Whitman's
Ride Through Savage Lands

OLIVER WOODSON NIXON. M. D., LL. D.

Whitman's
Ride Through Savage Lands

with
Sketches of Indian Life

O. W. Nixon, M.D., LL.D.

Author of "How Marcus Whitman Saved Oregon," "The Mountain
Meadows," Etc.

Introduction by
James G. K. McClure, D.D., LL.D.

Profusely Illustrated

Published by
The Winona Publishing Company
1905

Copyright, 1905, by
THE WINONA PUBLISHING COMPANY

PREFACE

I respond with pleasure to the invitation to write a series of sketches of pioneer missionary history of early Oregon for young people. Its romantic beginnings, of the Indian's demand for "the white man's book of heaven," and especially to mark the heroic act of one who, in obedience to a power higher than man, made the most perilous journey through savage lands recorded in history. The same leading facts of history I have before used in my larger work, "How Marcus Whitman Saved Oregon." In this I have simplified the story by omitting all discussions with critics and historians, stated only as much of historic conditions as would make clear the surroundings, and have interwoven with all, real incidents from wilderness and savage life. They are not only the experiences of the heroic characters, but some of my own when the West was wild more than a half a century ago.

O. W. N.

Biloxi, Miss., January, 1905.

INTRODUCTION

No character in Sir Walter Scott's tales appeals more directly to my heart than "Old Mortality." He had a high and noble mission, to make live again the old-time worthies, and to keep in remembrance the brave deeds of the past. Any man who follows in his footsteps, and makes the world see in vivid light the heroes of another day, is to me a public benefactor. When, then, Dr. Nixon writes of "Whitman's Ride Through Savage Lands," and shows the force, wisdom, and unselfishness of Dr. Marcus Whitman and his accomplished wife, I feel like doing everything within my power to express my gratitude and to secure the reading of his book.

The tale, as he tells it, is very interesting. It is a tale that has been often in the mind of the American public of late years, but it cannot be too often told nor too often pondered. It has in it the very elements that nurture bravery and patriotism. Dr. Nixon tells it well. In simple, straightforward language he gives us the whole story of Dr. Whitman's life-career, indicating the forces that inspired him and the results that attended his efforts. Dr. Nixon sees in the events of the story the guiding and determining hand of Providence. With a wisdom justified by the needs of the ordinary human mind he calls attention to the part God himself had in the career of his hero, and thus he gives to his story an uplifting significance which a thoughtless reader might fail to note.

It is the glory of our American life that every part of our land has its splendid heroes. The Atlantic and Pacific coasts are one in having been the scenes where courage and devotion have expressed themselves. The earlier years of our national history brought into recognition the deeds of greatness done in the East. These later years are being used to make manifest the endurance and manliness that marked so much of settlement and progress in the West. Plymouth deserves its monument to the Pilgrims. So does Walla Walla deserve its monument to Dr. Marcus Whitman. From boundary to boundary of our wide domain we have had heroes, the stories of whose lives tend to make devotion to duty and allegiance to God transcendently beautiful.

Among such stories this of Dr. Whitman has high place. The personality of the author of it comes often to the front in his pages, but none too often. His own experiences serve to heighten the effect of the story, and give deeper impression to the facts narrated.

I look forward to the influence of this book with pleasure. I see boys and girls rising from the reading of it with clearer views of self-sacrifice, and with a more determined purpose to make their lives daring for the good.

The book carries with it a conviction of the worth of the best things, that is most healthy. It teaches important lessons concerning missionary helpfulness, that the reader accepts without being aware of the author's purpose.

A nation to have the lion's heart must be fed on lion's food. The story of Dr. Whitman is such food as may well nourish the lion heart in all youth, and develop in our American homes the noblest and most attractive Christian virtues.

James G. K. McClure.

Lake Forest, Illinois.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I

The Lewis and Clark Centenary Exposition in Portland. The Great Captains. Their Guides, Hoe Noo Chee and Sacajawea (The Bird-Woman).

A great Exposition of the arts and industries of the whole wide world is to be held this summer in the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon. It is to commemorate the grand achievement of a few brave men and one brave woman, who lived, labored, and conquered a century ago. At the call of their commander, they exiled themselves from home and friends; they crossed the wide deserts, climbed through gorges and peaks of the "great Stony Mountains," struggled through the pathless forests of giant firs, lived among wild beasts, and wilder men, until they reached the pathless Pacific Ocean—that was then but a waste of water, where great whales sported and the seals found abundance of food amid rocky shores and islands for safe homes. Now teeming multitudes inhabit the fertile plains; through the rugged mountains pass the great highways of the world—along the charted coast are many ports, where white-winged fleets lie at anchor and the great black freighters load and unload the commerce of many lands. But Portland still retains many of the old landmarks. The beautiful Columbia River still flows by it to the sea, forests are not far away, and "the everlasting hills" are about it, with their white-capped peaks piercing the sky.

A hundred years ago, a vast and unknown wilderness stretched from the Mississippi to the Pacific Ocean—it was a land of mystery of unknown extent. Millions of wild cattle that we call buffaloes roamed over its plains, wild beasts hid away in its mountain fastnesses, the beavers and otters built their homes along its rivers, and wild tribes of savage men made pitiless war upon each other, though not destitute of many noble traits of character. The young republic of United States had far more territory east of the Mississippi than they could manage or protect, so gave small care or thought to what lay beyond. But one thing they had learned, that, for their own safety from foreign aggression, and the protection of their commerce, they must gain possession and control of the great river. Thomas Jefferson, that wise and far-seeing statesman whose name and fame grow as the years go on, was President at that memorable time of great opportunities, and through his influence with Congress induced them to make the great Louisiana purchase, which gave to our government the Southern and Gulf states, the control of the Mississippi River, and, as Jefferson believed and claimed, the whole country to the Pacific Ocean. He had, perhaps, but little knowledge of its vastness or its value, but it has been said that his friend, the great naturalist Audubon, who wandered up and down the world searching out its wonders and beauties, had told him many things about the great western country. So he again appealed to Congress for an appropriation to send out an expedition to learn something of the nature and value of their new possessions. The pitiful sum of two thousand five hundred dollars was allowed. Captains Lewis and Clark of the United States army were selected to lead the expedition, and with them were sent a botanist, a geologist, an engineer, and some soldiers, who were required each to make a full report of their journey, which took three years to accomplish. It is significant of the indifference of the government in the matter that these reports were sent to Washington and were laid aside for several years when—through Jefferson's influence again—the captains' reports were handed over to Richard Biddle of Philadelphia, who made a brief abstract of them, constituting one small volume, that passed for many years as an account of the Lewis and Clark exploration, and it has not been until within the past three years that any genuine copy of these reports has ever been published. It is small wonder then that thirty years later Oregon remained an almost unknown and unclaimed country. The young captains and their company, full of enthusiasm for their work, made their preparations and purchased their supplies, mostly at their own expense, and left the last marks of civilization at St. Louis in the spring of 1804.

SACAJAWEA (THE BIRD-WOMAN).
Guide of the Lewis & Clark Expedition.

The heroic little company made its first winter camp at Fort Mandan on the Upper Missouri, ready for an early start in the spring. The success of the expedition in a strange land through the long line of savage tribes was dependent largely upon a good guide and interpreter. Lewis and Clark had secured Toussaint Chabonneau, a Frenchman, who had renounced civilized life, married, and settled among the Indians. He had traveled over wide stretches of country, and had a small knowledge of the language of several tribes. Sacajawea, the wife of Chabonneau, was a handsome Indian girl of seventeen years. She had been captured by the Minitaree Indians when a small child, from the Shoshone Indians far up in the Rocky Mountain region, held by them as a slave, and sold to the Frenchman who made her his wife. Sacajawea was delighted with the prospect of again journeying toward her old home, but continued to do the menial work for the company, as is customary for Indian women. Captains Lewis and Clark, before many weeks upon their journey, saw that their real guide and interpreter was not Chabonneau, but Sacajawea, his wife. Their way along the great river proved the identical route which the captive child had taken from her home into slavery, and with Indian nature and sagacity, every notable spot remained in her memory. She told them of the streams in advance that flowed into the great river, and the tribes through which they were to pass; she told them her history; she was the daughter of the great chief of the Shoshone Indians, who were rich in land and horses. They owned large possessions reaching to the foot of the Rockies, to which they came during the summer months. It was there where she became a prisoner. When they reached the place she ran like a child and pointed out the spot in the bushes where she hid to escape her enemies.

Captain Lewis said: "Our hope now is to find these Shoshones and their horses. Here we must leave our boats and prepare for mountain and land travel." Sacajawea explained the habits of her tribe the best she could, but it was a vast wilderness by which the company was surrounded. Both Captains Lewis and Clark with their best men scoured the country, and finally succeeded in finding the Shoshones, who had fled from their supposed enemies. They were led before the great chief Cameahowait. There they told of Sacajawea as best they could, which at once aroused attention. The chief ordered horses and provisions, and with many friends of the lost princess they went with Captain Lewis and his men to camp. Sacajawea recognized her brother, now head chief of the tribe, and as well the playmates of her childhood, and with tears in her eyes, and dancing with joy, she embraced them. The talk was long, for the Indian girl had to learn the fate of her family and friends. Had she desired she might have remained and resumed an easy life with her tribe.

Nothing now was too good for the white men, for they were brothers and friends. Sacajawea was their interpreter, and they received everything they needed for comfort, such as provisions and horses, for the journey to the Pacific and the return.

In meeting the many savage tribes and asking favors and permission to travel in safety through their domains, it was not the flag nor the guns they carried, but Sacajawea with the papoose upon her back and her wise diplomacy that opened the way and made them welcome. Upon the home journey the little Indian girl rode ahead with the captains, having richly earned her honors and the love of all. When the journey came to an end, Captains Lewis and Clark begged that Sacajawea and her husband accompany them to Washington, but Chabonneau preferred the wild life he had chosen, and the brave little woman dropped from civilized history.

