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UC-NRLF 


LIBRARY 

UNIVWSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SANTA    CRUZ 


SANTA     CRUZ 


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Gift  oi 

Roy  Vernon  Sowers 


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SANTA  CRUZ 


McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 


McLOUGHLIN 
AND  OLD  OREGON 

a  Chronicle 

BY 

EVA    EMERY    DYE 

/// 

EUitton 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.    McCLURG  &   CO. 
1913 


COPYRIGHT 
Bv  A.  C.  MCCLURG  &  Co. 

A.D.    igoo 

First  edition  April,  1900 
Second  edition  August,  1900 
Third  edition  February,  1901 
Fourth  edition  April,  1902 
Fifth  edition  October,  1903 
Sixth  edition  April,  1906 
Seventh  edition  July,  1910 
Eighth  edition  June,  1913 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS   •    JOHN  WILSON 
AND  SON      •     CAMBRIDGE,  U.  8.  A. 


TO 
MY    HUSBAND 

WITHOUT  WHOSE  ENCOURAGEMENT  THIS  WORK  WOULD 
NOT   HAVE   BEEN   UNDERTAKEN 


IS   MOST  AFFECTIONATELY   DEDICATED 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    AN  AMERICAN  ON  THE  COLUMBIA       ....  9 

II.    THE  COMING  OF  THE  WHITMANS 19 

III.  THE  WEDDING  OF  JASON  LEE 32 

IV.  DR.    McLOUGHLIN   GOES   TO    ENGLAND      ...  40 

V.    THE  LONDON  COUNCIL 48 

VI.    RIVAL  FUR  COMPANIES 54 

VII.    MCLOUGHLIN'S  EARLY  HISTORY 60 

VIII.    DR.  MCLOUGHLIN'S  RETURN 74 

IX.    THE  BANQUET 84 

X.    EARLY  EVENTS  AT  FORT  VANCOUVER    ...  89 

XI.    BACHELORS'  HALL 97 

XII.    THE  BRIGADE  TO  CALIFORNIA 104 

XIII.  DR.  MCLOUGHLIN  AT  HOME 109 

XIV.  AT  OLD  CHAMPOEG       114 

XV.    CHRISTMAS  AT  FORT  VANCOUVER 122 

XVI.    RETURN  OF  JASON  LEE 129 

XVII.    THE  BRIGADE  FROM  ERASER'S  RIVER     .     .     .  134 

XVIII.    DEPARTURE  OF  THE  BRIGADE 142 

XIX.    DR.  WHITMAN  AND  HIS  CAYUSES 146 

XX.    THAT  WAGON 154 

XXI.    A  TRIP  TO  SITKA 157 

XXII.    ERMATINGER  GUARDS  THE  FRONTIER      .    .     .  166 

XXIII.  AN  AMERICAN  EXPLORING  SQUADRON     .    .    .  175 

XXIV.  "  THE  STAR  OF  OREGON  " 187 

XXV.    MCKINLEY  AT  WALLA  WALLA 194 


viii  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XXVI.    DELAWARE  TOM 196 

XXVII.    THE  HUDSON'S  BAY  COMPANY  IN  CALIFORNIA  210 

XXVIII.    THE  FIRST  IMMIGRANTS 218 

XXIX.    WHITMAN'S  RIDE 231 

XXX.    A  PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT 237 

XXXI.    WHITMAN     RETURNS    WITH    A    THOUSAND 

PEOPLE 251 

XXXII.    MCLOUGHLIN  AND  THE  IMMIGRANTS    ...  275 

XXXIII.  ELIJAH 286 

XXXIV.  AT  SUTTER'S  FORT 294 

XXXV.    DEATH  OF  JASON  LEE 301 

XXXVI.    THE  BEAR  FLAG  AT  SONOMA 307 

XXXVII.    " FIFTY-FOUR  FORTY  OR  FIGHT"    ....  313 

XXXVIII.    DR.  MCLOUGHLIN  RESIGNS 327 

XXXIX.    THE  WHITMAN  MASSACRE 334 

XL.    THE  CAYUSE  WAR 350 

XLI.    THE  BARQUE  "JANET" 365 

XLII.    THE  DISCOVERY  OF  GOLD       369 

XLI  1 1.    THE  DEATH  OF  DR.  MCLOUGHLIN  ....  376 


McLoughlin  and  Old  Oregon 


AN  AMERICAN  ON  THE    COLUMBIA 
1832 

SIXTY  years  ago,  on  a  green  terrace  sloping  up  from 
the  north  bank  of  the  Columbia,  not  far  from  the 
mouth  of  the  Willamette,  lay  old  Fort  Vancouver.  It 
might  be  likened  to  the  Dutch  stockade  at  New  Am- 
sterdam, or  to  a  rude  stronghold  of  central  Europe  in 
the  middle  ages,  with  a  little  village  clustered  under  its 
guns. 

Fort  Vancouver  was  fortified  in  primitive  fashion. 
There  was  a  stout  palisade  of  fir  posts,  twenty  feet 
high,  sharpened  at  both  ends  and  driven  into  the 
ground.  There  were  thick  double-ribbed  and  riveted 
gates  in  front  and  rear,  ornamented  with  brass  padlocks 
and  ponderous  keys.  A  grim  old  three-storied  log 
tower  formed  a  bastion  at  the  northwest  corner,  bris- 
tling with  portholes  and  cannon.  Some  rough-hewn 
stores,  magazines,  and  workshops  were  ranged  inside 
the  enclosure,  with  an  open  court  in  the  middle  where 
the  Indians  brought  their  game  and  peltries.  Directly 
opposite  the  main  entrance  stood  the  governor's  resi- 
dence, a  somewhat  pretentious  two-story  structure  of 
heavy  timber,  mortised  Canadian  fashion,  and  painted 
white.  Here  Dr.  John  McLoughlin,  governor  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 


10  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

and  his  chief  aide  Douglas,  afterward  knighted  Sir 
James,  first  governor  of  British  Columbia,  dispensed 
hospitality  after  the  fashion  of  Saxon  thanes  or  lairds 
of  a  Highland  castle. 

One  autumn  evening  in  1832  a  salute  was  fired  at  the 
gates  of  Fort  Vancouver.  "Some  belated  trapper," 
said  the  traders  in  the  hall.  Guests  were  luxuries  too 
rare  to  be  anticipated  in  the  far-away  Oregon  wild. 
At  a  word  from  Governor  McLoughlin  the  porter  un- 
locked the  gate  and  eleven  strangers  entered,  clad  all 
in  leather,  dripping  with  rain,  and  garnished  with  as 
many  weapons  as  Robin  Hood  in  Sherwood  Forest. 
Dr.  McLoughlin  fixed  a  keen  eye  upon  the  wayfarers 
as  Bruce  ushered  them  into  the  hall. 

"  Wyeth  is  my  name,"  said  the  tall,  wiry  leader. 
"  Nathaniel  J.  Wyeth,  from  Boston :  on  a  trading  trip 
to  the  Columbia." 

"  Bless  me !  "  cried  the  amazed  McLoughlin,  extend- 
ing his  hand.  "  Bless  me,  't  is  a  marvellous  journey. 
Few  could  survive  it.  Welcome  to  Fort  Vancouver." 

Not  since  Astor's  defeat  in  1812  had  any  American 
tried  to  trap  or  trade  in  Oregon.  Unmolested  for 
twenty  years,  the  British  fur-traders  had  reared  their 
palisades  and  filled  their  forts  with  furs.  That  the 
young  republic  on  the  Atlantic  shore  might  stretch  her 
fingers  westward,  that  a  highway  might  be  found  across 
the  mountains  —  these  were  vague  contingencies! 

Despite  his  travel-worn  garb,  Dr.  McLoughlin  recog- 
nized an  honest  man  in  the  tall,  blond  trader  from 
Yankee-land.  He  and  his  followers  were  assigned  to 
quarters  among  the  fur- trading  knights  at  Fort  Van- 
couver. All  winter  Captain  Wyeth  lived  at  the  fort, 
studying  methods  and  evolving  plans  for  future  action. 
All  winter  Captain  Wyeth  watched  for  a  ship  that  never 


AN   AMERICAN   ON   THE   COLUMBIA  11 

came.  In  March  he  started  back  on  the  long  journey 
overland  to  Boston.  The  ship  had  been  lost  at  sea. 
A  second  was  despatched  and  the  Yankee  captain 
reappeared  on  the  Columbia. 

Within  sound  of  the  morning  guns  of  Fort  Vancouver 
Captain  Wyeth  set  up  a  log  fort,  palisaded  like  that  of 
his  rival,  on  the  beautiful  island  of  Wapato,  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Willamette  River.  Out  of  that  ship,  the 
"  May  Dacre,"  he  brought  goats,  sheep,  pigs,  chickens, 
Hawaiians.  The  flitting  forms  of  "  the  Bostons,"  as 
the  Indians  called  them,  in  their  leather  pantaloons  and 
white  wool  hats,  was  a  constant  menace  to  the  occu- 
pants of  the  British  fur  fort.  It  brought  a  breath  of 
that  old  battle  when  Hudson's  Bay  and  Northwesters 
fought  in  the  North.  While  they  treated  the  frank  and 
manly  Bostonian  with  politeness,  with  kindness,  and 
even  generosity,  they  watched  him  like  eagles  and 
shadowed  him  like  spirits.  He  built  Fort  Hall  on  the 
Snake ;  they  set  up  Fort  Bois6  to  draw  away  his  trade. 
Did  he  send  his  men  to  trap  or  buy  beaver?  The 
Hudson's  Bay  men  were  there  before  him,  behind  him, 
around  him.  They  put  up  the  value  of  furs  to  a 
ruinous  figure.  They  sold  Indian  goods  at  fifty  per 
cent  less  than  he  could  afford.  Out  of  an  annual  fund 
put  by  for  the  purpose  they  harassed  him  on  every 
hand.  "  Competition  is  war,  war  to  the  knife,  fierce  and 
deadly,"  but  in  this  case  as  usual,  it  was  "  concealed  under 
gentlemanly  foils  and  masks  and  padded  gloves." 

Neighborly  offices  passed  between  the  forts.  Gov- 
ernor McLoughlin  sent  over  presents  of  fresh  vegetables. 
Wyeth  paddled  over  on  rainy  nights  to  join  the  jolly 
boys  in  Bachelors'  Hall.  Many  and  many  an  hour  he 
discussed  history  and  government  with  Dr.  McLoughlin. 
But  underlying  all  their  intercourse  was  the  discovery 


12  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD    OREGON 

of  each  other's  plans  —  friendship  and  strategy.  Wyeth 
concealed  his  schemes.  Nevertheless,  whenever  his 
men  were  hauling  their  boats  down  to  the  water  the 
ever-present  Hudson's  Bay  men  were  already  launched 
and  met  the  Indians  first. 

An  unprecedentedly  rainy  winter  came  upon  the  Co- 
lumbia. Heavy  mists  enveloped  the  hills ;  the  clouds 
came  down  among  the  trees ;  drip,  drip,  drip  went  the 
rain,  surpassing  the  deluge  of  forty  days  and  forty 
nights.  Soft  Chinooks  blew  up  from  the  sea,  snow  slid 
down  from  the  Cascade  tips,  the  very  Columbia  con- 
spired, creeping  at  dead  of  night  into  Wyeth's  fort  and 
soaking  his  precious  bales.  In  spite  of  calm  and  cool 
philosophy,  Captain  Wyeth  saw  his  inevitable  disad- 
vantage against  the  hereditary  power  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  with  its  hundreds  of  employes  in  prac- 
tice for  generations.  Bankruptcy  shook  its  finger  in 
his  face.  His  handsome  fortune  and  the  credit  of  Boston 
merchants  were  invested.  Still  the  fish  refused  to  tangle 
themselves  in  his  nets.  The  Blackfeet  killed  his  trap- 
pers, stole  his  furs.  Out  of  two  hundred  men,  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  had  been  killed  or  had  deserted  to  the 
rival.  Even  the  superstitious  Indians  refused  to  trade, 
because,  they  said,  long  ago  a  Boston  ship  brought  the 
deadly  fever  that  killed  all  the  people  on  Wapato. 

Once  Wyeth  referred  to  Dr.  McLoughlin's  hereditary 
influence  with  the  Indians. 

"My  hereditary  influence?"  echoed  the  doctor. 
"  Bless  you,  Mr.  Wyeth,  bless  you,  /had  no  hereditary 
influence  !  I  made  the  Indians  fear  me.  I  compelled 
obedience.  I  studied  justice.  I  cultivated  confidence. 
It  takes  time,  Mr.  Wyeth,  it  takes  time." 

"True,  Doctor,  but  you  have  a  great  corporation 
behind  you  with  unlimited  capital.  Your  servants  have 


AN    AMERICAN    ON   THE   COLUMBIA  13 

intermarried  with  the  tribes  to  hold  the  trade.  Our 
policies  are  diametrically  opposed.  Yours  is  to  perpet- 
uate savagism,  to  keep  Oregon  as  a  game  preserve,  a 
great  English  hunting  park.  Mine  would  be  to  fill  it 
with  a  civilized  people." 

"  How  can  they  get  here,  Mr.  Wyeth?  Even  India 
is  not  so  far.  Oregon  is  the  very  end  of  the  world,  a 
whole  year's  voyage  around  Cape  Horn  or  Good  Hope. 
Shut  off  by  rock-ribbed  mountains,  deserts,  savages,  the 
ocean,  how  can  they  get  here?  " 

"  Overland  from  the  United  States,"  answered  the 
Bostonian. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  laughed  incredulously.  "  When  you 
have  levelled  the  mountains,  cultivated  the  desert,  anni- 
hilated distance,  then  and  not  before.  Besides,  the 
United  States  is  too  young,  too  sparsely  settled.  Look 
at  her  miles  of  unoccupied  Mississippi  Valley.  No,  no, 
no,  Mr.  Wyeth,  if  Oregon  is  ever  colonized  it  will  be  by 
sea,  from  England.  We  shall  not  live  to  see  it,  but 
our  children  may." 

The  doctor's  ruddy  face  was  thoughtful.  He  knew 
the  secret  of  Wyeth's  discontent.  It  pained  him  to  feel 
that  Captain  Wyeth  attributed  in  any  way  his  failure  to 
the  company.  The  doctor  fidgeted  with  his  cane. 
He  spoke  his  thought. 

"  What  more  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Wyeth  —  consis- 
tently with  my  duty  to  my  company?  Have  I  not 
treated  you  kindly?  Have  I  not  given  your  men  work 
when  your  own  plans  failed  ?  As  for  civilization,  was  I 
not  glad  to  engage  your  lad,  Solomon  Smith,  to  teach 
our  boys  and  girls?  Did  I  not  hail  with  joy  yoijr 
good  missionary,  Jason  Lee,  and  help  to  establish  him 
in  the  valley?" 

Wyeth  was  silent.     He  could  find  no  fault  with  Dr, 


14  McLOUGHLIN   AND    OLD   OREGON 

McLoughlin;  and  yet  Dr.  McLoughlin  had  ruined 
him.  The  doctor  walked  up  to  him.  He  had  a  very 
affectionate,  winning  manner.  McLoughlin,  one  of 
the  most  urbane  gentlemen  in  the  world,  moreover 
really  liked  Captain  Wyeth,  and  was  sorry  to  see  him 
driven  to  the  wall.  He  took  his  hand  as  a  father 
would. 

"  Business  is  business,  Mr.  Wyeth.  I  like  your  open, 
manly  way.  I  find  you  fair  in  contracts.  I  believe  you 
to  be  a  gentleman  and  an  honest  man.  You  support 
morality  and  encourage  industry.  If  you  —  will  come 
over  to  us  —  Wyeth,  yourself  to  the  fort — join  us  — 
then  I,  myself,  will  forward  your  credentials  to  the 
house  in  London  by  the  next  express.  What  say 
you?" 

The  sturdy  Bostonian  reflected,  then  simply  answered, 
"  I  cannot  join  you,  Doctor." 

"  Then  I  regret  that  I  can  do  nothing  for  you,"  an- 
swered the  doctor,  suddenly  stiff  and  distant  and  yet 
with  sadness  in  his  eye.  "You  see  my  duty  to  my 
company  forbids  it." 

Wyeth  looked  into  the  benevolent  face.  Slowly  he 
added,  "But— I  will  sell." 

So  Nathaniel  J.  Wyeth  sold  to  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  for  what  it  was  willing  to  give,  and  left  the 
country  in  defeat. 

But  though  he  left,  an  important  man  remained. 
That  man  was  Jason  Lee,  the  missionary. 

Long  ago,  when  Lewis  and  Clark  entered  the  Flat- 
head  country,  the  high  chief  looked  in  their  pale  faces 
and  said,  "  They  are  chilled.  See  how  cold  their  cheeks 
are ;  build  fires,  bring  robes." 

Before  the  blazing  fires,  wrapped  in  soft  buffalo-robes, 


AN   AMERICAN    ON   THE   COLUMBIA  15 

the  white  men's  cheeks  grew  red.  Perspiration  burst 
from  every  pore.  The  robes  slipped  off,  but  the  solici- 
tous Indians  kept  putting  them  back.  General  Clark 
then  arose  and  spoke  to  the  kind-hearted  Flatheads  of 
a  great  people  toward  the  rising  sun.  "  They  worship 
the  Great  Spirit,"  he  said.  "  He  has  made  them  strong 
and  brave  and  rich." 

"Does  he  give  them  wigwams  and  much  buffalo?" 
asked  the  Flatheads. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  general. 

Lewis  and  Clark  smoked  the  pipe  of  friendship  and 
passed  on.  The  Nez  Perce*  Flatheads  talked  around 
their  fires.  A  Hudson's  Bay  trader  came. 

"  Do  you  know  about  the  Great  Spirit?  "  inquired  the 
childlike  Flatheads. 

"  Yes ;  you  can  learn  about  him  at  our  school  at  Red 
River." 

The  chief  sent  three  sons  to  the  distant  Red  River. 
When  they  returned  they  taught  their  people  a  rudi- 
mentary form  of  worship. 

A  great  religious  movement  passed  among  the  Nez 
Perce  Flatheads  and  on  up  into  the  Shushwap  country 
on  the  Fraser.  Old  traders  record  it  in  their  memoirs. 
By  and  by  an  American  trapper  came. 

"Do  you  know  about  the  Great  Spirit?"  still  in- 
quired the  childlike  Flatheads. 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  trapper,  "  there  is  a  book  that 
tells  about  him." 

"Where  can  we  find  the  book?"  insisted  the  Flat- 
heads. 

"  Oh,  away  off  in  a  distant  city  where  the  traders 
go." 

The  Indians  held  a  council  and  decided  to  send  for 
the  white  man's  wonderful  book. 


1 6  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

After  a  long  and  weary  wandering  two  Indians  entered 
the  frontier  city  of  St.  Louis  and  asked  for  General 
Clark.  There  was  much  wa-wa  (talk-talk)  and  inquiry 
for  the  book.  The  people  gathered  and  curiously 
eyed  these  representatives  of  a  tribe  a  thousand  miles 
beyond  the  farthest  that  had  ever  appeared  in  the 
streets  of  St.  Louis.  Shawnees,  Pawnees,  Arapahoes, 
Sioux,  had  come,  but  never  before  a  Flathead,  never 
before  anybody  inquiring  for  a  book  of  the  Great 
Spirit. 

General  Clark  was  interested  in  Indians,  in  furs,  in 
lands,  in  wars,  and  treaties.  He  banqueted  these  Indian 
ambassadors.  He  sent  them  with  his  servant  to  see 
the  lions  of  the  city.  They  visited  cathedrals  and  shops 
and  shows,  but  found  no  book.  At  last,  tired  and  dis- 
appointed, they  turned  back  and  sought  the  way  to  their 
own  country. 

"  Is  it  true  that  those  Indians  came  all  that  distance 
for  a  book  of  the  Great  Spirit?"  said  Catlin,  the  Indian 
artist. 

"  They  came  for  that  and  nothing  else,"  said  General 
Clark. 

A  young  clerk  in  one  of  the  St.  Louis  fur-rooms  wrote 
to  his  friends  in  the  East.  It  found  its  way  into  the 
papers.  The  Macedonian  cry  swept  like  a  trumpet  sum- 
mons through  the  churches. 

"Who  will  carry  the  book  of  the  Great  Spirit  to  the 
Flatheads?" 

The  chief  luminary  of  the  Methodist  conference 
answered:  "I  know  but  one  man — Jason  Lee." 

Like  the  voice  of  God,  Jason  Lee  heard  the  Nez 
Perce"  call  —  he  thrilled.  In  a  day  he  tore  himself  from 
the  entreaty  of  friends  to  enter  upon  a  journey  that  was 
not  ended  in  a  year.  With  his  nephew,  Daniel  Lee, 


AN   AMERICAN   ON   THE   COLUMBIA  17 

and  two  other  assistants,  he  accompanied  Wyeth  on  that 
second  trip  in  1834.  So  came  the  missionary  to  the 
realm  of  the  king  of  the  Columbia.  And  that  tall, 
angular  Puritan,  born  just  over  the  Canadian  border, 
was  just  the  man  Dr.  McLoughlin  wanted  for  his  settle- 
ment at  Champoeg.  The  doctor  set  his  plate  beside 
his  own,  and  before  them  all  discussed  the  question  of 
location. 

