THE START.
Camp No. 1 was in my front dooryard at Puyallup, Washington, a town
established on my own homestead nearly forty years ago, on the line
of the Northern Pacific Railroad, nine miles southeast of Tacoma, and
thirty miles south of Seattle, Washington. In platting the town I
dedicated a park and called it Pioneer Park, and in it are the remains
of our ivy-covered cabin, where the wife of fifty-eight years and I,
with our growing family, spent so many happy hours. In this same town
I named the principal thoroughfare Pioneer Avenue, and a short street
abutting the park Pioneer Way, hence the reader may note it is not a
new idea to perpetuate the memory of the pioneers.
[Illustration: The Ivy-Covered Cabin, the First House in Puyallup; the
Early Home of Ezra Meeker.]
No piece of machinery ever runs at the start as well as after trial;
therefore Camp No. 1 was maintained several days to mend up the weak
points, and so after a few days of trial everything was pronounced
in order, and Camp No. 2 was pitched in the street in front of the
Methodist church of the town, and a lecture was delivered in the church
for the benefit of the expedition.
I drove to Seattle, passing through the towns of Sumner, Auburn and
Kent, lecturing in each place, with indifferent success, as the people
seemed to pay more attention to the ox team than they did to me, and
cared more to be in the open, asking trivial questions, than to be
listening to the story of the Oregon Trail. However, when I came to
count the results I found ninety-two dollars in my pocket, but also
found out that I could not lecture and make any headway in the work
of getting monuments erected; that I must remain in the open, where I
could meet all the people and not merely a small minority, and so the
lecture scheme was soon after abandoned.
Then I thought to arouse an interest and secure some aid in Seattle,
where I had hosts of friends and acquaintances, but nothing came out of
the effort—my closest friends trying to dissuade me from going—and, I
may say, actually tried to convince others that it would not be an act
of friendship to lend any aid to the enterprise. What, for lack of a
better name, I might call a benign humor underlay all this solicitude.
I knew, or thought I knew, my powers of physical endurance to warrant
undertaking the ordeal; that I could successfully make the trip, but
my closest friends were the most obdurate, and so after spending two
weeks in Seattle I shipped my outfit by steamer to Tacoma. Conditions
there were much the same as at Seattle. A pleasant incident, however,
broke the monotony. Henry Hewitt, of Tacoma, drove up alongside my
team, then standing on Pacific Avenue, and said, "Meeker, if you get
broke out there on the Plains, just telegraph me for money to come back
on." I said no, "I would rather hear you say to telegraph for money to
go on with." "All right," came the response, "have it that way then,"
and drove off, perhaps not afterwards giving the conversation a second
thought until he received my telegram, telling him I had lost an ox and
that I wanted him to send me two hundred dollars. As related elsewhere,
the response came quick, for the next day I received the money. "A
friend in need is a friend indeed."
[Illustration: The Old and the New; Camp in Seattle in Background; High
School Building in the Farther Background.]
Somehow no serious thought ever entered my mind to turn back after once
started, no more than when the first trip of 1852 was made.
Almost everyone has just such an experience in life, and, after looking
back over the vista of years, wonder why. In this case I knew it was a
case of persistence only, to succeed in making the trip, but of course
could not know as to the results; but there was more than this: I
simply wanted to do it, and having once resolved to do it, nothing but
utter physical disability could deter me.
From Tacoma I shipped by steamer to Olympia.
The terminus of the old Trail is but two miles distant from Olympia,
at Tumwater, the extreme southern point of Puget Sound, and where
the waters of the Des Chutes River mingles with the salt waters of
the Pacific through the channels of Puget Sound, Admiralty Inlet and
Straits of Fuca, 150 miles distant. Here was where the first American
party of home builders rested and settled in 1845 and became the end
of the Trail, where land and water travel meet. At this point I set a
post, and subsequently arranged for an inscribed stone to be planted to
permanently mark the spot.
I quote from my journal: "Olympia, February 19th, 1906.—Spent the day
canvassing for funds for the monument, giving tickets for the lecture
in the evening in return; what with the receipts at the door and
collections, found I had $42.00—$21.00 of which was given to Allen Weir
for benefit of monument fund."
OUT ON THE TRAIL.
"Camp 10, Tenino, Feb. 20th.—Went to Tenino on train to arrange for
meeting and for monument; hired horse team to take outfit to Tenino, 16
miles, and drove oxen under the yoke; went into camp near site of the
monument to be erected about 3 p. m."
"21st.—A red-letter day; drove over to the stone quarry and hauled
monument over to site, where workman followed and put same in place.
This monument was donated by the Tenino Quarry Company and is
inscribed, 'Old Oregon Trail, 1845-53.' At 2 o'clock the stores were
closed, the school children in a body came over and nearly the whole
population turned out to the dedication of the first monument on the
Trail. Lectured in the evening to a good house—had splendid vocal
music. Receipts $16.00."
The reader will note quotation from my journal, "hired horse team to
take outfit to Tenino," and wonder why I hired a team. I will tell you.
Dave, the so-called ox, was not an ox but simply an unruly Montana
five-year-old steer and as mean a brute as ever walked on four legs.