Well may the women of beautiful Oregon in the coming Centennial take an honest pride in commemoration of the deeds of Sacajawea. It is most appropriate that the beautiful bronze to be then erected to her memory has been designed and executed by an American woman, Miss Alice Cooper, of Denver.

We copy these stanzas of a poem by Bert Hoffman, who epitomizes admirably the reasons for Sacajawea's honored place in this Centennial history:

Sacajawea.

"The wreath of Triumph give to her; She led the conquering captains West; She charted first the trails that led The hosts across yon mountain crest! Barefoot she toiled the forest paths, Where now the course of Empire speeds; Can you forget, loved Western land, The glory of her deathless deeds?

"In yonder city, glory crowned, Where art will vie with art to keep The memories of those heroes green— The flush of conscious pride should leap To see her fair memorial stand Among the honored names that be— Her face toward the sunset, still— Her finger lifted toward the sea!

"Beside you on Fame's pedestal, Be hers the glorious fate to stand— Bronzed, barefoot, yet a patron saint, The keys of empire in her hand! The mountain gates that closed to you Swung open, as she led the way,— So let her lead that hero host When comes their glad memorial day!"

The heroic explorers of a century ago richly earned the honors they are now to receive, and wherever and whenever the names of Lewis and Clark are spoken or written in honor there also should be the name of Sacajawea, the Indian girl of the wilderness.

Thus the crowning success of the great expedition which gave the United States its second strong legal claim to the whole grand Oregon country was shared by the brave, true, diplomatic Sacajawea ("the bird-woman"). Readers of the complete story to follow will not need to be reminded that the heroes and heroines who thirty years later braved danger and death to save beautiful Oregon to the Union were only making sure the grand work thus inaugurated.

In course of time vessels on voyages of discovery drifted around Cape Horn, sailed up the long coast line of the Americas, always searching for that which would bring them wealth. Finding the immense quantities of furs gathered by Indians in the Oregon country, both the Americans and the English established trading-posts on the coast. The great Astor fortune that still remains in the family had its origin there. But the English had more money, more men, and more ships than the Americans, and before many years they ruled alone and the great "Hudson Bay Company" ruled the land. They established trading-posts eastward, and fleets of vessels carried the rich spoils of forest and ocean to all the countries of the world. At the time of the beginning of our story Dr. John McLoughlin was chief factor of the "Hudson Bay Company" and virtual king of the country. He was a noble old Scotchman, who had married an Indian wife to whom he was loyal and true all his life. He was kind and just to red men as well as white, and always ready to hold out a helping hand to all who came to him. But he served the English government and was always careful that no rivalry to the company he served should be allowed in the territory they claimed.

CHAPTER II

The Visit of the Flathead Indian Chiefs to St. Louis. Was the Story Authentic? Incidents—the Banquet Speech—Sketches of Indian Life and Character. Hoo Goo Ahu and Sacajawea.

It was a beautiful morning in the closing days of October, 1831. The trees about St. Louis were robed in their gorgeous autumnal foliage. High above came the "honk, honk, honk" of the wild geese, as in long, straight lines or in letter V's, they winged their way southward, while the birds were gathering in groups, chattering and arranging for their winter outing in warmer lands. The residents of the city were just arousing from their sleep, smoke was beginning to curl above the chimneys, shutters and doors were being opened for business activities, when the strange scene was presented of four Flathead Indian Chiefs, marching solemnly single file down the middle of one of the principal streets. At that date the now prosperous and great city of St. Louis was but a "frontier town," mainly noted as a military station, and Indians were not uncommon, as all the great and fertile country north and west was occupied by them. But these were new and unusual in appearance, and attracted attention. Their bare heads in front were as flat as boards, and their long hair was interwoven with eagle quills; their dress and dignified bearing all indicated notable men from some far-distant tribe that the people had not before seen.

CASCADES OF THE COLUMBIA. (B. H. Gifford, photo)

General George Rogers Clark, then in command of the department, was promptly notified of the visit of the strangers, and sent two of his aids to escort them to the barracks, where they could be comfortably lodged and fed. It is a singular historical fact that General Clark, in command at St. Louis in 1831 and 1832, was "the great red-head chief," as the Indians called him, who, with Captain Lewis, made the exploration of the Oregon country in 1804-1806, an exploration which for romance and completeness of its success has never been equaled in American history. General Clark in that expedition received marked kindness and aid from the Nez Perces and the Flathead Indians. He knew them in their homes, in eastern Oregon, and had a keen remembrance of their savage hospitality to him in his time of need. A band of the Flatheads also owned a large territory south of the Columbia and east from Astoria, and not far from the winter camp of the explorers. The author found them there, and spent a day with them in one of their villages in 1850.

General Clark had been in many hard Indian fights, and was of a family of famous Indian fighters, but he learned in that far western expedition to respect the hospitality, the courage, the heroism, and manliness of the Indian. He resolved to leave nothing undone to express his gratitude to his old Oregon friends, and he charged his young men to see to it personally that they had every comfort. He knew Indian character and stoicism, and when his aids told him they "could make nothing out of the Indians, or learn what they wanted," he replied, "Don't hurry them, give them time, and they will make known their mission to this far-away place." General Clark was an earnest and devoted Catholic, and he ordered that the Indians be taken to all the services in the cathedral, and also to all places of amusement likely to entertain them. Week after week passed, and the Indian stoicism continued; but finally in an audience with the General they told him all. The Indians all spoke "the Chinook," a pleasing word language invented by the Hudson Bay Company, and was to all the Indian tribes, from Hudson's Bay to the Columbia, what the classic languages are to the learned world. It was their trading language.

The General had a good interpreter, and knew something of the Chinook himself, so that he soon fully understood the meaning of their long journey, and wondered at it. They said, "Our people have heard of the white man's book of heaven, and we have been sent the long journey over mountains and wide rivers, and among strange people, to find it and carry it back with us."

In that far-away period there were few newspapers in the West, to print the news, and General Clark, with his many duties and cares, left no written account of these interviews or of his advice to the Indians, but we can rest assured that, as a soldier, a friend, and Christian gentleman, it was the most kindly he could give.

During the winter, as it was thought at the time, either from exposure in the long journey, or from the rich food to which they were not accustomed, two of the old chiefs died, and were given honored soldier burials. The first to die was the memorable "Black Eagle," recalled to-day by the Nez Perces as "Speaking Eagle." He was an aged man, greatly loved by his people. The records of the old St. Louis Cathedral have the account of Black Eagle's death and burial. The second death followed soon after. It proved latterly that this was the beginning of that terrible scourge, Asiatic cholera, which spread, in 1832, over a wide section. Mrs. Clark, who kindly ministered to the Indians with her own hands, was "stricken with a malady that no physician could master, and died." As the spring approached, the two surviving chiefs began preparation to return to their distant homes, and General Clark left nothing undone to outfit them with every comfort for the journey. The steamer Yellowstone was just then loading for her first trip up the Missouri River, and he engaged berths for the two chiefs—the boat was to run as far up the river as it could go with safety—and would save the Indians many long, weary marches.

In addition to their necessary outfit, they had received numerous presents for themselves and friends at home, they greatly prized, to which Chief Min refers in his banquet speech, in the words, "You make my feet heavy with gifts." The night before their departure General Clark gave them a banquet, to which all his officers and many leading citizens were invited. Upon that occasion Chief H. C. O. Hcotes Min (no horns on his head), at the request of the General, made a speech in the Chinook language.

The Speech

"I came to you over the trail of many moons, from the setting sun. You were the friends of my fathers, who have all gone the long way. I came with an eye partly open for my people who sit in darkness. I go back with both eyes closed. How can I go back blind to my blind people? I made my way to you with strong arms through many enemies and strange lands that I might carry back much to them. I go back with both arms broken and empty! Two fathers came with us; they were the braves of many winters and wars. We leave them asleep here by your great water and wigwams. They were tired in many moons, and their moccasins wore out.

"My people sent me to get the White Man's Book of Heaven. You took me to where you allow your women to dance, as we do not ours; and the book was not there! You took me to where they worship the Great Spirit with candles, and the Book was not there! You showed me images of the Great Spirit and pictures of the Good Land beyond, but the Book was not among them to tell me the way. I am going back the long trail to my people in the dark land. You make my feet heavy with gifts, and my moccasins will grow old in carrying them, and yet the Book is not among them! When I tell my poor blind people, after one more snow, in the big Council, that I did not bring the Book, no word will be spoken by our old men or by our young braves. One by one they will rise up and go out in silence. My people will die in darkness, and they will go on a long path to other hunting-grounds. No white man will go with them, and no White Man's Book to make the way plain. I have no more words."

Translated into English, doubtless the charm of the speech has been marred, and loses much of its terse and simple beauty. Those who doubt and sneer about a savage making such a speech do not know Indians. I have listened to Indian orators, and been charmed by their ease, eloquence, and wonderfully electrifying power, amid rugged surroundings. Indians have their orators and storytellers, and are as proud of them as ever cultivated people are of their Beechers, Phillipses, Douglases, and Depews; and their animal stories far excel those of "Uncle Remus." In long evenings under the summer skies, or winters by the wigwam fire, they gather, and listen spellbound to the weird stories—wild, visionary, and superstitious—of the present life, and of the happy hunting-ground to which all are urged to aspire.

The Indian is a spiritualist, not an idolater. The medicine man is the great man of the tribe. When an Indian feels the call of the Spirit to become a medicine man, he goes off alone to the forest or to the mountains, or to some noted healing spring, fasts, prays, and seeks there for his power, through all the agencies of nature that surround him. Like Joan of Arc, he "hears voices" in the trees and from the rocks, the winds, the waters, the animals, and the birds. When he returns to his tribe and convinces the braves that he has received the Spirit, from that day he is entirely trusted. The greatest chief must consult him concerning every movement; whether it be the distant chase, change of location, or of war. He is Sir Oracle.

STRANGE VISITORS IN OLD ST. LOUIS.