"  You  have  no  call  to  go  up  there  among  the  Flat- 
heads,  Mr.  Lee,  where  we  cannot  protect  you.  We  have 
plenty  of  Indians  right  here.  Above  the  Falls  of  the 
Willamette  there  lies  a  beautiful  valley.  Besides  the 
Indians  there  is  a  settlement  of  French  Canadians,  with 
their  Indian  wives  and  half-breed  children.  Those 
Canadians  are  your  own  countrymen,  Mr.  Lee,  far  from 
the  advantages  of  school  and  church.  Then,  too,  I  can 
assist  you  here  with  my  boats  and  my  influence.  Up 
there  in  the  Flathead  country  you  will  be  far  cut  off  from 
a  base  of  supplies  and  from  communication  with  the 
civilized  world." 

These  arguments  impressed  the  missionary.  Of 
course  Dr.  McLoughlin  wanted  his  people  at  Champoeg 
instructed.  Still  more  he  wanted  the  mission  a  depend- 
ency of  the  fort. 

Lee  went  up  the  Willamette  and  found  a  valley  fair  as 
the  happy  land  of  Rasselas,  set  between  the  hills.  "  I 
will  build  here,"  he  said.  Out  of  Wyeth's  ship,  the 
"  May  Dacre,"  Lee  unloaded  his  supplies,  and  for  a  trifle 
engaged  Indian  canoe-men  to  transport  them  to  the  site 
of  the  future  mission. 

"  I  warn  you  against  these  missionaries,"  said  John 
Dunn,  a  clerk  in  the  Indian  shop  at  Fort  Vancouver. 
"  I  warn  you.  Look  out  for  them.  They  are  very  meek 
and  humble  now;  but  the  time  will  come  when  they 

t 


1 8  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

will  rise  up  to  question  your  authority,  here,  and  even 
your  right  to  Vancouver  itself." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  "  laughed  the  liberal  doctor.  "  Do 
you  grudge  the  poor  Indian  a  chance?  For  my  part, 
I  think  the  missionaries  show  a  very  good  spirit  in 
coming  to  this  neglected  coast." 


II 

THE    COMING    OF  THE    WHITMANS 
1836 

WHEN  Wyeth  was  returning  defeated  to  the  States 
he  met  a  vision  in  the  mountains,  a  beautiful 
woman  with  golden  hair  and  snowy  brow,  riding  like 
Joan  of  old  to  conquest,  —  Narcissa  Whitman.  With 
her  rode  Eliza  Spalding,  a  slender,  dark-eyed  devotee, 
who  back  in  the  States  had  knelt  in  a  lonely  wayside 
inn  to  consecrate  her  heart  to  Oregon.  Two  brides 
were  on  that  wonderful  journey,  farther  than  flew  the 
imperial  eagles  of  Rome,  to  their  life-work  on  the 
Columbia. 

Two  brides !  —  there  is  a  romance  about  modern 
missions  that  the  apostolic  fathers  never  knew  —  two 
missionary  brides  were  the  first  white  women  to  cross 
the  continent ! 

Two  grooms,  knights-errant,  rode  at  their  sides :  Mar- 
cus Whitman,  a  young  physician,  strong,  resolute,  with 
fire  in  his  deep  blue  eyes  and  courage  imprinted  on 
every  feature  to  the  tips  of  his  auburn  curls,  he,  too, 
had  heard  of  the  Flathead  messengers  for  the  white 
man's  Book  of  the  Great  Spirit;  Henry  Spalding,  a 
youth  long,  lank,  prematurely  wrinkled  and  sharp- 
featured  with  thought,  he,  too,  was  fired  with  apostolic 
ardor.  While  yet  a  student  in  a  village  academy, 
Henry  Spalding  had  bent  the  knee  and  begged  the 
hand  of  Narcissa  Prentice.  To  him  and  to  every  other 


20  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

suitor  the  beautiful  girl  said  no,  until  young  Dr.  Whit- 
man came  riding  like  Lochinvar  out  of  the  West. 

It  was  the  Sabbath  when  Dr.  Whitman  reached  his 
native  village  in  central  New  York,  from  his  first  ex- 
ploring tour  to  the  Rocky  Mountains.  In  the  midst 
of  the  sermon,  he  whom  they  thought  thousands  of 
miles  away,  walked  inta  church,  followed  by  two  tall, 
blanketed  Indians. 

"  Marcus !  "  cried  his  mother,  rising  from  her  pew 
and  stretching  forth  her  arms.  "  Marcus  !  "  echoed  the 
heart  of  a  maid  in  the  village  choir.  In  a  few  days 
there  was  a  wedding  at  the  old-fashioned  house  of 
Judge  Prentice.  There  was  a  missionary  farewell  at 
the  village  church.  Long  after,  it  was  a  tradition  in 
that  village  that  when  the  choir  broke  down  in  sobs, 
the  sweet  soprano  of  Narcissa  Whitman,  the  missionary 
bride,  carried  the  farewell  hymn  alone,  like  a  skylark 
to  the  sky : 

"  Scenes  of  sacred  peace  and  pleasure, 

Holy  days  and  Sabbath  bell, 
Richest,  brightest,  sweetest  treasure, 
Can  I  say  a  last  farewell  ?  " 

They  started.  Cincinnati  was  a  village  in  the  woods ; 
Chicago,  unknown;  St.  Louis,  the  end  of  the  West. 
Oregon  was  foreign  land  in  1836. 

"  You  can  never  get  the  women  through,"  said  Cat- 
lin,  the  Indian  artist,  at  Pittsburg.  "  They  will  both 
be  kidnapped,"  said  old  trappers  on  the  border. 
"  They  are  white  squaws,  white  as  snow,"  was  the 
word  that  flew  from  tribe  to  tribe  as,  under  the  convoy 
of  the  American  Fur  Company,  they  entered  the  great, 
wild  land  of  the  West.  For  miles  the  enraptured  In- 
dians followed  in  silent  admiration. 

"  This  is  the  end  of  the  wagon  route,"  said  the  fur- 


THE   COMING   OF  THE   WHITMANS  21 

traders,  stopping  their  train  of  carts  at  Fort  Laramie 
on  the  Platte.  "  We  always  pack  on  mules  from  this 
point  over  the  mountains." 

"  But  we  must  take  a  wagon,  on  account  of  the 
women,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  "  Did  not  Bonneville  take 
carts  over  to  Green  River?  Did  not  Ashley  haul  a 
cannon  to  Great  Salt  Lake?" 

"  Yes,"  admitted  the  traders,  "  and  then  Bridger  tried 
it,  but  they  all  gave  it  up  —  left  their  carts  in  the 
mountains.  Bonneville  had  no  end  of  trouble  —  if  he 
had  n't  had  a  blacksmith  along  for  constant  repairs,  he 
never  could  have  got  through.  The  fact  is,  it  is  not 
considered  practicable." 

Dr.  Whitman  had  crossed  those  Alps  before.  If 
Bonneville  took  a  wagon  across,  he  could.  "  I  know 
we  can  do  it  —  I  can  almost  see  a  road,"  said  the  daunt- 
less doctor,  with  that  positive  assurance  that  always  won 
half  his  battles. 

"  Go  ahead,  then,"  laughed  the  traders.  "  A  good 
wheel  route  to  Green  River  will  double  our  profits. 
We  will  gladly  send  a  man  with  you  to  help  explore  a 
way." 

With  the  doctor's  wagon  and  a  trader's  cart  the  little 
company  pushed  on,  leaving  Fort  Laramie,  the  last 
outpost  of  civilized  man,  on  the  foothills  at  their  rear. 
Dr.  Whitman  made  a  wagon  route  his  special  object 
of  study.  With  now  a  tip-up  and  now  a  turn-over,  and 
now  a  long  detour  among  the  ragged  pines,  he  followed 
the  way  of  the  Great  South  Pass  through  the  heart  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains.  Mr.  Spalding  brought  the  cows ; 
W.  H.  Gray,  an  assistant,  drove  the  packhorses.  In 
smooth  mountain  meadows  the  women  rode  in  the 
wagon;  in  shelving,  rough  defiles  they  mounted  their 
horses,  cheering  their  husbands  over  this  barrier  ridge 


22  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

of  the  world,  supposed  to  forever  shut  the  East  from 
the  West. 

The  magical  word  flew  over  the  mountains  —  hun- 
dreds of  Nez  Percys,  Flatheads,  Snakes,  and  Bannocks 
came  out  to  meet  them. 

Two  Nez  Percd  chiefs  went  up  on  the  heights  to 
escort  them  down.  There,  on  the  summit  of  the  con- 
tinent, the  flag  was  unfurled.  Under  its  starry  folds, 
facing  the  west,  the  little  band  knelt,  and  like  Colum- 
bus took  possession  in  the  name  of  God. 

The  moment  the  two  brides  alighted  at  the  trader's 
rendezvous  on  Green  River,  scores  of  Indian  women 
pressed  to  grasp  their  hands  and  kiss  their  cheeks.  A 
handful  of  bronzed  mountaineers,  so  long  in  the  wilds 
they  had  forgotten  the  looks  of  a  white  woman,  pulled 
off  their  caps  in  memory  of  their  mothers. 

"  Thar !  "  said  Joe  Meek,  an  American  trapper,  "  thar 
are  immigrants  that  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  cannot 
drive  out." 

"  You  must  leave  your  wagon  here,"  said  everybody 
at  the  rendezvous  —  everybody  but  the  Indians.  They 
followed  with  wonder  the  musical  chick-a-chick  clatter- 
ing over  the  rocks.  They  waved  their  arms  toward  the 
hills,  they  chattered  and  jabbered  and  put  their  shoulders 
to  the  wheels. 

"  We  can  take  it  through,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  The 
Indians  went  ahead  and  helped  him  hunt  the  road  that 
afterward  became  the  great  overland  route  to  the  West. 
Night  after  night,  late  and  tired,  the  doctor  came 
puffing  into  camp. 

The  wagon  stuck  in  the  creeks,  it  upset  on  the  steep 
hillsides,  and  then  —  the  axle-tree  broke. 

"  Leave  it,  Marcus,"  said  Mrs.  Whitman,  reining  up  her 
beautiful  bay.  "  Let  us  have  no  more  trouble  with  it." 


THE   COMING  OF  THE   WHITMANS  23 

But  no,  the  doctor  made  a  cart  of  the  back  wheels 
and  lashed  on  the  fore  wheels.  "  I  shall  take  it  through, 
Narcissa,  in  some  shape  or  other,"  he  said. 

"  You  can  get  it  no  farther,"  said  the  Hudson's  Bay 
men  at  the  cottonwood  stockade  of  Fort  Hall  —  the 
fort  that  Wyeth  had  sold  to  McLoughlin. 

But  the  doctor  went  ahead  and  swam  the  deep,  swift 
Snake.  Cart  and  mules  turned  upside  down  and  were 
almost  lost,  but  with  iron  grip  the  doctor  brought  them 
out  on  the  other  side  and  safe  to  Fort  Boise".  Then  all 
rose  up.  "  'T  is  a  crazy  scheme  to  take  the  wagon  on," 
they  cried.  "The  season  is  late,  the  animals  are  fail- 
ing, the  wagon  is  a  source  of  delay,  the  route  in  cross- 
ing the  Blue  Mountains  is  said  to  be  utterly  impassable 
for  it." 

"  I  will  send  for  it  by  and  by,"  said  the  determined 
missionary,  stowing  the  battered  vehicle  away  in  a  shed 
at  old  Fort  Boise  under  the  care  of  Monsieur  Payette, 
the  clerk  in  charge. 

Over  the  scorched  plains  of  the  Snake,  with  a  brigade 
of  Hudson's  Bay  traders,  into  the  cool  groves  of  the 
Blue  Mountains  they  rode.  Tom  McKay's  excellent 
hunters  brought  down  for  them  the  elk  and  the  ante- 
lope. On  the  last  day  of  August,  1836,  three  days 
ahead  of  their  party,  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Whitman  galloped 
up  to  the  gates  of  old  Fort  Walla  Walla.  Heralds  had 
gone  before,  a  watch  was  on  the  ramparts,  the  gates 
were  open.  Monsieur  Pierre  Pambrun,  the  courtly  chief 
factor,  assisted  from  her  steed  the  pioneer  of  all  white 
women  across  the  hills  to  the  River  of  the  West.  That 
night  the  wearied  travellers  slept  in  the  west  bastion, 
full  of  portholes  and  rilled  with  fire-arms.  A  great 
cannon,  always  loaded,  stood  behind  the  door.  The 
water  swished  by  the  walls.  The  wind  howled  down 


24  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  Columbia,  shaking  the  driftwood  donjon  till  their 
voices  were  lost  in  the  racket.  A  courier  rode  post  to 
Fort  Vancouver. 

"  They  come,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin,  "  not  as  rivals, 
not  as  traders,  but  as  allies,  to  teach  our  Indians  peace 
and  industry." 

Seated  in  the  fur-traders'  boats  with  Chief  Factor 
Pambrun  and  his  voyageurs,  the  Americans  glided  down 
the  Columbia,  beyond  the  drifting  sand,  past  the  log 
huts  of  the  Walla  Walla  fishermen,  who  from  point  to 
point  stood  sweeping  their  nets  in  the  foaming  waters, 
on  into  the  high  dark  dikes  that  shut  in  the  tortuous 
river.  Here  they  entered  an  elder,  grander  Hudson, 
lacking  only  castles  on  the  cliffs  to  give  a  human  touch. 
But  there  were  castles,  arrested  mid  air  from  the  vol- 
canic throat  of  Hood,  in  ages  long  gone  by,  columns 
upon  columns  crowned  with  towers,  columns  that 
swelled  like  the  bastions  of  ancient  citadels  —  basaltic 
bluffs,  turreted  with  the  pinnacles  and  shafts  and  domes 
that  guard  this  gateway  of  the  floods. 

Where  the  Columbia  breaks  through  the  Cascade 
range  they  looked  where  never  white  woman  looked 
before,  on  the  dark  foundations  of  the  hills  planted 
deep  in  the  turbulent  water,  and  rising  hundreds  of 
feet  in  the  heavens.  The  whitecaps  rolled  as  at  sea. 
A  gale  came  up  from  the  west,  and  the  little  boats  rose 
and  fell  like  sea-gulls  on  the  surges.  Mt.  Hood,  visible 
for  miles,  grew  to  life  size.  St.  Helens  reared  her  grace- 
ful, tapering  cone  above  the  distant  firs.  Within  the 
curving  inlets  vast  amphitheatres  with  columnar  tiers  of 
seats  outdid  the  Roman  Coliseum.  On  every  headland 
grim  promontories  frowned  like  forts  of  some  Titanic 
age. 

On  the  second  day  they  had  reached   the    Dalles. 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   WHITMANS  25 

In  three  days,  hark  I  the  roaring  cascades  dashed  their 
billows  on  the  rocks.  From  shore  to  shore  a  rapidly 
declining,  irregular  sheet  of  snow-white  foam  slid  to  the 
level  below.  Grander  rose  the  mountains,  four  thou- 
sand five  thousand  feet  on  either  hand,  cut  by  livid 
gashes  of  ravine  exposing  the  ribs  of  mother  earth. 
Not  a  lip  moved,  not  a  word  was  spoken  as  the  French- 
Iroquois  boatman  stood  at  his  post  and  with  a  skilful 
dip  turned  the  flying  canoe  from  the  point  of  some  pro- 
jecting rock,  while  on  every  side  seethed  and  yawned 
the  great  green  caves  of  water.  Should  a  heart  fail  or 
a  cheek  blanch  now?  No,  each  face  was  as  immobile 
as  the  naked  Indian  on  yonder  rock  that  stood  like  a 
statue  cut  in  bronze  spearing  the  passing  salmon. 

At  the  portages  how  the  Indians  wondered  to  see 
the  men  helping  the  women  over  the  rough  places. 
Why,  they  did  not  even  have  to  carry  the  baggage ! 

Fort  Vancouver  was  ready.  The  flags  were  flying. 
Two  ships  lay  in  the  river,  —  the  "  Nereid,"  a  man-of-war 
just  from  London  and  bound  for  the  Northwest  coast 
with  bales  of  Indian  goods,  and  the  barque  *'  Columbia," 
about  to  sail  on  her  return  voyage  with  furs  and  peltries. 
The  stirring  song  of  the  voyageurs  rang  over  the  ter- 
raced plain.  The  stately  McLoughlin  and  the  knightly 
Douglas  stood  on  the  shore  to  welcome  these  guests 
whose  coming  would  unfold  a  world  of  change.  It  was 
an  historic  time.  Mighty  men  and  lovely  women  stood 
there,  who  had  trod  a  continent,  bearing  the  cross, 
farther  than  rode  the  Hun  of  old,  farther  than  the 
Helvetian,  farther  than  even  the  Celt  to  the  verge  of 
Europe.  It  was  a  scene  to  shine  on  canvas  and  live  in 
story,  like  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  like  the  march 
of  Constantine,  like  Augustine  in  England,  like  Paul  on 
the  hills  of  Greece.  Governor  McLoughlin  offered  his 


26  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

arm   to    Mrs.  Whitman,  Black  Douglas,  assisted    Mrs 
Spalding,  and  all  passed  into  the  fort. 

It  was  a  welcome  rest  after  the  long  days  on  the 
plains  and  the  mountains,  after  the  camps  in  dust  and 
sand,  after  the  suns  and  frost  and  fatigue.  It  seemed 
like  a  dream  to  find  this  roomy  old  stronghold  in  the 
wilderness.  Primeval  forests  swayed  and  sobbed  upon 
the  hills,  primeval  Indians  paddled  and  chanted  along 
the  streams.  The  long  low  halls,  the  echoing  floors,  the 
roaring,  wide-mouthed  chimneys,  the  weapons  of  the 
chase  and  elk-skin  armor  on  the  wall,  all  told  that 
the  fur-traders  perpetuated  a  storied  past. 

What  a  change  was  the  bounteous  board  from 
buffalo-beef  and  mountain  bread,  —  flour  and  water 
fried  in  tallow.  The  best  cooks  of  Canada  waited  on  the 
fur-trader.  Carving  was  carried  to  perfection  at  Fort 
Vancouver.  Salmon,  ducks,  and  geese  and  venison, 
the  choice  of  an  epicure,  was  daily  fare.  And  fruit?  — 
through  the  postern  gate  they  walked  in  the  garden 
musky  with  odors  of  peaches  and  pears,  slender-limbed 
apple-trees  broken  with  their  golden  weights,  and  rows 
of  plum  and  fig-trees  crimsoned  in  the  sun.  Between 
the  neat  squares  the  old  Scotch  gardener  had  gravelled 
his  walks  and  lined  them  with  strawberry  vines,  and  at 
the  far  end  stood  the  grape-grown  summer-house  where 
Rae  had  wooed  his  Eloise. 

But  Dr.  Whitman  could  not  rest.  Whatever  he  ought 
to  do,  that  he  must  do  without  delay. 

In  its  great  westward  sweep  to  the  sea  the  Columbia 
narrows  at  the  Dalles  into  a  chasm  that  a  fiend  might 
leap.  Here  the  salmon  crowded  in  such  prodigious 
numbers  in  their  journey  from  the  sea  that  from  time 
immemorial  it  had  been  a  famous  fishing  spot.  In  the 
summer  season  thousands  of  Indians  gathered  there 


THE  COMING   OF   THE  WHITMANS  27 

and  hung  enormous  baskets  from  the  rocks.  The 
leaping  salmon  landed  in  the  baskets  in  schools  and 
shoals,  and  the  watchful  Indians  hauled  up  tons  and 
tons  a  day.  It  was  like  a  great  fair  when  the  tribes  of 
the  interior  came  down  to  trade  for  salmon  at  the 
Dalles. 

"  Here/'  said  Whitman,  "  is  a  strategic  point.  Here 
will  I  locate  my  mission." 

"No,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin,  "the  Dalles  Indians  are 
fishing  Indians,  treacherous  and  unreliable.  Go  up 
among  the  hunting  Indians  of  the  Walla  Walla.  Do 
you  not  know  that  the  English  troopers  are  recruited 
from  the  fox-hunters  of  England?  The  Indians  of  the 
chase  are  the  troopers  of  this  continent.  They  can  do 
anything." 

"But   can   they   be   tamed?"    asked   Dr.    Whitman. 

"The  possibilities  of  those  horse  Indians  cannot  be 
measured,"  answered  Dr.  McLoughlin.  "  They  are  in 
a  state  of  nature,  uncorrupted,  strong  and  brave  and 
free.  These  canoe  Indians  are  in  the  process  of  decay." 

"  But  how  can  I  locate  so  far  from  my  base  of  sup- 
plies? "  hesitated  the  missionary. 

"  I  will  send  your  goods  in  my  boats  for  a  trifle. 
Every  summer  our  brigades  go  up  the  Columbia  with 
supplies  for  the  interior.  Your  credit  shall  be  always 
good.  Our  stations  at  Fort  Walla  Walla  and  Fort 
Colvile  are  open  to  your  orders." 

