young adventurers continued along the valley of
the Platte River on an excellent modern highway of imperceptible
downgrade toward the Missouri River. Toward evening of the fifth day
after parting from their parents in the Sweetwater Valley, they
entered the suburbs of Omaha, Nebraska, and soon reached the center
of its business activities, surrounded by skyscrapers of many stories.
Sarah, who had never been in a city of that size, {231} was amazed
and thoroughly enjoyed the sights. After an evening walk through the
brilliantly lighted streets, and a couple of hours at the theatre,
both were ready to rest in the luxurious apartments of the hotel, and
slept until late the following morning. At breakfast, the question
of their future movements was discussed, for they were then at the
eastern end of the Oregon Trail[5]--or would be as soon as they
reached the great river now in sight about two miles ahead.
Adam again fell into a reminiscent mood, talking as much to himself
as to Sarah, "When grandfather passed through here half a century ago
on the way to Oregon, all on this side of the Missouri was Indian
country; there was no city--not even a cabin."
"But they didn't cross the river here," Sarah responded. "Mother
said it was several miles farther down; and I would like to see the
place where she was thrown into the water when the scow upset." "And
Ben Hardy saved her life," Adam continued, but added, "it's no use
going there; last evening a man told me that the channel of the river
is now more than a mile away from where it was when grandfather
crossed."
So they concluded to drive over the Missouri to the site of the old
Mormon camp of Kanesville, which they did on a fine modern bridge to
Council Bluffs, Iowa, occupying the location of the log cabin {232}
town that their grandparents saw. "We must stay here to-night," said
Sarah, to which Adam readily assented, though they had traveled only
four miles during the day.
A two-mile walk brought them to a short portion--then still
visible--of the trail over which their grandparents passed when
coming into Kanesville a half century before, though all vestiges of
it within the city had been eliminated. Sarah was reluctant to leave
the spot, and followed along the abandoned track as far as it could
be identified.
Talking more to herself than to Adam, Sarah said, "Oh, if grandfather
could only have come with us"--apparently forgetting that, as the
reader knows, Squire Mulhall had long since been called to his
reward; and then said, "Adam, I want to go on to the old homestead
where mother was born." To this Adam replied, "We will go there if
you want to." So they planned an early start on the morrow for the
old cabin site in Missouri.
Two days sufficed for the trip, which was part of the time over
hard-surfaced highways, and some dirt roads a little rough, but all
the way through a fine agricultural region with evidences of great
crops and abounding prosperity. As they rode along, both wondered
why their grandparents should have left such a country and traveled
two thousand miles over dusty plains and rough mountains to Oregon.
On the morning of the second day out from the "Bluffs," it became
reasonably sure that they would {233} reach the old homestead before
nightfall. Try as much as he could, Adam failed to interest Sarah in
further conversation, for she was in a mood to commune only with
herself.
"Yes, suh, I knows where the Squire's cabin stood; it's all gone now.
The well is there, but the sweep is gone too. Yes, suh, I played the
banjo at the farewell party the Squire gave before he started for
Oregon. Me? Well, they called me 'Stinson's man' then, because I
was a slave; but when Massa Lincoln made us all free, I stayed with
Massa Stinson till he died, and never took another name."
Adam had been advised that this negro, whose hair was white as snow
and who was reputed to be a hundred years of age, could show them the
old cabin site. He lived in a near-by village, was yet able to do
light chores for the white people of the neighborhood, and thus
continued to earn his own living.
"Stinson's man" was regarded the sole survivor of the old slaves of
La Fayette County; in fact no one else, white or black, could be
found who knew David Mulhall. The generation living when the Squire
left his home for Oregon had passed away, except for this aged old
negro who still enjoyed good health and played the banjo for parties,
or for his own amusement.
"Right here was the front door; I knows it for I often stepped it
from the well. Yes, the water is good yet, and there's the
fire-place."
"Here's a piece of broken plate," exclaimed Sarah, {234} as she
picked up a precious relic, which she believed had once belonged to
their grandmother.