I dare not entrust the driving to other hands, and must go ahead to
arrange for the monument and the lecture. Dave would hook and kick
and do anything and all things one would not want him to do, but to
behave himself was not a part of his disposition. Besides, he would
stick his tongue out from the smallest kind of exertion. At one time I
became very nearly discouraged with him. He had just been shipped in
off the Montana cattle range and had never had a rope on him—unless
it was when he was branded—and like a great big overgrown booby of a
boy, his flesh was flabby and he could not endure any sort of exertion
without discomfort. This is the ox that finally made the round trip
and that bore his end of the yoke from the tide waters of the Pacific
to the tide waters of the Atlantic, at the Battery, New York City, and
to Washington City to meet the President. He finally became subdued,
though not conquered; to this day I do not trust his heels, though he
now seldom threatens with his horns. He weighed in Washington City
when viewed by the President 1,900 pounds—330 pounds more than he did
when I first put him under the yoke twenty-two months before.[22] The
ox "Twist," also shown in the illustration, suddenly died August
9, 1906, and was buried within a few rods of the Trail, as told in
another chapter. It took two months to a day before I could find a mate
for the Dave ox, and then had to take another five-year-old steer off
the cattle range of Nebraska. This steer, Dandy, evidently had never
been handled, but he came of good stock and, with the exception of
awkwardness, gave me no serious trouble. Dandy was purchased out of the
stock yards of Omaha, weighed 1,470 pounds, and the day before he went
to see the President tipped the scales at the 1,760-pound notch and has
proven to be a faithful, serviceable ox.
[Illustration: Dedicating Monument at Tenino, Washington.]
CHEHALIS, WASHINGTON.
At Chehalis a point was selected in the center of the street at the
park, and a post set to mark the spot where the monument is to stand.
The Commercial Club undertook the work, but were not ready to erect and
dedicate, as a more expensive monument than one that could be speedily
obtained would be provided as an ornament to the park.
I vividly recollected this section of the old Trail, having, in company
with a brother, packed my blankets and "grub" on my back over it in
May, 1853, and camped on it nearby over night, under the sheltering,
drooping branches of a friendly cedar tree. We did not carry tents on
such a trip, but slept out under the open canopy of heaven, obtaining
such shelter as we could from day to day.
It is permissible to note the liberality of H. C. Davis, of Claquato,
who provided a fund of $50.00 to purchase one ox for the expedition,
the now famous ox Dave that made the round trip to the Atlantic and
return.
JACKSONS.
John R. Jackson was the first American citizen to settle north of the
Columbia River. One of the daughters, Mrs. Ware, accompanied by her
husband, indicated the spot where the monument should be erected,
and a post was planted. A touching incident was that Mrs. Ware was
requested to put the post in place and hold it while her husband tamped
the earth around it, which she did with tears streaming from her eyes
at the thought that at last her pioneer father's place in history was
to be recognized. A stone was ordered at once, to soon take the place
of the post.
TOLEDO, WASHINGTON.
Toledo, the last place to be reached on the old Trail in Washington,
is on the Cowlitz, a mile from the landing where the pioneers left the
river on the overland trail to the Sound. Here, later, the citizens
erected a suitable monument.
PORTLAND, OREGON.
From Toledo I shipped by river steamer the whole outfit, and took
passage with my assistants to Portland, thus reversing the order of
travel in 1853, accepting the use of steam instead of the brawn of
stalwart men and Indians to propel the canoe, and arrived on the
evening of March 1, and on the morning of the 2nd pitched my tent in
the heart of the city on a beautiful vacant lot, the property of Jacob
Kamm. I remained in camp here until the morning of March 9, to test the
question of securing aid for the expedition.
Except for the efforts of that indefatigable worker, George H. Himes,
secretary of the Oregon Pioneer Association since 1886, and assistant
secretary of the Oregon Historical Society, with headquarters in
Portland, no helping hand was extended. Not but that the citizens took
a lively interest in the "novel undertaking" in this "unique outfit,"
yet the fact became evident that only the few believed the work could
be successfully done by individual effort, and that Government aid
should be invoked. The prevailing opinion was voiced by a prominent
citizen, a trustee of a church, who voted against allowing the use of
the church for a lecture for the benefit of the expedition, when he
said that he "did not want to do anything to encourage that old man to
go out on the Plains to die." Notwithstanding this sentiment, through
Mr. Himes' efforts nearly $200 was contributed.
March 10, at 7:00 a. m., embarked at Portland on the steamer Bailey
Gatzert for The Dalles, which place was reached at night, but enlivened
by a warm reception from the citizens awaiting my arrival, who
conducted us to a camping place that had been selected.
Upon this steamer one can enjoy all the luxuries of civilized life,
a continuous trip now being made through the Government locks at the
Cascades. The tables are supplied with all the delicacies the season
affords, with clean linen for the beds, and obsequious attendants to
supply the wants of travelers.
"What changes time has wrought," I exclaimed. "Can it be the same
Columbia River which I traversed fifty-four years ago? Yes, there are
the mighty mountains, the wonderful waterfalls, the sunken forests,
each attesting the identity of the spot, but what about the conditions?
The answer can be found in the chapter elsewhere in this work,
"Floating Down the River," illustrating the mighty changes of fifty-six
years, when as an emigrant I passed through this gap of the Cascades in
a flatboat, on the waters of the great river."
FOOTNOTE:
[22] Finally 2,375 pounds at the age of 14, when he was mounted for
preservation in history.