While  their  husbands  were  gone,  looking  at  the  upper 
country,  Mrs.  Whitman  and  Mrs.  Spalding  remained 
guests  at  Fort  Vancouver.  In  a  day  their  love  un- 
locked the  hearts  of  Madame  McLoughlin  and  her 
stately  daughter  Eloise  and  the  charming  Mrs.  Doug- 
las. The  trader's  children  crowded  about  the  delicate 
Mrs.  Spalding  like  bees  around  a  honeysuckle.  She 


28  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

could  draw,  she  could  paint,  and  spin  .and  weave  and 
knit,  and  they  watched  her  fingers  with  curious  eager- 
ness. Far  back  on  the  plains  she  had  cemented  a  last- 
ing friendship  with  the  Indian  women  by  her  quick 
intuition  of  their  wants  and  her  readiness  in  learning 
Nez  Perce,  but  to  Mrs.  Whitman  the  men  bowed  down 
as  at  a  shrine  before  a  golden  goddess.  The  silken 
cape  that  encircled  her  soft,  white  neck  seemed  like 
the  fluttering  of  wings,  her  golden  hair  like  an  aureole 
of  light.  When  she  sang  —  forty  years  after,  tears 
leaped  to  the  eyes  of  the  old  fur-traders  at  the  memory 
of  the  prima  donna  of  Fort  Vancouver.  Quickly  the 
children  and  the  voyageurs  caught  from  her  lips  the 
plaintive,  "  Watchman,  tell  us  of  the  night,"  to  vie 
thenceforth  with  their  French  chansons  in  the  forest. 

At  Dr.  McLoughlin's  request  Mrs.  Whitman  heard 
his  daughter  recite  every  day.  Eloise  had  the  fresh 
enthusiasm  that  has  never  been  cloyed  by  schools  or 
tasks.  While  the  girls  of  New  England  were  patiently 
working  their  samplers,  this  princess  of  the  Columbia 
was  embroidering  caps  and  moccasins.  While  the  girls 
of  New  England  practised  formal  scales  in  music, 
Eloise  was  picking  up  the  tunes  of  the  voyageurs,  and 
might  often  be  seen  in  her  light  canoe  darting  across 
the  Columbia,  singing  as  she  went  the  wild  songs  of  old 
Canada. 

If  the  missionary-brides  instructed  the  ladies  of  Fort 
Vancouver,  they,  too,  were  taught  in  the  lore  of  lustrous 
sables,  silky  sea-otter,  thick  brown  mink,  and  soft  black 
beaver.  Eloise  could  tell  them  that  the  fiery  fox  was  a 
prize  in  China,  that  the  Russian  would  give  a  hundred 
silver  rubles  for  the  sea-otter  that  the  Chinook  slid 
down  and  speared  as  it  slept  on  the  shore,  that  the 
dappled  bearskin  would  line  the  coach  of  an  English 


THE   COMING   OF   THE   WHITMANS  29 

noble,  that  the  blue  fox  went  to  the  czar  for  a  royal 
cloak,  and  the  silver  gray  to  an  Indian  rajah. 

"And  do  I  care  to  wear  the  beautiful  furs?"  asked 
Eloise.  "  Oh,  no ;  you  see  I  know  how  they  get  them. 
I  know  how  our  men  face  winter  and  summer  in  the 
lonely  mountains.  It  is  not  play.  My  father  says 
hunting  the  beaver  is  the  most  laborious  work  in  the 
world." 

Never  did  guests  more  regretted  leave  the  halls  oi 
Fort  Vancouver.  Had  it  been  possible  they  would  have 
been  detained  permanently,  but  winter  rains  were  set- 
ting in,  sure  sign  that  storms  were  whirling  around  Mt. 
Hood.  They  must  re-embark  for  the  upper  country. 
Many  a  token  of  beads  and  embroidery  was  placed  in 
their  hands  by  the  skilled  ladies  of  the  fort  as  Whitman 
and  Spalding  bore  away  their  brides  to  the  distant 
mission. 

Dr.  Whitman  had  planted  his  mission  among  the 
knightly  Cayuses,  the  imperial  tribe  of  Oregon,  who  in 
the  long-ago  ruled  to  the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  and 
whose  herds  now  covered  the  plains  from  the  foothills 
of  Mt.  Hood  to  the  borders  of  the  Snake.  It  was  on  a 
green  spot  called  by  the  Indians  Waiilatpu,  the  Rye- 
Grass  Meadow,  that  Whitman  halted  on  the  banks  of 
the  Walla  Walla. 

Chief  Factor  Pambrun  had  ridden  out  with  him,  both 
of  their  horses  belly  deep  in  the  rye-grass,  to  decide 
upon  the  location.  All  around  lay  rolling  green  prairie, 
bathing  its  cottonwood  edge  in  the  winding  river. 
Away  to  the  east  the  Blue  Mountains  were  hazy  along 
the  horizon.  Far  to  the  west  were  the  snows  of  Hood, 
that  the  Indians  pointed  out  as  the  mountain  near 
which  the  White-Headed  Eagle  dwelt.  Twenty-five 
miles  to  the  west  lay  Fort  Walla  Walla  on  a  narrow 


30  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

stretch  of  sand  between  the  Columbia  and  the  Walla 
Walla.  On  the  hills  around  grazed  the  beautiful  spotted 
horses  of  the  Walla  Walla-Cayuses.  Here  and  there  the 
smoke  curled  up  from  the  conical  skin  lodges,  and 
thickly  gathered  all  around  them  were  mounted  Indians 
eagerly  watching  the  decision  of  the  missionary.  They 
were  clean,  well-dressed,  noble-looking  men,  those 
Walla  Walla-Cayuses,  with  their  eagle  eyes  and  fine 
straight  noses,  men  that  looked  well  worth  the  efforts  of 
a  Whitman  or  a  Wesley.  Yellow  Serpent,  Pio-pio-mox- 
mox,  was  their  chief,  a  haughty,  handsome  Indian  fond 
of  dress  and  parade.  By  the  side  of  Yellow  Serpent  rode 
his  little  son,  a  lad  of  twelve  years,  baptized  by  Jason 
Lee  with  the  name  of  a  bishop  of  the  Methodist  church, 
Elijah  Hedding.  Already  Elijah  had  studied  a  year  at 
the  mission  on  the  Willamette. 

There  were  present  also  the  Cayuse  brothers  of 
Elijah's  mother,  Tauitau  and  Five  Crows,  head  men  in 
the  council,  and  Tiloukaikt,  a  great  dark  chief  with  a 
voice  like  a  brazen  trumpet.  As  soon  as  the  decision 
was  made,  Chief  Factor  Pambrun  sent  out  two  workmen 
from  Fort  Walla  Walla  and  the  Indians  all  turned  in  to 
help  build  Whitman's  adobe  mansion. 

Spalding  had  set  up  his  tabernacle  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles  northeast  at  Lapwai,  on  the  Clear- 
water  River,  a  few  miles  from  the  present  site  of 
Lewiston,  Idaho.  Here,  among  the  teachable  Nez 
Perec's,  the  patient,  persevering  missionary  and  his 
gifted  wife  accomplished  a  work  that  has  never  been 
surpassed  in  any  age  among  a  savage  people.  Like 
Pastor  Oberlin  in  the  hills  of  Alsace,  Whitman  and 
Spalding  set  examples  of  industry,  and  ploughed  and 
planted  and  sowed,  and  shared  the  harvest  with  their 
people.  For  a  while,  wherever  they  travelled  through 


THE  COMING   OF  THE  WHITMANS  31 

the  country,  hundreds  of  Indians  followed  to  see  the 
white  men  who  brought  the  Book  of  the  Great  Spirit 
and  to  hear  them  preach  at  night.  Spalding's  Indians 
would  sometimes  spend  the  entire  night  repeating  what 
he  had  taught  them  in  the  evening.  Gray-haired  men 
and  chiefs  became  pupils  of  their  own  little  children  in 
learning  to  read  and  write. 

Did  the  presence  of  those  women  suggest  a  thought 
to  Jason  Lee?  No;  long  since  he  had  written  to  the 
Board  to  select  and  send  him  a  suitable  wife. 


Ill 

THE    WEDDING    OF  JASON  LEE 

1837 

AGAIN  a  salute  resounded  at  the  gates  of  Fort 
Vancouver. 

"Who  the  devil's  come  at  this  time  o'  night?  "  grum- 
bled the  sleepy  fur-traders,  turning  on  their  couches. 
The  porter  crawled  out  of  his  lodge  in  his  nightcap. 
To  the  impatient  knockers  outside  a  heavy  step  sounded 
and  a  gruff  voice  demanded,  "  Who  's  there  ?  " 

"  Strangers  from  the  States  on  the  brig  '  Diana.' " 

The  great  key  turned,  the  gate  swung  creaking  on 
its  hinges.  This  time  several  men  entered,  with  their 
wives,  followed  by  three  fair  damsels  half  revealed  by 
the  light  of  the  moon.  The  old  porter  led  the  shadowy 
figures  up  to  McLoughlin's  door. 

"Who  is  it?"  inquired  the  doctor,  in  dressing-gown 
and  moccasins,  holding  a  candle  above  his  head.  The 
white  locks  framed  an  almost  youthful  face  as  he  leaned, 
peering  into  the  night. 

"  A  reinforcement  to  Jason  Lee's  mission,"  answered 
the  spokesman  of  the  party. 

"More  missionaries?"  laughed  the  doctor.  "Well, 
well,  surely  we  '11  all  get  converted  by  and  by.  Come 
in,  come  in."  He  took  each  hand  with  the  grasp  of 
a  friend,  and  turning  led  into  the  great  dining  hall, 
where  a  log  still  smouldered  on  the  hearth. 


THE   WEDDING   OF  JASON   LEE  33 

"Be  seated;  be  seated."  The  doctor  rummaged 
around,  poking  the  log  with  his  cane,  and  pushing  up 
a  settee.  "  Burris,  Burris  !  "  he  called  from  an  adjoining 
door.  In  short  order  the  major-domo  appeared  with 
candles,  that  cast  weird  flickers  against  the  windows 
and  the  high  dark  ceiling. 

"  And  so  Congress  is  still  discussing  that  Maine 
boundary? "  Dr.  McLoughlin  was  saying,  when  the 
butler  reappeared  with  a  steaming  tray.  A  dusky 
Kanaka  (Hawaiian)  poured  the  tea,  while  Burris  re- 
tired to  pile  Indian  blankets  on  the  bunk-like  beds  of 
the  fort. 

Before  daylight  Dr.  McLoughlin  called,  "  Money- 
coon  !  "  An  Indian  rolled  out  of  his  blanket  in  the 
barracks. 

"  Get  the  despatch-boat.  Take  these  papers  to  Jason 
Lee  at  the  mission  as  quick  as  you  can." 

The  Indian  disappeared.  There  was  a  click  at  the 
boat-house  door,  a  gleam  on  the  river.  Forty-eight 
hours  later  McLoughlin,  glass  in  hand,  descried  two 
canoes  laboring  up  the  billowy  Columbia  in  a  tempest 
of  wind.  "  See,  he  even  comes  in  a  storm !  " 

All  turned  to  banter  the  maiden  who  now  was  to 
behold  her  future  husband.  Through  all  that  voyage 
Anna  Maria  Pitman  had  kept  saying  to  herself,  "  I 
may  not  marry  him;  I  may  not  marry  him." 

The  little  company  sat  with  Dr.  McLoughlin  in  a 
room  facing  the  gate,  when  it  swung  back,  and  a  tall, 
broad-shouldered  man  past  thirty  approached  at  the 
rate  of  seventy-five  strides  a  minute.  "  See  the  con- 
quering hero  comes,"  whispered  the  teasing  companions. 

Anna  Maria  raised  her  eyes,  and  at  a  glance  took  in 
the  Yankee  make-up,  the  Puritan  face  with  its  long, 
light  hair,  spiritual  eyes,  and  prominent  nose.  Any- 

3 


34  McLOUGHLIN  AND   OLD   OREGON 

where  it  was  a  face  to  be  remembered,  but  to  her 
poetic  mind  a  certain  halo  glowed  about  that  high, 
retreating  forehead.  Dr.  McLoughlin  brought  them 
face  to  face.  There  was  a  letter  in  Jason  Lee's  pocket 
saying,  "  She  has  been  sent  out  on  purpose  for  you." 

"  They  really  took  me  at  my  word !  "  thought  the 
missionary.  "  Well,  well,  well !  Though  a  lady  should 
travel  the  world  over  to  become  my  wife,  yet  I  cannot 
marry  her  unless  upon  acquaintance  I  become  satisfied 
that  such  a  step  will  be  conducive  to  our  happiness. 
Judgment  alone,  under  the  influence  of  an  enlightened 
conscience,  must  decide  this  question." 

A  pale  pink  suffused  Miss  Pitman's  neck  and  brow 
under  Jason  Lee's  scrutinizing  gaze.  They  had  met 
before  in  New  York  City,  but  his  recollection  had 
been,  "  She  is  not  a  lady  that  I ,  should  fancy  for  a 
wife." 

There  may  have  been  inward  tumult,  but  outwardly 
Jason  Lee  was  as  calm  as  on  that  thirsty  day  on  the 
plains  when  he  stopped  the  cows  for  a  cup  of  milk  and 
was  surprised  by  a  band  of  whooping  savages.  "  In- 
dians !  Indians  !  "  cried  his  comrades.  But  Lee  quietly 
had  kept  on  till  his  cup  was  full.  One  round  little  spot 
of  red  burned  in  either  cheek. 

It  was  a  lovely  May  morning  when  the  governor's 
guests  started  up  the  Willamette.  Bloom  and  verdure 
and  songs  of  birds,  blue  rippling  waters  and  distant 
peaks  of  snow  smiled  on  the  scene.  Governor  Mc- 
Loughlin and  the  whole  household  of  the  fort  accom- 
panied them  down  to  the  water's  edge.  With  gay 
farewells  and  good  wishes  the  boats  shot  off,  bearing, 
in  addition  to  other  baggage,  a  great  Indian  basket 
of  provisions  from  the  bountiful  larder  of  Fort  Van- 
couver. By  the  conniving  of  their  companions  Jason 


THE   WEDDING   OF  JASON   LEE  35 

Lee  and  Miss  Pitman  were  seated  last,  in  a  boat  alone, 
with  a  crew  of  Indians,  not  one  of  whom  could  speak 
a  word  of  English. 

With  a  bold  sweep  Jason  Lee  sent  his  canoe  far 
ahead.  Anna  Maria's  hair  rippled  from  her  comb,  her 
cheek  glowed,  her  eye  sparkled.  Little  dappled  gray 
seals,  with  large,  round,  gentle  eyes,  swam  on  either 
side,  following  the  boat  like  mastiffs,  now  leaping  in 
the  water,  and  now  catching  at  some  unlucky  salmon  as 
it  bumped  its  nose  in  its  headlong  course  up  stream. 
At  sunset  the  party  camped  in  an  oak  orchard  grove, 
where  now  the  city  of  Portland  stretches  its  stately 
avenues  and  rears  its  palatial  homes.  The  next  day 
they  encountered  shoals  of  salmon,  literally  millions, 
leaping  and  curveting  and  climbing  the  foamy  falls  of 
the  Willamette,  where  now  the  factories  of  Oregon 
City  send  out  their  flumes  and  wheels.  On  the  third 
day  Jason  Lee  and  his  assistants  landed  where  the  moss- 
grown  cottages  of  Champoeg  dotted  French  Prairie. 

As  early  as  1827  fitienne  Lucier  had  said,  "  Gov- 
ernor, do  you  think  this  will  ever  become  a  settled 
country?  " 

"  Yes ;  wherever  wheat  grows  you  may  depend  upon 
its  becoming  a  settled  country." 

"  What  assistance  will  you  give  me  to  settle  on  the 
Willamette?  I  cannot  face  Canadian  cold  again.  I 
am  getting  old."  fitienne  Lucier  had  been  one  of 
Astor's  Canadians,  who  had  never  left  the  Oregon 
country  since  the  day  when  the  great  New  Yorker's 
stronghold  was  handed  over  to  British  traders. 

McLoughlin  reflected.  Pifere  was  a  case  that  might 
become  a  precedent.  It  was  against  the  rules  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  to  dismiss  servants  in  the 
Indian  country,  but  by  retaining  them  on  his  books 


36  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

they  might  cultivate  the  land  and  become  a  base  of 
supplies  for  the  Pacific  posts. 

These  old  voyageurs  had  Indian  wives.  They  had 
families  growing  up  around  them,  born  in  Oregon  and 
accustomed  to  its  genial  climate.  To  transport  them  to 
Canada  would  be  not  only  a  great  expense,  but  a  cruel 
exile.  To  separate  the  men  from  their  families  —  that 
was  not  to  be  thought  of.  These  French  Canadians 
loved  their  Indian  wives.  The  children  had  twined 
about  their  heartstrings.  By  permitting  them  to  culti- 
vate the  fertile  Willamette  Dr.  McLoughlin  could  retain 
them  under  his  control,  while  their  influence  on  their 
Indian  relatives  would  maintain  continued  cordiality 
between  the  races. 

"What  assistance  will  I  give?"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin. 
"  Seed  to  sow,  and  wheat  to  feed  yourself  and  family 
till  crops  come.  Then  I  will  buy  your  surplus  grain." 

One  after  another  had  settled  in  the  valley,  until  now 
there  was  a  prosperous  colony.  Jason  Lee  landed  his 
party  at  the  entrance  to  this  settlement,  whose  farm- 
houses were  scattered  back  to  the  foothills.  Rude  rail 
fences  ran  zigzag  around  the  meadows.  Wild  roses 
nodded  in  the  corners  and  bloomed  in  the  wheat.  The 
Canadians  greeted  the  missionary  with  friendly  welcome, 
opened  their  doors,  offered  their  horses.  He  talked 
with  them  in  their  French  patois,  and  could  tell  as 
many  stories  as  they  of  logging  on  the  Ottawa.  They 
were  nearly  all  Catholics.  Jason  Lee  was  a  Protestant 
Nevertheless,  they  attended  his  preaching  gladly, 
though  sometimes  there  might  be  a  longing  for  the 
showier  Catholic  forms,  and  chants,  and  candles  of 
childhood. 

Terra-cotta  colored  children,  some  darker,  some  fair 
and  almost  white,  dressed  in  blue  and  scarlet,  were  sit- 


THE  WEDDING   OF  JASON   LEE  37 

ting  on  the  stiles  and  swinging  on  the  lower  halves  of 
the  wide  barn  doors.  The  dogs  slept  in  the  sun,  the 
cocks  crew,  and  the  pigeons  cooed  in  the  airy  lofts. 
The  barns  themselves,  four  times  as  large  as  the  houses, 
were  still  bursting  with  last  year's  harvest.  The  chil- 
dren, true  little  Frenchmen,  left  their  play  to  courtesy 
to  Jason  Lee  and  to  watch  the  wonderful  white  women. 
Their  mothers,  in  calico  dresses  and  leggings  and  moc- 
casins, with  red  kerchiefs  crossed  on  their  breasts, 
nodded  and  smiled  as  the  strangers  passed.  These 
women,  whose  mothers  had  packed  teepees  and  dug 
camas  all  their  lives,  women  who  had  passed  their 
infancy  strapped  on  a  baby-board,  now  scrubbed  their 
little  cabins  and  managed  the  garden  and  dairy  as  well 
as  any  thrifty  frau  among  the  Germans.  For  their 
Canadian  husbands  they  deemed  no  sacrifice  too 
great,  for  their  children  they  filled  the  last  measure  of 
devotion. 

"  Indeed/'  Jason  Lee  used  to  say,  "  these  happy-go- 
lucky  voyageurs  are  fortunate  in  finding  such  capable 
women  to  make  them  homes,"  and  the  Canadians  them- 
selves would  have  told  you  they  were  worth  "  half  a 
dozen  civilized  wives." 

Exchanging  the  canoe  for  the  saddle,  the  mission 
party  galloped  across  French  Prairie  knee-deep  in 
flowers.  The  larks  flew  up  and  sung. 

It  was  not  a  princely  mansion,  that  humble  log  mis- 
sion twenty  by  thirty,  with  chimney  of  sticks  and  clay. 
Jason  Lee  had  swung  the  broadaxe  that  hewed  the 
logs;  Daniel  Lee  had  calked  the  crevices  with  moss. 
There  were  Indian  mats  on  the  hewn-fir  floors,  home- 
made stools  and  tables.  The  hearth  was  of  baked  clay 
and  ashes,  the  batten  doors  hung  on  leather  hinges  and 
clicked  with  wooden  latches.  Four  small  windows  let 


38  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

in  the  light  through  squares  of  dried  deerskin  set  in 
sashes  carved  by  the  jack-knife  of  Jason  Lee.  Just 
now  every  door  and  window  framed  a  group  of  copper 
faces,  every  eye  intent  on  the  flowing  garb  and  satin 
cheeks  of  the  strange,  fair  white  women. 