The writer does not speak at random or by hearsay of Indian life. He saw and studied something of it, more than half a century ago, before civilization had wrought the changes now seen. Indians are profound believers in the immortality of the soul. Some suspend their dead in the leafy treetops, that they may the more easily ascend to "the happy hunting-grounds." The custom of many is to kill the favorite horse and bury it with all accoutrements and implements of war, as well as their finest garments, believing the spirit will need them and receive greater honor. The leading thought of the Indian seems to be that all material things have a spirit that is immortal. The Indian burying-grounds are sacred spots and seldom if ever are desecrated in savage life, even by their worst enemies. Some of the beautiful little islands in the rivers of the Far West have thus been used, as the many ruins testify. It has long been noted that Indians in war will risk their own lives to carry off and bury their dead and prevent mutilation of bodies.

Is the Story of the Flathead Chiefs of 1831-32 Authentic?

So strange and so without precedent in savage life was the mission of the Indians to St. Louis, that many have doubted the truthfulness of the report, and have called it "visionary." Fortunately the reader need not be in doubt in regard to the entire truthfulness of the event as reported. The Christian people of that time believed and acted upon it in a way to convince every honest mind of their earnestness. It may be said the incident made a profound impression in the religious world, and the history we are to recite of the after-results mark it as one of the providential events guiding the nation by unseen hands to its destiny.

Had such a notable event occurred in modern days, it would have entered at once into current literature. That it did not at the time is no disparagement of its truthfulness. There is one strong chain of evidence regarding the mission of the Nez Perces chiefs, not easily broken; that is, the written evidence of George Catlin. Aboard the steamer Yellowstone, upon which General Clark sent his savage friends, there happened to be a celebrated artist, George Catlin, then on one of his visits to the West to paint Indian pictures and study Indian life. These Nez Perces chiefs at once attracted him, and they became intimate friends—during the long journey he made pictures of them. Indians are not great talkers, and he did not learn much from them as to the object of their long journey. From others afterward he heard of their strange mission to St. Louis, and believing he had secured two historic pictures, he first wrote General Clark, and afterward met him, and was assured by him that such was the mission of the four Flathead chiefs. Catlin, in his Smithsonian report for eight years, in 1885, says:

"These two men, when I painted them, were in beautiful Sioux dresses, which had been presented them in a talk with the Sioux, who treated them very kindly, while passing through the Sioux country. These two were part of a delegation that came across the Rocky Mountains to St. Louis a few years ago to inquire for the truth of a representation which they said some white man had made among them, that the white man's religion was better than theirs, and that they would all be lost if they did not embrace it. Two of the old and venerable men of the party died in St. Louis, and I traveled two thousand miles, companions with those two fellows, toward their own country, and became much pleased with their manners and dispositions. When I first heard the report of the object of their mission, I could scarcely believe it, but upon conversing with General Clark, on a future occasion, I was fully convinced of the fact."

The two pictures are now numbered 207 and 208 in the Smithsonian Institution, and highly prized. H. H. Hcotes Min (no horns on his head), who made the notable banquet speech, died near the Yellowstone River on the journey home, and but one, the youngest of the four, Hee-Ah-K. S. Te Kin (the rabbit skin leggins), lived to reach his tribe beyond the Rockies. As was customary with the Indians, a large band was sent along the trail far away to the Rocky Mountains to meet the expected delegation of chiefs with "the book of heaven." Their legends say, "Rabbit Skin Leggins shouted when far off, 'A man will be sent with the book.'" The world of to-day may well give thanks, that both Christian men and women were "sent with the Book" at that earnest and honest appeal. Christianity is broad, and its command is to "preach the Gospel to every creature." The Nez Perces Indians, who, in blind faith, sent for teachers, were blessed in the act above all Indian tribes in the land, and the blessing has followed them from that day to this. In another connection in a later chapter will be read facts in proof of their condition, and showing the effect of the Gospel verses upon Indians. Indian men, like the whites, are made up of good and bad. The missionaries were bright, shrewd men and women, and they easily saw that so fair a land could not much longer be held by savages in its unfruitful condition. They bent themselves to the heavy tasks laid upon them, to do the best they could for their savage wards. The true story for our pages, however, does not take us into any large study of missionary work, but mainly along the lines of Christian patriotism.

The author in answer to any critics of the missionaries to the Indians will relate a simple incident in his own experience, which dates fourteen years after their advent in Oregon. It shows how the seeds of Christianity they planted made of savages unselfish and humane men. It was on a Saturday, after days of weary traveling, we came to a little valley where we at once resolved to rest for a couple of days. It was such a little paradise that we named it "The Valley of Blessing." On Sunday morning, with a single companion, the writer wandered for miles up the narrow valley, enjoying its luxurious surroundings. To the right was a mountain whose rugged sides were covered with dwarf firs and cedars; while rocks were piled on rocks looking like ancient castles in ruins. Flowering vines climbed to the tops of the trees, and their fragrance filled the air. A clear stream divided the valley where flocked myriads of birds from the mountain, as they drank and bathed, whistled cheerily to their fellows in the mountain home. As we were admiring all this wilderness of beauty, on rising a little eminence, we came suddenly in view of four Indians, digging at a short distance away. We immediately dropped behind the hill, but not before we had been observed by the Indians. We were watchful and well armed, but the old Indian gave us a peace signal, and we approached the spot. The company was made up of an aged Indian, eighty or more, his grandson, and two half-breeds. They were digging a grave and were silent as we stood until its completion. The old Indian then invited us to look at the corpse under the shade of a near-by tree. We were astonished to find it the emaciated body of a white man. It was wrapped in a well-tanned buffalo skin, white and clean. The four Indians took the body and placed it in the grave, and the old man, removing his cap, to our astonishment, said, "Now, maybe some white man who knows religion will make a little prayer over the poor fellow!" The half-breeds, perhaps not understanding the English the old chief spoke, began pushing in the sand with their moccasined feet. Thus the Argonaut of 1850 was laid to his final rest, with only the wild birds to sing his requiem. The old Indian had brought along a smooth board to place at the head of the grave, and at his request, I wrote:

John Wilson, St. Louis, Mo., 1850.
Left by his company and nursed by Hoo Goo Chee.

He told us Wilson had traveled as long as he was able, and begged his companions to leave him there alone to die. He told the chief he had no complaint to make of his fellows. We mention the incident to show that the beautiful trait of unselfishness has a place even among Indians. The old chief could easily have buried the body near his mountain home without bearing it the long distance to be near the road, where the grave could be seen by his friends. He might have used an old blanket instead of the costly dressed robe the Indian prized so highly. Here we found a savage who, like the Flatheads, had heard of "the white man's book of heaven," had practically caught its unselfishness and humanity, and its spirit of love.

It is well to remember that the Indian has no literature, and has ever been dependent upon his enemies to write his history and his achievements. They have chosen to write only of his savagery. This is not fair treatment by the United States government, incited by justice, and the wholesome Christian sentiments of the land has during the past thirty years done much to correct all abuses of its savage wards.

CHAPTER III

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.

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.

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."

CHAPTER IV

"Old Click-Click-Clackety-Clackety," the Historic Wagon. Breaking Camps and its Incidents, and the End of the Journey.

Breaking camp at Green River was a noisy and gleeful occasion. Half-starved Indian ponies, when they have rested a few weeks, generally rebel when packs are cinched with a "diamond hitch" around their well-marked ribs. Upon this occasion amusement was diversified and enjoyable, even to the actors. But both Indians and traders were no novices in such business, and soon the companies bade good by to each other and started along the trails to their widely scattered homes. It was the great exciting social event of Indian life, this distant visit to trade. The Indians there met friends and relatives, exchanged gossip, gathered the few luxuries and necessaries of life for the year to come. They brought with them squaws and some of their children, and enjoyed their outing in their savage way as much as the élite do the seashore or Saratoga, and judging of both, one would say they had more fun. The Oregon Indians were all anxious to be escorts to "the Boston teachers." There were two intelligent traders from Oregon, Messrs. McKay and McLeod, who offered escort to the little company, which was gladly accepted, and they were of invaluable service in that most difficult portion of the journey. The faithful Indian boys, however, held their places of honor and trust to the last. Mrs. Spalding had for some time been on horseback, and enjoyed it more than the wagon, traversing the rocky roads. There was no longer need of two wagons, and one was left at the rendezvous; but "the brides' wagon" pulled out with the pack-train. My young readers may think it an uninteresting object to write about, but they must remember it is "the brides' wagon," fitted up with all the little accommodations for the first two white women who braved the dangerous journey across the great stony mountains to the Pacific. True, it was battered and worn, dust and mud and storms had robbed it of style. It is well for those who ride in palace cars and whizzing 'autos to remember the days of their great grandfathers and grandmothers, who, amid privations and perils, with the parting blessings of Puritan homes, pulled across the Alleghanies in rough wagons and hewed out homes, and built this great empire of the Middle West. The more often we remember the heroines of the past the more we will enjoy this grandest inheritance of the present ever left to any people. But there was more than sentiment to this wagon as we shall see later on. It figuratively blazed the way, and "marked a wagon-road to the Columbia," and years after silenced the eloquence of America's greatest orator!

The battered old wagon was a source of amusement to the Indians, who rode in troops by its side to see the wheels go round, and hear its clatter. Especially was it a novelty to the younger Indians, who at once named it "Old Click-Click-Clackety-Clackety." There was a plain wagon-road from the Missouri to Green River, and from thence to Fort Hall—there it stopped. The royal owners of Oregon had long before prophesied and decreed, "there would never be a wagon-road to the Columbia!" They did not want one.

THE RUGGED TRAIL TO OREGON.

