_The Effect of the Banquet Speech. How it Stirred Christian
People. The American Board Acts. Drs. Parker and Whitman Go on a
Voyage of Discovery. His Indian Boys. His Marriage and Journey
through Savage Lands to Oregon._
The Indian oration at the St. Louis banquet was translated by a young
man present, William Walker, who was an Indian chief, but a white
man, and it was first published some months later in "The Christian
Advocate" in New York, with a ringing editorial from its editor, Rev.
Dr. Fiske, headed, "Who will Carry the Book of Life to the Indians of
Oregon?"
The effect was electrical among religious people in the East. The
Methodist Foreign Missionary Society were prompt to act, and the very
next year sent two able-bodied, earnest Christian ministers, Jason
and Daniel Lee, with one layman to aid them. They reached their field
by the long, round-about waterway, via London and the Hawaiian
Islands. For many years they did effective work, far up on the
Willamette River. The American Board, then under the control of
Congregational and Presbyterian churches, was more cautious. It was
an unheard-of proposition to come from savage life so far away from
civilization, and they wanted time to investigate. The Rev. Dr.
Samuel Parker of Utica, New York, became restive under the delay,
believing fully in the call of the Indians, and resolved to join some
trading company to the Far West and go to Oregon. In 1834 he reached
the border upon the Missouri, but the fur-traders had departed. He
returned home and renewed his efforts to arouse the American Board to
action. He found Marcus Whitman, M. D., as much of an enthusiast in
the work as he, and the Board resolved to send the two men upon a
voyage of discovery in 1835, and to have them return and report upon
the possibility of establishing missions in that well-nigh unknown
land. So in 1835, the minister and the young physician were on the
western border in time to join a company of American fur-traders,
bound for Green River, in what is now northern Utah. Upon reaching
this point they met some two thousand Indians, representing various
tribes living within five to seven hundred miles. There were large
delegations of Oregon Indians to trade their furs for articles
needed. When the object of the missionaries was explained to the
Indians, they received the news with such enthusiasm as to dispel
every doubt from the minds of the missionaries of the wisdom of
their course and the Indians' sincerity in asking for Christian
teachers. Upon consultation they agreed that it was wise to make no
delay in reporting to the American Board. While Dr. Parker was to
continue his journey to Oregon with the Indians, Dr. Whitman was to
return with the convoy, make the report, and return the next year
with reinforcements to begin mission work. The Indians showed such
confidence in Dr. Whitman's promise to come to them after one more
snow, that they selected two of their brightest, most intelligent,
and muscular boys about eighteen years to accompany him, and help him
on his way the coming year. Dr. Parker, with his Indian guides,
reached Oregon, over which country he traveled extensively. He
organized no mission, but studied the situation fully, so as to be
able to make a wise report for the future guidance of the American
Board.
Finding a ship sailing next year for the Hawaiian Islands he did not
wait for Whitman and his company. Dr. Parker was a scholarly man and
a keen observer, and upon his return wrote a book of great value. It
was a true description of Indian life and conditions, the wealth of
forest and the prospective finds of coal and minerals in the hills
and mountains, the magnificence of rivers, the healthfulness and
mildness of the climate. The book passed through six editions, and
was interesting reading, but it was of a far-away land, and induced
little or no immigration at that time.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN WELCOME.]
Dr. Whitman and his two Indian boys joined the fur company for escort
on its return trip. While on the plains a scourge of cholera broke
out, and the Doctor's skill and his untiring work to save the lives
of the men, won all their hearts, and they united in giving him a
cordial invitation to join them in the spring, upon their annual
visit to Green River. This was gladly accepted, as such an escort was
a necessity in that day. The Doctor and his two Indian aids reached
Rushville, New York, late on a Saturday night in November, 1835. His
return was unexpected, and his first appearance to his friends was
when he marched up the aisle of the church with his Indian boys, as
they sang the opening hymn. His good old mother was so astonished
that she spoke right out in meeting, "If there ain't Mark Whitman!"
It is easy to conceive that such an incident called out a wide
interest and inquiry, which was just what the Doctor desired,
enthused as he was himself in the importance of the work before him.
The Doctor had taken great pains all summer to instruct his Indian
boys in English, and they proved apt pupils. He put them at once in
school, where they made rapid progress, and were general favorites.
Never was the enthusiastic young Doctor more active than in the fall
and winter months in making his preparations. The American Board had
resolved to establish a mission in Oregon, and they notified him that
they preferred to send married men into the missionary field. This
was unexpected but welcome news to Whitman, and was in accordance
with the last advice from Dr. Parker: "Bring with you a good wife."