The old barn site was located, and the barn-yard where her mother had
climbed the fence when "gentle" old Star, with the yoke on for the
first time, broke away from them and ran about with tongue out,
bellowing like a mad bull. Sarah's mother had often told the story
with a hearty laugh, which brought merriment as the incident was
recalled fifty years later, on the spot where it occurred. Adam
believed that he had located the old barbecue pit in a depression
near the spot his mother had described. Both were reluctant to leave
the grounds, and did not until approaching darkness warned them to
seek accommodations for the night.
"Adam!" "What is it, Sarah?" Adam asked, thinking that his sister
had something on her mind she hesitated to mention. Gathering
courage, she exclaimed, "Adam, I don't want to go any farther, for I
ought to be at home taking care of mother. You know as well as I do
that she is not strong as even last summer; and I should be with her."
"God bless you, my dear! We will start for home to-morrow if you say
so," he replied, throwing his arms around her and imprinting a kiss
upon her cheek in love of his sister, and of the revered parents in
the far West. So our story closes with the sacrifice of a trip they
had expected to extend to Washington City and the Atlantic Coast for
the greater pleasure of returning home sooner as a filial duty.
[1] Along the Burnt River in northeastern Oregon--the subject of
"Westward Ho!" the painting by Emanuel Leutze in the Capitol,
Washington, D.C. While somewhat exaggerated in details, it is a fair
representation of the difficulties encountered by the pioneers on
that part of the overland trip in the early 60s. E.M.
[2] One of the little twins in the early chapters of this story.
[3] Those four parallel wagon tracks, worn nearly hub deep across a
ledge of rock on the Oregon Trail, may be seen to this day in the
Sweetwater Valley near Split Rock, Fremont County, Wyoming; see
photograph opposite page 217. E.M.
[4] Which they did at from thirty to forty miles an hour, almost
continuously day and night, over substantially the same ground they
had traversed half a century before by ox-teams at two miles an hour
for an average of about eight hours a day, with frequent stops to
rest the stock, or on account of bad roads, river crossings or other
hazards of early emigration. E.M.
[5] The beginning of the old Trail to the west-bound traveler
crossing from the Iowa side into the "Indian Country" of the
60s.--E.M.
{235}
APPENDIX
THE MISSIONARY'S STORY
THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION; FOUR INDIANS FROM THE NORTHWEST
JOURNEY TO ST. LOUIS IN SEARCH OF THE WHITE MAN'S RELIGION; OPENING
AND SETTLEMENT OF THE OREGON COUNTRY; HISTORIC CHARACTERS--JASON LEE,
NATHANIEL J. WYETH, MARCUS AND NARCISSA WHITMAN, AND OTHERS;
WHITMAN'S RIDE; MASSACRE AT THE WHITMAN MISSION; NOTABLE INCIDENTS OF
THE EARLY MIGRATION TO OREGON.
A little before sundown a few days after the neighborhood party
described in the first chapter, a stranger rode leisurely up the road
toward the Mulhall farmhouse. Seeing the owner of the place doing
some chores in front of the barn, he accosted him and asked if it
were possible to secure accommodations for himself and mount for the
night. The Squire answered, "Well, stranger, you can see for
yourself that our accommodations are none too good; but if you are
willing to put up with such as they are, you are entirely welcome.
We will do the best we can under the circumstances."
"It is not necessary to put yourself to any extra trouble on my
account," said the stranger, "for I have led a wayfaring life and am
accustomed to roughing it in the broadest meaning of that word."
{236} Mulhall suggested that he dismount, go to the cabin and rest
while he would unsaddle the horse and take it to the barn.
The stranger replied, "My good friend, I truly appreciate your
courtesy; but I have always made it a point to bestow the first care
and attention upon the beast that carries me. Now if you will show
me where to stable him, I will do the rest myself. This faithful
animal has borne me many a long mile upon his back, and it is only
right that I should repay him by devoting a little time to his
comfort."
After hanging up the saddle and bridle, he took from the saddle-bags
a currycomb and brush, which he said he never failed to take along,
and gave the noble animal a thorough cleaning. Then after seeing
that the horse had plenty of hay and grain for the night, he
accompanied Mulhall to the house.
By this time the owner of the place had surmised that his guest was a
clergyman; his language was too precise and his delivery too easy and
natural for the ordinary man found in that part of the world. This
conclusion was verified beyond question when, just before leaving the
barn, he took a well worn Testament from his saddle-bags.