The company reached Fort Hall safely, which was an outpost of the English Company, and only a pack trail led westward to the Columbia. Captain Grant, in command of the post, knew his business, and that was never to allow a wagon to go beyond Fort Hall. He at once told the company of the dangers and perils of the journey, of the impracticability of hauling a wagon. If tried it would so detain them that they would be caught in the snows upon the mountains and perish. His earnestness and arguments were such that he convinced most of them, who favored abandoning the wagon. Even Mrs. Whitman joined others in the entreaty to Dr. Whitman to leave the wagon and move on. "The Silent Man" said little, but went on with his preparations, and when the pack-train moved out, "Old Click-Click-Clackety-Clackety" clacked in the rear as usual. The real facts are, that Captain Grant had scarcely overstated the dangers and difficulties of the undertaking. From the day they left Fort Hall until the memorable baptism of the wagon in Snake River, the old wagon is one of the constant themes of Mrs. Whitman's diary. We read, "Husband had a tedious time with the wagon to-day. It got stuck in a creek and he had to wade to get it out. After that in going up the mountain the wagon upset twice." She describes the steep up and down mountain trails where at times the mules had to be unhitched and the wagon lowered with ropes (as the writer a few years later was compelled to do). She adds, "I wondered that the wagon was not turning somersaults all the time. It is not grateful to my feelings to see him wearing himself out with such fatigue. All the mountain part of the way he has walked in laborious attempts to take the wagon." About one week later Mrs. Whitman writes, gleefully, "The axletree of the wagon broke to-day. I was a little rejoiced, for we are in hopes it will now be left." She adds, in her next note, "Our rejoicing was in vain; they have made the wagon into a cart with the back wheels, and lashed the front wheels to the sides, determined to take it through in some shape or other." "Worse yet" (she writes a week later), "The hills are so steep and rocky, husband thinks it best to lighten the load as much as possible, and haul nothing but the wheels, leaving the box and the trunk!" What do you think of that, my girl readers? The brides' trunk, that came from the far-away home, with all its mementoes and tender memories to be sacrificed, and "only the wheels" taken! But the gallant McLeod solved the problem and ordered the trunk packed on one of his mules, and it made the journey safely, and the old wagon made into a cart, but its wheels and every iron sacredly preserved, was still a wagon; and under a power impressed upon one brave soul it moved on its great way, marking a wagon-road and a highway between the oceans. Those may smile who will, but they do not think deep, nor do they estimate how small and seemingly insignificant events shape the greatest events in a personal, and even national, life.

The last note of Mrs. Whitman's diary referring to the wagon says:

"August 13. We have just crossed the Snake River, the packs were removed from the ponies and placed on the tallest horses, while two of the highest were selected for Mrs. Spalding and me. Mr. McLeod gave me his and rode mine. The river is divided into three channels by islands, the last, a half a mile wide, and our direction was against the current, which made it hard for the horses, as the water was up to their sides. Husband had a difficult time with the cart, as both mules and cart upset in midstream, and the animals got tangled in the harness, and would have drowned but for the desperate struggle for their release. Two of the strongest horses were taken into the river and hitched to the cart, while two men swam behind and guided it safely to the shore."

There they were at Fort Boise, beyond the Snake, and in Oregon! The wagon-road was made! It was within easy reach of their future home. There it was decided to leave the cart until spring, together with half a dozen footsore cattle, which could be sent for, or exchanged for others at Fort Walla Walla. Packs were now divided and the patient mules, which had long drawn the cart, became packers.

An old wagon is the common rubbish in every farm-yard, and if my reader enters a protest to the large place I have given it, or to protest against Marcus Whitman for his persistent refusal to take the advice of his companions, I will state in simple defense, I believe Whitman was an inspired man! He never once made such claim, even to the wife he almost adored. Later on, as we shall see, he obeyed the same voice under far more trying circumstances, when called to make his midwinter ride to save Oregon.

When his friends insisted in saying, "It is like going down into the valley and shadow of death; wait until spring," his only answer was, "I must go now!" Who can fathom such mysteries in any other way than that I have mentioned. The chances are, he never dreamed of making a trail for a great transcontinental traffic. It is not at all likely that ever the thought came to him that he should guide a great immigrant train over the same route a few years later and the brides' wagon proved a notable factor in his success.

The Last March

The incumbrances left behind, the company moved on as rapidly as the loose stock could be driven. It was still a wild, rugged road, but much of the country traversed was beautiful. They were all now on horseback, and all their worldly possessions on pack-saddles. The weather was delightful, game abundant, and there was now no danger of starving, although they had long been without all the luxuries common to civilization. But best of all, they were buoyed up by the near completion of a nearly seven months' journey of hardships and danger. The day before they were to reach Fort Walla Walla, the Doctor and Mrs. Whitman rode ahead of the company, and camped under the trees on the bank of the river, eight miles from the Fort. At daylight they were upon the road. Who can imagine the delight of the tired travelers, as they came in sight, at a distance, of human habitations and civilization! They spurred their horses into a gallop and rode to the gates of the Fort just as the occupants were sitting down to breakfast. The men and women of the Fort came at once and admitted them through the gates, and gave them a cordial welcome, and did their best to make them feel at ease.

Mrs. Whitman writes in her diary:

"September 1, 1836. We reached here this morning just as they were sitting down to breakfast. We were soon seated at table and treated to fresh salmon, potatoes, tea, bread, and butter; what a variety thought I. You cannot imagine what an appetite those rides in the mountain air give a person."

She playfully adds that,

"While at breakfast a rooster perched himself upon the doorstep, and crowed lustily. Whether it was in honor of the arrival of the first two white women, or as a general compliment to the company, I know not, but he pleased me."

The rest of the company reached the fort during the afternoon. Here they all were, and none missing, right upon the scene of their probable future labor.

The Cayuse Indians who had earnestly interceded for teachers were the owners of a great tract of fertile land on both sides of the Walla Walla River. Adjoining them, one hundred miles distant, was the Nez Perces, to whom all the missionaries felt indebted and attracted, because of the boy friends who had so faithfully served them during the long journey, and as well for their amiable dispositions. The Cayuse were smart Indians, whose wealth was in horses, which roamed over their rich pastures, and without care, kept fat the year through. But the Cayuse were not like the Nez Perces, always to be relied upon. They were sharp traders, and notably tricky. But our missionaries found they could do nothing by way of settlement until they presented their credentials and consulted with the ruling authorities—the English Hudson Bay Company at Vancouver, two hundred and fifty miles down the Columbia. They were urged to stop and rest before making the long journey, but so eager were they to get to their work, and to make preparations for the winter, that they declined the kind invitation. Large boats were secured, and strong-armed, experienced Indian rowers soon bore the party to their destination, through a land, and along rivers romantically interesting. They found great bands of Indians on their route, especially at the rapids, and The Dalles, where many found employment, as boats and goods had to be carried for miles to smooth water. Dr. Whitman at once marked The Dalles as an ideal place for a mission.[1]

Dr. McLoughlin, the chief factor of the Hudson Bay Company, received the party most cordially, and bade them welcome. He was known among the Indians as "The great white head chief." He was a giant in stature, a gentleman of culture and education, and a man with a soul as large as his body. From the outset there seemed to be a freemasonry attachment between Whitman and McLoughlin. They were much alike, physically and mentally. They were both physicians and men with high moral character, stamped in every act of their lives. McLoughlin carried out fixed principles in all his dealings with the Indians; he never allowed them cheated in any trade; he lived up to every promise made; and the savage tribes, in every quarter, obeyed his commands like good soldiers do their general. Whitman laid bare the whole case, how and why they were there, and concealed nothing. His ideas freely given were, that he believed savages must first be taught to build homes, plant and sow, and raise cattle, sheep, and stop their roaming life. This was directly what the Hudson Bay people did not want. They wanted furs and skins, and to get them whole tribes must each year migrate to the distant hunting and trapping regions. Dr. McLoughlin, while anxious to serve the missionaries, was yet true to his company. He had placed the Methodist missionaries Jason and Daniel Lee the year before far up the Willamette, and he explained to Dr. Whitman that The Dalles was not the place for a mission, and that it would be far better for the company and for the missionaries, to settle in a more distant quarter. It all resulted in Dr. Whitman going to the Cayuse on the Walla Walla, and Dr. Spalding to the Nez Perces, one hundred and twenty-five miles further on.

McLoughlin was so impressed with the honesty and earnestness of his guests, that he gave them liberty to draw upon him for anything he could furnish for their use and comfort. Such an unlooked-for kindness was greatly appreciated. And we may add, as far as Dr. McLoughlin could execute the promise, it was sacredly fulfilled. It is well to constantly remember that without his kindly aid the missionaries of Oregon would have suffered, or even starved. Having settled these important preliminaries, the little company was impatient to be at its work. McLoughlin saw the necessity of house-building in preparation for the winter, but protested against the wives leaving his roof until homes were provided, and when he saw that they hesitated and feared that they would tax hospitality, he at once overcome all by stating it would not overtax, but would be a great favor to him if Mrs. Whitman would remain and give his daughter lessons in music. So it was arranged—The husbands with helpers, tools, and seeds departed for the scene of their future homes.

The Cayuse Indians were delighted with the arrangement, and at once set off six hundred and forty acres of their best land at the junction of two branches of the Walla Walla River for the mission. Here the Doctor, his two teamsters, and two he had hired set about house-building. There were small trees all about the grounds and along the river, but none suitable for lumber or boards. For all such they had to go from eight to ten miles up the river to the foot of the Blue Mountains, and saw by hand, or rive boards, pack them on horses, or float them down the rapid river. It is easy to see that house-building was no picnic job under such circumstances. But Whitman was not an "eight-hour man," and he never "struck." He toiled early and late, and camped down in the forest, and went to sleep with the musical howl of the wolf in his ears. The result was, in less than six weeks there loomed up "a commodious house," of one great room, with a large open fireplace and nearly ready for guests. It had a shingled roof, places for windows and doors, and while the Doctor added the many little conveniences for comfort, Dr. Spalding went to Vancouver to escort the women, who were impatient, and anxious to be helpers of their husbands. A house, whether a cabin or a palace, is never a home until a good wife enters its doors. A man alone can no more make a home home-like than he can pack a trunk.