He had already in his own mind made his selection in the person of
Miss Narcissa Prentice, a daughter of Judge Prentice, of Angelica,
New York, but owing to the privations and perils of the journey, and
the isolated life among savages, he had hesitated to ask her to make
such sacrifice. One can easily imagine his happiness, when upon fully
explaining all, he found her with a courage equal to his own, and an
abounding enthusiasm for the prospective work. After a time the
clear-headed men of the Board, doubtless guided by their
clearer-headed wives, raised a point, and said, upon such an
expedition, so full of care and responsibility and danger, it would
not do to send a woman unless accompanied by another of her sex. Here
was a new dilemma. Time was passing, and candidates for such perils
were not plentiful. The day of the wedding was postponed, and Whitman
endeavored to meet the requirements. He finally heard of Dr.
Spalding and his newly wedded wife, who were en route to the Osage
Indian Mission. He learned their proposed route and set out to find
them. Whether through chance or Providence, he succeeded. It was a
cold day and a driving snow, when in his sleigh he sighted them
ahead, after a long chase. When in hallooing distance he shouted,
"Ship ahoy, you are wanted for Oregon!" Hearing the cheery, pleasant
voice, they halted, Whitman driving his sleigh by the side of theirs,
and he at once bounded into the subject of which he was full. Dr.
Spalding proposed that they go to the hotel in the town just ahead,
where they could talk the matter over without freezing. By a glowing
fire Dr. Whitman retold the story of the Flatheads, about whom they
had read; of his journey to the Far West to verify the facts, and the
result, and of the two Indian boys ready to escort them to Oregon,
where they would meet with an enthusiastic reception such as he and
Dr. Parker had received on Green River. Whitman was often called "The
Silent Man," but when aroused and enthused, he was an eloquent
pleader. And with all at stake, as in this instance, he was doubtless
at his best. They listened with profound attention. Mrs. Spalding was
an educated woman, of great decision of character, an earnest
"Christian," and a firm believer in a power higher than herself
ready to guide her in life's duties. They were silent for a moment,
when she arose and said, "I desire a few moments to myself for
prayer," and retired to her room. The two men sat by the fire
canvassing all the dangers of the expedition and the hopefulness of
the outlook. Dr. Spalding afterward wrote, in speaking of the
meeting, "I do not think she was gone from us more than ten minutes
before she returned, her face all aglow with happiness and
enthusiasm, and said, 'Yes, we will go to Oregon!'" He continues, "I
gently expostulated, 'My dear, we must consider your health in such a
hazardous undertaking.' She replied, in the words, 'Go ye into all
the world and preach the Gospel to every creature, there is no
exception made for ill health.' And no words of mine could alter her
determination." Mrs. Spalding had been a semi-invalid for months, but
her faith and Christian courage were strong. It was her prompt
decision which decided the fate of the Oregon mission, of the four
notable characters, and we may add, the fate of questions so great
and grave to the nation, as to be unfathomable by man's wisdom.
The wedding day was again fixed. In this case there was more than
usual interest in the bride, for her friends all knew of her
destination. The late Mrs. H. P. Jackson, of Oberlin, Ohio, sister
of the bride, has told me in letters, of the events of the pleasant
occasion. The two Indian boys, dressed in their best, were guests of
honor. Dr. Whitman introduced them to his wife, and says Mrs.
Jackson, "When he told them she would go with them to their far-away
home in Oregon, and teach them, they did not try to conceal their
delight."
Narcissa Prentice was the eldest daughter of Judge Prentice, an
influential, earnest Christian man, then residing in Angelica, New
York. The daughter was well educated, loved for her womanly qualities
and famed in all the country around for the sweetness of her voice.
She was the leader of the church choir of the village, and the people
crowded the building the evening before their departure to bid the
little party a good by and give them a blessing. After a good social
time, the minister, the Rev. Dr. Hull, called the meeting to order,
and gave out the old familiar hymn:
"Yes, my native land, I love thee,
All thy scenes I love them well;
Friends, connections, happy country,
Can I bid you all farewell?" Etc.
The late Martha J. Lamb, editor of the "Magazine of American
History," who wrote the report of the farewell gathering, says:
"The great audience joined in singing the opening stanzas, but
soon they began to drop out by ones and scores, and sobs were
heard all over the audience. The last stanza was sung by one
voice alone in a clear, sweet soprano, and not a faulty note; it
was the voice of Narcissa Whitman."