It did not take Catherine and Kate long to prepare a good and
appetizing meal to which the reverend stranger, after asking the
blessing, did ample justice. During the supper Mulhall informed the
guest that he and the family were about to leave their little farm
for the Oregon Country, where conditions {237} were said to be much
more favorable for getting along in the world than in Missouri.
At the mention of Oregon the stranger's face brightened, plainly
indicating that the news was pleasing to him; and said, "You are
doing a wise thing, for that is a grand country with a wonderful
future. The journey ahead of you is long, difficult and more or less
dangerous; but if you get safely through--as I hope and trust you
will--you will be amply repaid for all the hardships and sacrifices
endured. I tell you this advisedly, for I have spent many years in
that favored region, being among the first of our nation to cross the
Continent for the purpose of carrying the light of the gospel to the
benighted savages who dwelt there."
After hearing this statement, every member of the Mulhall family
exhibited the greatest surprise and pleasure at having under their
roof one able to give them first-hand information of the distant
region where they intended to cast their lot; and begged him to tell
them all about it. Heretofore all the knowledge they had of Oregon
was through one or two letters received from parties who had gone out
there a year or two before; and these contained very little
information except that it was a good country for industrious people,
with a mild climate and good market for farm produce.
That was more than they had in Missouri; so they had already
determined to make the venture. But with an unexpected opportunity
to acquire full {238} and accurate information regarding it, they
wished--if he would be kind enough to take the trouble--to hear from
his lips everything of consequence concerning what was to them a
practically unknown country.
The clergyman replied, "My good friends, nothing except expounding
the word of God gives me greater satisfaction and keener pleasure
than to talk about Oregon, and recount the difficulties, tribulations
and heroic actions of those who were in the vanguard of its
settlement; it is a subject of surpassing interest, and has had a
remarkable influence upon the rapid development and material welfare
of our country. The narrative will take considerable time, and
perhaps tire your patience before I am through; but I deem it to your
advantage to have a correct outline of the principal historical
incidents relating to its exploration and settlement.
"It certainly affords me greater satisfaction to go into the subject
thoroughly than to give merely a short summary of those very
important events. If you are willing, when the meal is ended and
everything put away, we will gather around your cheerful and cozy
fireplace; and I will do my best to both entertain and enlighten you."
Soon after supper, the younger children climbed the ladder to their
sleeping quarters while David Mulhall, Catherine and Kate arranged
seats in a semi-circle before the glowing fireplace where the large
backlog furnished sufficient heat and light for {239} the little
cabin. There is no place where a good story can be as effectively
told as before a blazing fireplace on a chilly evening in the mellow
light of the crackling logs, with eager and attentive listeners. In
such a pleasant atmosphere the itinerant missionary now began his
recital:
Half a century ago[1] that vast region known as the "Oregon Country"
had never, as far as any one knows, been penetrated by a white man.
It is true that Captain Robert Gray of Boston, in the good ship
"Columbia" entered the mouth of the great river in 1792, crossed the
dangerous bar and sailed upstream about a dozen miles, naming it
Columbia's River after his vessel.
A few months afterwards Lieutenant W. R. Broughton, of the British
Navy, also entered and proceeded up the mighty river about 100 miles.
But nothing more was known of the "Far Northwest" until the
celebrated exploring expedition of Lewis and Clark crossed the
Continent in 1804-5, arriving at the mouth of the Columbia in
November of the latter year.
While it would be impossible in this recital to give a detailed
account of that memorable expedition, or do justice to the dauntless
courage and perseverance of the remarkable men who conducted it, one
surpassing incident that happened on the journey was primarily the
cause of bringing all that extensive territory under the American
flag. I must crave your patience for devoting some extra time to
describing this most interesting event.
That exploring expedition, as you doubtless know, was conceived by
one of our greatest presidents years before he came to that high
office; but the opportunity for carrying it out did not exist until
he became President. The men chosen to organize and lead the
expedition were selected with fine discrimination for the stupendous
task {240} assigned them, and proved worthy of the trust and
confidence reposed in them by Thomas Jefferson.