CHAPTER V

The Home-coming. The Beginning of Missionary Life. Clarissa, "the Little White Cayuse Queen." Her Death. Sketches of Daily Events.

After a somewhat tedious journey up the river for two hundred and fifty miles, against the current and strong winds, Mrs. Whitman and her escort reached the mission station December 10th, and alighted from her horse at the cabin door after dark, while the wolves from the farther banks of the Walla Walla united in a vigorous howl, either of protest or of welcome. My girl readers may imagine that the surroundings were not such as would call out any enthusiasm in a young wife, entering her first home. And yet there is a beautiful lesson of contentment, thankfulness, and love shown in the words of this earnest little Christian woman, surrounded by savage life. She writes in her diary:

"We reached our new home December 10th, found a house reared, and the lean-to inclosed, a good chimney and fireplace, and the floor laid, but no windows or doors, except blankets. My heart truly leaped for joy as I alighted from my horse, entered, and seated myself before a pleasant fire, for it was night and the air chilly."

Again, December 26th, she writes (you will observe the date, one day after the world's greatest anniversary):

"Where are we now, and who are we, that we should be so blessed of the Lord? I can scarcely realize that we are thus comfortably fixed and keeping house, so soon after our marriage, when I consider what was before us."

Think of it, girls! no chairs except those rudely made with skins stretched across them. Table made of four posts, covered with boards sawed by hand; stools made of logs sawed of proper length; pegs along the walls upon which to hang the clothing, nails being too expensive a luxury to use. Beds were bunks fastened to the walls, and filled with dried grass and leaves, and yet the young bride, accustomed to the luxuries of civilization, set about building a home around which always cluster life's comforts and joys. Every page of her diary speaks her thankfulness for unnumbered blessings, and not a discordant note, or a complaint, or a regret in all the pages. If I were to stop to moralize, I should mark the love that only comes where gold glitters, as the demoralizing agency of our day in this Christian land. Young people desire too often to start in life rich, even when their honored parents toiled for years for life comforts. This desire for wealth is to-day so universal as to mark it the chief aim of life. To start rich and be happy have lured a multitude to misery. The little story I relate, however, tells its own moral in its simple facts, and needs few words to impress its beautiful lessons.

Mrs. Whitman thus describes the great farm and its surroundings. I have many times wandered over the old place, and cannot better describe it than to insert a note from her diary:

"It is a lovely situation. We are on a level peninsula formed by the two branches of the Walla Walla River. Our house stands on the southeast shore of the main river. To run a fence across, from river to river, will inclose three hundred acres of good land, and all directly under the eye. Just east of the house rises a range of low hills, covered with bunch grass almost as rich as oats, for the stock. The Indians have named the place 'Waiilatpui,' the place of the rye grass."

Upon one of the highest of those hills in the East, which Mrs. Whitman refers to, the pioneers of Oregon, Washington, and Idaho recently erected a stately marble monument to Whitman, and at its base is "the great grave" containing the remains of Dr. and Mrs. Whitman, and twelve others who perished in the massacre, which will be referred to more particularly in another chapter.

Dr. Whitman regarded it his first duty to plan to live in comfort, and set his Indians a good example. He toiled day and night in making his arrangements to plant and sow in the early spring months. The Indians flocked about the mission in great numbers, curious to see the active, earnest work of the man, and wondering at his accomplishments. Mrs. Whitman soon organized classes of Indian children, and entered with enthusiasm upon the work to which she had dedicated her life. Indian children are bright, docile, and quick-witted, and she soon had them under control, and saw rapid progress, considering the fact that each had to learn the language of the other at the start. The Cayuse were very anxious for their children to learn all the secrets of "great medicine" and often sat around the yard and grounds in groups to take mental note of events. Whitman tried hard, by example and otherwise, to persuade the Indians to lend a helping hand at work; now and then they would join him in some heavy lifting which one man could not do, but they did not believe that Indian men were made to work, that "work was only for squaws."

What Whitman accomplished may be best seen by a short extract from a book written by T. J. Farnham, who visited the mission in 1839, three years later. He writes:

"I found two hundred and fifty acres inclosed and two hundred acres under good cultivation. I found from forty to fifty Indian children in the school, and Mrs. Whitman an indefatigable instructor. One new building was in course of construction, and a small grist mill in running order. It appeared to me quite remarkable that the Doctor could have accomplished so much since 1836, and act as physician to the Indians, and also to the distant mission stations at Clearwater and Spokane. He could not have done so, and kept the mission work to its high standard, only by the tactful and unceasing work of Mrs. Whitman."

The Rev. Dr. Jonathan Edwards, writing of the mission, which he visited in 1842, says:

"I found the Indians had taken a practical lesson from the Doctor, and were each cultivating for themselves from one-fourth to four acres of ground, and they had seventy head of cattle and a few sheep."

The great crops of wheat, barley, potatoes, melons, and vegetables so easily raised in the rich soil were a revelation to the Indians, and taught them just the practical lessons the Doctor so much desired. His theory was, that little could be done in a religious way with the Indians until he could induce them to build homes, and plant and sow and reap, and adopt the methods of civilized people. Many had been induced to build houses, and much of the unnecessary nomadic life had been abandoned. Mrs. Whitman retained her wonderful voice and sang and won the hearts of the savages, long before she knew enough of the language to make the sentiment of her songs impressive lessons. From the outset she was regarded as their friend, and they embraced every opportunity, in their crude way, to show their appreciation. They often brought her presents of venison and wild fowl, which was an agreeable change of diet from the horse meat they were compelled to use for over three years. Their stock of cattle and sheep and hogs was too small to be used for food.

Mrs. Whitman says in her diary, in 1838: "To supply our men and many visitors we have this year bought of the Indians and eaten ten wild horses." Those young Cayuse horses that roamed over the rich pastures and nearly as wild as the deer, are not such bad food, as the author can testify. They are not to be compared with the old broken-down horses sometimes used for food by civilized people. Mrs. Whitman, in her diary, seldom enters a complaint against her Indian wards. She treated them as friends; nothing was kept under lock and key, and she declares nothing was ever stolen. But they liked to roam all over the house and were curious to see everything. After the home had been enlarged, as it had been each year, and bedrooms were added, she had a difficult task in teaching the Indian men that it was not proper for them to open the door or enter a lady's bedroom. They seemed to have difficulty in understanding that it was "a sacred place," and appeared hurt and aggrieved, lest that in some way they had lost favor with their good friend.

A Notable Event

Perhaps I should have noted it long before this, for it was a distinct event to these two people, so far separated from kindred and civilized friends, when a little girl baby came to cheer their rude home in the wilderness, seemed a gracious gift direct from paradise. To the Indians she was a wonder and delight. Great burly savages with their squaws came from miles and miles away to look upon the "little white squaw baby." They seemed to think it a great privilege and honor to be permitted to touch the soft, white cheek with a finger. To the sixty and seventy Indian children in the school, the baby was more interesting than their lessons, and the older and more careful Indian girls who were permitted to nurse and care for the little one during school hours were envied by all others.

In the pure health-giving air, with her vigorous constitution, the baby grew strong and vigorous. She was a precocious child physically and mentally, and before she was a year and a half old, she spoke both the English and Indian language. Her constant association with Indian children made her even more familiar with their language than the English. She had inherited a wonderful musical voice from her mother, and sang as the birds sing, because they cannot help singing.

MT. TACOMA FROM LONGMIRE SPRINGS. (The home of Nekahni.)

Later on, she incorporated Cayuse words in her songs which delighted the Indians, and they thought her almost more than human. Every day they would lounge around the yard and watch every movement and listen to her songs. The old chief was one of her great admirers; he called her "the little white Cayuse Queen," and openly gave notice that he would make her the heir to all his wealth, for he was rich, as the Indians understood riches. We have had but the meager facts, those written by Mrs. Whitman to her family and the notes in her diary, to guide us in telling the story of this fleeting beautiful young life.

An Impending Calamity

But an affliction was impending, even before the child reached two and a half years of age. It was Sunday morning in June, and none brighter or more glorious than June days in Oregon, and the little girl had been permitted by her father as usual to select the hymn for the morning service. The hymn was one unusual for the child of her tender years, but you must remember that at that far-away date there were few hymns adapted to children, and she selected one she had memorized. It was the olden-time favorite

"Rock of Ages

"While I draw this fleeting breath, When my eyelids close in death, When I rise to worlds unknown, And behold Thee on Thy throne; Rock of Ages, cleft for me, May I hide myself in Thee."

This was the morning family service; in the afternoon there was a large attendance of the Indians. The Doctor led the service, and for the opening hymn selected the same one sung in the morning, and the little girl's sweet childish voice chimed in beautifully with the rich soprano of her mother. Mrs. Whitman writes, "This was the last we ever heard her sing." I never hear "Rock of Ages," but it calls to mind little Clarissa, and her wilderness home, where the angelic messengers hovered even then, to bear the dear child, in the words of her song, "to worlds unknown."

After the service Mrs. Whitman was busy in the preparation of the evening meal for her large family; the little child was here and there, busy as usual, and had not been missed until five minutes before the alarm was given, and a hurried search made in every direction, with calls that were unanswered. They had a path which led to the Walla Walla River, sixty or more yards away, and a platform built out, so that pure water could be dipped up for family use. There upon the platform they found one of her little red tin cups, which was a treasure she greatly prized. The Indian who found it at once reached the conclusion that the little girl had fallen in while attempting to dip the water. He at once dived in, and allowing the rapid current to drift his body as it would the child, he soon seized the clothing and bore the little body, yet warm, to its father's arms. Every effort was made to recall the life which had departed, but in vain. Possibly my young readers may inquire why was this permitted? Why was the dear child taken, and such sorrow left in the home? Such thoughts and utterances have occurred thousands of times during the centuries. The pure, the good, and the true depart, and the vicious often live on. We indeed "look through a glass darkly" on this earth, but we may know more for the reasons of life when we reach the life beyond.

