Historic Adventures Part 7

Meantime Lovejoy and the guide, breaking the ice on their side, headed their horses and the pack-mules into the river. Animals in that country are always ready to follow where their leader goes, and they all swam and splashed their way across. The men found plenty of wood at hand, and soon had a roaring fire, by which they camped, and dried out thoroughly before riding on.

The delays caused by their stay in the mountains and physical hardships had made their store of provisions run low. At one time they had to kill a dog that had joined them, and a little later one of the mules for food. Eating and sleeping little, and pushing on as rapidly as they could they finally reached the old city of Santa Fe, the metropolis of the southwest. But here Whitman only stopped long enough to buy fresh provisions.

They were now heading for Bent's Fort near the head of the Arkansas River. The storms in the hills were past, and they were riding over vast treeless prairies, where there was plenty of gra.s.s for the horses, and any amount of wild game if they could have stopped long enough to replenish their larder with it. Again and again they were forced to prairie expedients. Once, as they reached one of the tributaries of the Arkansas River, after a long and tedious day on the plains, they found the river frozen over with a layer of smooth, clear ice, hardly strong enough to bear a man. They must have wood, but although there was plenty of it on the other side, there was none on their sh.o.r.e of the stream. Whitman took the ax from his kit, and lying down on the thin ice, contrived with great caution and patience to make his way across.

On the other bank he cut long poles and short cross-pieces. These he pushed across the ice to Lovejoy, and with them they made enough of a bridge for the latter to urge the horses and mules to try to cross. They all got over safely, though with much slipping and splashing. In cutting his last pole Whitman split the ax-helve. When they camped he bound the break with a deerskin thong, but that night a thieving wolf found the ax at the edge of the camp, wanted the fresh deerskin, and dragged away ax and thong. The loss would have been very serious if it had happened earlier in their journey.

When they were within four days' ride of Bent's Fort they met a caravan traveling toward Taos. The leader told Whitman that a party of mountaineers was about leaving Bent's Fort for St. Louis, but added that Whitman and Lovejoy, hampered by their pack animals, would not be in time to join them.

Whitman was very anxious to join the mountaineers if he could, and decided to leave Lovejoy and the guide with the pack-mules. Taking the fastest horse, and a small store of food, he rode on alone, hoping to catch the party. To do this he would have to travel on Sunday, something they had not done before.

Lovejoy saw Dr. Whitman start on his ride, but when the former reached Bent's Fort four days later he was astonished to find that Whitman had not arrived there, nor been heard from. As that part of the country was full of packs of gray wolves, now half-starved on account of the snow, Lovejoy was alarmed.

If not a prey to the wolves, Whitman must be lost; so his friend took a good guide from the Fort and started to search for him. He traveled up-river a hundred miles, and there fell in with Indians who told him of a lost white man who was trying to find the Fort, and whom they had directed down the river. Lovejoy went back, and late that afternoon saw Whitman come riding in, convinced that his journey had been so much delayed because he had traveled on Sunday.

The party of mountaineers had already left, but a messenger had been sent after them, and they stayed in camp, waiting for Whitman. Tired as he was, he started out immediately with a new guide, particularly eager to join this company, because they were now nearing the outposts of civilization, where the worst white men and Indians beset the pioneers.

Lovejoy waited at Bent's Fort, and went east with the next caravan that started for St. Louis.

Whitman came safely through to St. Louis, where he had friends. He was at once surrounded by trappers and traders in Indian goods and furs who wanted news of the plains. In his turn he asked news of Congress, and learned that the Ashburton Treaty, settling a part of the boundary between Canada and the United States, had been approved and signed, but that the question of Oregon had not been settled, and from the reports of what had been said in the debates at Washington he knew that none of the American statesmen realized what a great prize Oregon Territory was.

He must reach the capital before Congress adjourned if possible. The rivers were frozen, and he had to rely on a journey by stage, slow at all times, but especially so in midwinter. He toiled slowly eastward, taking one coach after another, swinging and swaying and rocking across the center of the country, and reaching the capital in time to plead the cause of the northwest.

Washington was used to many strange types of men in those pioneer days, but even among such Marcus Whitman was a striking figure. He was of medium height, compact of build, with big shoulders and a large head.

His hair was iron gray, and that, as well as his moustache and beard, had not been cut for four months. He was of pioneer type, living so long among Indians and trappers, and watching so constantly for wolves and bears, that he seemed awkward and uncouth in an eastern city. His clothes were a coa.r.s.e fur jacket with buckskin breeches, fur leggings, and boot moccasins. Over these he wore a buffalo overcoat, with a head-hood for bad weather. He did not show an inch of woven garment.