After their departure from near St. Louis in the spring of 1804, they
spent about a year and a half ascending the Missouri River, crossing
the mighty "Stony Mountain" range and later the yet more rugged and
precipitous "Bitter Root" Mountains, before reaching the beautiful
open and undulating country on the Clearwater River. It was a joyful
experience for the tired, half famished explorers, descending from
the rugged and inhospitable mountains where game was scarce and
pasturage scant, to find ahead of them as far as the eye could see,
rolling hills carpeted with an abundant growth of bunch-grass, and
watercourses with groves of cottonwood and quaking asp along the
river bottoms. They also found game quite plentiful, and excellent
trout and salmon fishing in the streams.
Before proceeding very far in this region, they suddenly came upon a
few native women and children picking berries. Observing the party
of strange looking beings garbed in unusual attire and carrying
weapons never seen before, the simple-minded natives were terrified.
The women ran, and the children sought refuge under bunch-grass and
bushes, from what they imagined to be supernatural intruders.
In a short time the men caught up with a couple of the squaws, who
expected nothing else than swift and sure death at the hands of these
fierce looking strangers, and bowed their heads in anticipation of
the fatal stroke. By signs and kind words they soon dispelled the
fears of these women of the Nez Perces tribe, which then occupied all
that part of the country. They were dismissed with many presents,
and told by signs to have some of their head men come out to the camp
for an interview.
In a few hours a party of Indians garbed in native finery and armed
with bows and arrows, arrived; but they made no hostile
demonstrations, and were evidently in a friendly mood. Cordial
relations were soon established {241} between the explorers and the
Indians, the latter inviting the white men to their village to
partake of their crude hospitalities.
The explorers were fortunate in having with them as the wife of
Toussaint Chaboneau, their French-Canadian guide, a young and
handsome Indian woman of the Snake tribe--Sahcajahweah, meaning
"bird-woman," commonly known in later history by the shortened and
simplified name "Sacajawea." By her courage, fidelity, tact and
intimate knowledge of aboriginal habits, this remarkable girl wife
assisted materially in extricating the explorers from the many almost
insurmountable difficulties that beset the journey over the Rocky
Mountains and Bitter Root range. It is no exaggeration to say that
but for her, Lewis and Clark might never have reached the shores of
the Pacific.
At the present juncture she was of great assistance. Though not
understanding the Nez Perces tongue, her familiarity with the native
sign language enabled her to make known to the Indians whatever the
white leaders wished to communicate, and explain to her companions
what the former were desirous of expressing. She completely removed
from the minds of the red men any lurking suspicions they might
otherwise have entertained as to the motives and purposes that
brought the white men hither.
The explorers learned from these Indians that the big Chief of the
tribe was encamped about two days' travel down the river, and that a
messenger had already been dispatched to notify him of the arrival of
these strange men in his country. On the following morning the
party, accompanied by a Nez Perces guide, set out to visit the Chief
of this seemingly very friendly tribe. The commanders issued orders
that the men should polish up their accoutrements and make the best
possible appearance; and that their behavior while sojourning in the
country of this tribe should be above reproach, as it was essential
for the success of the expedition to have the friendly cooperation of
these Indians.
{242}
On the evening of the second day the cavalcade of thirty-odd
travelers descending from a rolling plateau, beheld the many lodges
forming the main camp of the Nez Perces tribe situated on a willow
creek bottom, a short distance above where the stream entered the
beautiful Clearwater River, along whose banks were many small groves
of cottonwood, interspersed with clumps of large willows. The camp
presented a picturesque appearance of probably two hundred lodges,
scattered up and down along the little valley for perhaps a mile with
very little regularity in formation. On this occasion it presented a
very animated appearance, for the occupants of each tepee were on the
outside anxiously awaiting the arrival of the wonderful strangers
with bearded faces and carrying loud-noise weapons.
In about the center of the string of lodges was one a little larger
than the rest, in which dwelt the great Chief of the little nation,
who was now standing in front of the lodge entrance arrayed in an
elaborate costume of Indian finery surmounted by an immense
head-dress of eagle feather plumage. He wore a doublet of tanned
deerskin, fringed and decorated with elk teeth and agate stones, and
leggings of the same material; his feet were encased in moccasins
inwrought with the finest embroidery done by Indian women. The
Chief, probably fifty years old, was a well proportioned man of
medium size with regular features and well shaped head; he stood
motionless, with his eyes intently fixed on the approaching column of
white men riding in single file down the gently sloping hillside
towards the row of lodges--a sight never before witnessed by any of
them.