Certainly such events are trials of Christian faith in multitudes of Christian homes! Did they come too near worshiping the child? Was it likely the great, strong man who was to be called to a great work would have been turned aside from it had the child lived? Could the "Silent Man" have left that tender charge in the wilderness to answer a call to duty? Who can answer? Dr. Whitman himself writes nothing of the event. But one glancing at the notes of Mrs. Whitman's diary, will see revealed the profoundly Christian character of the mother. She writes, "Lord, it is right, it is right! She is not mine, but Thine! She was only lent to me to comfort me for a little season, and now, dear Saviour, Thou hast the best right to her. Thy will, not mine, be done!" One seldom reads a better sermon upon Christian faith than that.

The effect of the death of "the little white Cayuse Queen" upon the Indians was marked. They had but little of the faith of the mother's heart to buoy them up. They could not understand it. The Indians were superstitious, and they conceived it to be a judgment, sent by the Great Spirit, upon Dr. Whitman, and that he was displeased with "Great White Medicine." From that event the older Indians appear to have lost most of their interest in the mission and its work, and the task of the missionaries never after ran as smoothly as before. The best of them still attended the religious services, and the school flourished. The medicine men of the Cayuse had long been jealous of Whitman's power, and they helped the grumblers and mischief-makers to lessen the Doctor's power and influence with the tribe.

The occupants of the mission were very busy people. The fields and gardens produced bountiful crops, but it required it all to feed the many at the mission, and the hungry transient guests. It was upon the direct route of immigrants—many sick and impoverished, and they all met with hospitable welcome. Mrs. Whitman writes, in her diary, "In some respects we are in a trying situation, being missionaries and not traders." Dr. Spalding, who was more intimately associated with Whitman and his work than any other man, years after Whitman's death, made this record.

"Immigrants by the hundreds, and later on, and near the close of his life, by the thousands, reached his mission, weary, worn, hungry, sick, and often destitute, but he cared for them all. Seven small children of one family, by the death of parents, were left upon the hands of the Doctor and his wife, one a babe four months old. They adopted them with four others, furnishing food and clothing without pay. Frequently the Doctor would give away his entire food supply, and send to me for grain to get him through the winter."

The Cayuse Indians were scarcely a fair test of Dr. Whitman's theories of Indian elevation and civilization. They were smart, shrewd traders, and not fur-hunters, and a low state of morals existed. While many of the older ones accepted the Doctor's advice of living in peace with surrounding tribes and treating them honestly, yet many of the younger Indians rebelled against his strict rules, and went on forays that he severely condemned. In one case a distant tribe owed a debt which they had failed to pay, and the Cayuse braves made a foray and stole their horses to pay the debt. The Doctor made a vigorous protest, and the young bloods had to take back their booty, but it estranged many of the influential, younger Indians, who rebelled against such strict moral methods. Such conditions grew with the years. They were near the fort, and came oftener under the influence of the Canadian fur-traders and hangers-on of the Hudson Bay Company, and as we shall see later on, were easily led to believe the stories started at the time of the great ride, that "Whitman's designs were to kill off all the Indians, and take possession of their lands." But we will not enter into any discussion of the direct causes which led up to the great disaster of 1847, many of them not well authenticated.

The Nez Perces presided over by Dr. Spalding, whose mission was intimately associated with that of Whitman, and one in which he took a deep interest, was a much more tractable tribe, and have ever since proved their training. They are perhaps to-day as fine specimens of civilized Indians as can be found in the United States. From the year 1836, when Dr. and Mrs. Spalding took charge of them, they have never raised an arm or showed enmity against white people. One little faction led by a minor chief, at one time joined a war party, which, however, was not countenanced by the tribe. At the time of the great massacre, when Dr. and Mrs. Spalding were also expecting death, the Nez Perces rallied around them, and five hundred of their bravest warriors escorted them to civilization and safety, braving the scorn and enmity of hostile tribes. To-day they are Christian people, have five flourishing Presbyterian churches, good schools, and productive farms. Every fourth of July all the churches unite in "a yearly meeting," raise American flags, hear speeches and sermons, and patriotic songs. In the fine two-volume history and biography of his father, General Stevens, who was the first governor of Washington Territory, Captain Hazard Stevens pays a noble tribute to the work of the early missionaries and the Nez Perces. He specifies as many as three occasions when all the other tribes were on the war-path, the Nez Perces stood loyal, and saved the lives of the governor and his party. True, we cannot, in view of the facts, have much to say of the Cayuse, but they were not all bad. It was related by those who visited the Cayuse in their reservation, to which they were banished after the massacre, that "fourteen years after, old Istikus, every Sunday morning went to the door of his tent and rang the old sacred mission bell, and invited all to come to prayers." How little or how much of Christianity was planted in Indian souls by the pioneer missionaries of Oregon eternity alone will reveal.

But we venture the assertion that the American Board and Christian people, in view of the good we know of the Indians such as I have recited, and the overwhelmingly invaluable services of Dr. Whitman to Christianity and the nation, no wiser expenditure was ever made by that great organization.

There is not a blight nor a blur upon the lives of the messengers of salvation who answered the Indian's call for "The White Man's Book of Heaven." They sacrificed ease and comfort and home and friends that they might brighten Indian life and point the way to the life to come. The strange thing about it all is, that the great multitude even of intelligent, Christian people have either never heard of or forgot to do them honor.

We must now turn for a brief retrospect of pioneer history relating to early Oregon. The author begs his young readers not to shun the chapter. It is important, for it is the key that unlocks the brave story to follow, of "Whitman's ride." It is good history to know, for it shows the stepping-stones of the nation's greatest progress.

CHAPTER VI

Brief Sketch of Discovery and History of Oregon Country. When Discovered! Who Owned It! By What Title! The Various Treaties, and Final Contest.

Upon the opening of the year 1792, the Oregon country was an unknown and unexplored land. It had been believed that a great river entered the Northern Pacific, and several nations had, from time to time, made investigations. It had been reported that ancient navigators had discovered it a century previous, but if so, it had no place upon any map. It was in that year that Captain Robert Gray, a merchant trader, whose ship was fitted out in Boston by a syndicate of merchants achieved the honor. Captain Gray was a native American, born in Tiverton, Rhode Island, in 1755, and died in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1800, eight years after his discovery. He was an observant sailor, as well as a Yankee trader, and as he was sailing leisurely in a gentle breeze, from forty to sixty miles from the shore, he observed a change in the color of the water, and upon testing it, found it comparatively fresh. He at once reached the conclusion that he had found the mysterious, long-sought river. Turning the bow of his vessel toward the shore, and keeping as near what appeared the middle of the fresh-water current, he, at first venture, entered the mouth of the river, and luckily one of its most easily navigated outlets (for it has several). He sailed up the river, anchored in its wide bay near where Astoria now stands, and raising the American flag, took possession in the name of the United States. He was impressed with the immense volume of water pouring into the ocean, and the grandeur of the great harbor, from six to ten miles wide, and the wild beauty of the new land. He sailed up and down the river, sounded its depths, traded his goods with savage tribes for furs and skins, got fresh supplies of pure water, fish, and venison. After a more than usual prolonged stay for a trading vessel, he again put out to sea, having named the great river after his staunch vessel, "The Columbia."[2]

It so happened that a week or more before making his great discovery he had spoken, at sea, to Captain Vancouver, of the English navy, who was upon a voyage of discovery on the Northern Pacific Coast. A few days after emerging from the river he again came in hailing distance of the English ship, and announced to Captain Vancouver his great discovery, giving him all the bearings which had been accurately taken. Captain Vancouver immediately changed his course, found the entrance, entered the river, sailed up the Willamette to its falls, up the Columbia to the rapids, and formally took possession in the name of England! It is a singular fact that both Spain and England that year each had a ship along the coast upon voyages of discovery. We are accustomed to call such events as "it so happened," but whether accidental or providential, America was ahead. It will be well to keep these facts in mind, for upon them hinges all claims England had upon Oregon! Yet, weak as they were, she held supreme possession of all Oregon for nearly half a century, and as we shall show, had it not been for the heroic work of the old pioneer missionaries, would probably have held the whole fair land for all time to come. England owned the territory northward from the United States, whose boundaries were not accurately defined. Even those along the borders of the New England states were not definitely fixed, and were a source of constant conflict until settled by the Ashburton treaty as late as 1846. The line between the United States and Canada ran westward to the Rocky Mountains, and there ended. Thirty-five years later, while England was in full possession of Oregon, by a treaty signed in 1818, to run for ten years (and was renewed in 1827 for ten years more), her commissioners claimed that they were "the owners of Oregon by discovery." They argued that "Captain Gray only discovered the mouth of the river, while Captain Vancouver made full and complete discovery"; that "Captain Gray's claim was limited to the mouth of the river, and that he was only a merchant, sailor, and trader, and not a legitimate discoverer, while Captain Vancouver was a commander in his Majesty's navy."

Mark, then, the discovery, in 1792, as the United States' first claim to Oregon. When the United States purchased the claims of France to all the great possession west of the Mississippi River, it was supposed at the time to reach the Pacific Ocean and include the Oregon country, and was so marked on the maps until the publication of the latest government map, which marks "The Louisiana Purchase," reaching only to the Rockies. So, by the after-light of history, we can make no claim to Oregon from that purchase. But President Jefferson, who had a more enthusiastic interest in the Oregon country than did any other of the statesmen of his day, evidently believed his purchase from France included the Oregon country, for he at once began to plan a voyage, for survey and discovery, of all the lands from the Mississippi to the Pacific.

Jefferson looked much farther into the future grandeur of the nation than his fellows. While minister to France he met the great traveler and ornithologist, Audubon, and became deeply interested in the mysteries of the Western wilderness. He attempted upon his return to America, by private subscription, to send out an exploring expedition under the guidance of Audubon. But the death of the great naturalist defeated the enterprise.