It was the last time her old friends heard the sweet voice, for
daylight found them braving the winter storm on their way to Oregon.
The late Eli G. Coe, of Illinois, then a young man, drove them in his
sleigh to the mountains, en route to Pittsburg, where they were to
take boat for St. Louis. He has given me a delightful sketch of the
journey, upon which he marks Whitman "The Silent Man, ever thoughtful
of all his guests," and Mrs. Whitman, "The lovely little woman who
was the life of the company, who often dispelled gloom, and made all
forget the winter cold, by a song of cheer."
Their route was from Pittsburg down the Ohio River to the Mississippi
up to St. Louis, thence up the Missouri River to near where Fort
Leavenworth now stands. The journey had no mishaps until they reached
"The Big Muddy," as the Missouri has long been called. Those who
navigated it half and three-quarters of a century ago, will never
forget the journey. It was sand bars on sand bars, forever shifting
with each freshet, and snags galore! The engineer stood constantly at
his lever, to answer the bell, a leadsman stood in the bow casting a
lead and calling in loud, singsong the depth of water, until
suddenly, like an electric shock, came the sharp, "five feet scant,"
and the bell rang, and the wheels reversed with a suddenness that
aroused every one, until he got used to it. They were hung on snags,
"hard aground" on sand bars, and as a consequence were four or five
days behind the time at Leavenworth.
The reader will recollect that the fur-traders had given Dr. Whitman
a cordial invitation to join them in the spring, and he was impatient
but helpless in the delay. To the great discomfiture of the
missionaries upon reaching the landing, they learned that the fur
company had left four days before. What added to Whitman's trouble
was, that at St. Louis he had been told he could get all the
provisions he lacked at the fort, and upon inquiry, found nearly
everything sold, and that he would have to start in poorly equipped
with provisions, without a hope of being able to add to his stock,
except by chance and courtesy of the traders.
This was the first great test of the courage of Dr. Whitman. Dr.
Spalding was outspoken, "We must turn back and never think of such
madness as to brave a journey among savages without an escort."
Whitman said little, but rapidly made his preparation, simply
declaring, "We will go on." Mrs. Spalding nobly seconded Whitman, and
said, "I have started for Oregon, and to Oregon I will go or leave
my body upon the plains." Mrs. Whitman was alike cheerful. So soon as
harness could be adjusted, the loads packed, and the cattle rounded
up, the man of courage gave the order, and the little train began to
move through the deep mud of the Missouri River bottoms. We learned
after that the fur company waited one day over the stipulated time.
But they had in some way learned at St. Louis that the Doctor was
going to bring with him some American women for the journey,
something never heard of before, and as they were expecting to have
to fight their way at times, they did not care for such encumbrances,
anxious as they were to have the services of the good Doctor. Thus it
was a gloomy start for the brave little company. Dr. Whitman had made
ample preparation for the comfort of the women in a spring-wagon,
"the brides' wagon," fitted up with various little comforts and a
protection in every storm. But it is doubtful whether two cultivated
American brides before, or since, ever made so memorable a wedding
journey. The party consisted of the two brides and their husbands,
Dr. W. H. Gray, two teamsters, and the two Indian boys. We may add
that somewhere in the Sioux country the boys picked up three other
Nez Perces friends; one of them, Samuel, was added permanently to the
company. Mrs. Whitman writes, "When the boys get together they make
a great chattering."
They were in an Indian country from the first day's start, and met
great numbers of savages, out on their hunts, many moving to new
camps, and some on the war-path. At no time were the missionaries
molested, but on the contrary, were treated with great courtesy, and
as Mrs. Whitman wrote, "They seemed greatly surprised to see white
women in the party." The Indian boys were soon in their element, and
of inestimable value; they could swim the rivers like ducks, and took
all the care of the loose stock, and were wise in the ways of plains'
life. They could explain to any suspicious Indians the coming of "the
great medicine men" they were taking to their people, and in a
hundred ways were helpers to the little company. Mrs. Whitman, from
the outset, rode on horseback with her husband, only occasionally
resting in the wagon, and for company to Mrs. Spalding, who was yet
an invalid.
We make no pretense of writing a continued narrative of the journey,
but just enough to catch its spirit. We have seen in it a dreary and
discouraged start, and none but a hero with heroines to encourage him
would have entered upon it. They had now been a whole month on the
way making forced marches, the trail of the fur-traders getting
fresher every day, until finally hearing they were in camp on Loupe
Fork, the wagons pushed on and joined them. The Doctor and Mrs.
