FROM INDIANAPOLIS TO WASHINGTON.
Upon my arrival in Indianapolis, people began to ask me about the
Trail, and to say they had never heard that the Oregon Trail ran
through that city, to which I replied I never had heard that it did. A
quizzical look sometimes would bring out an explanation that the intent
of the expedition was as much to work upon the hearts of the people
as to work upon the Trail itself; that what we wanted was to fire the
imagination of the people and get them first to know there was such a
thing as the Oregon Trail and then to know what it meant in history.
After passing the Missouri, and leaving the Trail behind me, I somehow
had a foreboding that I might be mistaken for a faker and looked upon
either as an adventurer or a sort of a "wandering Jew" and shrank
from the ordeal. My hair had grown long on the trip across; my boots
were some the worse for wear and my old-fashioned suit (understood
well enough by pioneers along the Trail) that showed dilapidation all
combined, made me not the most presentable in every sort of company.
Coupled with that had I not already been compelled to say that I was
not a "corn doctor" or any kind of a doctor; that I did not have patent
medicine or any other sort of medicine to sell, and that I was neither
soliciting or receiving contributions to support the expedition? I had
early in the trip realized the importance of disarming criticism or
suspicion that there was graft or speculation in the work. And yet, day
after day, there would come questions, pointed or otherwise, evidently
to probe to the bottom to find out if there was lurking somewhere or
somehow an ulterior object not appearing on the surface. There being
none, the doubters would be disarmed only to make way for a new crop,
maybe the very next hour.
But the press, with but one exception, had been exceedingly kind,
and understood the work. It remained for one man[25] of the thousand
or more who wrote of the work, at a later date to write of his
"suspicions." I wrote that gentleman that "suspicions as to one's
motives were of the same cloth as the 'breath of scandal' against a
fair lady's character, leaving the victim helpless without amende
honorable from the party himself," and gave him full information, but
he did not respond nor so far as I know publish any explanation of the
article in his paper.
March 1st, 1907, found me on the road going eastward from Indianapolis.
I had made up my mind that Washington City should be the objective
point, and that Congress would be a better field to work in than out on
the hopelessly wide stretch of the Trail where one man's span of life
would certainly run before the work could be accomplished.
But, before reaching Congress, it was well to spend a season or
campaign of education or manage somehow to get the work before the
general public so that the Congress might know about it, or at least
that many members might have heard about it. So a route was laid
out to occupy the time until the first of December, just before
Congress would again assemble, and be with them "in the beginning."
The route lay from Indianapolis, through Hamilton, Ohio; Dayton,
Columbus, Buffalo, then Syracuse, Albany, New York City, Trenton, N.
J.; Philadelphia., Pa.; Baltimore, Md., thence to Washington, visiting
intermediate points along the route outlined. This would seem to be
quite a formidable undertaking with one yoke of oxen and a big "prairie
schooner" wagon that weighed 1,400 pounds, a wooden axle, that would
speak at times if not watched closely with tar bucket in hand; and a
load of a thousand pounds or more of camp equipage, etc. And so it was,
but the reader may recall the fable of the "tortoise and the hare" and
find the lesson of persistence that gave the race, not to the swiftest
afoot. Suffice it to say that on the 29th of November, 1907, twenty-two
months to a day after leaving home at Puyallup, I drew up in front of
the White House in Washington City, was kindly received by President
Roosevelt, and encouraged to believe my labor had not been lost.
The general reader may not be interested in the details of my varied
experiences in the numerous towns and cities through which I passed,
nevertheless there were incidents in some of the cities well worth
recording.
As noted before, the press, from the beginning, seemed to understand
the object, and enter into the spirit of the work. It remained for
one paper during the whole trip (Hamilton, Ohio) to solicit pay for
a notice. My look of astonishment or something, it seems, wrought a
change, and the notice appeared, and I am able to record that not one
cent was paid to the press during the whole trip, and I think fully
a thousand articles have been published outlining and commending the
work. Had it not been for the press, no such progress as has been made
could have been accomplished, and if the appropriation be made by
Congress to mark the Trail, the press did it, not, however, forgetting
the patient oxen who did their part so well.
An interesting incident, to me at least, occurred in passing through
the little town of Huntsville, ten miles east of Hamilton, Ohio, where
I was born, and had not seen for more than seventy years. A snap shot
of the old house where I was born did me no good, for at Dayton some
vandal stole my kodak, film and all, containing the precious impression.