Jefferson, in 1800, was elected President; he made the great Louisiana purchase; he believed it extended to the Pacific; and it was through him that the Lewis and Clark expedition was fitted out in 1804, and sent on its mission to explore the land. My young readers who desire the complete and thrilling story of the Lewis and Clark expedition can find it in "The Conquest," by Mrs. Eva Emory Dye of Oregon City.

The third claim for American ownership was the settlement at Astoria by the Astor Fur Company, in 1811. It had but a short life, as it was captured by the English early in the year of 1812, and not returned until after the final treaty of 1846.

Spain held an old fort on lands south of the Oregon country, really a shadowy and uncertain title. In 1818 a general treaty with Spain was signed in which she gave to the United States all claims she possessed in the Oregon country. This made the fourth claim to ownership. Mexico, which was a part of Spain at that time, in her northern possessions, laid claim to the same, and this was quieted by the treaty with Mexico in 1828. This made the fifth claim to ownership. It will thus be seen that the United States had but one competitor for title to Oregon, and that was Great Britain.

I have thus in the briefest way recited the important historical events relating to our title to the now valued country beyond "the great stony mountains." No facts of American history are stranger or more interesting, and the reader must catch the spirit of that period to find interest, and give due credit to the pioneers of that distant land for their grand work of rescuing it from a foreign power.

It is well to bear in mind that American statesmen, who in 1802-1803 arranged for the purchase of the territory west of the Mississippi River from France, had but two objects in view: one was to get possession of the mouth of the Missouri River, upon a demand made by the commerce of the western states; and the other was to get possession of the rich, alluvial bottoms of Louisiana for slave labor. It was those two elements combined which enabled President Jefferson to get the measure through Congress, in spite of the united opposition of New England, which was opposed to expansion. It is also a notable fact, worthy of remembrance, that sixty years later, all the great states carved out of the Louisiana Territory, except two, were solidly massed behind the flag and the Union to crush human slavery.

It reads like romance, but is true history, and caught in its spirit, shows an overruling Power dominating the nation's destiny.

The great Louisiana purchase not only failed to make slavery strong, but it eventually, and within half a century, was one of the strong agents for slavery's destruction.

CHAAPTER VII

Why Did the United States Dicker with England for Half a Century, before Asserting her Rights to Oregon? The Answer—American Statesmen had no Appreciation of Oregon, and Determinedly Opposed Expansion.

It is no pleasure for an American to call in question and criticise the wisdom and statesmanship of the men of the first half of the nineteenth century. But history is made of stubborn facts.

From 1792, the time of discovery of the Columbia River, up to 1845, the United States government never, by an official act in any way aided Oregon, or attempted to control it. Time and time again some statesman in Congress offered a resolution, or framed an act looking to that end, and upon several occasions one branch of Congress permitted the act to pass, simply to avoid discussion, knowing that it would fall dead in the other house. Thus, year by year our statesmen went on such record, as for their credit and wisdom it would be well if it could be obliterated from the records. They were men, brave and true; they had guided the nation to an honorable place among the nations of the earth, but they were, after all, willing to stand still, and let well enough alone. They regarded their territory as already vaster and larger than would ever be peopled. The readers can best understand the canny sentiment of the period by a few quotations from speeches made in Congress from time to time when the Oregon question was brought before them. Senator Winthrop of Massachusetts, in one of his great speeches, said:

"What do we want with Oregon? We will not need elbow room for a thousand years."

Another senator, second to none in influence, Benton of Missouri, in a speech, while in Congress in 1825, said:

"The ridge of the Rocky Mountains may be named as a convenient, natural, and everlasting boundary. Along this ridge the western limits of the Republic should be drawn, and the statue of the fabled god Terminus should be erected upon its highest peak, never to be thrown down."

In justice to Benton, we may observe he later on was convinced of the unwisdom of the sentiment, and became, with his co-worker, Senator Linn of Missouri, an ardent friend of Oregon. But his colleague, Senator Winthrop of Massachusetts, as late as 1846, when the Oregon treaty was before the Senate, and when the question had reached almost a war stage, repeated the words of Benton's speech of 1825, and commended it for its wisdom and statesmanship.

General Jackson, who was a power in the nation's counsels in that day, in a letter to President Monroe, concisely stated his opinion in these words:

"It should be our policy to concentrate our population, and confine our frontier to proper limits, until our country in those limits is filled with a dense population. It is denseness of population that gives strength and security to our frontier."

That was a diplomatic and conservative opinion, which doubtless reflected the sentiment of the multitude. The Calhouns, the Websters, the Daytons, and a host of others were more pronounced, and less diplomatic. They pointedly hated the very name of Oregon, and did not propose to endanger the nation's safety or defile its garments by making it a part of the Union.

To all that class, and I shall mention but few of them in illustration, Oregon was an aversion. The great Webster said:

"Oregon is a vast worthless area, a region of savages, wild beasts, deserts of shifting sands, cactus, and prairie dogs. What can we ever hope to do with a coast of three thousand miles, rock bound, cheerless, and not a harbor on it. What use have we for such a country?"

Senator McDuffie of South Carolina, was fiery with his oratory, and can easily be understood. He said in one of his several speeches:

"The whole of Oregon is not worth a pinch of snuff."

Again he said:

"As I understand it, there are seven hundred miles this side of the Rocky Mountains uninhabitable, where rain never falls, mountains wholly impassable except through gaps. What are you going to do in such a case? Can you apply steam? Have you estimated the cost of a railroad to the mouth of the Columbia? The wealth of the Indies would not build it. I wish the Rocky Mountains were an impassable barrier. If there was an embankment five feet high to be removed, I would not vote five dollars to remove it, and encourage our people to go there."

That speech was delivered in Congress only a few months before Whitman's memorable ride to save Oregon. Senator Dayton of New Jersey was marked as an able man, and yet his knowledge of Oregon was as limited as that of Webster, Winthrop, or McDuffie. In one of his speeches he called "Oregon a Sahara, except along the little streams and bottom lands!"

We have in modern times had some eloquent opponents to expansion, but they were "childlike and bland" when compared with the old statesmen of the first half of the nineteenth century, who easily saw ruin to the country by acknowledging practical ownership of that distant territory.

The public press was not behindhand with statesmen in ridiculing Oregon. The Louisville Journal and the National Intelligencer, then the two most influential newspapers in the land, were bitter. The Journal wrote, and the Intelligencer copied and approved:

"Of all the countries upon the face of the earth, Oregon is the one least favored by heaven. It is the riddlings of creation. It is almost as barren as Sahara, and quite as unhealthy as the Campana of Italy. Russia has her Siberia, and England her Botany Bay, and if the United States should ever need a country to which to banish her rogues and scoundrels, the utility of such a region as Oregon would be demonstrated. Until then, we are perfectly willing to leave this magnificent country to the Indians and trappers and buffalo-hunters that roam over its sand banks."

One passing over that beautiful and fertile land, after only half a century and ten years have passed, can easily conceive how dense was the ignorance of the common people upon the subject, when a man, eminent in letters, and the wisest journalist of his day, George D. Prentice, would give expression to such sentiments.

The English press if possible was even more pronounced, and used every argument to discourage emigration. The Hudson Bay Fur Company was owned and controlled by the titled nobility of England. It had made every owner rich by its wealth of furs. It was in full control of all the territory by the consent of the United States, and only desired "to be let alone" and in peace to enjoy the monopoly.

LAKE CHELAN—FIRST VIEW OF THE SNOWY PEAKS. (Photo. Lyman.)

The London Examiner, in 1842, just when the United States was waking from its lethargy, wrote:

"Ignorant Americans are disposed to quarrel over a country, the whole of which in dispute not being worth, to either party, twenty thousand pounds."

About the same time the Edinburgh Review wrote:

"Only a small portion of the land is capable of cultivation. It is a case where the American people have been misled, as to soil and climate. In a few years all that gave life to the country, both the hunter and his prey, will be extinct, and their places supplied by a thin half-breed population, scattered along the fertile valleys, who will gradually degenerate into a barbarism far more offensive than backwoodsmen."

In view of the utterances of the American press and statesmen, we remain silent in any criticism of England. It was acting no dishonorable part in Oregon. They were simply using to their great profit a vast territory the United States owned, but did not want to be troubled with. They, it is true, knew more of its worth than did Americans, but as far as the Hudson Bay people were concerned, they did not covet immigration, even of their own kind, only enough to hold the balance of power, and keep themselves in readiness to organize the territory, and retain it under terms of the treaty of 1818. They had great interests at stake.

Modern writers have asserted over and over again that "the United States was never in any danger of losing Oregon, and needed no Whitman and his missionaries to save it!" But they cannot do away with the record which I have only tersely recited.

A volume could be written, along the same line, to prove the utter lack of interest in that country. But if statesmen, in Congress and out, and the press had been silent, the single official act of the government, in signing the treaty of 1818, giving entire control of the land to England (for the Hudson Bay Company represented England), would tell the whole story of the neglect of Oregon. When ever before or since has the United States made such a deal, giving by solemn treaty, a country thirty times as large as Massachusetts, for a full twenty years and more, without a dollar of compensation, to a great foreign nation, and unresistingly seen American traders driven out or starved out of the entire country? Those making the charge of "no danger of losing Oregon by the United States" would do well to explain this one act, which was official, even if they make light of the utterances of the men who refused, for more than fifty years, to legislate by a single act for Oregon. It is true the treaty said:

"It should not be to the prejudice of either of the high contracting parties, the only object being to prevent disputes and differences among themselves!"

Who does not see and acknowledge that the treaty was a virtual acknowledgment of England's ownership by "discovery" as claimed at that time? These modern critics find no flaw in the title of the United States, they simply shout "no danger" for no other conceivable purpose than to attempt to dishonor and disparage the heroic work of the missionaries and pioneers of early Oregon, in which they have succeeded only too well. They were poor men, who made no claim for honors. The leading, heroic actor made no demands for his services, neither money nor official recognition. Our historians, until modern justice cried out in shame, have sought to bolster up the statesmen, lawmakers and molders of public opinion of that day, only giving sneers to a man who sacrificed ease, comfort, home and life to patriotic Christian duty.