Jason  Lee  never  talked  unless  he  had  something  to 
say.  He  simply  waved  his  hand,  bade  them  welcome 
to  the  humble  edifice  that  marked  the  beginning  of  the 
capital  of  Oregon  and  Willamette  University. 

The  rough  table,  with  its  battered  tin  plates  and 
knives  and  forks,  had  venison  from  the  hills,  bread  from 
their  own  wheat  crushed  in  the  cast-iron  corn-cracker. 
The  cattle  driven  over  the  plains  furnished  butter  and 
cheese  and  cream ;  glossy  cups  of  leaves  held  the  straw- 
berries that  reddened  on  every  knoll. 

In  front  of  the  mission  a  beautiful  fir  grove,  historic 
now,  became  the  Sabbath  temple.  Thither  repaired 
the  missionaries,  with  their  pupils,  neatly  dressed  in  Eng- 
lish costume.  Thither  came  the  Canadians,  with  their 
native  wives  and  half-caste  children,  all  in  holiday  garb, 
and  gathering  in  the  background  came  the  dark  Willa- 
mettes,  picturesque,  statuesque,  almost  classic,  with  their 
slender  bows  and  belts  of  haiqua.  The  hymn  of  wor- 
ship rang  through  the  forest  aisles.  Under  the  umbra- 
geous firs  all  knelt  in  prayer.  The  July  zephyr  fanned 
the  drooping  cheek  and  downcast  lid.  Every  Indian 
knelt  in  imitation  of  the  white  men.  When  Jason  Lee 
arose  every  eye  was  fixed  on  his  flushed  face  and 
speaking  glance.  He  spoke  briefly,  then,  to  the  aston- 
ishment of  all,  walked  hurriedly  to  his  congregation, 
took  Miss  Pitman  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  to  the  front. 
Daniel  Lee  came  forward,  and  there,  under  the  fragrant 
firs,  pronounced  the  solemn  service  of  the  first  Anglo- 
Saxon  marriage  on  the  Pacific  Coast.  There  was  a 


THE  WEDDING  OF  JASON   LEE  39 

wedding  trip  up  the  valley  and  across  the  coast  range 
to  the  sea;  there  were  strolls  along  the  level  beach, 
clam-bakes,  and  surf-baths,  a  fashion  that  Oregon  lovers 
have  followed  ever  since.  At  harvest  Jason  Lee  was 
back,  wielding  the  cradle  among  the  wheat,  and  his 
comrades  found  that  here,  as  on  the  river,  the  bony 
Puritan  outraced  them  all. 


IV 

DR.  McLOUGHLIN  GOES  TO  ENGLAND 
1838 

DR.  McLOUGHLIN  took  pride  in  his  handsome 
Scotch  son-in-law,  William  Glen  Rae.  When 
the  doctor  found  he  must  be  going  to  England,  he  chose 
Rae,  the  head  clerk,  to  accompany  him  as  far  as  Fort 
Colvile  on  the  Upper  Columbia.  Every  year  the  Pacific 
accounts  were  consolidated  at  Fort  Colvile,  to  be  sent 
across  the  mountains.  Who  could  do  that  so  well  as 
the  head  clerk? 

Everybody  was  out  with  farewells  when  the  doctor 
left  that  March  morning  in  1838.  Along  the  Columbia 
the  Indians  watched  the  progress  of  the  White-Headed 
Eagle  and  wondered  if  Douglas  were  as  brave  a  chief. 
They  knew  that  those  swift  canoes  carried  letters  and 
papers.  Once  they  stole  them.  Now  they  would  as 
soon  think  of  stealing  the  snows  off  Mt.  Hood.  "  Can- 
not the  White  Eagle  throw  his  medicine  beyond  the 
Dalles?  "  they  said.  Five  days  was  quick  time  to  Walla 
Walla  in  March,  but  then,  who  could  move  camp  with 
McLoughlin?  Charlefoux  was  at  the  bow.  Over  and 
over  again  Charlefoux  had  travelled  that  route,  the 
safest  guide  if  not  the  boldest.  Every  summer  he 
conducted  the  yearly  express  to  Fort  Garry  on  Lake 
Winnepeg,  and  there  turned  back  with  the  new  re- 
cruits from  Canada. 


DR.    McLOUGHLIN   GOES  TO   ENGLAND       41 

"  I  will  visit  you  when  I  pass,"  had  been  McLough- 
lin's  message  to  Dr.  Whitman,  with  a  gift  of  apples,  rare 
as  gold  dollars  on  the  Columbia. 

Then  a  second  courier  brought  word  to  the  Whitman 
door:  "  I  cannot  stop.  Meet  me  at  Walla  Walla.  We 
are  belated." 

Dr.  Whitman  rode  over  to  Fort  Walla  Walla,  and  by 
the  hand  of  the  flying  chief  sent  word  to  the  States 
of  the  birth  of  a  little  daughter,  the  first  white  child 
born  in  Oregon. 

Next  to  Vancouver,  Fort  Colvile  was  the  great 
Hudson's  Bay  fort  on  the  Columbia.  Behind  that 
palisade,  two  square  towers  with  portholes  guarded  the 
stores  of  furs.  Down  in  the  Colvile  valley  the  traders 
had  a  mill.  Seventy  miles  over  hill  and  dale  the 
Spokane  Indians  came  to  grind  their  wheat. 

On  a  three-legged  stool  in  the  old  log  fort  Rae 
added,  subtracted,  divided,  outfit  for  this  post,  outfit 
for  that,  furs  from  this,  furs  from  that,  balance  —  a 
king's  ransom,  to  be  divided  in  that  Hudson's  Bay 
house  across  the  sea.  Oregon's  wealth,  three  million 
a  year,  all  went  to  England.  Down  by  the  river,  "  rat- 
tat-tat  "  the  hammers  flew.  Skilled  Canadians  were 
building  canoes  for  the  spring  brigade.  Ten  days  be- 
hind the  doctor,  Tom  McKay's  Shoshonie  brigade  set 
out  for  its  summer  hunt.  And  with  it  came  Jason  Lee. 
The  mission  on  the  Willamette  had  become  crowded. 
Sons  and  daughters  of  the  Canadian  farmers  were  eager 
for  books.  Distant  tribes  sent  for  teachers. 

"  We  must  extend  the  work,"  said  the  missionaries. 
"  Some  one  must  visit  the  States  and  lay  this  matter 
before  the  churches.  We  must  set  up  branch  stations 
all  over  this  country."  Day  and  night  the  question  was 
discussed.  All  eyes  turned  to  Jason  Lee. 


42  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  You  only  can  represent  us,"  said  David  Leslie. 
"In  greater  measure  than  any  of  us,  you  have  the 
tongue,  the  fire,  the  courage,  and  the  Lord's  anointing." 

There  seemed  a  struggle  in  the  leader's  mind.  If 
possible,  Jason  Lee  had  grown  even  more  gentle  of  late. 
In  his  eyes  strange  beauty  had  come  upon  his  young 
wife;  her  presence  was  a  constant  benediction.  The 
Canadians  felt  new  power  in  his  speech,  and  tears 
rolled  down  their  furrowed  cheeks  at  his  exhortations 
to  a  nobler  life.  In  the  tents  of  the  Indians  he  came 
and  went  as  a  brother. 

But  now,  with  hesitation  quite  new  in  the  line  of  his 
work,  Jason  Lee  said,  "  Brethren,  I  do  not  see  how  I 
can  go.  It  is  a  long,  long  journey,  the  winter  and 
summer  of  two  years.  Indeed,  I  cannot  go." 

"  It  is  your  duty,"  the  brethren  said.  "  And  only 
by  starting  with  the  traders  in  March  can  you  hope  to 
reach  St.  Louis  before  the  frosts  of  autumn." 

Jason  Lee  groaned  in  spirit.  "  How  can  I  leave 
you?"  he  whispered  to  his  bride. 

"  If  it  is  your  duty  to  go,  go,"  the  noble  girl  replied. 
"  I  did  not  marry  you  to  hinder,  but  to  help  you." 

With  the  heavenly  countersign,  "  The  Lord  watch 
between  me  and  thee,  while  we  are  absent  one  from 
another,"  she  bade  him  farewell.  The  missionary's 
bride,  like  the  women  of  Sparta,  sent  her  hero  forth  to 
return  "  with  his  shield  or  Upon  it." 

With  nobler  sacrifice  than  ever  entered  the  dreams  of 
ancient  ascetic,  Jason  Lee  trod  love  and  ease  beneath 
his  feet.  In  his  heart  he  bore  his  bride ;  next  his  heart 
there  lay  a  memorial  to  Congress  asking  for  a  United 
States  government  for  Oregon. 

At  Fort  Walla  Walla,  one  hundred  horses  were 
packed  with  Indian  goods  for  the  interior.  How  easily 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN   GOES  TO   ENGLAND       43 

the  Indians  might  swoop  down  and  capture  the  cara- 
van !  But  they  will  not  —  the  trader  is  the  Indian's  best 
friend,  on  the  lookout,  however,  with  a  loaded  gun.  The 
brigade  wound  up  the  old  trail  to  Whitman's.  In  two 
years  that  had  become  a  favorite  halting  spot  for  Tom 
McKay. 

Jason  Lee  and  Tom  McKay  found  the  mission  gar- 
dens green  on  the  Walla  Walla.  Here  and  there  irri- 
gating ditches  intersected  the  squares,  and  ran  back 
into  the  Indian  fields,  where,  in  the  absence  of  almost 
every  necessary  tool,  the  Indians  had  plantations  of 
two  and  three  acres  in  wheat,  peas,  corn,  and  potatoes. 
An  orchard  of  seedling  apple  sprouts  nodded  its  tender 
twigs,  and  a  grist-mill  hummed  across  the  river. 

The  heads  of  the  two  missions  had  a  long  conference, 
and  Jason  Lee  passed  on  to  visit  Spalding  in  the  upper 
country.  The  horse  he  rode  was  a  gift  from  his  pupil 
Elijah,  son  of  the  great  Walla  Walla,  Pio-pio-mox-mox. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  William?  "  inquired 
Dr.  Whitman,  patting  the  dark  locks  of  McKay's  little 
son,  the  "  Billy-boy  "  of  Fort  Vancouver. 

"  I  am  sending  him  to  Scotland  to  study  medicine. 
He  starts  to-morrow  to  join  Dr.  McLoughlin  at  Col- 
vile." 

"  Thomas,  why  don't  you  educate  the  boy  in  America? 
Oregon  is  Uncle  Sam's  territory,  and  it  won't  be  long 
before  he  takes  possession.  Take  my  advice,  Thomas. 
Give  the  boy  a  Yankee  education,  make  an  American  of 
him." 

"  I  used  to  think  of  sending  him  to  John  Jacob 
Astor,"  said  McKay,  recalling  the  time  when  he  him- 
self, a  lad  of  Billy's  age,  accompanied  his  father  in  a 
birch  canoe  down  the  Hudson  to  join  the  Astor  expe- 
dition to  the  Columbia.  "  But  I  have  no  money.  All 


44  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

my  income  is  in  London,  in  the  hands  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company." 

Dr.  Whitman's  answer  was  quick.  "  Do  I  not  trade 
with  your  company  at  Fort  Vancouver?  Does  not  my 
money  come  from  the  American  Board  in  Boston? 
Send  the  boy  to  New  York,  where  I  studied.  I  will 
pay  his  bills,  and  you  can  pay  mine  here  in  Oregon." 

The  accounts  at  Fort  Colvile  were  completed.  The 
annual  ship  from  London  arrived  at  Fort  Vancouver, 
and  a  boat  with  special  mail  hastened  up  the  Columbia 
to  hand  McLoughlin  the  latest  advices  before  he  left  for 
England  via  Canada. 

"  Dr.  McLoughlin  sends  word  for  Billy  to  join  him 
with  the  mail  express,"  said  Rae,  homeward  bound, 
touching  at  Walla  Walla.  But  already  Billy  was  with 
Jason  Lee  on  the  trail  over  the  Blue  Mountains  bound 
for  the  States. 

Rat-tat-tat,  the  canoes  were  ready,  ten,  twelve  of 
them,  and  the  river  was  booming.  The  snows  were 
melting  on  the  mountains,  soon  the  upper  country 
would  be  flooded.  Through  the  timber,  over  old  Indian 
trails,  the  dog-sleds  flew,  bringing  in  furs  from  Kootenai 
and  Cceur  d'Alene.  The  patient,  exemplary  Flatheads 
were  on  hand  with  buffalo-meat  and  pemmican  for  the 
up-going  brigade,  and  with  buffalo-tongues,  buffalo- 
tallow  and  rawhide  cords,  buffalo-skins,  and  buffalo-hair 
for  the  down  brigade  to  Fort  Vancouver.  A  touch  of 
the  hand  at  these  nerve  centres,  a  greeting  and  farewell, 
and  the  traders  were  scattered  by  thousands  of  miles. 
One  day  salutes,  bustle,  activity;  the  next,  the  trader 
strolled  round  his  lonely  post,  his  solitary  guest  the 
silent  Indian. 

-April,  May,  June  came.  A  messenger  panted  up  to 
the  gates  of  Fort  Vancouver.  "  Is  there  any  way  to  get 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN   GOES   TO   ENGLAND        45 

\vord  to  Jason  Lee?     His  wife  and  infant  son  are  lying 
dead  at  the  mission." 

Tears  leaped  to  the  eyes  of  Douglas.  The  calm, 
steady,  apparently  icy  Douglas  had  a  heart  like  a 
thermal  spring,  that  responded  to  the  touch  of  sorrow. 
"I  will  despatch  a  messenger,"  he  said. 

A  solitary  boat  set  out  with  the  details  of  that  saddest 
tragedy  that  comes  to  human  life.  The  grief-stricken 
members  of  the  mission  consigned  to  the  tomb  the 
bride  of  Jason  Lee.  Under  the  fragrant  firs  where  her 
bridal  was,  the  mother  was  laid,  with  her  babe  on  her 
bosom. 

"  I  will  send  it  on  to  Fort  Hall,"  said  Chief  Factor 
Pambrun,  when  the  despatch  was  laid  in  his  hand  at 
Walla  Walla.  At  Fort  Hall  Ermatinger  delegated 
Richardson,  a  famous  American  trapper,  to  overtake 
Lee  on  the  plains.  July,  August,  September  —  the 
trapper  chased  an  ever-receding  shadow. 

Far  up  on  the  Platte  Jason  Lee  was  dreaming  of  his 
wife.  By  the  camp-fire  at  night  he  wrote  in  his  journal 
the  story  of  their  courtship,  —  but  he  heard  no  hoof- 
beats  in  the  rear.  It  was  late  September,  at  the 
Shawnee  mission  on  the  Kansas  River,  when  a  sun- 
burnt horseman  reached  the  palisade.  "  Is  Rev.  Jason 
Lee  here?" 

"  Yes,"  from  the  gatekeeper. 

"  I  have  a  message." 

Already  Jason  Lee  was  at  the  gate.  He  saw  not  the 
people  around,  he  saw  not  Billy  McKay  looking  up 
into  his  anxious  face  —  he  saw  only  a  horseman  with  a 
black-sealed  packet.  He  took  it,  entered  his  room,  and 
shut  the  door.  God  alone  heard  the  cry  and  saw  the 
heart-break  in  that  rude  room  at  the  Shawnee  mission 
on  the  Kansas  River. 


46  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Somewhere  back  in  the  mountains,  Jason  Lee  had 
passed  a  train  of  trappers.  With  them  rode  Captain 
John  A.  Sutter,  on  his  way  to  Oregon.  The  gay  Swiss 
adventurer,  with  his  broken  English  and  a  romance 
behind  him  like  a  fairy  tale,  captured  the  hearts  on 
the  Columbia.  His  contagious  laugh  made  Fort  Van- 
couver ring  with  merriment.  The  courtly  manners  of 
the  fortune-hunter,  his  kind  heart  and  unaffected  affa- 
bility, won  admiration,  respect,  and  love.  Without  a 
cent,  without  a  prospect,  with  an  avalanche  of  debt 
behind  him,  the  very  magnetism  of  his  social  nature 
bound  friends  like  cords  of  silver. 

Every  one  at  Fort  Vancouver  was  ready  to  swear  by 
Captain  Sutter.  The  conservative  Douglas  gave  him 
letters  of  introduction  to  the  merchants  of  Honolulu, 
to  the  fur  princes  of  Sitka,  to  the  Spanish  governor 
of  California.  Sutter  borrowed  money,  credit,  clothes. 
With  a  free  passage  on  the  Hudson's  Bay  barque  "  Co- 
lumbia" he  sailed  for  the  Sandwich  Islands.  Like  the 
prince  whose  feet  with  fairy  shoes  were  shod,  Sutter 
danced  across  the  continent,  danced  into  the  favor  of 
the  great  English  fur  company,  danced  into  the  arms 
of  the  merchants  of  Honolulu.  Here,  all  on  credit,  he 
purchased  cannon,  provisions,  implements  for  his  pro- 
posed rancho  in  California.  Then,  on  the  English  brig 
"  Clementine,"  the  gay  captain  ran  up  to  Sitka,  danced 
with  a  Russian  princess,  and  figured  as  the  lion  of 
half  a  hundred  banquets.  Back  at  the  Islands,  still 
on  credit,  he  chartered  two  schooners  and  sailed  to 
California.  Governor  Alvarado,  won  by  his  pleasing 
manners,  energy,  and  recommendations,  granted  the  ad- 
venturer a  princely  tract  on  the  Sacramento,  although 
contrary  to  law  and  the  latest  orders  from  Mexico. 

"  Take  a  rancho  near  Monterey,"  said  the  fascinated 
Alvarado. 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN   GOES  TO   ENGLAND       47 

The  shrewd  captain  knew  his  own  interests  too  well 
—  the  farther  away  from  Spanish  interference  the 
better. 

"  He  will  hold  the  American  invaders  in  check,"  said 
Alvarado  to  himself. 

"I  can  ally  the  Americans  with  myself,"  said  the 
sagacious  Captain  Sutter. 

Unlimited  wealth  seemed  at  his  command.  Up  the 
Sacramento  his  heavy-laden  schooners  ploughed  their 
way  through  the  virgin  waters.  At  the  mouth  of  the 
Rio  de  los  Americanos  Sutter's  adobe  fort  was  built, 
on  the  general  plan  of  Fort  Vancouver.  Forty  Indians 
in  uniform  made  up  the  garrison.  Two  Indian  sen- 
tinels paced  ever  before  the  gate.  Twelve  cannon 
were  mounted  on  the  bastions,  the  gates  were  defended 
by  heavy  artillery  through  portholes  pierced  in  the 
walls.  Out  of  deer-fat,  beaver,  and  wild  grape  brandy 
the  captain  expected  to  make  a  fortune.  He  bought 
stock  and  ploughed  fields  for  wheat,  and  in  that  sleepy 
lotus-land  of  Spain  the  energetic  captain  bade  fair  to 
accomplish  all  that  he  desired. 

When  Andre  Charlefoux  guided  back  his  boat 
brigade  in  autumn  two  Catholic  priests  came  from 
Canada. 

"  Drive  away  those  naked  Indians,"  cried  the  shocked 
Blanchet  at  the  Dalles.  "  Drive  away  those  Indians, 
Charlefoux." 

The  laughing  guidesman  tossed  his  hair. 

"  Holy  father,  you  come  to  civilize  Indian.  Oregon 
Indian  have  no  clothe.  If  you  no  want  to  see  him  that 
way  you  better  turn  back  home." 

But  Blanchet  stayed  and  became  a  famous  bishop  of 
the  Northwest. 


THE  LONDON   COUNCIL 
1838 

MANY  motives  had  brought  about  the  journey  to 
London.  In  the  first  place,  Dr.  McLoughlin 
was  entitled  to  a  leave  of  absence.  Factors,  chief 
factors,  and  traders  from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Atha- 
basca had  taken  their  turns  at  a  glimpse  of  the  old 
home  in  Scotland,  or  at  the  familiar  hedgerows  of  some 
English  village.  Dr.  McLoughlin  had  never  seen  the 
time  when  he  could  leave  his  ultramontane  kingdom. 
From  the  day  he  decided  to  move  his  headquarters 
from  the  restricted  grounds  at  old  Astoria  to  the  green, 
open  swell  on  the  north  bank  of  the  Columbia,  in  1824, 
scores  of  hands  had  been  at  work  building  shops, 
stockades,  storehouses,  grubbing  up  trees,  and  subdu- 
ing the  soil.  Then  came  a  reason,  and  go  he  must. 

Factors  in  the  fur  country  had  said  farming  was  in- 
compatible with  the  fur  trade.  From  the  days  of 
Prince  Rupert  till  that  of  the  Red  River  settlement 
every  bit  of  bread  had  come  from  England.  "  Can 
you  raise  wheat  on  the  Columbia?"  asked  the  London 
Directory. 

"  Oh,  no,"  answered  an  old  Northwester.  "  It 's  a 
bad  and  barren  land.  Supplies  must  come  across  the 
mountains,  or  be  shipped  around  Cape  Horn." 

In  the  north-country,  trappers  and  traders  fed,  like  the 
Chippewayans,  on  buffalo,  whitefish,  and  moose.  Pern' 
mican  hung  in  rawhide  bags  around  the  trading  posts. 