Dayton treated me nicely, bought a goodly number of my books and sent
me on my way rejoicing with no further feeling of solicitude toward
financing the expedition. I had had particularly bad luck in the
loss of my fine ox; then when the cows were bought and one of them
wouldn't go at all, and I was compelled to ship the outfit to Omaha,
more than a hundred miles; and was finally forced to buy the unbroken
steer Dandy, out of the stockyards at Omaha, and, what was more, pay
out all the money I could rake and scrape, save seven dollars. Small
wonder I should leave Dayton with a feeling of relief brought about
by the presence in my pocket of some money not drawn from home. I had
had other experiences of discouragement as well: when I first put the
"Ox Team" in print, it was almost "with fear and trembling"—would the
public buy it? I could not know without trying, and so a thousand
copies only were printed, which of course brought them up to a high
price per copy. But these sold, and two thousand more copies printed
and sold, and I was about even on the expense, when, lo and behold, my
plates and cuts were burned and a new beginning had to be made.
Mayor Badger of Columbus wrote, giving me the "freedom of the city,"
and Mayor Tom Johnson wrote to his chief of police to "treat Mr. Meeker
as the guest of the city of Cleveland," which he did.
At Buffalo, N. Y., though, the mayor would have none of it, unless I
would pay one hundred dollars license fee, which of course I would not.
Fortunately, though, a camping ground was found in the very heart of
the city, and I received a hearty welcome from the citizens, and a good
hearing as well. A pleasant episode occurred here to while away the
time as well as to create a good feeling. The upper 400 of Buffalo were
preparing to give a benefit to one of the hospitals in the shape of a
circus. Elaborate preparations had been made and a part of the program
was an attack by Indians on an emigrant train, the Indians being
the well mounted young representatives of the city's elite. At this
juncture I arrived in the city, and was besieged to go and represent
the emigrant train, for which they would pay me, but I said, "No, not
for pay, but I will go." And so there was quite a realistic show in the
"ring" that afternoon and evening, and the hospital received over a
thousand dollars benefit.
Near Oneida some one said I had better take to the towpath on the canal
and save distance, besides avoid going over the hill, adding that while
it was against the law, everybody did it and no one would object. So,
when we came to the forks of the road, I followed the best beaten track
and soon found ourselves traveling along on the level, hard but narrow
way, the towpath. All went well, and just at evening on an elevated
bridge across the canal, three mules were crossing and a canal-boat
was seen on the opposite side, evidently preparing to "camp" for the
night. With the kodak we were able to catch the last mule's ears as he
was backed into the boat for the night, but not so fortunate the next
day when the boat with three men, two women and three long-eared mules
were squarely met, the latter on the towpath. The mules took fright,
got into a regular mix-up, broke the harness and went up the towpath at
a 2:40 gait and were with difficulty brought under control.
I had walked into Oneida the night before, and so did not see the sight
or hear the war of words that followed. The men ordered W. to "take
that outfit off the towpath." His answer was that he could not do it
without upsetting the wagon. The men said if he would not, they would
d—n quick, and started toward the wagon evidently intent to execute
their threat, meanwhile swearing at the top of their voices and the
women swearing in chorus, one of them fairly shrieking. My old and
trusted muzzle-loading rifle that we had carried across the Plains more
than fifty-five years before lay handy by, and so when the men started
toward him, W. picked up the rifle to show fight, and called on the dog
Jim to take hold of the men. As he raised the gun to use as a club, one
of the boatmen threw up his hands, bawling at the top of his voice,
"Don't shoot, don't shoot," forgot to mix in oaths, and slunk out of
sight behind the wagon; the others also drew back. Jim showed his teeth
and a truce followed when one of the women became hysterical and the
other called loudly for help. With but little inconvenience the mules
were taken off the path and the team drove on, whereupon a volley of
oaths was hurled at the object of all the trouble, in which the women
joined at the top of their voices, continuing as long as they could be
heard, one of them shrieking—drunk, W. thinks.
The fun of it was, the gun that had spread such consternation hadn't
been loaded for more than twenty-five years, but the sight of it was
enough for the three stalwart braves of the "raging canal".
I vowed then and there that we would travel no more on the towpath of
the canal.