The Indian guide pointed out the lodge of the Chief to Lewis and
Clark, who halted the column; and dismounting a little distance off,
approached it on foot. The Chief did not move a muscle until Captain
Lewis held out his hand with the evident gesture of a friendly
purpose, whereupon he reached out, grasped the extended hand of
Captain Lewis and held it firmly for a little while, muttering
something in a guttural voice which, {243} though not understood, was
evidently intended as a pledge of friendship.
Each one of the party was then presented to the big Chief, who gave
every one a friendly greeting even to the last, the negro man servant
of Captain Lewis, though the stoical Indian could not suppress a look
of wonder as he gazed from head to foot upon the gigantic black man.
The Indians were all filled with strong curiosity at these strange
men with bearded faces and wonderful firearms that sent a leaden
messenger of death faster and more accurate than their most expert
bowman; but neither the white men nor their guns, strange and almost
incomprehensible as they seemed, created anything like the
astonishment aroused at beholding the African, who was a continual
object of their awe and admiration. Little attention was paid to
Sacajawea, for she was of their own race and a member of a tribe with
which they were not too friendly.
The whole assembled concourse of savage tribesmen vied with one
another in offering hospitality to the newcomers, and exhibited
unfeigned pleasure when any of them entered their lodges and partook
of refreshments. Friendly relations between the Americans and Nez
Perces established so long ago under these peculiar conditions, have
continued without a break up to the present time; and let us hope may
never be impaired.
Lewis and Clark acquired much useful information during their sojourn
with this tribe. They were informed that it was yet a long distance
to the "Big Water"--the goal of the expedition; and also learned that
almost insurmountable obstacles would prevent continuing all the way
to their destination on horseback. It would be possible, however, to
reach it by waters all flowing in that direction, finally uniting in
one mighty river which was swallowed up by the "Big Water" near the
setting sun.
Thereupon the explorers set their men to building boats on the banks
of the Clearwater; and it was determined to complete the passage in
that manner. They also made {244} arrangements to leave their horses
with the Indians until their return the following spring, when the
journey towards the "rising sun"--the land of the white man--would be
resumed.
While the Lewis and Clark expedition remained on the Clearwater, the
Indians held their annual rites to placate the wrath of their false
deity, lest he visit upon them dire misfortunes in the form of famine
and pestilence, which at times fell upon their people with serious
consequences. The white men refrained from making any comment upon
these absurd and pagan ceremonies until they were ended. Then having
a council with several of the leading men of the tribe, they
endeavored in the kindest and most inoffensive manner--through the
medium of Sacajawea, who by this time had acquired a considerable
knowledge of the Nez Perces tongue--to point out to the Indians that
the white people were in possession of a much better method of
worshipping the Supreme Being who created the heavens, the earth and
all things therein; and it would be a great blessing if they would
learn to do likewise.
This kindly advice found deep lodgment in the minds of those
untutored children of the wilderness, and was made still more
effective by the earnestness and sincerity of the "bird woman," who
since becoming the wife of Chaboneau had already received
considerable instruction in, the tenets of the Christian religion.
Thus the seed that bore such rich fruit a quarter of a century later,
and actually led to all that vast region becoming a part of the
United States, was planted in what is now our far Northwest.
When the boats were finished the little band prepared to continue its
journey by water. Many presents were distributed to the friendly
Indians before leaving their hospitable village; though trifling in
value, these were highly prized by the natives, and helped to cement
firmly the friendship already started between the two races. In
return the white men received a liberal supply of dried venison and
roots to sustain them during the arduous {245} undertaking still
ahead of them. The Nez Perces also furnished two guides to accompany
the expedition; these proved of invaluable assistance to Lewis and
Clark, particularly in their perilous descent of the Columbia.
That historic journey down the river to the Pacific Ocean was
successfully accomplished; and in the following spring the party
returned to the Indian encampment on the Clearwater, finding all the
horses that had been left with the Indians in fine condition to
re-cross the mountain ranges over which they had come the preceding
summer. While stopping at the Indian village on this homeward-bound
route, the subject of the white man's religion was again broached by
the natives; and once more the leaders of the expedition impressed
upon them the spiritual and temporal advantages of acquiring a
knowledge of the revealed word of God.