THE   LONDON   COUNCIL  49 

All  that  North  was  a  land  of  fat  and  pemmican,  —  pem- 
mican  "straight"  (uncooked),  and  pemmican  fried, 
pemmican  flakes,  pemmican  soup,  and  pemmican  spiced 
with  berries,  —  inviting  the  hungry  trader  to  "  cut  and 
come  again."  On  the  Columbia  it  was  salmon,  fresh 
salmon,  dried  salmon,  salt  salmon. 

"  *  The  country  must  find  provisions/  was  Napoleon's 
motto ;  let  it  be  ours,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

He  set  his  men  to  ploughing  gardens.  Out  of  the  vir- 
gin mould  there  leaped  such  prodigies  of  grain  and  vege- 
tables, such  an  abandon  of  peas  and  turnips  and  all  good 
things,  that  even  five  hundred  inmates  of  the  fort  could 
not  consume  it  all.  Now  the  first  orchard  blossomed 
on  the  coast,  the  handful  of  wheat  had  become  a  har- 
vest that  filled  the  bursting  granaries,  and  a  few  cattle 
brought  up  on  the  schooner  "  Cadboro'  "  from  California 
had  multiplied  into  herds  that  covered  the  hillsides. 

The  question  of  export  came  up.  The  doctor's 
scheme  widened. 

"  Why  may  not  I  supply  those  Russians  at  Sitka  that 
send  half  round  the  world  for  butter,  beef,  and  flour?  " 

But  there  was  trouble  with  the  Sitkans.  A  long  strip 
of  Alaska  ran  down  the  northwest  coast  and  cut  off  the 
Hudson's  Bay  lands  from  the  sea.  One  day  Peter 
Skeen  Ogden  attempted  to  pass  through  the  Russian 
shore-strip. 

"  Boom !  "  went  the  Russian  gunboats  that  guarded 
the  Stikine. 

"  I  shall  enter  the  river.  I  have  a  right  to  it,"  said 
the  Hudson's  Bay  trader. 

"  Then  I  must  fire  upon  you,"  came  Baron  Wrangell's 
answer. 

Ogden  stormed  back  to  Fort  Vancouver,  and  com- 
plaint was  sent  to  England.  The  London  papers  were 


50  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

full  of  "  the  outrage  upon  our  traders  in  those  distant 
seas." 

Four  years  Lord  Palmerston  and  Count  Nesselrode 
had  been  diplomating  over  the  privileges  of  that  shore- 
strip.  Four  years  Dr.  McLoughlin  had  been  piling  up 
supplies  that  the  Russians  would  have  been  glad  to 
purchase.  "  Let  us  go  to  Europe  and  settle  it,"  wrote 
the  governor  on  the  Columbia  to  the  governor  at  Sitka. 

To  some  who  did  not  understand  the  doctor's  states- 
manship,—  and  he  kept  his  secrets  to  himself  and 
Douglas, — there  were  other  reasons  for  that  long  and 
tedious  trip  to  London. 

Some  said  that  Sir  George  Simpson  had  complained 
that  Dr.  McLoughlin  favored  the  American  missionaries. 
Sir  George  Simpson,  so  the  Hudson's  Bay  gossips  said, 
had  prepared  the  London  Board  to  give  the  doctor 
a  "  wigging  "  for  the  high  hand  he  held  on  the  Colum- 
bia; but  when  that  stately  form  darkened  the  doors 
in  Fenchurch  Street  the  king  of  the  Columbia  was 
weighed  at  his  true  value,  — a  veritable  monarch  come 
out  of  the  West. 

It  was  a  stately  occasion  when  the  delegates  of  the 
Russian  American  Fur  Company  of  St.  Petersburg  met 
the  delegates  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  in  a  Lon- 
don council  and  discussed  matters  usually  relegated  to 
the  cabinets  of  kings.  The  difficulty  was  adjusted. 
"  And  now,"  said  McLoughlin,  "  we  want  to  lease  that 
ten-league  strip  of  Russian  seaboard." 

Lord  Palmerston  and  Parliament  wondered  if  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  wanted  the  earth.  Already  it 
controlled  an  extent  of  territory  greater  than  all  Europe, 
—  of  what  value  could  be  a  barren  bit  of  shore  on  that 
lonely  northwest  coast?  Dr.  McLoughlin  knew  its 
value  better  than  the  Russian  Directory,  better  than 


THE.  LONDON   COUNCIL  51 

the  London  Board,  certainly  better  than  the  English 
statesmen,  who  then  regarded  those  distant  realms  as 
vaguely  as  the  phantom  deserts  in  the  moon.  He 
knew  those  rocky  islets  were  rich  in  priceless  sea-furs. 
For  10,000  land-otter  a  year  the  strip  was  leased,  and 
further  reciprocity  contracted  in  furs  and  flour. 

Other  great  schemes  were  incubated  during  that  Lon- 
don visit :  the  Puget's  Sound  Agricultural  Company,  to 
hold  that  inland  sea  for  England,  a  plan  for  posts  in 
California  just  ready  to  drop  from  decaying  Spanish 
rule,  and  an  out-reach  to  the  Hawaiian  Islands.  In  fact, 
if  those  American  missionaries  had  stayed  over  the 
mountains,  England  held  in  her  hand  the  key  to  com- 
mercial empire  on  the  Pacific. 

But  the  English  visit  was  not  all  diplomacy.  At 
Addiscombe,  the  East  India  training-school,  a  happy 
surprise  awaited  Dr.  McLoughlin.  His  son  David,  the 
lean,  sickly  lad  of  five  years  ago,  appeared  in  the  regi- 
mentals of  a  British  officer  commissioned  to  the  East 
Indies.  The  scarlet  coat,  bright  buttons,  and  epaulets 
set  off  a  form  as  commanding  as  his  own.  The  Indian 
tint  in  his  cheek  gave  bronze  enough  for  beauty,  no 
more. 

With  pride  the  doctor  looked  upon  his  son.  From 
the  cradle  he  had  set  his  heart  upon  David,  his  heir. 
For  him  he  had  planned  education,  promotion;  for  him 
he  had  built  an  estate  to  hand  down  the  name  of 
McLoughlin. 

"  I  cannot  spare  you,  David,"  said  the  father,  fondly. 
"  I  need  you  on  the  Columbia.  I  am  getting  old.  It 
may  be,  I  would  pass  the  reins  of  power  to  you." 

The  youth  flamed  an  answer  back : 

"What  prospect  have  I  in  the  service  of  Hudson's 
Bay?  Does  not  Sir  George  bring  over  his  favorites  by 


52  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

shiploads  from  Scotland  ?  Shall  I  become  a  packer,  a 
trapper,  a  leader  of  brigades?  I  have  no  future  there. 
Let  me  go  to  Afghanistan." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut,  David ;  I  know  your  prospects  bet- 
ter than  you  do.  Great  schemes  are  afoot.  Come, 
pack  up." 

The  strong  will  of  the  father  prevailed.  Purchasing 
his  son's  retirement  from  the  army,  the  two  bade  good- 
bye to  Dr.  McLoughlin's  only  brother,  Dr.  David 
McLoughlin,  who  had  come  over  from  Paris  to  see 
them  off.  The  doctors  were  much  alike  —  Dr.  David 
McLoughlin  was  younger  and  less  commanding.  He 
had  a  great  name  in  Paris  —  a  leading  physician.  Five 
years  ago  he  had  received  this  Indian-tinted  namesake 
from  the  Columbia  and  had  given  him  the  best  that 
Paris  afforded.  Now  that  nephew  had  become  a  man 
of  the  world,  polished  and  courtly.  When  he  doffed 
his  regimentals,  he  donned  the  ruffled  linen  and  the 
broadcloth  of  Parisian  fashion,  and  sailed  with  his 
father  back  across  the  Atlantic  to  Montreal. 

Since  the  old  French  days  when  the  governors- 
general  sat  in  Indian  council  in  their  elbow  chairs  on 
the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  Montreal  had  been  the 
capital  of  Canadian  fur  trade.  Hither,  now,  once  a 
year,  Sir  George  Simpson,  Governor  of  Rupert's  Land, 
came  from  his  London  home  to  superintend  the  com- 
pany's affairs  in  North  America. 

"  Trade  with  Russia  is  a  hare-brained  scheme,"  had 
been  Sir  George's  earliest  thought,  but  on  McLoughlin's 
arrival  a  council  was  held  at  Montreal.  In  it  spoke 
the  commercial  life  of  the  Dominion.  The  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  and  its  silent  partner,  the  beaver,  prac- 
tically ruled  in  Canada.  No  rival,  no  competitor  dared 
question  their  authority.  Puget  Sound,  Alaska,  Cali- 


THE   LONDON   COUNCIL  53 

fornia,  Hawaii  were  discussed.  The  merchants  of 
Montreal  had  not  realized  there  was  so  great  an  out- 
look from  that  distant  land  of  exile. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  Emperor  of 
the  West?"  asked  a  chief  factor  after  the  doctor's  boats 
with  reinforcements  for  new  posts  had  passed  up  the 
Ottawa  on  their  way  back  to  Fort  Vancouver. 

"  Give  him  free  rein,"  answered  the  sagacious  Sir 
George. 


VI 

RIVAL  FUR    COMPANIES 
1824-39 

IT  was  time  for  the  fall  brigade  and  the  Montreal 
express.  They  usually  came  down  the  Columbia 
together.  Every  year  the  express  left  Montreal  in 
May.  With  a  sweep  and  a  swing  and  flying  paddles 
they  shot  up  the  Canadian  rivers  and  through  the 
Great  Lakes.  In  July  they  were  at  Red  River. 
Through  the  torrid  summer  they  toiled  along  the 
great  Saskatchewan.  Before  the  autumn  snows  came 
on  the  voyageurs  left  their  boats  and  crossed  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  generations  before  a  Canadian  Pa- 
cific was  dreamed  of.  There  on  the  western  slope  at 
the  Boat  Encampment  stood  a  deserted  hunting-lodge. 
Twice  a  year  the  big  fireplace  roared  and  the  kettle 
sung.  Tearing  off  their  moccasins  stained  with  blood 
in  the  awful  solitudes  of  the  mountain  pass,  the  light- 
hearted  voyageurs  prepared  to  re-embark.  Leathern 
bags  of  flour  and  pemmican,  sugar  and  tea,  were  un- 
earthed from  a  cache,  hidden  canoes  were  drawn  out 
of  the  cedar  brush,  and,  launching  on  the  little  stream, 
the  express  soon  entered  the  head  waters  of  the  great 
Columbia. 

Down,  down  they  glided,  singing  as  they  went  the 
songs  of  Old  Canada,  brought  generations  ago  from  the 
land  of  the  fleur-de-lis.  Down,  down  they  glided,  past 
peaks  of  snow  and  tangled  woody  heights,  past  Fort 
Colvile  on  her  terrace,  past  park-like  stretches  of  grove 


RIVAL  FUR  COMPANIES  55 

and  lake  and  meadow,  past  the  picketed  square  of  the 
flat  and  sandy  rock  at  Okanogan,  through  miles  and 
miles  of  Indian  empire  to  Fort  Walla  Walla  at  the  great 
westward  bend  of  the  Columbia.  Here  they  met  the 
Shoshonie  brigade  that  had  come  overland  on  horses 
from  Fort  Hall,  and  all  together  swept  in  state  down 
the  Columbia  to  Fort  Vancouver. 

Vancouver?  It  was  the  emporium  of  the  fur-trade 
on  the  Columbia,  ninety  miles  from  the  sea,  a  fort  that, 
like  the  castles  of  mediaeval  Europe,  was  at  once  a 
defence  in  time  of  danger,  an  oasis  of  civilization  amid 
surrounding  barbarism,  and  a  capital  from  whence  its 
master  held  baronial  sway.  Here  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century  Dr.  John  McLoughlin  ruled  with  the  sceptre 
of  a  czar  the  vast  territory  from  Alaska  to  California 
and  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  the  ocean.  Un- 
counted thousands  of  Indians  obeyed  his  behests,  feared 
his  displeasure.  On  the  Upper  Columbia  the  knightly 
Cayuses  laid  tribute  at  his  feet,  the  brave  and  stately 
Walla  Wallas,  the  chivalrous  Okanogans,  the  friendly 
and  hospitable  Nez  Perces,  the  faithful  Flatheads,  and 
the  loyal  Spokanes.  Back  in  the  mountain  fastnesses 
the  robber  Klickitats  acknowledged  him  their  chief, 
along  the  sandy  Dalles  the  treacherous  Wascopams  al- 
lowed his  boats  to  pass  in  peace.  Below  the  cascades 
the  industrious  Molallas,  the  lazy  Callapooias,  the  lying 
Tillamooks,  the  fishermen  Chinooks,  and  their  cousins 
the  Clatsops  ail  bent  the  knee  to  the  White-Headed 
Eagle  that  reigned  at  Vancouver.  On  all  the  waters 
he  sent  his  Canadian  voyageurs,  through  all  the  woods 
he  despatched  his  trappers  and  traders,  in  and  out  of 
the  fringing  northwest  islands  to  Sitka  itself  his  schoon- 
ers plied,  down  through  the  San  Joaquin  and  Tulare's 
reedy  valley  his  hunters  set  their  traps,  far  over  into 


56  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  Shoshonie  country,  on  Salt  Lake's  borders,  and 
on  the  Yellowstone  his  brigades  pitched  their  tents, 
bringing  home  rich  caravans  of  skins  and  mantles. 

And  who  was  this  king  of  the  Columbia  in  whose 
will  lay  decrees  of  life  and  death,  at  whose  bidding  the 
bloodthirsty  savage  laid  aside  the  tomahawk  and  entered 
upon  the  peaceful  pursuits  of  the  hunt?  It  was  a  chief 
factor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  who  had  been 
building  on  the  Pacific  a  fur-trader's  empire.  Not  for 
nineteen  years  had  John  McLoughlin  crossed  the  ocean 
to  set  foot  in  that  old  Hudson's  Bay  house  in  Fen- 
church  Street,  London;  not  since  the  wedding  of  the 
rival  fur  companies  in  1820,  when  he  stood  up  for  Cana- 
dian enterprise. 

That  wedding  of  the  fur  companies  is  historic.  When 
the  French  and  English  were  fighting  at  Waterloo,  two 
rival  fur  companies  were  fighting  in  North  America, 
—  the  Hudson's  Bay  and  the  Northwest.  When  the 
smoke  of  battle  over  there  cleared  away,  the  British 
Parliament  saw  the  smoke  of  battle  over  here  and  called 
a  halt :  "  Here,  you  rivals  !  We  cannot  let  you  stain  the 
plains  of  North  America  with  British  blood.  If  you 
must  fight,  turn  your  arms  against  the  Americans  or 
the  Indians,  —  anybody  but  each  other.  We  cannot 
afford  to  lose  the  few  representatives  we  have  over  there 
and  abandon  the  country  altogether.  Be  good  chil- 
dren, make  up,  and  King  George  will  give  you  a 
wedding  present." 

So  the  hoary  old  Hudson's  Bay  Company  that  had 
slumbered  for  a  century  proposed  to  the  young  North- 
west Company  of  Montreal,  and  both  sent  their  best 
men  to  London  to  discuss  the  marriage  dowry.  It  was 
plainly  a  wedding  of  capital  and  labor.  The  Canadian 
company  had  nothing  but  her  hands,  her  courage,  and 


RIVAL   FUR  COMPANIES  57 

her  magnificent  exploration.  The  London  bridegroom 
had  the  money-bags  of  nobles  and  control  of  the  Bank 
of  England.  In  the  midst  of  the  nuptial  settlement  a 
young  Canadian  doctor  had  startled  them  all  with  the 
boldest  speech  that  had  ever  rung  in  those  conservative 
warerooms.  He  was  a  study,  that  courageous  young 
doctor  of  locks  prematurely  white  and  flashing  eye, 
that  free-born  spirit  that  had  breathed  in  liberty  on 
the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 

"  My  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  I  plead  for  better  terms ! 
Since  the  days  of  Prince  Rupert  this  monster  monopoly 
has  sat  supinely  on  the  banks  of  Hudson's  Bay  and 
shut  out  Canada  from  her  birthright.  Did  we  seek 
extended  settlement?  It  would  drive  away  their  game. 
Did  we  attempt  to  trade  in  furs?  They  claimed  the 
only  right.  Westward,  beyond  the  basin  of  Hudson's 
Bay  there  lay  an  open  field.  To  this  the  merchants 
of  Montreal  sent  out  their  traders.  We  scoured  the 
forests  and  threaded  the  streams.  We  sought  new 
tribes  and  won  their  friendship.  We  explored  the  Sas- 
katchewan and  the  Athabasca.  Our  men  it  was  that 
traced  the  Mackenzie  and  planted  the  flag  on  the  polar 
Ocean,  and  turning  back  found  a  way  across  the  moun- 
tains to  the  Pacific  itself.  While  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  waited  we  ran.  We  built  up  posts  in  re- 
motest wilds,  we  discovered  new  waterways,  we  estab- 
lished trade.  When  the  profits  began  to  flow  in,  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  began  to  rub  its  sleepy  eyes 
and  claim  the  fruits  of  our  toil.  They  claimed  our  trad- 
ing fields  and  shot  our  traders.  To  obstruct  our  work 
they  threw  the  Red  River  settlement  across  our  path, 
cutting  communication  with  Montreal  and  blockading 
our  supplies.  They  prohibited  their  settlers  from  selling 
provisions  and  tried  to  starve  us  out.  They  used  their 


58  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

money  to  buy  over  our  traders,  and  when  bribes  would 
not  suffice  they  shot  us  in  the  forest.  Is  this  the  condi- 
tion of  British  subjects?  No  wonder  we  fought  for  our 
rights.  And  now  you  ask  us  to  ' share  equally '  the 
profits  of  the  trade.  I  do  not  object  to  the  union, — 
God  knows  I  regretted  the  war,  —  but  ought  we  to  give 
an  equal  share  of  those  profits  they  never  raised  a 
finger  to  obtain,  —  nay,  did  all  they  could  to  discour- 
age and  destroy?  What  reward  have  we  for  those 
years  of  toil  and  trial  if  we  hand  over  the  moiety 
now  to  a  rival?  It  is  not  right,  it  is  not  just,  and  in 
behalf  of  the  Northwest  Company  I  contend  for  better 
terms." 

So  spoke  young  McLoughlin,  in  that  London  ware- 
room  eighty  years  ago.  The  very  clerks,  amazed, 
stopped  scratching  with  their  quill  pens  in  the  dim  can- 
dle-light to  listen.  They  watched  him  with  breathless 
interest,  —  the  Canadian  merchants  proud  of  their  cham- 
pion, the  British  baronets  and  stockholders  wondering 
if  of  such  stuff  was  made  the  rebels  of  the  American 
Revolution.  But  he  was  not  yet  done. 

"  Gentlemen,  if  I  contend  for  better  terms  for  our- 
selves, what  shall  I  say  for  our  voyageurs,  yours  as  well 
as  ours,  who  upon  a  pittance  of  seventeen  pounds  a 
year  must  man  our  boats  and  pack  our  furs?  Wading 
in  icy  waters,  cordelling  canoes  in  rocky  torrents,  trans- 
forming themselves  into  beasts  of  burden  at  every  por- 
tage, working  eighteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  cut 
off  from  all  refinements  of  social  and  civilized  life,  con- 
demned to  exile  and  rapidly  sinking  to  the  level  of 
savages,  —  all  this  that  the  inordinate  profits  of  their 
muscles  and  sinews  may  pour  wealth  into  the  coffers  of 
this  trade.  Gentlemen,  let  us  consider  the  hardships  of 
our  employe's'  lives  and  realize  that  seventeen  pounds 


RIVAL   FUR  COMPANIES  59 

a  year  is  beggarly  recompense  for  service  such  as 
theirs." 

It  was  a  new  thing  for  a  factor  in  the  fur  company 
to  utter  a  sentiment  like  that.  But,  alas !  the  doctor 
was  too  direct  for  a  diplomat.  Even  the  merchants  of 
Montreal  were  willing  to  profit  by  the  serfdom  of  those 
French-Canadian  voyageurs  and  thought  their  philan- 
thropic favorite  had  gone  too  far.  One  vote,  one  voice, 
could  not  bring  better  terms,  but  one  thing  the  doctor 
could  and  did  do.  John  McLoughlin  never  set  his 
name  to  the  articles  of  agreement. 

That  speech  was  not  forgotten.  The  Board  admired 
and  yet  they  feared  him.  He  was  the  most  popular 
and  energetic  of  all  the  Northwest  leaders.  He  must 
be  quieted,  he  must  be  honored,  and  more  than  all,  the 
great  Northwester  must  have  room  for  executive  sway. 
He  must  rule  in  Canada,  or  as  far  as  possible  from 
Canada  —  no  intermediate  ground  would  do. 