When I came to Albany, the mayor wouldn't talk to me after once taking
a look at my long hair. He was an old man, and as I was afterwards
told, a "broken-down politician" (whatever that may mean). At any
rate, he treated me quite rudely I thought, though I presume, in his
opinion, it was the best way to get rid of a nuisance, and so I passed
on through the city.
But it took New York City to cap the climax—to bring me all sort of
experiences, sometimes with the police, sometimes with the gaping
crowds, and sometimes at the city hall.
Mayor McLellan was not in the city when I arrived, but the acting
mayor said that while he could not grant a permit, to come on in—he
would have the police commissioner instruct his men not to molest me.
Either the instructions were not general enough or else the men paid
no attention, for when I got down as far as 161st Street on Amsterdam
Avenue, a policeman interfered and ordered my driver to take the team
to the police station, which he very properly refused to do. It was
after dark and I had just gone around the corner to engage quarters
for the night when this occurred; returning, I saw the young policeman
attempt to move the team, but as he didn't know how, they wouldn't
budge a peg, whereupon he arrested my driver, and took him away. Just
then another police tried to coax me to drive the team down to the
police station; I said, "No, sir, I will not." He said there were
good stables down there, whereupon I told him I had already engaged a
stable, and would drive to it unless prevented by force. The crowd had
become large and began jeering the policeman. The situation was that he
couldn't drive the team to the station, and I wouldn't, and so there
we were. To arrest me would make matters worse by leaving the team on
the street without any one to care for it, and so finally the fellow
got out of the way, and I drove the team to the stable, he, as well as
a large crowd, following. As soon as I was in the stable he told me
to come along with him to the police station; I told him I would go
when I got the team attended to, but not before unless he wished to
carry me. The upshot of the matter was that by this time the captain
of the precinct arrived and called his man off, and ordered my driver
released. He had had some word from the city hall but had not notified
his men. It transpired there was an ordinance against allowing cattle
to be driven on the streets of New York. Of course, this was intended
to apply to loose cattle, but the police interpreted it to mean any
cattle, and had the clubs to enforce their interpretation. I was in
the city, and couldn't get out without subjecting myself to arrest
according to their version of the laws, and in fact I didn't want to
get out. I wanted to drive down Broadway from one end to the other,
which I did, a month later, as will presently be related.
All hands said nothing short of an ordinance by the board of aldermen
would clear the way; so I tackled the aldermen. The New York Tribune
sent a man over to the city hall to intercede for me; the New York
Herald did the same thing, and so it came about, the aldermen passed
an ordinance granting me the right of way for thirty days, and also
endorsed my work. I thought my trouble was over when that passed.
Not so, the mayor was absent, and the acting mayor could not sign an
ordinance until after ten days had elapsed. Then the city attorney came
in and said the aldermen had exceeded their authority as they could not
legally grant a special privilege. Then the acting mayor said he would
not sign the ordinance, but if I would wait until the next meeting
of the aldermen, if they did not rescind the ordinance, it would be
certified as he would not veto it, and that as no one was likely to
test the legality he thought I would be safe in acting as though it was
legal, and so, just thirty days from the time I had the bother with the
police, and had incurred $250.00 expense, I drove down Broadway from
161st Street to the Battery, without a slip or getting into any serious
scrape of any kind except with one automobilist who became angered, but
afterwards became "as good as pie," as the old saying goes. The rain
fell in torrents as we neared the Battery. I had engaged quarters for
the cattle nearby, but the stablemen went back on me, and wouldn't let
me in, and so drove up Water Street a long way before finding a place
and then was compelled to pay $4.00 for stable room and hay for the
cattle over night.
[Illustration: Curb Stock Exchange, Broad Street, New York.]
Thirty days satisfied me with New York. The fact was the crowds were
so great that congestion of traffic always followed my presence, and I
would be compelled to move. I went one day to the City Hall Park to get
the Greeley statue photographed with my team, and could not get away
without the help of the police, and even then with great difficulty.
A trip across Brooklyn Bridge to Brooklyn was made, but I found the
congestion there almost as great as in the city proper. The month I
was on the streets of New York was a month of anxiety, and I was glad
enough to get out of the city on the 17th of October, just thirty days
after the drive down Broadway, and sixty days after the holdup on 161st
Street, and the very day the big run on the Knickerbocker Bank began.
I came near meeting a heavy loss two days before leaving the city.