This good and salutary advice sank deep into the hearts of the
simple-minded red men, who realized that in many ways the white
strangers were superior to them. They had more effective weapons,
their utensils and implements were beyond the power of any Indian to
make, they could find knowledge in books and talk on paper; they had
far better saddles and bridles, and could kill a deer or a bear with
their smoke-fire guns. Surely then, it was more than probable that
they possessed a better knowledge of worshipping the Supreme Being
than the poor and ignorant Indians--thoughts about which continued to
agitate the minds of this truth-seeking tribe long after the
departure of their good friends, Lewis and Clark.
After the lapse of many years the subject was again brought into
prominence by the arrival in that part of the country of a small
party of full-blooded Iroquois and half-breed employes of the
Northwestern Fur Company from eastern Canada. All of these had
acquired a knowledge of the Christian religion, and lost no
opportunity to impress upon the pagan members of their race its
superiority over the crude and senseless forms still practiced by the
native Indians.
{246}
Coming from people of their own stock, this corroborative testimony
of what Lewis and Clark had told them carried great weight, and
aroused an intense desire for instruction in the white man's faith;
but they could see no possible way to gratify it. How could the
poor, benighted Indians come into contact with the white people, and
acquire their way of worship, when there were none in any region with
which they were familiar? The prospect was indeed gloomy for Indians
seeking the light.
But conditions soon began to change. The Hudson's Bay Company was
securing a firm hold upon the country, bringing in white men,
half-breeds and Indians from Canada to carry on its extensive
fur-hunting business. Trading posts were established throughout the
vast region west of the Rocky Mountains and north of the Spanish
possessions. The Indians welcomed this great commercial enterprise
into their country, for it gave them a market for what they had to
sell, and opportunities to acquire by trade many useful articles
which had never before been within their reach.
Some of these new trading posts were established close to the Nez
Perces country, and the tribesmen soon became frequent visitors to
them. Here again they were told how superior the white man's
religion was to their outlandish and foolish ceremonies. They also
learned that one of the two leaders of the explorers who visited
their country many years before was still living and occupying a high
position, in that department of the Government having the management
and care of Indian affairs. His home was in St. Louis, a city many
miles beyond the great mountains, a distance that would take many
moons to traverse.
These Indians pondered long and seriously what to do under the
circumstances; but no matter how great the distance, formidable the
obstacles or how threatening the dangers of traveling through a vast
region--peopled, indeed, by men of their own dusky race but known to
be fierce, warlike and no respecters of persons--they were {247}
determined to make the attempt. The desire to gain a knowledge of
the white man's religion had taken complete possession of their
minds, and they would not be content until that object should be
attained.
At a joint council of the Nez Perces and Flatheads, one Indian of
advanced age and a young brave of each tribe were selected to go in
search of the explorer they had remembered during the quarter century
since he had been among them, and ascertain the truth of the reported
better religion than their own. During the summer and early fall of
1831, these four delegates traversed more than half of the Continent
from the far Northwest to the junction of the Mississippi and
Missouri rivers.
Arriving at St. Louis after a long, difficult and perilous trip of
which no account was ever made, they were directed to the home of
Gen.[2] William Clark, who received them cordially and during their
stay there often entertained them in his own house. As may well be
imagined, the General was astonished when he learned the purpose that
brought them from such a distance; and although outside his line of
duty, he determined to do everything possible to assist them.
Clark spent considerable time showing them the town and its
attractions; to those children of the wilderness, St. Louis was of
course a strange and wonderful place. It was at that time the
largest settlement in the middle West, and the principal outfitting
point for travel, explorations or hunting expeditions to the Rocky
Mountains or beyond. But the greatest obstacle to the progress of
their mission was the inability of the Indians to speak or understand
our language.
{248}
Before they had been very long in St. Louis, one of the old men
became ill, doubtless from the fatigue of the long journey, change of
diet and impure water of the Mississippi; he soon passed away, and
was buried there. In about two weeks the other old Indian followed
him in death, neither living to know the result of their mission.
The two younger men remained there during the winter, and in the
spring started up the river on their way back to the far Northwest.
