THE PIONEERS.
Of all those to whom we owe honor and loyalty, and affection; to whom
belongs the first place of honor at the banqueting board; the highest
monument to mark their passing; whose memory should be longest
cherished, and beside whose grave we should tread most lightly; in all
the generations of the past and future, we owe our allegiance first
and always to the old settler! The very name marks the whole span of
life. We see its spring time--youth and strength, teeming with energy;
we see its autumn--the last leaf upon the tree, clinging, poised,
ready to float away into eternal silence. Twilight, the lengthening
shadows, the old settler; they blend into a harmonious setting for the
slowly descending curtain upon the drama of life, ere the "silver cord
is loosened or the golden bowl broken at the fountain." The old
settler--what a train of thought the words suggest! He is the corner
stone of civilization. He it is who pushes out beyond the confines of
safety; out into scenes of privation and hardships; into conditions
calling for sacrifices and disappointments; into danger and ofttimes
death. Through it all he is so brave and so loyal, so earnest and
capable, so patient and cheerful, so tender in his sympathies, so
strong in his forceful grasp, so superior in his principles, that his
name deserves to be written high up on the walls of the Temple of
Fame! Nationally and locally, as a people, we have a feeling of
veneration for those who clear the way and conquer the formidable
obstacles that stand in the path of progress. They develop the highest
type of rugged manhood and womanhood--strong, fearless, independent
and self-sustaining. For nearly three centuries history has been
repeating itself in this country of ours. As the Pilgrim Fathers
endured and conquered, so in each succeeding generation have there
been those who have given the days of their lives to labor, in the
midst of loneliness, and the nights to vigil, surrounded by danger,
that security and prosperity might come to those who followed them.
They are the battle scarred veterans who fought for a foothold in a
hostile country, and through their untiring efforts and indomitable
courage made possible the enjoyment of others in the midst of
congenial and ennobling surroundings.
Napoleon, as all the world knows, instituted the Order of the Legion
of Honor in recognition of merit, civil or military. To be a member of
that Order was an honor so great that the decorations were cherished
long afterwards by the descendants of the recipients. History records
that a French Grenadier, returning from a leave of absence, was
astonished to find the Austrian Army secretly advancing through the
mountains by a comparatively unknown path. Hastening forward to give
warning to the handful of soldiers stationed in a strong tower to
defend the path, he found to his dismay that they had fled, leaving
their thirty muskets behind. Undeterred by such a calamity, he entered
the tower, barricaded the door and loaded his muskets, determined to
hold the post against the whole Austrian Army. This he succeeded in
doing for thirty-six hours. Every shot told. Artillerymen were killed
the moment they appeared in the narrow path, and cannon were useless.
Assaults were repulsed with great loss in killed and wounded. Finally,
when not another round of ammunition was left, the Grenadier signalled
that the Post would be evacuated if the garrison could march out with
its arms, and with its colors flying proceed to the French Army. This
was agreed to; and when the old Grenadier came staggering out under
all the muskets he could carry, and it developed that he was the whole
garrison, the admiration of the Austrians was boundless; they sent him
with an escort and a note to the appreciative Napoleon, who knighted
him on the spot. When, later, he was killed in battle, he was
continued on the roll call of his regiment, and when the name of
Latour d'Auvergne was called, the ranking sergeant stepped forward,
saluted the commanding officer, and answered in a loud voice, "dead on
the field of honor."
To such a class belong the courageous, vigilant and enthusiastic
advance guard of civilization everywhere. They placed the plowshare
and the pruning hook where the rifle and the tomahawk long held sway.
They worked with rough hands and stout hearts to solve the problems
that beset the West, and to make gardens bloom where the desert had
cast its blight for centuries. They brought order out of chaos and
from the woof of time wove the lasting fabric of justice and good
government. Such were the old settlers of our own beautiful mountain
land. They came, many of them, in the slow, monotonous, wearisome,
creaking, covered wagon drawn by heavy-footed oxen; through midday
heat and wintry blasts, through blinding storms of sand and snow, they
wended their way for months from far-off countries, sometimes leaving
their dead in unmarked graves by the wayside, and with set faces and
leaden hearts, pushed on to unknown scenes.
Half a century has wrought wonderful changes! Now, the traveler sees
the sun go down upon the middle west, with the Missouri winding its
way to the sea; the morning's radiance glints the summit of the Great
Divide, and unrolls a picture of rare beauty and majesty! Five hundred
miles in a night; sleep, comfort, luxury; no hunger, or thirst, or
fear, or discomfort; cushioned seats, soft carpets, fine linen; dining
cars shining with polished woodwork, beveled mirrors, solid silver; a
moving palace such as was unknown even in the days of luxurious Rome.
I have listened to many pathetic stories of our old pioneers that
touched me deeply. The history of those distant days is full of
interest. An air of romance envelops those early western scenes. Many
a troth was plighted in the long trip across the plains, and many a
friendship was formed that ended only in death. The novelist clothes
his characters with the imaginary joys and griefs of imaginary people;
but imagery never was and never can be as interesting as real
incidents in the lives of real people. A dignity crowns the memory of
the men whose feet were set where never human feet were placed before;
honors cling around the names of those who lived in the days when the
buffalo roamed the plains unmolested, when the skulking savage lurked
in hiding, and when the weird bark of the hungry coyote penetrated the
solitude of night. Out of such experiences empires are born. The
founders of our prosperous state little knew that here they were
opening up the richest mineral and farming country in all the world!
Nor did they realize that they would here plant the future metropolis
of the Great Rocky Mountain Region. We honor them--the living and the
dead--for what they are, and what they did! Their ranks are rapidly
thinning. It will not be long until at Old Settlers Roll Call there
will be no response--save only from out the stillness will be heard,
like an appreciative echo, the voices of their successors as they
answer, "Dead on the field of honor."