Whitman reached Washington in March, 1843, and immediately urged his case before President Tyler, Secretary of State Daniel Webster, and many congressmen. He found the densest ignorance concerning Oregon Territory, a tract of territory which has since been divided into the three states of Washington, Oregon, and Idaho. A senator had said of that territory, "What is the character of this country? As I understand it there are seven hundred miles this side of the Rocky Mountains that are uninhabitable; where rain never falls; mountains wholly impa.s.sable, except through gaps and depressions, to be reached only by going hundreds of miles out of the direct course.... Of what use would it be for agricultural purposes? I would not, for that purpose, give a pinch of snuff for the whole territory. I wish the Rocky Mountains were an impa.s.sable barrier. If there was an embankment of even five feet to be removed I would not consent to expend five dollars to remove it and enable our population to go there." Another statesman declared, "With the exception of land along the Willamette and strips along other water courses, the whole country is as irreclaimable and barren a waste as the Desert of Sahara. Nor is this the worst; the climate is so unfriendly to human life that the native population has dwindled away under the ravages of malaria." And newspaper opinions were no more favorable.

The Louisville _Journal_ wrote, "Of all the countries upon the face of the earth Oregon is one of the least favored by heaven. It is the mere riddlings of creation. It is almost as barren as Sahara and quite as unhealthy as the Campagna of Italy. Russia has her Siberia and England has 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, trappers and buffalo hunters that roam over its sand-banks."

Marcus Whitman had ridden four thousand miles, and starved, frozen, and never rested in order to overcome such opinions. The President and Daniel Webster were polite to him, but neither seemed to think much of the northwest. As he was describing the richness of the country, its fertile soil, great forests, precious minerals, and delightful climate, Webster interrupted. "But Oregon is shut off by impa.s.sable mountains and a great desert, which make a wagon road impossible," said he. Whitman answered, "Six years ago I was told there was no wagon road to Oregon, and it was impossible to take a wagon there, and yet in despite of pleadings and almost threats, I took a wagon over the road and have it now." The missionary's earnest, forceful manner impressed both President Tyler and Secretary Webster, and gradually they began to think it might be worth while to protect the claim of the United States to that country. Finally Whitman said, "All I ask is that you won't barter away Oregon, or allow English interference until I can lead a band of stalwart American settlers across the plains: for this I will try to do."

"Dr. Whitman," answered President Tyler, "your long ride and frozen limbs speak for your courage and patriotism; your missionary credentials are good vouchers for your character;" and he granted the request.

This was all Whitman wanted, because he believed that under the treaty then in force between the United States and England the nation that should colonize the country was to own it. He knew that up to that time the English Hudson's Bay Company had bought out all American traders or driven out all settlers, but he hoped he could lead enough emigrants there now to hold it for the United States.

He next went to the American Missionary Board in Boston, which had originally sent him out to Oregon. There he met with cold treatment, and was told he should not have left the camp at Wai-i-lat-pui without permission from Boston, and that his trip across the continent was a wild-goose chase. This unmerited rebuke must have hurt him sorely.

He was, however, so filled with eagerness to lead his party of pioneers west that he did not let it daunt him, but went on with his preparations. In this he was very much helped by his companion Lovejoy, who was gathering a large number of emigrants on the frontier awaiting Whitman's return.

The meeting point of the emigrants was the little town of Weston, not far from where Kansas City now stands. Here and at various near-by settlements the pioneers gathered early in the year 1843, waiting for Dr. Whitman to join them, and for the spring gra.s.s to grow high enough to feed their cattle. As it happened, that year the gra.s.s was late, and the caravan did not get under way until the first week in June. Whitman himself was delayed through the need of leaving careful instructions for those who were to cross the plains later in the year. The caravan started before Whitman arrived, and he did not overtake the advance guard until they had reached the Platte River. When he did actually join the emigrants he looked after everything, mending broken prairie wagons, cheering tired mothers, acting as surgeon and doctor, hunting out fords through quicksands and rivers, searching for water and gra.s.s in the desert plains, seeking new pa.s.ses through the mountains, and at night superintending the building of camp-fires and keeping watch against an attack by wolves or other wild animals.