One of them died in the Yellowstone region, and the other proceeded
to cross the Great
Mountains alone, finally succeeding, after a long absence,
in reaching his home and kindred.
While they were at St. Louis an Indian agent, William Walker, en
route to the Osage and other tribes beyond the Mississippi, arrived
there with a letter from the Secretary of War, and called upon Clark
for special instructions regarding the Indians he was about to visit.
The General informed him of the Nez Perces and Flatheads under his
roof at the time.
Anxious to see those aborigines from beyond the Rocky Mountains, Mr.
Walker interviewed them and gives an interesting account of their
appearance and the reason for their coming. This was published after
his return from the trip already mentioned; and although he does not
give dates, it has been established from contemporary records that
the Indian delegation was in St. Louis during the winter of 1831-32.
Mr. Walker's letter in the _Christian Advocate_ of March 1, 1833, at
once aroused the greatest interest and religious fervor throughout
the length and breadth of the land. Missionary enthusiasm quickly
arose to fever heat, due to the fact that a party of Indians had
voluntarily come more than two thousand miles over mountain and
desert from near the waters of the Pacific, calling for Christian
enlightenment.
It aroused the apostolic spirit among the churches to a height not
seen in a generation; meetings were held, subscriptions to defray the
expenses came pouring in, and devoted men offered their services to
answer the call. The {249} first in the field were the Methodists,
animated by the evangelical spirit of John Wesley, founder of that
great denomination. Funds were raised, the personnel of the party
decided upon, and all preparations completed for the journey to the
far West in the spring of 1834.
Rev. Jason Lee was placed in charge of the expedition; and I had
abundant opportunity to personally observe how well fitted he was
mentally, physically and spiritually for the serious task.
Arrangements were made for the missionaries to accompany Nathaniel J.
Wyeth, of Boston, who had organized a fur company to carry on that
business in the Oregon Country; and had some forty or fifty men in
his party.
The journey across the Continent was full of exciting
adventures--fording or swimming turbulent and treacherous rivers,
eluding or repelling small bands of predatory Indians, fleeing for
safety from the thunderous charges of stampeding buffalo, and many
incidents of lesser import. But while neither my time nor your
patience will admit of giving a detailed recital of them, one event
which happened on that trip deserves more than passing mention.
After crossing the Rocky Mountain divide, their course was northwest
until they came to the Snake River. While on an exploring trip the
previous year, Mr. Wyeth had decided to erect a trading post at a
point on that stream near where a considerable tributary, the
Portneuf River, enters it and in the midst of a good fur-producing
territory, well adapted for his purpose.
The party camped at this place and remained there a few days.
Besides the men Wyeth had brought from the eastern States, who by
this time had become genuine frontiersmen at least in appearance, he
had taken quite a number of mountain men and independent trappers
into his employ at the Rendezvous on Green River, near the site where
Fort Bridger was located by James Bridger in 1843, about nine years
later. There were also some nondescript characters with no visible
occupation--altogether a motley and extremely picturesque throng.
Many of the men had buckskin suits, embellished with {250} fringes
and decorated with beads; others wore untanned deer and bearskin
garments of almost every conceivable design. A few had coats and
trousers of buffalo hide, and one a complete suit of wildcat skins.
All had beards, some reaching to the belt line, while others were
clipped until they resembled bristles; but there was no evidence that
any man among them possessed a razor.
Though it was midsummer, many wore fur caps and some went bareheaded.
Various kinds and patterns of rifles and muskets were in evidence,
while a few carried Spanish musketoons. Physically they were
somewhat above the average stature of men in "the States." While
encamped there the men spent most of the time playing cards, shooting
at targets or swapping yarns.
It was not the kind of a crowd you would expect to see occupying
church pews or attending Sunday School; but Jason Lee made an
announcement that he would hold services on the Sabbath, and desired
every one to be on hand. They evidently thought it a good joke for
any one to attempt to preach Christianity to such a lawless crowd of
semi-wild and godless men; however, it was a diversion, and all
promised to be there and hear the reverend visitor's message.
Jason Lee was six feet or more in height and slightly stooped; his
head was large and well-shaped, with an undeniable expression of
determination and courage. Yet there was a kindly look in his eye;
and when he smiled, you instinctively knew that beneath his rugged
outward appearance was a genial spirit tempered with seriousness.