About  that  time  the  American  Congress  had  agreed 
with  Parliament  upon  a  joint  occupancy  of  a  certain 
wilderness  called  Oregon.  The  very  place !  a  sort  of 
Siberia,  far  off!  Dr.  John  McLoughlin  was  delegated 
with  absolute  power  to  the  Columbia  Department.  He 
knew  it  was  a  banishment,  but  he  knew,  too,  that  he 
would  be  king  in  that  realm  beyond  the  mountains. 

All  that  was  long  ago.  Now,  after  nineteen  years, 
Dr.  McLoughlin  has  been  to  London  on  business  con- 
nected with  the  Pacific.  Every  year  his  ships  have 
brought  their  furs,  every  year  his  reports  have  come  in, 
until  from  nothing  his  returns  exceed  those  of  any  other 
post  in  the  Hudson's  Bay  dominion.  He  is  on  his  way 
home  now.  The  arrival  of  his  boats  may  be  calculated 
almost  to  the  hour,  for  Dr.  McLoughlin  is  nothing  if 
not  punctual. 


VII 

McLOUGHLIWS  EARLY  HISTORY 

1839 

UPON  the  porch  of  the  governor's  residence,  one 
warm  October  day,  there  sat  two  women.  Every 
morning  those  women  were  there,  from  the  first  bright 
days  of  May  until  the  Oregon  winter  began  with  the 
rains  of  November.  Always  needle  in  hand,  they  were 
embroidering  the  caps  and  scarfs  and  smoking-bags 
that  were  the  chief  delight  of  the  voyageur's  heart. 

Madame  McLoughlin,  the  elder,  had  a  marvellous 
needle ;  one  that  might  have  wrought  tapestries  in  the 
olden  time,  so  fine  and  soft  and  even  was  her  work. 
And  yet,  Madame's  mother  had  been  a  wild  little 
princess  on  the  plains  of  the  North,  wooed  long  and 
long  ago  by  a  Hudson's  Bay  trader.  Madame  herself 
had  a  touch  of  copper,  that  deepened  with  the  years. 
But  her  daughter,  Eloise  McLoughlin,  had  the  creamy 
tint  of  a  Spanish  donna.  She  had  her  mother's  eyes, 
and  her  mother's  shining  satin  hair ;  but  the  form  and 
features  were  those  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  governor, 
—  imperial,  commanding,  fair. 

Barely  twenty-one,  tall,  graceful,  no  wonder  the  beau- 
tiful girl  was  a  star  in  that  land  of  dusky  women ;  no 
wonder  the  clerks  of  the  company  competed  for  her 
hand,  and  hearts  were  rent  when  she  made  her  choice. 
Indeed,  how  could  it  be  otherwise  in  this  remote  corner 
of  the  world  —  where  the  governor's  daughter  queened 


McLOUGHLIN'S   EARLY    HISTORY  61 

it  on  the  Columbia?  Attired  in  London  gowns,  self- 
poised  and  sensible,  Eloise  McLoughlin  was  too  much 
like  her  father  to  submit  to  the  tame  self-effacement  of 
the  traders'  wives.  Her  mother's  humility  pained  her. 
She  would  see  her  take  her  place  as  the  Grande  Dame, 
the  Lady  of  Fort  Vancouver.  But  Madame  herself 
waived  all  right  to  such  distinction.  By  common  con- 
sent Eloise  had  become  the  Lady  of  that  Pacific  Coast. 
The  finest  horse  on  the  Columbia  was  hers;  a  blond 
Cayuse  with  pinkish  eyes  and  pinkish-yellow  mane  and 
tail,  presented  to  the  governor  by  the  great  chief  of 
the  Walla  Wallas.  And  on  state  occasions  Eloise  Mc- 
Loughlin came  forth  arrayed  in  waving  plumes  and 
glittering  garments,  and  seated  on  that  steed  rode  at 
her  father's  side,  leading  the  brigade  up  the  Willamette. 
For  very  well  her  great  father,  Governor  McLoughlin, 
understood  the  influence  of  pomp  and  color  on  the 
savage  heart.  The  horse  brigades  were  gay  with  bril- 
liant housings ;  a  multitude  of  tiny  bells  tinkled  at 
saddle  skirt  and  bridle-rein,  bright  dresses  stiff  with 
beads  adorned  the  trappers'  Indian  wives,  and  at  the 
head  of  this  barbaric  pageant  often  sat  Eloise  and  the 
stately  governor,  with  his  long  white  locks  blowing  over 
the  cloak  of  Hudson's  Bay  blue.  As  such  cavalcades 
would  wind  up  the  valley  in  the  October  sun  the  whole 
little  world  turned  out  to  gaze.  You  would  hardly  have 
supposed  there  were  so  many  Indians  in  the  country  until 
you  saw  them  trooping  in  to  witness  the  autumn  brigade 
to  California.  The  silence,  broken  only  by  the  heavy 
trampling  of  the  fast-walking  horses  and  the  tintinnab- 
ulating  bells;  the  succession  of  gleam  and  color  left 
an  impress  upon  the  red  man  never  to  be  forgotten,  an 
impress  of  unmeasured  wealth  and  splendor  hidden  be- 
hind those  palisades  at  old  Fort  Vancouver. 


62  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Eloise  herself  enjoyed  these  state  occasions  as  a 
flower  enjoys  the  sunshine.  Ever  at  her  father's  side, 
taught  by  him,  trusted  by  him,  his  companion  and  con- 
fidant, no  wonder  she  repined  at  his  long  absence.  The 
page  of  Telemachus  lay  untouched,  the  page  she  so  oft 
had  read  at  her  father's  knee ;  and,  needle  in  hand,  the 
fair  bride  emulated  her  mother  in  patterns  of  silk  upon 
the  pliant  buckskin  or  the  glossy  broadcloth. 

For  Eloise  McLoughlin  was  a  bride ;  and  the  groom 
(so  old  voyageurs  tell  me)  was  the  handsomest  man  at 
Fort  Vancouver.  Reserved,  cordial,  quiet,  William  Glen 
Rae  was  at  bottom  a  scholar  and  a  thinker.  Six  years 
had  passed  since  he  came  from  his  ancestral  home  in 
the  Orkneys,  from  Edinburgh  College  honors.  His 
glance  fell  on  the  Lady  of  the  Pacific  Coast.  The 
course  of  a  life  was  changed.  No  doubt  it  was  a  wise 
provision  on  the  governor's  part  that  settled  her  mar- 
riage before  his  departure,  to  bind  her  heart  with  new 
ties,  to  end  the  rivalries  that  grew  more  pronounced 
from  year  to  year.  One  young  trader,  who  from  the 
time  Eloise  was  a  little  girl  had  joked  and  sung  and 
danced  to  win  her,  was  ready  to  fight  on  her  wedding 
day.  But  the  governor  took  him  aside. 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Ermatinger,  wait  a  bit.  When  I  come 
back  I  will  bring  you  the  fairest  lily  I  can  find  in 
Canada.  Then  you  shall  have  a  wedding,  too."  Erma- 
tinger stormed.  For  any  other  offence  the  governor 
would  have  shut  him  up  in  the  butter-tub  —  as  they 
called  the  six-by-nine  donjon  where  refractory  engages 
were  punished.  As  it  was,  Ermatinger  betook  himself 
to  Bachelors'  Hall  and  was  seen  no  more  till  he  left  with 
Tom  McKay's  brigade  for  the  Shoshonie,  ten  days 
later.  He  had  not  even  come  back  in  the  autumn. 
But  now  it  was  said  that  surely  he  would  come  —  tc 


McLOUGHLIN'S   EARLY   HISTORY  63 

meet  the  governor ;  for  rumor  had  gone  out  that  Frank 
Ermatinger  had  worked  himself  into  an  excitement 
waiting  for  his  Canadian  Lily. 

So  this  morning  in  1839  the  mother  and  daughter 
were  stitching,  stitching;  fitting  the  pink  and  purple 
beads  into  leaves  and  rosettes,  and  twining  long  vines  of 
gray  and  green  along  silken  sashes.  The  porch  ran 
entirely  across  the  front  of  Governor  McLoughlin's 
residence.  It  had  deep-seated  windows  and  benches  at 
the  ends.  Along  fluted  pillars  a  grapevine  trailed  and 
tangled ;  a  vine  cut  from  the  mother-vine  of  all  the 
mission  grapes  of  California. 

Suddenly  Eloise  spoke.  "  Mother,  how  can  you 
stitch  to-day?  See,  my  silks  are  knotted  and  my 
roses  spoiled."  She  tossed  her  work  into  the  little 
Indian  basket  at  her  side.  Unbraiding  her  hair  she 
let  it  down,  in  a  shining,  shimmering  cataract  to  the 
floor. 

The  Madame  finished  a  leaf  before  she  spoke.  Then 
in  a  slow  and  gentle  tone,  "  I  haf  the  more  patience, 
Louice.  You  are  like  the  father,  not  quiet."  French 
was  the  family  language  of  the  McLoughlin  household. 
With  each  other  the  Hudson's  Bay  gentlemen  spoke 
English ;  with  their  families  and  with  the  voyageurs, 
French ;  with  the  Indians,  Chinook,  a  trade-tongue  that 
grew  up  on  the  Columbia  —  a  polyglot  of  Hawaiian- 
English-Spanish-French-Indian. 

"  Mr.  Douglas  says  my  father  is  like  Napoleon.  He 
can  out- travel  all  others.  He  may  surprise  us,"  said 
Eloise,  shaking  the  loosened  waves  around  her  like  a 
camlet. 

"  That  is  what  I  am  hoping.  But  so  many  ills  happen 
in  a  lifetime,"  sighed  the  Madame.  "  When  one  hus- 
band haf  gone  away  and  never  come  back  again,  who 


64  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

can  tell  about  another?"  Eloise  was  sorry  her  mother 
referred  to  that  old  sorrow. 

To  one  that  noted  such  trifles  the  Madame's  hair 
was  growing  whiter,  as  if  a  box  of  powder  had  been 
spilled  since  the  governor  went  away.  Quite  snowy 
now,  it  floated  over  the  back  of  her  easy-chair.  She 
always  wore  it  so,  loosely,  like  her  mother  and  her 
grandmother  before  her.  Her  eyes  kept  wandering 
toward  the  snow  on  Mt.  Hood.  Her  ears  strained  to 
catch  the  distant  boat  song ;  she  started  whenever  the 
great  gate  opened  and  shut. 

And  who  had  Madame  McLoughlin  been  before  her 
marriage  to  the  great  doctor?  Some  old  voyageurs 
could  have  told  you  that  forty  years  ago  the  Madame 
had  been  the  fairest  girl  in  the  Cumberland  District  of 
Manitoba.  Her  Scotch  father  sent  her  to  school  with 
the  nuns  at  Quebec.  As  a  child  she  heard  rumors  from 
the  South ;  scattered  fragments  of  the  American  Revo- 
lution when  the  Tories  came  flocking  across  the  Cana- 
dian border.  As  a  girl  she  met  Alexander  McKay, 
who  had  just  returned  with  Alexander  Mackenzie  from 
that  wonderful  tour  in  which  they,  the  first  white  men 
that  ever  crossed  the  continent,  had  scribbled  with  red 
ochre  on  Pacific  rocks : 

A.  MACKENZIE 

ARRIVED    FROM    CANADA   BY    LAND, 
JULY,  1793. 

Retracing  their  steps,  Mackenzie  went  to  England  to 
be  knighted  Sir  Alexander  and  crowned  with  fame. 
McKay  remained  and  married  Margaret.  Two  chil- 
dren came  to  their  home  at  Sault  Ste.  Marie.  A  dozen, 
fourteen  years  went  by.  The  boy  became  a  sturdy 
lad,  the  girl  a  miss  of  twelve,  while  their  Scotch  father 


McLOUGHLIN'S   EARLY   HISTORY  65 

was  collecting  peltries  from  Michilimackinac  to  De- 
troit in  those  early  days  before  recorded  history  be- 
gan. One  summer  morning,  as  he  had  done  every 
summer  for  fourteen  years,  Alexander  McKay  set  out 
with  his  brigade  of  furs  for  Montreal.  That  was  the 
last  time  Madame  ever  saw  him. 

For  at  Montreal  McKay  met  John  Jacob  Astor. 
Astor  was  starting  a  Pacific  fur  company.  He  had 
come  to  Canada  for  men  skilled  in  all  the  mysteries 
of  the  fur  trade.  McKay  pleased  Astor  —  was  made 
a  partner.  He  flew  around  Montreal  engaging  his 
men,  and  by  the  return  boats  to  Sault  Ste.  Marie  sent 
a  good-bye  to  his  wife,  and  a  request  to  the  com- 
mander of  the  northwest  post  to  care  for  her  "  till  his  re- 
turn." It  was  a  sudden  leave-taking,  but  not  uncommon 
in  the  ups  and  downs  of  fur-trading  life.  Margaret  sat 
day  after  day  with  her  arms  around  her  little  girl  — 
and  wept.  The  boy  Tom  had  gone  with  his  father. 
How  bravely  he  stood  in  the  boat  that  summer  day, 
waving  good-byes  to  his  mother!  In  fancy  she  saw 
their  birchen  barks  fly  down  the  Richelieu,  up  Lake 
Champlain,  and  down  the  glittering  Hudson.  She 
dreamed  that  they  tossed  in  Astor's  ship  around  Cape 
Horn.  Then  came  the  war  of  1812.  The  Americans 
burnt  Sault  Ste.  Marie,  and  the  little  house  in  which 
Margaret's  wedded  life  had  sped  so  happily.  Those 
blue-coated  soldiers  waited  for  the  annual  fur  brigade 
due  from  the  North ;  watched  and  waited  and  went 
away.  One  afternoon  a  fleet  of  forty-seven  boats, 
freighted  with  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  furs,  slid  down 
the  Sault  Ste.  Marie,  and  passed  unharmed  to  Montreal. 
She  was  glad  they  had  missed  the  furs,  —  those  vandals 
that  had  burnt  her  house !  But,  to  fill  up  the  meas- 
ure of  disaster,  word  was  brought  by  returning  voya- 

5 


66  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

geurs  that  her  husband  had  been  killed  by  Indians  on 
the  treacherous  northwest  coast ! 

Then  the  fur  companies  went  to  fighting  on  the 
plains  of  Manitoba.  How  could  Margaret  know  that 
Tom,  safe  and  sound,  in  trying  to  get  home  to  her  had 
reached  Red  River  just  in  time  to  take  part  in  that 
battle  fought  a  year  and  a  day  after  Waterloo?  Tom 
McKay  saw  Governor  Semple  march  bravely  out  of 
Winnipeg  with  cocked  hat  and  sash,  pistols,  and  double- 
barrelled  fowling-piece,  and  his  Hudson's  Bay  men  be- 
hind him.  Tom  rode  up  with  the  rival  Northwesters. 
There  was  a  rush  and  a  crash,  and  the  governor  and 
some  others  were  killed.  Lord  Selkirk  hastened  over 
from  Scotland  with  a  lot  of  Waterloo  veterans,  so  Tom 
gat  himself  back  to  the  Columbia  without  seeing  his 
mother.  But  she?  She  was  coming  to  him  in  unex- 
pected fashion. 

A  young  Canadian  doctor  commanded  the  fort  —  a 
strange  anomaly.  Polished  and  courtly,  he  had  left  the 
civilized  world  to  bury  himself  in  this  uttermost  wild. 
In  October,  1784,  John  McLoughlin  was  born  at  Riviere 
du  Loup  on  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence.  While  still 
a  boy  his  father  was  drowned.  The  widowed  mother 
took  her  children  home  to  her  father,  Malcolm  Fraser. 
There  her  boys,  David  and  John,  grew  up  in  their 
grandfather's  old  stone  mansion  overlooking  the  St." 
Lawrence  just  where  it  widens  to  the  sea.  They  played 
in  those  hills,  rugged  as  Scotia's  rock-ribbed  Highlands. 
They  caught  a  military  presence  from  the  soldier  grand- 
sire  who  had  brought  a  Highland  regiment  with  him  to 
America  to  colonize  these  seignioral  manors.  Here 
Scottish  books  were  read  and  Scottish  tales  retold. 
Here  the  bagpipe  droned  and  the  kilt  hung  in  the  old 
colonial  closet.  The  brothers  were  sent  over-seas, 


McLOUGHLIN'S    EARLY   HISTORY  67 

were  pursuing  medical  studies,  when  Napoleon  began 
to  harry  England.  Dr.  David  McLoughlin  went  into 
the  wars  and  followed  the  Iron  Duke  until  Napoleon 
was  caged  at  St.  Helena.  Dr.  John  said,  "  I  can  never 
fight  Napoleon  —  I  admire  him  too  much."  He  re- 
turned to  Canada. 

The  world  lay  before  young  Dr.  McLoughlin.  There 
was  a  pretty  girl  in  Quebec.  One  day  in  spring  he  was 
walking  with  her,  when  they  came  to  a  plank  on  a 
muddy  street.  She  was  just  ahead  of  the  doctor  when 
an  insolent  English  officer,  coming  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, crowded  her  off  the  plank.  In  one  instant  that 
officer,  gold  lace,  epaulets,  and  all,  lay  sprawling  in 
the  mire.  There  was  danger  in  store  for  the  young 
gallant,  so  he  hied  him  to  the  Northwest,  where  his 
uncles  the  Erasers  were  great  factors  of  Eraser's  River. 
That  was  the  whispered  tale  of  how  McLoughlin  first 
entered  the  fur  trade.  Birth,  talent,  magnificent  pres- 
ence brought  rapid  promotion,  —  already  he  was  in 
command  of  Sault  Ste.  Marie. 

And  the  widow  of  his  friend  was  in  his  keeping.  As 
Pythias  waited  for  Damon,  so  McLoughlin  had  waited 
for  McKay.  His  tender  heart  was  touched  by  the  sor- 
rows of  one  so  fair.  Her  well-bred  ways  whispered 
of  home.  No  white  woman  could  go  into  the  Indian 
country,  but  Margaret  could  go  because  she  had  Indian 
blood. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  married  the  widow  Margaret  McKay. 
There  was  no  priest  at  Sault  Ste.  Marie,  that  lonely 
trading  outpost  eighty  years  ago,  A  brother  chief 
factor  said  the  service.  That  was  all;  enough  for  a 
loyal  heart  like  John  McLoughlin's. 

It  was  not  an  unusual  matter.  From  the  days  when 
King  Charles  had  granted  a  royal  charter  to  his  "  well 


68  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

beloved  cousin,"  Prince  Rupert,  the  gentlemen  "  aci 
venturers  of  England  trading  into  Hudson's  Bay "  had 
married  the  daughters  of  chiefs,  —  effecting  state  alli- 
ances to  facilitate  peace,  good-will,  and  commerce. 
From  these  had  sprung  the  type  to  which  Margaret 
belonged,  —  fair,  dark-eyed  women,  combining  the  man- 
ners and  mind  of  the  whites  with  the  daring  and  pride 
of  the  Indian.  Such  had  been  Madame  McLoughlin's 
early  history. 

"  How  can  I  know  that  your  father  not  stiff  at  the 
bottom  of  Lake  Superior?"  continued  the  Madame 
to-day,  half  to  Eloise  and  half  to  herself.  "  He  cap- 
size there  once,  and  all  but  him  were  lost.  Oh,  that 
lake  is  cold !  it  quickly  numb  and  drag  the  swimmer 
down !  I  saw  them  when  they  brought  him  through 
the  fort  gate  like  dead  man.  He  had  beautiful  golden 
hair,  the  Indian  call  it  sunshine ;  but  after  that  it  turn 
white  —  white  as  snow.  Before  he  was  thirty,  Louice, 
men  call  your  father  old." 

That  incident  was  when  Chief  Factor  Mackenzie  was 
lost  and  McLoughlin  lived  to  rule  Fort  William.  Eloise 
had  heard  talk  of  the  fogs  and  storms  and  flurries  of 
the  great  Canadian  sea;  she  had  heard  talk  of  life  at 
Fort  William,  the  metropolitan  post  of  the  Northwest 
Company  on  Lake  Superior,  where  the  merchants  of 
Montreal  used  to  come  in  summer  like  kings  on  a  royal 
progress.  She  was  a  baby  then.  She  could  barely 
remember  the  journey  to  the  Columbia;  one  long 
picnic  it  was  to  Eloise  and  to  David  her  brother,  who 
laughed  and  crowed  and  kicked  his  pink  heels  in  his 
birch-canoe  cradle.  He,  too,  was  coming  home  now 
with  his  father;  coming  from  five  years'  study  in  Paris 
and  London. 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Eloise !  " 


McLOUGHLIN'S   EARLY   HISTORY  69 

It  was  the  cheery  voice  of  her  husband,  William  Glen 
Rae,  who  had  stolen  up  the  steps  unobserved  to  the 
spot  where  Eloise  sat  with  her  unbound  hair  still 
rippling  on  the  floor. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  she  said,  putting  her  hands  in  his, 
—  "I  was  thinking  what  a  family  reunion  'twill  be  when 
the  express  comes  in !  We  must  celebrate  this  year 
with  a  real  Canadian  Christmas !  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Rae,  the  shadow  of  a  cloud  flitting 
over  his  brow,  —  "  yes,  for  no  one  can  tell  where  you 
and  I  may  be  a  year  from  now." 