The journey from the Platte River as far as Fort Hall, which was near the eastern border of Oregon Territory, was much like other pioneer travels through the west. Whitman had been over this trail several times and the difficulties he encountered were not new to him. At Fort Hall he had to meet Captain John Grant again, who, as an agent of the Fur Company, did not want new farmers to settle in Oregon.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE LAST SIX HUNDRED MILES WERE THE HARDEST]

Instead of appealing only to a few men Captain Grant now spoke to several hundred resolute pioneers. He told them of the terrors of the long journey through the mountains and the impossibility of hauling their heavy prairie wagons over the pa.s.ses; he recounted the failures of other pioneers who had tried what they had planned to do; he showed them in the corral wagons, farm tools, and other pioneer implements that earlier emigrants had had to leave when they ventured into the mountains. He stated the difficulties so clearly that this company was almost persuaded, as earlier companies had been, to follow his suggestions, leave their farming implements behind, and try to make a settlement without any of the tools or comforts that were so greatly needed in that country. Whitman, however, spoiled Grant's plans. He said to his followers, "Men, I have guided you thus far in safety. Believe nothing you hear about not being able to get your wagons through; every one of you stick to your wagons and your goods. They will be invaluable to you when you reach the end of your journey. I took a wagon over to Oregon six years ago." The men believed their leader, refused to obey Captain Grant, and prepared to start on the trail into the high Rockies.

It was the last six hundred miles of the journey to Oregon that usually made the most severe test of the settlers' endurance. From Fort Hall the nature of the traveling changed entirely, and was apt to resemble the retreat of a disorganized army. Earlier caravans, although they had taken Captain Grant's advice and left many wagons, horses, and camp comforts behind, had suffered untold hardships. Oxen and horses, worn by their long trip across the plains, and toiling for long stretches through the high pa.s.ses, were apt to perish in large numbers and frequently fell dead in their yokes on the road. Wagons already baked in the blazing sun of the desert would fall to pieces when they struck a sharp rock or were driven over a rough incline. Families were obliged to join company and throw away everything that tended to impede their speed.

The approaching storms of autumn, which meant impa.s.sable snow, would not allow them to linger. In addition to this there were grizzlies in the mountains and the constant fear of attack from Indians. Such pioneers as strayed from the main company were likely to fall in with an enemy that was continually hovering on either flank of the march, ready to swoop down upon unprotected men or women. This fear added to the speed of the journey, and as they progressed the road over which they traveled was strewn with dead or worn-out cattle, abandoned wagons, discarded cooking utensils, yokes, harness, chests, log chains, and all kinds of family heirlooms that the settlers had hoped to carry to their new homes.

Sometimes the teams grew so much weakened that none dared to ride in the wagons, and men, women, and children would walk beside them, ready to give a helping push up any steep part of the road. A pioneer who had once made this journey said, referring to a former trip across the mountains, "The fierce summer's heat beat upon this slow west-rolling column. The herbage was dry and crisp, the rivulets had become but lines in the burning sand; the sun glared from a sky of bra.s.s; the stony mountainsides glared with the garnered heat of a cloudless summer. The dusky brambles of the scraggy sage-brush seemed to catch the fiery rays of heat and shiver them into choking dust, that rose like a tormenting plague and hung like a demon of destruction over the panting oxen and thirsty people.

"Thus day after day, for weeks and months, the slow but urgent retreat continued, each day demanding fresh sacrifices. An ox or a horse would fall, brave men would lift the useless yoke from his limp and lifeless neck in silence. If there was another to take his place he was brought from the loose band, yoked up and the journey resumed. When the stock of oxen became exhausted, cows were brought under the yoke, other wagons left, and the lessening store once more inspected; if possible another pound would be dispensed with.

"Deeper and deeper into the flinty mountains the forlorn ma.s.s drives its weary way. Each morning the weakened team has to commence a struggle with yet greater difficulties. It is plain the journey will not be completed within the antic.i.p.ated time, and the dread of hunger joins the ranks of the tormentors.... The Indians hover in the rear, impatiently waiting for the train to move on that the abandoned trinkets may be gathered up. Whether these are gathering strength for a general attack we cannot tell. There is but one thing to do--press on. The retreat cannot hasten into rout, for the distance to safety is too great. Slower and slower is the daily progress."

Marcus Whitman, however, had known these difficulties before, and guarded his caravan from many of them.

Up to that date almost no man had crossed into Oregon by the route he was taking. A few missionaries had made the journey on horseback, driving some head of cattle with them, and three or four wagons drawn by oxen had reached the Snake River at an earlier date, but it was the general opinion of trappers that no large company of people could travel down the Snake River because of the scarcity of pasturage and the rugged road through the mountains. It was also thought that the Sioux Indians would oppose the approach of such a large caravan because the emigrants might kill or drive away the buffaloes, which were already diminishing in number and were hunted by this tribe for food.