Somehow I got sandwiched in on the East Side above the Brooklyn
bridge in the congested district of the foreign quarters and finally
at nightfall drove into a stable, put the oxen in the stalls and, as
usual, the dog Jim in the wagon. The next morning Jim was gone. The
stablemen said he had left the wagon a few moments after I had and
had been stolen. The police accused the stablemen of being a party to
the theft, in which I think they were right. Anyway, the day wore off
and no tidings. Money could not buy that dog. He was an integral part
of the expedition; always on the alert; always watchful of the wagon
during my absence and always willing to mind what I bid him to do. He
had had more adventures than any other member of the work; first he
had been tossed over a high brush by the ox Dave; then shortly after
pitched headlong over a barbed wire fence by an irate cow; then came
the fight with a wolf; following this came a narrow escape from the
rattlesnake in the road; after this a trolley car run over him, rolling
him over and over again until he came out as dizzy as a drunken man—I
thought he was a "goner" that time sure, but he soon straightened up,
and finally in the streets of Kansas City was run over by a heavy truck
while fighting another dog. The other dog was killed outright, while
Jim came near having his neck broken, lost one of his best fighting
teeth and had several others broken. I sent him to a veterinary surgeon
and curiously enough he made no protest while having the broken teeth
repaired and extracted. He could eat nothing but soup and milk for
several days, and that poured down him, as he could neither lap nor
swallow liquids. It came very near being "all day" with Jim, but he
is here with me all right and seemingly good for a new adventure.
[Illustration: Jim.]
No other method could disclose where to find him than to offer a
reward, which I did, and feel sure I paid the twenty dollars to one of
the fellow-parties to the theft who was brazen faced enough to demand
pay for keeping him. Then was when I got up and talked pointedly, and
was glad enough to get out of that part of the city.
Between Newark and Elizabeth City, New Jersey, at a point known as
"Lyons Farm," the old "Meeker Homestead" stands, built in the year
1767. Here the "Meeker Tribe," as we called ourselves, came out to
greet me near forty strong, as shown by the illustration.[26] Except
in Philadelphia, I did not receive much recognition between Elizabeth
City and Washington. Wilmington would have none of it, except for pay,
and so I passed on, but at Philadelphia I was bid to go on Broad Street
under the shadow of the great city hall where great crowds came and
took a lot of my literature away during the four days I tarried; in
Baltimore I got a "cold shoulder" and passed through the city without
halting long. In parts of Maryland I found many lank oxen with long
horns and light quarters, the drivers not being much interested in the
outfit except to remark, "Them's mighty fine cattle, stranger; where do
you come from?" and like passing remarks.
But when I reached Washington, the atmosphere, so to speak, changed—a
little bother with the police a few days, but soon brushed aside. I
had been just twenty-two months to a day in reaching Washington from
the time I made my first day's drive from my home at Puyallup, January
29th, 1906. It took President Roosevelt to extend a royal welcome.
[Illustration: President Roosevelt on the Way to View the Team; War and
Navy Building in the Background.]
"Well, well, WELL, WELL," was the exclamation that fell from his lips
as he came near enough the outfit to examine it critically, which he
did. Senator Piles and Representative Cushman of the Washington State
Congressional delegation had introduced me to the President in the
cabinet room. Mr. Roosevelt showed a lively interest in the work from
the start. He did not need to be told that the Trail was a battlefield,
or that the Oregon pioneers who moved out and occupied the Oregon
country while yet in dispute between Great Britain and the United
States were heroes who fought a strenuous battle as "winners of the
farther west," for he fairly snatched the words from my lips and went
even farther than I had even dreamed of, let alone having hoped for, in
invoking Government aid to carry on the work.
[Illustration: President Roosevelt Viewing the Team, November 29, 1907.]
Addressing Senator Piles the President said with emphasis, "I am in
favor of this work to mark this Trail and if you will bring before
Congress a measure to accomplish it, I am with you, and will give it my
support to do it thoroughly."
Mr. Roosevelt thought the suggestion of a memorial highway should first
come from the states through which the Trail runs; anyway it would be
possible to get congressional aid to mark the Trail, and that in any
event, ought to be speedily done.
Apparently, on a sudden recollecting other engagements pressing, the
President asked, "Where is your team? I want to see it." Upon being
told that it was near by, without ceremony, and without his hat he was
soon alongside, asking questions faster than they could be answered,
not idle questions, but such as showed his intense desire to get real
information—bottom facts—as the saying goes.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] William Allen White.
[26] See illustration, Chapter I.