Shortly after breakfast he took his Bible and went some distance from
the camp to the shade of large trees, and spent a couple of hours
walking back and forth in serious meditation. About 10 o'clock--the
hour announced for the services--he returned to the camp where the
throng had assembled.
Some were lolling on the grass, others squatting on blankets, a few
listlessly leaning against the trees and others standing by the tent
openings. There were no benches, nor any roof to protect the
audience from the {251} fierce rays of the summer sun; but that did
not matter to men who had lived for years in the open, and were
accustomed to sleep under the canopy of heaven.
[Illustration: REV. JASON LEE'S GREAT SERMON IN THE SNAKE RIVER
COUNTRY, 1834; SEE OPPOSITE PAGE]
Lee took a stand where all might be within range of his voice, cast
his eyes over the unusual assemblage, opened the Bible and read in a
clear and penetrating voice a text from the gospels about the
crucifixion and death of Christ. Then he requested all to join with
him in prayer. Some who had not entirely forgotten their early
training, did so as best they could, while the more hardened sinners
nudged each other in the ribs and smiled--as if to say, "What
nonsense!"
The clergyman was not an eloquent speaker, but forceful and
impressive; and his subject was well suited to call forth all the
earnestness of his nature and the sincerity of his faith. He spoke
for an hour, and before half through had the complete attention of
every one in the audience; those who were at first inclined to scoff
soon lost their indifference and listened with profound attention to
every word. When at the close of his sermon, he quoted dramatically
the words, "Socrates died like a philosopher but Jesus Christ died
like a God," there was such a stillness as if all within hearing were
spellbound; and they were.
I have listened to great orators in the political arena, and on
various occasions to brilliant ministers of the gospel; but have
never known one to so thoroughly magnetize his hearers as Jason Lee
did the trappers, hunters and mountain men who composed that audience
away off in the wilds of the Snake River Country in 1834. It was the
first sermon ever preached west of the Rocky Mountains; and has
probably not been excelled to this day.
Wyeth put his full force at work erecting the rectangular trading
post, more generally known as Fort Hall, for his contemplated
fur-dealing activities. Although it remained only a short time in
the control of that enterprising American, and passed into the hands
of the Hudson's Bay Company upon the collapse of Wyeth's original
enterprise the following year, that frontier {252} establishment was
a very important factor in the great emigration to the Oregon Country.
A day or so after the Jason Lee sermon, the missionary company
departed for its intended destination, the Columbia River, where a
favorable location for a Mission was to be selected. The journey on
horseback for several hundred miles through rugged and broken country
was fraught with many difficulties and dangers, all successfully
overcome.
In September the tired and travel-stained little party arrived at
Fort Walla Walla on the Columbia, the chief trading post and
outfitting headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company east of the
Cascade Mountains, where they were kindly received and hospitably
entertained by Mr. C. P. Pambrun, the official in charge. Here it
was decided to leave the horses and complete the remainder of the
journey by water; and fortunately a party of fur-hunters returning
with a cargo of pelts taken along the waters of the upper Columbia,
was then on the way to Fort Vancouver.
With these the missionaries were given passage, and floated down the
great river in their batteaux. The French-Canadian crew were expert
boatmen and a happy lot to travel with, joking and singing almost
without intermission; their care-free and mercurial natures never
seemed to be ruffled, no matter what obstacles interfered with their
progress. The annual fur-hunting expedition had been very
successful; and they were looking forward to a genuine celebration
upon their arrival at Fort Vancouver, a privilege given to them once
a year.
I shall never forget the mingled feelings of wonder and admiration as
our little party approached the mighty break in the upper levels of
the Cascade Mountains made by the river when, in prehistoric time, it
forced a passage through that gigantic range. The scenery was
superb--nothing grander can well be imagined--magnificent snow-capped
mountains, primeval forests clothed with foliage of various hues
reaching down to the water's edge, and numerous sparkling waterfalls
leaping over the sides of {253} perpendicular bluffs from elevations
of two to six hundred feet.
Occasionally immense basaltic pillars, rising from the bank of the
river to a great height, and some of most grotesque outlines, would
be encountered. There is nothing of the kind in the United States to
compare with that scenery of the Columbia.