When they came to cross the Snake River Whitman gave orders to fasten the wagons together in one long line, the strongest ones being placed in the lead. When the teams were in position Whitman tied a long rope about his waist and fastened the other end to the first team. Riding his horse into the current he swam across the river. He called to the other riders to follow him, and at the same time to pull on the rope that was tied to the first team. In this way the leaders were started into the water, and all were drawn over in safety. At times, however, it took a great deal of pulling on the ropes by many men to drag the weaker teams to a safe foothold on the farther bank. The Snake River at the place where Whitman forded it was divided into three separate rivers by islands, and as the last stream on the Oregon sh.o.r.e was a deep and rapid current fully a mile wide, it can be seen what a task it was to get so many wagons, tired ox-teams, and the great company of men, women and children across it. But Whitman had solved many such problems before. When he and his wife went to Oregon six years earlier she had said it was a shame that her husband should wear himself out in getting their wagon through.

"Yesterday," she said, "it was overset in the river and he was wet from head to foot getting it out; to-day it was upset on the mountainside, and it was hard work to save it."

There were over a thousand people in this expedition that was going out to colonize Oregon for the United States. They had about one hundred and twenty wagons drawn by ox-teams, which averaged six yoke of oxen to a team, and, in addition, several thousand horses and cattle, led or driven by the emigrants. Although they started to travel in one body they soon found they could do better by dividing into two columns, marching within easy hailing distance of each other, so long as they were in danger of attack by the Indians, and later separating into small parties, better suited to the narrow mountain paths and the meagre pasture lands.

It is interesting to learn how such a company traveled. At four o'clock in the morning the sentinels who were on guard waked the camp by shots from their rifles, the emigrants crept from their canvas-covered wagons or tents built against the side of the wagons, and soon the smoke of camp-fires began to rise in the air. Sixty men, whose duty it was to look after the cattle, would start out from the corral, or enclosed s.p.a.ce, spreading through the horses and cattle, who had found pasturage over night in a great semicircle about the camp. The most distant animals were sometimes two miles away. These sixty scouts looked for Indian trails beyond the herd and tried to discover whether any of the animals had been stolen or had strayed during the night. If none were lost the herders drove the animals close to the camp, and by five o'clock horses, oxen, and cattle were rounded up, and the separate emigrants chose their teams and drove them into the corral to be yoked.

The corral was a circle about one hundred yards deep, formed by wagons fastened together by ox-chains, making a barrier that could not be broken by any vicious ox or horse, and a fortification in case of an attack by Indians.

The camp was very busy from six to seven o'clock; the women prepared breakfast; the tents were packed away, the wagons loaded and the oxen yoked and fastened to their owners' wagons. Each of the two divisions had about sixty wagons, and these were separated into sixteen platoons.

Each platoon took its turn at leading, and in this way none of the wagons had to travel continually in the dust. By seven o'clock the corral was broken up; the women and children had found their places in the wagons, and the leader, or pilot as he was called, mounted his horse and was ready to lead the way for the day's journey. A band of young men who were not needed at the wagons, well mounted and armed, would start on a buffalo hunt, keeping within easy reach of the caravan and hoping to bring back food for the night's encampment.

At seven o'clock the trumpet sounded the advance, and the wagon that was to lead for that day slowly rolled out of the camp and headed the line of march. The other wagons fell in behind it, and guided by the hors.e.m.e.n, the long line commenced its winding route through the mountains.

The country through which Whitman had chosen to travel was beautiful in the extreme; at times the road lay through the great heights of the Rockies, with a panorama of wonderful charm stretched on the horizon; at times it lay beside broad rivers where the clearness of the air brought out all the colors of late summer foliage. The party of hunters were also scouts for the caravan, searching the rivers for the most promising fords. Having found one to their liking, they would signal with a flag to the pilot and his guides to show in which direction to lead the wagons. These guides kept constantly on the alert, for it would be hard if they had to march a mile or two out of their way or retrace their steps because of wrong advice. The rest of the emigrants trusted the route entirely to their leaders and rode or marched stolidly along, occasionally stopping to gather a few flowers for the women and children in the wagons. At noon the whole line stopped for dinner. The scouting party would carefully choose a good camping place, looking especially for the gra.s.s and water that were so much needed at the end of five hours of hard traveling. The teams were not unyoked, but only turned loose from their wagons, and the latter were drawn up in columns, four abreast. No corral was formed, as there was little danger from Indians or risk of animals straying in the daytime.

At this noon rest many matters were discussed by the caravan leaders.