Whitman were behind helping to hurry forward the loose stock.
Finally, late at night, the Indian boys begged the Doctor and his
wife to ride on to camp and leave them to drive the stock in at
daylight. But they refused to leave them. Picketing their horses out
to graze, then with their saddles for pillows, they lay upon the warm
ground looking up at the stars and slept. At daylight they rode into
camp and were courteously received and praised as "a plucky set."
The two American women, who had so alarmed the old plainsmen as a
burden and an encumbrance, by their tact and kindness soon won them
as friends, and nothing was left undone that the rough old fellows
could do for their comfort. They had succeeded so admirably in
passing safely for a month alone through the Indian country, that
they began to have confidence in themselves. But they learned that
they had not yet reached the point of real danger, and were glad to
be protected by such a stalwart troop. The Indians had a great
respect for these pioneer traders, who were veterans of the plains
and splendidly armed. The greatest anxiety was for the safety of
their stock at night, when picketed out to graze. The Indians
especially coveted the oxen and cows, which required careful guarding
to prevent stampeding. Cattle when frightened at night lose all
sense, breaking away and running as long as they can stand, becoming
easy prey for the savages, while horses and mules almost invariably
break for the tents and wagons, and the company of men.
Camp at night is always made by driving the wagons in a circle, with
tents pitched inside. The wagons make a protection from an enemy, and
all their contents are in easy reach.
The year 1836 was a peaceable year among the Indians, and the buffalo
and other game was so plentiful as to make small temptation for
Indian depredation upon the white man's stock during this portion of
the journey, but we may add they cast longing eyes at all times upon
every good horse the white man rode.
_In the Buffalo Country_
The company had now reached the buffalo country, and soon began to
see great herds containing thousands, and even tens of thousands.
Every spring the buffalo journeyed northward to the valleys and
plains to feed on the rich grasses. It is a feast occasion, one of
the greatest the Indian enjoys. Tribes travel four and five hundred
miles from their homes to meet the buffalo, and lay in a supply of
dried meat, calf skins, and robes, and never forgetting to feast for
a month while laying up winter stores. It is a novel and exhilarating
sight to view the annual Indian migration to meet these noble wild
cattle of the plains--the whole tribe, old and young, dogs and loose
horses, with all their movable worldly goods brought with them packed
on poles drawn by ponies. They settle down in the little valleys near
springs, or along running waters, and arrange for work in advance
with as much system as the farmer in the spring plows and sows. The
buffalo country has generally, by mutual consent, been regarded as
"peace grounds," but the desire for revenge has many times made it
the scene of bloody contests and massacres. Hunting buffalo in those
days, either by the Indians or white men, was not sport, but
butchery. They were in such immense herds that, when running from
their enemies, those in the rear could not get out of the way, and
were an easy prey to any kind of weapon of death. The buffalo bull is
the most gallant and noble among animals. On the march he leads,
brings up the rear, and marches on the flanks, while all the cows and
calves are kept in the center of the herd and protected from the
bands of wolves, mountain-lions, and bears which linger around ready
to devour the straying members of the herd. By a wonderful provision
of nature, the buffalo calves are practically all of the same age, so
that a herd in the long summer outing is not much detained upon its
way, for the little one trots gayly beside its mother in a few hours.
But while the little fellows are thus comparatively helpless, those
who have witnessed the scene, bear testimony to the courage of the
great, strong-necked, sharp-horned bulls who will attack a grizzly or
a whole pack of wolves, or a mountain-lion regardless of his own
danger. At such times he is even at night a sleepless, faithful
picket ever on duty. He walks backward and forward along his picketed
line like a trained soldier, and when the ground is wet, he treads a
deep path in the sod, and the picket line of a sleeping herd can
easily be traced long afterward, and often is referred to as "Indian
trails." One would suppose that such nobility would command respect.
But it never did. Even such explorers and writers as Parkman and his
men never seem to have enjoyed the day unless, in addition to the
calves they killed for food, they were able to tell of the slaughter
of many "savage old bulls." At the time of which I write buffalo were
seen by the million. Fourteen years later, when the writer visited
the same region, they could be seen in single herds covering a
thousand acres. When frightened and running, they were turned from
their course with the greatest difficulty.