CHAPTER VIII

The Conditions of Oregon in 1842. The Arrival of a Large Party of Americans. The News They Bore. The Great Ride to Save Oregon. The Incidents of Travel. Whitman Reaches Washington.

We now reach a critical period in Oregon history, and are to study events crowded with exciting interest. Several new missions had been organized by the American Board, and were manned by a scholarly, heroic band of missionary workers. They were Christian men and women in the best sense of the term, and were there in answer to the savage's appeal made at St. Louis, to teach and read to them "the Book of Heaven." But at the same time, they were intensely patriotic American citizens. They had been given passports by the United States authorities before leaving the States; a copy of that given Dr. Cushing Eells is still in the possession of his son, Myron Eells, now living in Washington. It varied, it is true, from regular passports, but nevertheless was enough foreign to make its possessor understand he was destined to "a foreign land," and under the direction of "the Foreign Missionary Society."

The missionaries often met in conference, and generally at Waiilatpui, that being central, having larger accommodations than other posts.

Notwithstanding the courtesies and constant kindness personally received from Dr. McLoughlin, of the Hudson Bay Company, they were ill at ease. They had now been six years in Oregon, and realized its grand possibilities. Their bountiful crops of grains and fruits told them of the productive soil; the healthful climate, the great forests, the wild grand scenery, all emphasized its value. They were missionaries, far away from home, yet Americans, and patriots, to see so fair a domain year by year slipping away from the Union, ground them to the quick. In their private correspondence to friends, and Dr. Parker, in his able book, had encouraged immigrants to brave the dangers of the journey.

The heroic Methodist missionary, Rev. Jason Lee, made a trip across the plains to Washington and brought back with him several Americans. Despite all their efforts, Canadians and adherents of the Hudson Bay Company outnumbered them three to one. The missionaries and all others in Oregon knew that the meaning of the treaty of 1818 was that, whichever nation settled the country would hold and own it. They knew it had been practically in possession of England for many years with the direct sanction of American authorities. They knew the low esteem in which Oregon was held by many American statesmen, but what could they do? Such were the conditions in 1842, when Elijah White, a former Indian agent of the government, reached Whitman's mission in the month of September. With him came one hundred and twenty-five American immigrants. He was an intelligent man, and had many in his company who were thoroughly posted upon American affairs. They found Whitman an intensely interested listener and questioner. In this company was a young lawyer, Amos L. Lovejoy, a most intelligent man, who, in after years, filled a large and honored place in Oregon history, and latterly shared with our hero the daring and danger of his great work.

What was before Congress

These men informed the Doctor that "the Ashburton treaty," fixing the boundary line between the United States and Canada, which had run up against the Rocky Mountain and rested there for half a century, was under discussion between the two governments, and would probably come before the United States Senate for final action during the session of 1842-1843.

Whitman was a man of few words, and quick action. He pondered deeply. He felt that a climax was impending, and in the contest Oregon was to be lost or won for his country. I do not stop to argue whether it was simply the call of patriotism of the man as an American, or whether, like the men of old, "he was called of God," but when we remember the perils to be met, the sacrifices to be made, and none knew them better than Whitman, I cannot believe that so clear-headed a man would ever have entertained the idea, if he had not heard and obeyed a call higher and more commanding than that of man!

He laid the matter before his wife, his chief counselor, that he fondly loved and cherished. The two were as one. They had met dangers and hardships, sacrifices and sorrows, together for seven years. This meant separation and dangers unknown to both for a whole year, during which not a line or a word could pass between them to tell of the fate of the other. Words would fail to express or picture that September conference in the wilds of Oregon if it had ever been written. But Narcissa Whitman was the same heroic woman who years before sacrificed the ease of civilized life and rode on horseback across the dreary plains, climbed mountains, and swam rivers, endured hunger at the call of duty! She was an ideal missionary, and the patriotic wife of a missionary who, in song and prayer, had dedicated the whole fair land to God and the Union upon that memorable anniversary upon the Rockies in 1836, and she answered, "Go!"

The Doctor at once sent messengers to the several missionary stations, summoning them to an immediate council at Waiilatpui for important business. They all responded promptly, glad to come in contact with the many new guests from the States, and hear words from home, as well as to learn the meaning of this sudden and unusual call for conference. Of this meeting, and what was said and done, we have more complete reports, from the written words of Dr. Eells, Dr. Spalding, and other members. When assembled Dr. Whitman lost no time in explaining his call, and that it was to obtain leave of absence from the local conference for one year, to visit Washington and the States! The proposition was astounding to his brethren, and caused wide discussion. While they were, in the main, in full sympathy with Whitman, they well knew the prejudices of the rulers of the American Board against ministers "dabbling in politics," or concerning themselves with questions of state. A second important question was discussed, viz.: "If it became known to the ruling powers in Oregon, upon which all the missions were wholly dependent, would it not greatly embarrass if not destroy them all?" They had the kindliest feeling for Dr. McLoughlin for his eminent services rendered, but they well knew the Hudson Bay Company was there for business, and that it had starved out every American trader who had intruded upon their domain, even the wealthy John Jacob Astor was permitted only one year in Oregon, although he came with the direct sanction of the American government. The company owned all the ships which came and went each year to Hawaii and London, bearing their letters and bringing all the supplies they received from civilization. Would the good Dr. McLoughlin under such conditions be able to shield and protect them? (Further along it will appear that he did, and was driven from his great office for his aid to the missionaries.)

A third reason given was the immensity of the danger of such a journey in mid-winter—was like, as one expressed it, "Going down into the valley and shadow of death to attempt it."

A fourth objection was that while the local board was the adviser in regard to all local affairs of the missions, the home board at Boston required a permit officially signed for any missionary to separate himself from his work. All these questions were canvassed pro and con. The men of that conference were as brothers joined in the one great work, and the counsels given were free and earnest.

Dr. Whitman was mainly a silent listener. When the dangers of his trip were pointed out, and he was asked to "wait until spring," his sententious reply was, "I must go now!" In reply to the objection that he would violate the rules of the Board, Dr. Eells says:

"Dr. Whitman was so fixed in his purpose that he declared he would make the attempt even if he had to withdraw from the mission, remarking, 'I am not expatriated by becoming a missionary.'"

Continuing, says Dr. Eells:

"The idea of his withdrawal could not be entertained. Therefore, to retain him in the mission, a vote to approve his making the perilous journey prevailed."

There has been a contention made by persons ignorant of the facts, that "the sole purpose of Whitman's ride was to save his mission from being closed." It is a silly charge, and unworthy of refutation, except to state the facts. The immigrants in Oregon were curious to know the cause of such a journey, and the people of the Hudson Bay Company doubtless made inquiry, but it was enough for them all to know that "Whitman had business with the American Board," and let it go at that. The missionaries were under no obligations to make known facts detrimental to all their interests, and when the proper time came, all the actors told the whole truth in regard to it. The silence of the missionaries, which was imperative for their own safety, doubtless misled many. Whitman's object was definite and clear.

Dr. Spalding, explaining years after, says:

"The last words Whitman spoke to me as he mounted his horse for the long journey, were: 'My life is of little worth if I can save this country to the American people.'"

The time fixed for his departure by the Board was October 5th, and all set about writing voluminous letters, for it was seldom they had such opportunity. There was much talk and counsel as to a companion and helper of the Doctor on his way. A score of his trusted Indians would have been glad of the opportunity.

The Doctor pondered over the matter, and made up his mind, and approached General Lovejoy, and explained to him the urgency of the case that compelled him to go, and asked the blunt question, "Will you go with me?" He was delighted with the prompt response, "Yes!"

Mrs. Whitman was delighted that "a Christian gentleman like General Lovejoy would bear her husband company, and he would not be left alone to Indians and guides on the long and dreary way." All was now hurry and preparation, and the few things the good wife could find from her stores were gathered and packed. On the 2d of October, for a double purpose of visiting a sick man and securing some needed stores, the Doctor rode to the fort, and while there heard news of an incoming colony of immigrants from Canada. As he galloped home to the mission, he saw increasing danger, and resolved there should be no delay.

It was a great occasion, that beautiful October morning at Waiilatpui. A number of Indians were to go with the party to make sure they got on the new trail to Fort Hall, much shorter and easier than that traversed by the missionaries in 1836.

There were a large number of immigrants around Waiilatpui, and they with many Indians, without knowing the real objects of the expedition, were there to see. One can easily believe that it was a great event in the wilderness country. The ever-faithful Indian Istikus was there as leader of the Indians; as they sat mounted upon their ponies, they added picturesqueness to the group.

The sun was just gilding the treetops along the Walla Walla as it wended its swift and winding way like a silver thread in the distance. The last adieu had been said, and the Doctor emerged from his room and mounted his horse. The faithful old dog, which had run by the side of his master in hundreds of journeys along blind trails, was to be permitted to accompany them, barked impatiently.

They were off, an imposing little cavalcade with Whitman and General Lovejoy in the lead, the Indians led by old Istikus following, the pack mules in the rear, while the old dog ran barking up and down the line as if he was responsible commander of the entire outfit.

I have many times in the years since stood upon the ground of this historic scene, and tried to picture it in my mind, in the full grandeur of its intentions and achievements. I have since marched with great armies with music and banners, bright equipments, guns gleaming in the sunlight and their pageantry was imposing, but I most like to catch the spirit of the history they were all making, and it has seemed as if this little band in the wilderness, made up of Christian and savage life was, even in its simplicity, more notably an expression of God's leadings, when I view them in the light of the great events which followed.

Nor can the reader forget to honor the heroic little Christian American woman, who looking through her tear-dimmed eyes, as she waved farewells to her departing husband until the hills away toward the Blue Mountains hid him from view.

After going to her silent and deserted room, she wrote:

"I look from my window and see the grave of our dear child, surely God will take care of my noble husband and return him to me!"