It  was  the  governor's  joke  when  he  left:  "Wait  till 
I  get  home,  Eloise.  Then  you  and  Rae  shall  have  a 
wedding  journey." 

Rae  looked  for  promotion,  but  whether  to  some  wild 
new  Caledonian  post  on  the  Fraser,  to  the  sage  desert 
on  the  Snake,  or  up  the  Columbia,  he  could  not  guess. 
For  six  years,  now,  he  had  been  head  book-keeper  at 
Fort  Vancouver.  Many  a  document  had  Rae  filed 
away  in  the  brick  archives  of  the  block  counting-house. 
To  take  up  a  new  role,  to  control  men  and  manage 
Indians,  might  prove  less  congenial. 

The  brass  bell  on  its  tripod  in  the  centre  of  the 
square  rang  for  dinner.  The  Canadians  in  the  field 
heard  it,  and  turned  out  their  oxen.  The  Iroquois 
choppers  heard  it,  and  rested  their  axes.  The  clerks 
heard  it,  and  hurried  across  the  court  to  brush  their 
coats  in  Bachelors'  Hall.  The  fur-beaters  heard  it,  and 
went  to  their  cabins  outside  the  gate.  Madame  heard 
it,  and  disappeared  through  the  door  to  her  own 
apartments.  Unassertive,  shy,  it  was  the  custom  of  the 
traders'  wives  to  live  secluded.  Visitors  at  Fort  Van- 
couver saw  little  of  the  resident  women.  Custom  for- 
bade their  presence  at  the  semi-military  table  in  the 


70  McLOUGHLIN   AND  OLD   OREGON 

great  hall.  But  children  playing  about  the  court  attested 
the  presence  of  mothers. 

"  It  is  worthy  of  notice,"  writes  an  old  chronicler, 
"  how  little  of  the  Indian  complexion  is  seen  in  these 
traders'  children.  Generally  they  have  fair  skin,  often 
flaxen  hair,  and  blue  eyes." 

Stealing  a  kiss  from  the  cheek  of  his  bride  as  she 
flew  away  after  her  mother,  William  Rae  turned  and 
watched  the  other  gentlemen  of  the  fort  coming  up 
the  semicircular  flight  of  steps  to  dinner. 

Most  of  them  are  well  known  to-day  in  Oregon  story. 
There  was  James  Douglas,  —  Black  Douglas  they  called 
him,  a  lineal  descendant  of  that  Douglas  who  in  days 
of  old  was  the  chief  support  of  the  Scottish  throne  — 
tall,  dark,  commanding,  and,  next  to  McLoughlin,  the 
ruling  spirit  on  the  Columbia.  James  Douglas  had  left 
the  storied  hills  of  Lanark  as  a  boy  of  sixteen  to  seek 
his  fortune  with  the  fur-traders  of  Canada.  He  crossed 
Lake  Superior  and  came  to  Fort  William  in  the  reign 
of  McLoughlin.  Fort  William  was  then  in  its  splendor, 
a  great  interior  mart,  and  chief  seat  of  the  growing 
Northwest  Company.  Douglas  was  there  when  the  rec- 
onciliation took  place  between  the  rival  fur  companies. 
With  joy  he  watched  the  late  snorting  Highlanders,  who 
had  cut  and  carved  and  shot  and  imprisoned  each 
other,  shaking  hands  under  the  same  flag  and  setting 
out  for  the  uttermost  forts  in  the  same  canoe.  Fif- 
teen years  younger  than  Dr.  McLoughlin,  his  attach- 
ment was  that  of  a  son  or  younger  brother.  Where 
McLoughlin  went,  Douglas  went.  When  McLoughlin 
was  sent  to  the  Columbia  he  requested  the  company 
of  his  young  favorite,  then  a  lad  of  nineteen.  Accord- 
ingly young  Douglas  crossed  the  Rockies  and  tempo- 
rarily served  at  Fort  St.  James  beyond  the  Fraser. 


McLOUGHLIN'S   EARLY   HISTORY  71 

At  Fort  St.  James,  Chief  Factor  James  Connolly,  a 
jolly  Irish  gentleman,  held  sway,  and  dealt  out  beads 
and  blankets  to  the  Shushwaps  for  their  beaver  skins 
and  otter.  Chief  Factor  Connolly  had  a  daughter,  who 
is  known  in  the  annals  of  British  Columbia  as  Lady 
Douglas.  She  was  not  "  Lady  Douglas  "  then.  A  shy, 
sweet,  lovable  girl,  modest  as  the  wood  violet  and 
as  fair,  it  is  not  strange  that  Douglas  loved  Nelia 
Connolly.  It  would  have  been  stranger  if  he  had  not. 
In  addition  to  personal  beauty  the  blood  of  heroes 
ran  in  her  veins.  Old  chronicles  are  full  of  romance 
of  this  pair.  Once  a  renegade  Blackfoot  murdered  a 
Canadian  and  escaped.  A  smoke-dried,  skinny  old 
squaw  whispered  through  the  gate  in  Douglas'  ear: 
"  He  haf  come  again.  He  hides  in  yonder  camp." 
Arming  himself,  young  Douglas  walked  fearlessly  into 
the  Indian  camp  and  shot  the  renegade.  Looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  he  coolly  walked  back 
to  Fort  St.  James.  The  daring  act  awed  the  astonished 
Shushwaps  —  for  weeks  they  were  silent,  it  seemed  for- 
gotten. But  when  Chief  Factor  Connolly  went  down 
the  Columbia  with  a  brigade  of  furs,  the  mindful 
Shushwaps  roused  themselves.  "  We  must  have  pay," 
they  said,  "  pay,  pay,  pay  for  the  dead  man."  Crowd- 
ing in  at  the  fort  gate  one  day,  two  hundred  black- 
ened warriors  surprised  and  seized  the  Douglas  and 
bound  him  hand  and  foot. 

Nelia  Connolly  in  her  little  boudoir  heard  a  sound  of 
confusion.  The  girl  of  sixteen  ran  out  —  she  saw  every 
man  of  the  fort  tied.  A  burly  fellow  was  flourish- 
ing a  knife  above  the  head  of  Douglas.  At  a  glance 
she  read  her  lover's  peril.  Darting  upon  the  Indian 
she  snatched  the  weapon.  Turning  to  the  chief  the 
brave  girl  cried :  — 


72  McLOUGHLIN    AND    OLD   OREGON 

"  What,  you  a  friend  of  the  whites  and  say  not  a  word 
in  their  behalf  at  such  a  time  as  this?  Speak!  You 
know  the  murderer  deserved  to  die.  According  to  your 
own  laws  the  deed  was  just!  It  is  blood  for  blood. 
The  white  men  are  not  dogs.  They  love  their  kindred 
as  well  as  you !  Why  should  they  not  avenge  their 
murder?"  Awed  by  the  skookum  turn-turn  (strong 
heart)  of  the  trader's  daughter  the  Indians  fled  from 
the  room.  As  the  last  blanket  flopped  through  the 
gate  the  old  chief  standing  in  the  door  called  after 
them  in  derisive  tone :  "  You  braves !  Woman  make 
you  run !  Go  home.  Hide  in  leedle  holes  !  " 

Young  Douglas  married  the  girl.  Chief  Factor 
Connolly  read  the  ritual  and  gave  away  the  bride. 
Then  over  the  mountains  Connolly  went  to  Canada, 
where  shortly  he  became  the  Mayor  of  Montreal. 

As  for  Douglas,  he  took  his  wife  down  the  Columbia, 
where  in  the  then  new  Fort  Vancouver  they  took  up 
the  quarters  they  had  occupied  ever  since.  The  gentle 
Nelia  had  grown  and  ripened  with  the  years,  until  the 
comely  young  matron  was  only  a  degree  less  attractive 
than  Eloise  herself.  At  the  west  end  of  that  same 
porch  was  the  door  to  their  sitting-room,  where  on  any 
Sabbath  evening  you  might  find  Douglas  with  the  Bible 
on  his  knee  reading  to  his  wife  and  little  ones.  It  was 
a  sweet  home  picture ;  one  of  the  few,  very  few,  to  be 
found  the  entire  length  of  McLoughlin's  kingdom. 

Summer  mornings  found  Nelia  the  third  in  that  group 
upon  the  porch,  while  her  little  daughter  Cecelia  in  a 
pink  sun-bonnet  played  among  the  flower-beds  at  the 
foot  of  the  steps.  There  Douglas  had  scattered  fine 
seed,  and  in  floral  letters  had  sprung  his  little  daughter's 
name  —  "  Cecelia." 

There  were  other  things  besides  flowers  at  the  foot 


McLOUGHLIN'S   EARLY   HISTORY  73 

of  the  steps.  Facing  the  main  entrance  of  the  stockade 
stood  two  eighteen-pounders  and  two  swivels,  bellig- 
erent but  rusty,  and  piled  in  orderly  heaps  were  pyra- 
mids of  black  cannon-balls  that  were  never  disturbed, 
partly  because  there  was  no  fighting;  more  because 
Robert  Bruce,  the  old  Scotch  gardener,  had  piled  them 
there,  and  woe  betide  the  chick  or  child  that  presumed 
to  interfere  with  anything  that  Bruce  had  done.  Bruce 
was  far  away,  now — in  England  with  the  governor; 
but  habit  had  become  fixed.  In  all  Bruce's  eighteen 
months  of  absence  not  even  a  dog  had  ventured  to  nose 
the  forbidden  balls.  Neither  was  the  grass  trodden. 
They  seemed  still  to  hear  the  gardener's  call,  "  Meestress 
Dooglas !  Meestress  Dooglas !  Kap  the  bairnies  aflf 
the  grass." 

But  to  continue  the  dinner  company  at  the  fort. 
Daily,  besides  Douglas,  there  was  the  fort  physician, 
Dr.  Barclay ;  and  the  clerks,  gay  young  fellows,  English 
and  Scotch,  whose  friends  across  the  sea  had  sufficient 
influence  to  secure  them  a  berth  in  the  opulent  fur 
company.  Not  that  their  present  salary  was  at  all 
princely,  —  twenty  to  one  hundred  pounds  sterling  a  year 
was  the  most  that  any  received,  —  but  clerks  by  promo- 
tion became  traders,  chief-traders,  factors,  and  partners. 
There  was  not  one  of  them  that  did  not  expect  to 
become  a  chief  factor  or  to  retire  at  middle  life  to  an 
old-world  manor  on  the  Thames  or  the  Dee.  Some 
waited  years,  some  a  lifetime,  for  promotions  that  never 
came. 

Rae  would  greet  them  each  as  they  passed,  —  Dunn, 
who  wrote  letters  to  the  "  London  Times  ;"  Allen,  brother 
to  the  physician  of  the  Earl  of  Selkirk ;  Roberts,  fac- 
totum ;  and  all  the  ever-changing  train  of  voyageurs  and 
traders. 


VIII 

DR.  McLOUGHLIN'S  RETURN 


T  TOME  WARD  hurrying  comes  McLoughlin  in  these 
11  October  days  of  1839.  "Ready!"  The  sun 
and  wind  burned  voyageurs  catch  up  the  paddles,  the 
boat  song  strikes  — 

"  Ma  —  1-brouck  has  gone  a-fighting, 

Mironton,  mironton,  mirontaine"  — 

and  away  they  go,  glittering  down  the  Columbia. 
Miles  of  blue  waters  sweep  behind  them  before  the 
sunrise  breakfast. 

It  was  the  doctor's  ambition  to  have  the  best  paddlers 
in  the  world,  and  he  did.  Never  before  did  there, 
never  again  will  such  bold  watermen  ride  the  Columbia. 
Such  order,  such  discipline  !  —  not  the  slightest  minutiae 
escaped  the  master's  eye.  Monique,  a  stalwart  Iroquois 
half-breed,  a  strong  fellow,  at  home  in  the  rapids,  stands 
in  the  bow  of  the  doctor's  boat.  Tawny-skinned, 
stripped  to  the  waist,  and  bareheaded,  his  long  hair 
streaming  on  the  wind,  with  eye  fixed  and  every  muscle 
tense,  this  side,  that,  swift  the  paddle  flies  as  his  quick 
eye  measures  the  line  of  safety  and  sends  the  signal 
back  to  the  steersman  in  the  rear.  It  is  a  play  of  life 
and  death,  but  so  skilful  are  those  bowmen  that  rarely 
a  bark  goes  tum-tum-tum  grazing  a  rock. 

There  was  a  McDonald  at  Fort  Colvile  that  had  a 
daughter  of  the  rich  dark  beauty  of  the  Creole  type, 


DR.   McLOUGHLlN'S  RETURN  75 

Smaller  in  figure  than  her  Blackfoot  mother,  better 
rounded,  lithe,  and  willowy,  Christine  McDonald  was  the 
embodiment  of  the  grace  and  supple  shapeliness  of  the 
half-breed  girl.  The  chief  factor,  with  his  long  locks 
flowing  over  his  shoulders  Indian  fashion,  was  always  in 
the  saddle,  and  at  his  side  rode  his  fearless  daughter 
Christine.  Handsome  as  her  father  and  as  daring, 
astride  with  a  serape  buckled  around  her  waist,  she 
followed  the  hounds  to  the  fox-hunt,  leaped  canyons 
and  fallen  trees,  and  outdid  the  Indians  themselves  in 
her  desperate  riding. 

On  such  a  ride  as  this  they  caught  sight  of  the  Mon- 
treal express  and  dashed  to  greet  McLoughlin,  the  chief 
of  chief  factors.  As  in  some  glen  of  the  Highlands, 
Scotch  plumes  and  tartans  flew.  Scotch  Macs  clasped 
hands  with  other  Macs  famous  in  the  fur  trade.  Demon- 
strative Canadians  fell  on  one  another's  necks  with 
tears  and  laughter.  Indian  wives  and  children  clamored 
for  recognition.  Delighted  voyageurs  dandled  their 
terra-cotta  babies  on  their  knees  with  gifts  of  beads  and 
bells  bought  in  Canadian  shops  for  this  happy  hour. 
Within  the  cedar  hall  there  was  roast  turkey,  sucking 
pig,  fresh  butter  and  eggs,  and  ale.  Spokanes,  Koot- 
enais,  and  Pend  d'Oreilles,  in  all  the  splendor  of  paint 
and  feathers,  dashed  around  Colvile  on  horseback. 
Some  in  soft-tanned  buffalo-robes  peeped  through  the 
trading  gate.  All  night  old  Colvile  rang.  Outside  the 
drowsy  Flatheads  heard  the  droning  of  the  bagpipe. 

There  was  a  hush.  McDonald  had  taught  Christine 
the  sword-dance.  Under  the  rough  rafters  in  the  light 
of  the  fire  the  fair  barbarian  advanced,  invited  and 
evaded  the  supple  blade  that  glittered  round  her  head. 
Christine's  little  moccasined  feet  twinkled  like  stars, 
and  her  beaded  bodice  shimmered  in  the  firelight. 


76  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Catching  a  lock  of  her  flowing  hair,  she  threw  it  across 
the  darting  blade  —  it  fell,  severed,  to  the  floor.  Spell- 
bound the  traders  watched  them.  The  movements 
grew  swift  and  swifter,  until,  in  the  excitement,  Dr. 
McLoughlin  thumped  his  cane  upon  the  floor  and 
cried,  "  Enough,  McDonald,  enough !  " 

For  hundreds  of  miles  the  Columbia  has  a  regular 
descent,  broken  only  at  long  intervals  by  steps  of  rapids 
and  falls.  One  hundred,  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  a 
day,  the  fur-traders  glide,  pausing  at  nightfall  to  camp. 
Scarcely  has  the  first  boat  touched  shore  before  the 
axe  is  in  the  forest.  The  Canadian  cook  builds  the 
tiny  pile  of  lighted  brush  into  a  pyramid  of  blazing  logs. 
From  a  sapling  bent  beside  it  the  kettle  swings  and 
sings  of  supper. 

On  one  side  of  the  fire  the  voyageurs  carve  with 
pocket-knife  and  hunting-knife,  and  never  resting  in 
their  talk  gulp  tea,  tea,  tea.  On  the  other  side  the 
cook  has  spread  McLoughlin's  kitchen  of  linen  and 
plate.  Catharine  Sinclair  is  that  Canadian  lily  taking 
her  first  flight  from  the  Manitoba  home.  David's  laugh 
rings  merrily.  Bruce  the  gardener  sips  his  tea.  He 
loves  the  camping  life;  it  reminds  him  of  military 
marches  and  Waterloo.  Two  new  clerks,  McTavish  and 
Finlayson,  are  keeping  copious  journals  to  send  home 
to  Scotland.  There  is  a  world  of  difference  between 
the  happy-go-lucky  voyageur  and  his  more  thoughtful 
Scotch  companion.  The  French-Canadian  or  French- 
Iroquois  laughs  at  mishaps,  he  rollicks  and  flings  out  the 
border  song.  The  Scotchman  is  grave,  solemn,  and  watch- 
ful, the  brain  and  nerve  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company. 

Down  the  Okanogan  country  the  grass  is  sere. 
Autumn  flames.  Sombre  Alpine  forests  climb  the  far- 
off  heights.  Eastward  dwell  the  Spokanes,  the  Children 


DR.    McLOUGHLIN'S   RETURN  77 

of  the  Sun,  desolated  once  by  a  more  than  Trojan  war 
over  a  stolen  Spokane  bride. 

At  Walla  Walla  Chief  Factor  Pambrun  comes  down 
from  his  tower  to  greet  his  chief;  there  are  letters  for 
Dr.  Whitman ;  the  Shoshonie  brigade  sweeps  into  line 
with  thirty  packs  of  the  best  beaver  of  the  mountains. 
The  boat  song  rings  in  the  narrow  gorge.  The  French- 
men sing  in  times  of  danger;  the  Iroquois  are  silent  and 
stern  as  death  as  they  let  fly  the  canoe  through  the  hiss- 
ing and  curling  waters  like  a  race-horse.  There  were 
times  when  Monique  ran  the  swift  and  narrow  Dalles  ; 
down  the  Cascades  he  shot  with  arrowy  wing,  but  not 
to-day.  Dr.  McLoughlin  is  along  and  Charlefoux  is 
guide.  Many  a  time  McLoughlin  said,  "  Monique  is 
my  boldest  man,  but  I  'd  trust  my  life  with  Charlefoux." 
On  they  speed,  past  Memelose,  the  Isle  of  Tombs,  the 
Westminster  of  the  Indian,  past  Wind  Mountain  with  its 
Ulyssean  tales,  past  Strawberry  Island  where  the  fairies 
feast  in  June,  to  the  wild-rushing  cascades.  Not  a 
feature  escapes  McLoughlin's  eye.  Every  cliff  and  crag 
is  a  familiar  landmark  pointing  to  Fort  Vancouver. 

Madame  and  Eloise  need  wait  and  embroider  no 
more.  Like  silver  bells  shook  far  away,  the  boat  song 
heralded  the  singers.  Hood  seemed  to  listen,  the 
Columbia  heaved  its  breast  of  blue,  the  very  islands 
smiled  with  gladsome  joy.  Eloise  touched  her  finger 
to  her  lip.  "  That  is  my  father's  boat  song,  his  favorite 
because  Napoleon  was  said  to  hum  it  when  mounting 
for  battle."  Again  she  hearkened;  then  starting  up  as 
the  words  grew  more  and  more  distinct  — 

"  It  is  just  like  my  father  to  sing  Malbrouck  at  such 
a  time  as  this,"  and  as  she  flew  to  the  gate  her  own 
voice  joined  the  strain  that  so  oft  had  rung  in  the  halls 
of  Fort  Vancouver : l 

*  ':  Songs  of  Old  Canada."     Malbrouck  ;  /.  e.t  Marlborough. 


78  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Malbrouck  has  gone  a-fighting, 

Mironton.  mironton,  mirontaine, 
Malbrouck  has  gone  a-fighting, 
But  when  will  he  return? 

My  Lady  climbs  her  watch  tower 
As  high  as  she  can  get ; 

She  sees  her  page  approaching, 
All  clad  in  sable  hue. 

"  Ah,  page,  brave  page,  what  tidings 
From  my  true  lord  bring  you?  " 

11  The  news  I  bring,  fair  Lady, 
Will  make  your  tears  run  down ; 

"  Put  off  your  rose-red  dress  so  fine, 
And  doff  your  satin  gown. 

"  Monsieur  Malbrouck  is  dead,  alas  ! 
And  buried  too,  for  aye ; 

"  I  saw  four  officers  who  bore 
His  mighty  corse  away. 

"  One  bore  his  cuirass,  and  his  friend 
His  shield  of  iron  wrought ; 

"  The  third  his  mighty  sabre  bore, 
And  the  fourth  —  he  carried  naught. 

"  And  at  the  corners  of  his  tomb 
They  planted  rosemarie ; 

"  And  from  their  tops  the  nightingale 
Rings  out  her  carol  free. 

"  We  saw,  above  the  laurels, 
His  soul  fly  forth  amain; 

"  And  each  one  fell  upon  his  face, 
And  then  rose  up  again. 