A train on the trail they were crossing was only safe in halting and
allowing it to pass. The pressure from the rear was so great that the
front could not halt. Some of the old plainsmen told of "a
tenderfoot's" experience, who was going to have some "rare sport, and
his pick of an entire bunch." He observed a large herd quietly
grazing and saw by making a detour, up a dry ravine, where he would
be hidden from view, he could get immediately in their front. He
succeeded, and tying his mule behind him, concealed himself in the
edge of some bushes upon the bank of the creek. He did not have long
to wait, something in the rear frightened the herd and it began to
come directly toward him. As soon as in reach, he began to fire and
kill. It would break the ranks for an instant only, and he at once
saw death impending, as there was not a tree large enough to climb.
He had shot until his gun was hot, but all in vain. Just then his old
mule tied in the bushes opened up his musical "honk, honk," such as
only a thoroughly frightened mule can utter, and the whole herd
opened right and left, and the man was saved.
Some have expressed a wonder that these noble animals, in such
myriads, should so soon have disappeared. It is easily seen, in the
fact of the improved firearms used by the Indians, and that they
killed, for food, skins for clothing, and robes for the market, only
the cows and calves. They selected only the choice cuts of the meat,
and left the great bodies for the wolves and other varments. They
could tan only the skins of cows and calves for clothing and for
tepee covers. It was a sickening sight to pass over the place of
slaughter, and thus see hundreds of bodies, with only tongues and
choice cuts and skins taken. American hunters were equally
sacrificial. Half a century later the writer rode over the same land
and saw Indians, all across the region, with carts and pack ponies
gathering up bones of the buffalo. Passing stations along the Great
Northern and Northern Pacific railroads, one passes ricks of bones
half a mile long on each side, and as high as the tops of the cars,
waiting for shipment East as fertilizers, and horn handles for knives
and other uses in the arts. Only two living wild herds of buffalo are
now reported, one small one in Texas, and one carefully protected by
the government in Yellowstone Park. It would have been wise and
humane had they been protected sooner by the strong arm of the law.
But it was the great good fortune to our missionaries to meet the
buffalo herds. They started out poorly provided, and would soon have
been in distress, for they had added three Nez Perces Indian boys to
their company, and the pure air and exercise upon the plains
provokes great appetites. It was equally good for the fur-traders,
who had calculated upon the event. So the whole train stopped and
began to kill and "jerk" meat. The Indian boys were in their element
and veterans in the business, and laid in bountiful supplies. While
it is fresh and juicy few animals furnish more nutritious food. A
buffalo porterhouse steak, cooked over coals at the end of a forked
stick, when the thermometer of appetite is up to "one hundred degrees
in the shade," is a royal feast to be remembered. If however kept up
long enough, the good old-fashioned pig with lean and fat strips on
his ribs, is quite a relief. But the dried meat was the staple food
of the little company from that time on. Mrs. Whitman cheerfully and
jokingly writes in her diary, "We have dried buffalo meat and tea for
breakfast, and tea and jerked buffalo for supper, but the Doctor has
a different way of cooking each piece to give variety to the
entertainment."
Mrs. Whitman kept carefully a daily diary of events of travel, which
was luckily preserved, and passed into the hands of her sister, Mrs.
Jackson, of Oberlin, Ohio, which I have been permitted to read and
from which have copious selections in my larger work, "How Marcus
Whitman Saved Oregon," after which it was passed on to the Whitman
College Library, where it is preserved as a precious treasure. The
notable feature of this diary is its self-sacrificing spirit and good
cheer. The scorching sun, the clouds of alkaline dust that stung the
eyes and throat, the impure water they were compelled to use, the
myriads of mosquitoes and buffalo gnats, all of which the author so
well remembers as the dreariest things encountered in a long life,
did not daunt the spirit of this delicate little woman. Not a word of
complaint can be found in that daily diary, which was never written
for the public eye, or for effect. The nearest to it was once, after
being without flour or bread for weeks, she writes, "O for a few
crusts of mother's bread; girls, don't waste the bread in the old
home!" Men and women are all human, and I have no desire to picture
my characters as perfect beings. They doubtless had their faults, but
none who have not experienced some of the difficulties of that
pioneer band, who, tired and worn with travel, sought sleep while
hungry (after shaking out their blankets to be sure no snakes were
within them), can censure. I repeat, it takes such experience to
fully appreciate the heroism and unselfishness of such consecrated
lives.
The old pioneers were wise geographers and surveyors. There were two
things necessary for life upon the plains, viz., water and grass.