Whitman and one or two others had been chosen to decide disputes between the different members of the party. Orders for the good of the caravan would be given out at this time, and Dr. Whitman would visit any who were sick and advise with the various families as to new difficulties they had met with.

When dinner was eaten and the teams rested the march was resumed, and continued until sundown, when the scouts picked out the best camping place for the night. The wagons were driven into a great circle, fastened each to each, and the cattle freed to seek a pasture; tents were pitched, fires started, and all hands were busy. The scene was almost like a small frontier town.

The caravan was divided into three companies, and each of the companies subdivided into four watches. Each company had the duty of acting as sentries for the camp every third night, and each watch took its turn.

The first watch was set at eight o'clock in the evening, just after the evening meal. For a short time there would be talking, perhaps singing, or the music of the violin or flute. Usually, however, the day's traveling had been hard and trying, and at an early hour the emigrants went to sleep.

Late in the summer of 1843 Whitman's pioneers left the mountains behind them, and came down into the valleys watered by the tributaries of the Columbia River. As they approached the missionary settlement at Wai-i-lat-pui a band of Cayuse and Nez Perces Indians came to meet them, bringing pack-mules loaded with supplies. Few messengers could have been more welcome. They told Whitman that his wife and friends were still at the little clearing where he had left them almost a year before, and were eagerly looking forward to the arrival of the new settlers. The leader thought that the caravan could finish its journey without him now, so he chose one of his most reliable Indian guides, Istikus, and placed him in charge of the company. Whitman himself hurried on to the mission. Back of him rolled the long train of canvas-covered wagons that had traveled so far over prairies, rivers, and mountains. Almost a thousand men, women, and children were coming into this far western section of the continent to settle and hold the country for the United States.

Whitman's ride changed the situation. No more statesmen could speak of the impa.s.sable mountains or the impossibility of taking settlers'

wagons into Oregon. Before Whitman left Washington Daniel Webster sent a message to England stating that the United States would insist on holding all territory south of the forty-ninth degree of lat.i.tude. When President Tyler was told that a caravan of nearly a thousand people under Whitman's leadership had started for Oregon, a second and more positive message to the same effect was sent to England. All over the United States men were now demanding that their government should claim the country as far as the Pacific coast, and one great political party took as its watchword the motto, "Oregon, fifty-four, forty,--or fight,"

referring to the degree of lat.i.tude they wanted for the boundary line.

The Hudson's Bay Company, finding so large a colony of pioneers settling among them, was forced to give over its efforts to hold the northwest entirely for itself. In time the English statesmen agreed to the claims of the United States, and on July 17, 1846, a treaty was signed, fixing the boundary between Canada and the United States at the forty-ninth degree, which gave Oregon to the Republic.

The settlers prospered, and the little missionary colony near the Walla Walla River grew in size. Whitman resumed his work among the Indians, and seemed to win their friendship. There seemed no reason why the native tribes and their white friends should not live in peace in such an undeveloped country. After a time, however, fear or greed or false leaders stirred up certain Indians and sent them on the war-path against their friends. No one knew the real cause for the outburst, but on November 29, 1847, a band of the Cayuse crept down on the little cl.u.s.ter of houses at Wai-i-lat-pui and killed fourteen of the white settlers.

Marcus Whitman was one of the first to fall. He was in his house, with several Indians as usual in the room with him. One was sitting close to him, asking for some medicine, when another came up behind and struck him with a tomahawk. These two then gave the signal, and their allies in other houses fell upon the white men and women. After the ma.s.sacre forty men, women, and children were carried away from the valley by the Indians, but most of them were later rescued by the Hudson's Bay Company and sent back to their homes. Other white settlers joined forces and marched against the treacherous Cayuse, but the latter fled through the country, scattering into different tribes, and the leaders of the attack were not captured until nearly two years later.

Daniel Webster had said in the Senate: "What do we want with the vast, worthless area, this region of savages and wild beasts, of deserts, of shifting sands and whirlwinds of dust, of cactus and prairie dogs? To what use could we ever hope to put these great deserts, or these endless mountain ranges, impenetrable, and covered to their base with eternal snow? What can we ever hope to do with the western coast, a coast of three thousand miles, rock-bound, cheerless, and uninviting, and not a harbor on it? What use have we for such a country?" But though many great statesmen agreed with Webster a simple missionary who had been to Oregon looked into the future, saw the value of the vast expanse, and had the courage and determination to ride across the continent for aid, and then bring back a thousand settlers to help him realize his dream.

Marcus Whitman is one of the n.o.blest examples of that great type of pioneers who won the western country for the United States.

VII

HOW THE MORMONS CAME TO SETTLE UTAH