They studied their maps and saw the Platte, North and South Forks,
reaching northward and westward. So they made their trails along the
banks, cutting off bends, avoiding impossible sloughs and hills, but
keeping an eye upon the river in the distance, and ever working
nearer to it when a detour had been made. The two Plattes thus
furnish supplies for from five to six hundred miles. Travellers
struck across the divide for the Sweetwater and its tributaries,
until the foot of the Rockies is reached.
As the eyes of our travelers had rested for a month upon the
snow-covered peaks of the great stony mountains, one can imagine it
was a day of rejoicing when they began the ascent. The trail up "the
South Pass" was so easy a grade that the horses and cattle scarcely
felt the strain. One looking at it would surmise that this break in
the great mountain was not an accident, but it was left for a great
highway between the oceans, to make one family, and a United Nation.
Striking mountains, after the long dreary summer upon the alkaline
plains, hard as mountain-climbing is, was yet a change to be
appreciated. I recollect distinctly, it turned our little company of
sturdy men (a few years later) into rollicking boys who whooped and
sang to get the echoes, and rolled great stones, until their arms
ached, crushing down the mountain-side.
[Illustration: PACIFIC SPRING--JULY 4, 1835]
_A Notable Celebration_
Here on the top of the Rockies, or just beyond the summit, is a
spring appropriately named "The Pacific Spring," for its pure,
ice-cold water bubbles up and in a silvery stream winds its way
westward. It is a beauty spot as the author well remembers. A little
valley upon the mountains, covered with grass and wild flowers, with
grand views of valleys and mountains reaching farther away than the
eye can follow. Here the missionaries halted and allowed the
fur-traders to pass on. It was the Fourth Day of July, a day ever
memorable in the mind of every patriotic American. True they were but
missionaries, and far from home and friends, but they were
home-lovers and patriots. So spreading their blankets upon the bunch
grass, they brought out the American flag, unfurled it, and with
prayer and song dedicated the fair land thence to the Pacific, to God
and the Union. It was a prayer and song which after history proved a
prophecy; and one in which the actors in this little celebration took
so brave a part as to deserve their names enrolled among the nation's
royal benefactors. God rules the world, and all history shows that he
oftenest leaves the great and strong, and takes the weak and humble
to accomplish his grand purposes. Eternity will reveal whether that
dedication was one of the agencies which brought the after grand
results. Certain it was, that it was the agency of Dr. Whitman and
his heroism in carrying out that vow years after, and stirred up a
spirit never before experienced, and aroused the nation to action.
No stage could have been grander for such a celebration. Behind were
the long stretches of the great plains, and still beyond the
civilization of the continent, the hope of the Christian world; while
before was the wilderness in all its wildness, reaching to the
Pacific.
The Rockies towered about them, glittering in the sunshine! The
craggy peaks of the Wind River mountains loomed up in the north, with
the Coast Range visible, like floating clouds in the far west. The
luxurious grass, the towering pines, and flowers that perfumed the
air, made the spot beautiful, while the history of the event is a fit
theme for a grand national epic or painting. There have been many
historic celebrations of the nation's birth, some upon battle-fields
where victory perched upon the "the banner of beauty and glory," but
none more impressive than when upon that mountain top, in 1836, Mrs.
Whitman's musical voice echoed from the rocks and trees,
"The star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave."
They had now entered upon the scenic stage of their journey, and it
was a delightful change from the dead levels of the plains. They
luxuriated in the pure ice-cold water, and magnificent scenery, but
it was well for them that they knew none of the weary climbs ahead.
We will not pause to note events from thence to Green River.
There they met with exciting and interesting savage life in all its
realities. They found at "the rendezvous" two thousand Indians in
camp, waiting for the coming of the traders. A thousand or more were
from the Oregon country, and among them friends and relatives of the
Indian boys, who had come the long distance to meet and welcome them,
as well as to trade. They gave the boys a royal greeting, as they
regarded them as heroes and great travelers. They were proud of their
accomplishments in speaking like the "Bostons," and when the
missionaries vouched for their earnest, faithful services, the
Indians were proud of their boys. Here they stayed for nearly two
weeks waiting for the completion of the trading. The Indians regarded
the missionaries as their guests, and taxed themselves to the utmost
to amuse them by wild games and feats of horsemanship and mimic
battles. They scoured the hills and woods for game, brought fish from
the river, and seemed to think even that not doing enough. They at
all times treated "the white squaws" with the greatest courtesy.
Mrs. Whitman marks this in her diary. She says:
"One of the chiefs brought his wife to our tent, and taking off
his cap and bowing gracefully, introduced her as politely as any
civilized man. Such encourages me to believe that much can be
done for these poor people, and I long to be at work."