DR.    McLOUGHLIN'S   RETURN  79 

"  And  so  we  sang  the  glories 
For  which  great  Malbrouck  bled ; 

"  And  when  the  whole  was  ended 
Each  one  went  off  to  bed. 

"  I  say  no  more,  my  Lady, 

Mironton,  mzronton,  mirontaine, 
I  say  no  more,  my  Lady, 
As  nought  more  can  be  said." 

And  with  the  coming  of  the  express  would  come  all 
manner  of  news,  and  the  renewal  of  contact  with  the 
East.  Letters,  at  least,  should  be  in  hand.  Newspapers 
for  the  entire  year  came  in  the  express,  —  a  year's  edi- 
tion of  "  Le  Canadien  "  and  the  "  Quebec  Gazette,"  just 
as  in  June  the  barque  "  Columbia  "  brought  a  file  of  the 
"  Daily  London  Times  "  of  the  preceding  year.  Packed 
away  in  a  great  chest,  every  day  the  traders  drew  out 
that  date  a  year,  two  years  ago,  to  tickle  themselves 
with  the  fancy  that  the  post-boy  called  each  morning ! 

They  were  at  hand !  "  The  express !  The  ex- 
press !  ! "  rang  through  the  court.  Every  one  was 
busy.  Old  Burris  ran  up  the  British  ensign  on  the 
flagstaff.  Swinging  round  the  last  green  headland 
like  the  curve  of  a  great  wheel,  the  brigade  shot  into 
view.  The  song  rang  shrilly  out.  From  the  gov- 
ernor's barge  fluttered  the  triangular  pennon  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,  with  its  rampant  beaver  and 
the  familiar  "  H.  B.  C."  upon  a  field  of  blue. 

"  H.  B.  C."  —  "  Here  Before  Christ,"  was  Erma- 
tinger's  translation,  and  Bruce  agreed.  "  I  reeckon  ye  '11 
find  the  coompany's  coolers  where  kirkmen  seeldom 
git."  And  then  there  was  a  struggle  to  see  who  could 
touch  the  sand  first.  Paddles  rolled  on  the  gunwales, 
flinging  the  spray  across  the  voyageurs'  faces  as  they 
shook  the  water  from  the  blades. 


8o  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

What  rejoicing !  Cannon  boomed,  flags  waved,  the 
bagpipes  struck  up  "  The  Campbells  are  coming. 
Hourray !  Hourray  !  "  Indians  whooped,  dogs  bayed, 
Frenchmen  ran  wild,  as  the  whole  fort  turned  out  to 
greet  the  arrival  —  and  the  chief.  The  sharp  end  of 
the  canoes  gritted  on  the  sand.  Every  cap  flew  off  as 
the  familiar  form  of  Dr.  McLoughlin  arose  from  the 
cramped  position  that  had  grown  so  irksome  and 
stepped  on  shore. 

Every  eye  rejoiced  in  that  majestic  presence.  With 
a  hand-clasp  for  Rae  and  Douglas  and  a  salute  for  the 
Madame's  cheek  he  presented  her  son  —  "I  have 
brought  the  boy  home,  mother."  And  Ermatinger 
gave  a  shout  of  joy  at  sight  of  his  Canadian  lily,  a 
niece  of  the  Madame,  from  Manitoba. 

In  the  midst  of  greetings  and  tears  and  laughter  on 
all  sides,  Eloise,  hysterical  with  joy,  clung  to  her 
father's  arm,  and  all  talking  at  once,  went  plodding  up 
the  path  between  the  fields  of  wheat.  Behind  them 
toiled  the  Iroquois  packers,  rolling  the  heavy  bales  on 
little  trucks  to  the  fort. 

"The  governor  has  returned  with  flying  colors," 
remarked  Clerk  Roberts  of  the  Indian  shop,  measuring 
off  a  fathom  of  trail-rope  tobacco  with  his  arms  as  he 
spoke. 

"  An'  richt  glad  am  I,"  responded  Allen,  the  farm 
overseer.  "  There  's  nae  better  mon  i'  the  coompany's 
service.  His  management  o'  Indians  amounts  to  genius 
itsel'.  Did  ye  notice  Moneycoon  an'  the  hunters  when 
he  called  them?  The'  faces  lichted  like  the  sun.  An' 
old  Kesano,  proud  as  a  peacock  wi'  a  feither  in  his  hair. 
The  verra  sicht  o'  him  tarn's  the  red  men." 

And  Bruce  the  gardener  had  come  again ;  and  Bruce 
rushed  to  see  his  gardens !  Reaching  England,  he  had 


DR.    McLOUGHLIN'S   RETURN  81 

resigned  from  the  Hudson  Bay  Company.  "  I  '11  neiver 
leeve  i'  the  wuids  again,"  he  said.  A  few  days  later, 
walking  lonely  in  the  streets  of  London,  he  came  unex- 
pectedly upon  Dr.  McLoughlin.  The  benevolent  face 
beamed,  it  touched  an  aching  void  —  throwing  himself 
upon  his  knees  at  the  doctor's  feet,  with  tears  he  begged 
to  be  taken  back.  Despite  some  obstinate  disobediences 
the  doctor  valued  the  old  gardener,  so  back  he  came, 
a  fixture  for  life.  Bruce  looked  eagerly,  too,  for  his 
old  musket,  that  cherished  relic  of  Waterloo.  In  half 
an  hour  he  had  all  the  laddies  in  a  row,  with  flint-locks 
on  their  shoulders  —  "  Heids  up,"  "  'Taes  out  like  sool- 
diers,  noo,"  "  Mek  reddy,"  "  Tek  aim,"  "Fire!  " 

David  McLoughlin  was  like  a  child  again.  He 
seemed  to  wake  from  a  dream  to  look  upon  the 
weather-beaten  palisades,  the  unpainted  stores  resting 
on  blocks,  the  sparks  flying  from  the  forge.  He  strode 
through  his  mother's  sitting-room,  unchanged  save  that 
Chinese  matting,  the  first  ever  used  in  this  country, 
had  supplanted  the  native  Indian  mats.  Just  to  see 
how  it  would  taste,  he  drew  a  bucket  of  water  from  the 
deep  well  never  walled,  and  snipped  a  handful  of 
biscuit  from  the  bakehouse.  Even  the  big  brass  bell 
under  its  peaked  roof  sang  the  same  old  song,  "  Pum- 
brun !  Pumbrun  !  Pumbrun !  "  that  it  sang  when 
Pambrun  rang  it  and  David  was  a  little  boy.  Appar- 
ently the  same  furs  lay  in  the  same  bales  in  the  fur- 
room,  the  same  trappers  came  in  the  same  boats, 
singing  the  same  old  songs  that  had  been  his  cradle 
lullabies.  The  same  ship  brought  the  same  goods  and 
departed  again  on  her  cycle  of  sailing.  Changes  had 
come  to  David,  and  he  had  expected  changes  here,  but 
it  was  like  opening  a  story-book  to  a  page  read  long 
ago. 

6 


82  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

It  seemed  to  him  but  yesterday,  when  a  lad  of  thir- 
teen, he  had  set  out  in  the  traders'  care  for  France. 
They  followed  the  old  route  up  the  Columbia.  When 
he  saw  the  wild  Spokanes  careering  across  the  plain, 
his  blood  leaped  as  at  the  recognition  of  kindred.  He 
longed  to  mount  a  fiery  steed  and  ride  away  with  them, 
far  from  books  and  school  and  gentlemen's  clothes. 
He  remembered  the  hunter's  tales  of  Jemmy  Jock,  the 
half-Indian  son  of  a  Hudson's  Bay  trader  that  became 
a  Rob  Roy  among  the  Blackfeet.  Watching  the  daring 
riders  he  breathed  deeply,  and  felt  within  him  the  stir- 
ring of  savage  instincts.  It  seemed  only  yesterday  that 
David  on  snowshoes  reached  Jasper  House  beyond  the 
head  waters  of  the  Columbia  in  the  heart  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  The  old  clerk  Jasper  was  dead,  but  in  his 
stead  Colin  Eraser  played  the  bagpipes  and  danced  at 
his  shadow  on  the  wall.  How  grateful  seemed  the 
blazing  hearth  and  opulent  larder  of  the  hermit  up 
there  in  the  Alpine  solitude ! 

That  was  a  land  of  fat  and  pemmican.  Thirty  thou- 
sand bags,  every  bag  as  big  as  a  pillow,  hung  in  the 
company's  forts  that  year.  Every  bag  represented  the 
pulverized  flesh  and  melted  marrow  of  two  big  buffa- 
loes. David  had  seen  pemmican  down  on  the  Colum- 
bia, salmon  pemmican,  but  none  like  this  —  with  hairs 
in  it  an  inch  long!  But  in  a  wonderful  manner  it 
stayed  the  hunger  of  the  voyageur  crossing  sub- Arctic 
snow.  Never  before  had  David  seen  such  snow,  hard 
and  white,  compact  as  adamant,  across  which  the  dog- 
sleds  flew  to  Fort  Edmonton  on  the  North  Saskatche- 
wan. All  that  North  had  been  a  realm  of  fairy-land 
and  every  old  post  a  palace.  Every  bullet-hole  in 
the  gayly  painted  walls  of  Edmonton,  every  hack  of 
the  tomahawk  on  the  battlemented  gateway,  had  its 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN'S   RETURN  83 

tale  of  tragedy  and  war.  The  rude  fantasies  of  color 
and  of  carving  dazzled  the  boy,  as  they  dazzled  the 
neighboring  Cree,  the  Assiniboin,  and  the  Blackfoot. 
Five  years  later,  how  tawdry  they  looked  !  Yes,  David 
had  changed.  Even  Vancouver  was  not  so  grand  as 
he  had  thought.  The  savage  in  him  slept. 

"  Be-be,"  sang  the  Indian  mothers  in  the  cabins : 

"  Bd-be,  the  governor  has  come, 
And  now  there 's  some  fun, 
And  a  great  big  feast  to-night." 

And  so  came  the  express  from  Montreal  to  Van- 
couver in  1839,  landing  Dr.  John  McLoughlin  at 
home  again  on  the  nineteenth  day  of  October  —  his 
fifty-fifth  birthday. 


IX 

THE  BANQUET 

1839 

A  YANKEE  would  have  said  Thanksgiving  was  at 
hand  had  he  peeped  into  the  spacious  kitchen 
of  the  fort  when  the  express  came.  The  fort  dining- 
hall  was  a  noble  apartment,  capable  of  seating  five 
hundred  guests.  A  huge  map  of  the  Indian  country 
covered  the  wall.  The  dinner-bell  rang,  and  the  long 
tables  began  to  fill.  With  a  wave  of  the  hand  the  stately 
governor  seated  his  guests  according  to  rank.  Before 
them  cut-glass,  and  silver  with  the  McLoughlin  coat 
of  arms,  shone  side  by  side  with  modern  queen's-ware 
and  rare  old  china.  Dr.  McLoughlin  presided  like  a 
picture  out  of  the  old  colonial  time,  clean-shaven,  fair 
and  rosy,  with  his  white  locks  twisted  into  a  queue  at 
the  back.  At  his  right  sat  his  faithful  aid,  who  in  the 
governor's  absence  had  added  new  lustre  to  the  name 
of  Douglas.  Then  came  Rae  and  Dr.  Barclay,  and  fac- 
tors from  other  forts,  the  jolly  ship's  captain  and  mate, 
trappers  and  traders,  clerks  and  sailors.  The  heavy 
doors  clanged  and  the  plank  floor  rang.  The  fire-logs 
flickered  in  the  dark  old  chimney,  and  the  branching 
candelabra  sent  out  an  odor  of  perfumed  wax.  There 
was  a  clatter  of  cutlery.  In  peaked  cap  and  ample 
apron  Burris  marshalled  his  copper-colored,  curly- 
haired  Kanakas  with  trenchers  of  venison  and  tureens 
of  brown  gravies.  And  sauces?  No  one  ever  yet 
surpassed  Burris  in  sauces  for  the  Chinook  salmon. 
These  Hudson's  Bay  gentlemen  were  a  rubicund 


THE   BANQUET  85 

set,  epicures  to  a  degree.  Mild  climate,  good  living, 
and  easy  nerves  gave  them  a  corpulent  habit  in  strik- 
ing contrast  with  the  lean  and  wiry  Yankee  traders 
that  sometimes  touched  the  coast. 

There  was  once  a  complaint  sent  to  Parliament  that 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  made  no  attempt  to  culti- 
vate the  soil.  Dr.  McLoughlin  broke  that  old  regime. 
Almost  from  his  coming  there  had  been  wheat,  flour, 
bread,  on  the  Columbia,  yea,  even  gingerbread,  and 
of  late  years  apple  pie !  That  fruitful  orchard  at  Fort 
Vancouver  had  sprung  from  a  handful  of  seeds  dropped 
into  the  pocket  of  an  old  ship-captain  by  a  laughing 
girl  across  the  sea.  "  Take  them  and  plant  them  in 
your  savage  land,"  she  said.  The  black  satin  vest  was 
packed  away  in  a  sea-chest.  In  airing  his  clothes  one 
day  at  Fort  Vancouver  the  seeds  fell  out.  "  Bless  me  ! 
bless  me  !  let  us  start  an  orchard,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin, 
picking  up  the  little  triangular  treasures.  Another 
sea-captain  brought  a  bunch  of  peach-stones  from 
Crusoe's  Island,  Juan  Fernandez.  A  little  planting,  a 
little  care,  peaches. 

Back  of  the  Fort  hummed  the  old  grist-mill,  the 
first  ever  built  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  William 
Cannon,  the  miller,  an  American,  crossed  the  moun- 
tains with  Astor's  men  in  1810.  When  Astor's  people 
left  he  elected  to  remain  with  the  British  fur-traders. 
It  was  in  the  day  of  beginnings,  when  the  post  lived 
on  salmon  and  wapato  (the  Indian  potato)  and  were 
just  experimenting  with  apple-seeds  and  peach-stones. 
The  handful  of  seed-wheat  brought  from  Canada  was 
increasing  marvellously  when  Cannon  said  one  day, 
"  Governor,  let  me  build  a  flour-mill." 

"A  mill?  A  flour-mill?  Bless  you,  man,  where 
will  you  get  burrs?" 


86  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Make  them  of  granite  from  the  hill  back  of  the 
fort,"  said  Cannon. 

"What  power?" 

"  Cattle  power." 

"  Go  ahead  then,"  was  the  governor's  answer. 

Cannon  worked  beneath  a  mighty  fir  that  stands 
to-day  on  the  old  fort  plain.  He  made  his  frame  of 
fir,  and  the  cogs  and  wheels  of  oak  hardened  by  boiling 
in  seal-oil.  He  worked  his  burrs  down  from  rough 
granite  with  a  cold-chisel. 

"What  are  you  making  that  for?"  inquired  Tom 
McKay's  little  Billy  as  Cannon  smoothed  the  long 
main-shaft  from  a  comely  fir.  Little  Billy  was  three 
quarters  Indian  and  bright,  —  bright  as  a  bluejay. 
"  What  are  you  making  that  for  ? "  again  piped  the 
watchful  little  interrogation  point. 

"A  whip-handle  for  the  governor,"  answered  the 
crusty  miller,  making  a  sharp  eye  at  the  little  boy. 

All  was  set  up.  The  oxen  were  yoked,  old  Brandy 
and  Lion  brought  up  from  California  in  the  "  CadboroV 
Wheat  was  put  in,  the  whole  fort  came  out  to  watch, 
the  main-shaft  turned,  and  lo !  it  ground  out  flour,  the 
first  flour  on  the  Columbia. 

Then  Cannon  built  an  old-fashioned  over-shot  wheel 
saw-mill.  Lumber  began  to  accumulate,  so  that  every 
summer  the  Hudson's  Bay  ship  left  her  Indian  goods 
and  taking  on  lumber  went  over  to  the  Sandwich  Is- 
lands. In  November  she  came  back  for  her  London 
load  of  furs.  The  same  ship  was  lying  there  now,  furs 
all  laden,  her  officers  up  at  the  governor's  banquet. 

"And  how  is  competition  now,  Mr.  John?  How  is 
competition  now?  "  inquired  Dr.  McLoughlin  of  John 
Dunn  just  down  from  the  northwest  coast. 

"  Poor  picking,  Governor,  poor  picking  for  the  Bos- 


THE  BANQUET  87 

tons.  We've  swept  the  hocean  clean.  Hour  little 
steamer  watches  the  coast  like  an  'awk.  She  darts  hup 
the  firths  and  'auls  in  the  furs  before  they  never  reach 
the  coast.  The  Hamericans  'ave  no  business  'ere 
hanyway."  Dunn  thrust  his  fork  into  the  duck  with 
a  savage  lunge. 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut,  Mr.  John !  "  laughed  the  governor, 
"they  will  come  unless  we're  sharp  enough  to  head 
them  off." 

If  there  was  anything  Dr.  McLoughlin  hated,  it  was 
a  Yankee  skipper  with  rum  on  board.  What  trouble 
they  brought!  Drunken  Indians  who  would  sell  for 
nothing  but  rum.  All  day  the  shrewd  siwashes  would 
lie  on  the  shore  in  the  sun  and  watch  for  Yankee  sails. 
The  company's  men  watched,  too,  and  ran  ahead  to 
catch  the  furs  before  the  ship  could  anchor.  When 
naught  but  rum  availed,  rum  was  dealt  to  head  the 
Yankees  off.  Then  the  Yankee  captain  swore  and  tore 
and  sailed  away  to  find  another  agent  —  fighting  rum 
with  rum.  At  last  the  defeated  Bostons  almost  quit 
the  coast.  Only  at  long  intervals  a  damaged  whaler 
ran  into  the  cove  at  Esquimault.  Then  the  forts  cut 
off  the  rum  supply.  The  red  men  held  their  furs  in 
vain. 

"  Lum  !  lum  !  lum  !  "  plead  the  siwashes,  spreading 
rich  bales  of  seal  and  beaver,  shiny  silver-fox,  and  glisten- 
ing sea-otter  around  the  forts.  The  traders  shook  their 
heads.  "  No  liquor  for  the  Indians."  The  angry  red 
men  brandished  their  tomahawks,  but  at  last,  subdued, 
were  fain  to  trade  their  furs  for  blankets,  and  soberly 
set  out  on  another  hunt. 

One  day  a  new  competitor  came  —  a  Boston  captain 
with  a  cargo  of  "  Yankee  notions."  Right  up  the 
Columbia  he  sailed,  and  under  the  very  guns  of  Fort 


88  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Vancouver  sold  out  his  squeaking  cats  and  dogs  and 
yellow  jumping-jacks  to  the  delighted  red  men.  Solemn 
old  sagamores  squandered  the  catch  of  the  season  on 
little  red  wagons  and  tin  whistles. 

How  Dr.  McLoughlin  fumed !  The  rascally  fellow 
had  even  followed  the  Hudson's  Bay  example  and  mar- 
ried the  daughter  of  a  chief!  Something  must  be 
done.  The  governor  despatched  a  messenger  to  in- 
tercept the  Yankee  captain,  and  if  possible  buy  him 
over,  cargo,  brig,  and  all.  The  scheme  succeeded ;  cap- 
tain, cargo,  ship,  and  crew  turned  British,  and  as  a  chief 
factor  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  the  Boston  cap- 
tain McNeill  became  the  most  obstinate  John  Bull  on 
the  books. 

The  spirited  recount  of  adventure  since  last  the  ban- 
queters met  filled  hours.  The  candles  burned  low  and 
began  to  sputter.  "  Captain  Wyeth  has  sent  a  keg  of 
choice  smoking  tobacco  and  a  copy  of  Carlyle  for  you," 
Rae  was  saying. 

"  Just  like  him,  just  like  him,"  commented  the  doc- 
tor. "  Wyeth  was  a  good  fellow.  I  must  write  him 
a  letter.  Bruce  !  "  The  governor  pulled  a  green  bell- 
tassel  behind  his  chair.  Bruce  opened  the  door  and 
handed  the  governor  his  snuff-box.  That  was  the 
signal  for  breaking  up. 

All  passed  out  to  chat  and  smoke  in  Bachelors'  Hall 
—  all  but  the  governor.  He  never  smoked  and  seldom 
trusted  himself  with  snuff — he  borrowed  of  Bruce. 
As  they  crossed  the  court,  the  wail  of  the  fiddle  re- 
sounded—  the  voyageurs  danced  till  daylight.  At 
early  dawn  the  barque  "Columbia"  left  her  moorings, 
and  with  sails  unloosed  stood  out  into  the  channel. 


EARLY  EVENTS  AT  FORT   VANCOUVER 
1812-1829 

AND  had  this  handful  of  whites  lived  always  un- 
molested in  the  heart  of  barbarism?  Not  al- 
ways. There  was  a  time,  after  Astor's  people  left, 
when  the  Cascade  Indians  levied  toll  like  the  robber 
barons  on  the  Rhine,  a  time  when  sixty  well-armed 
men  guarded  every  caravan,  a  time  when  the  brigades 
made  the  portage  at  the  Dalles  with  a  lighted  match 
above  a  loaded  cannon.  In  a  dim  corner  of  the  fur- 
room  there  hung  a  chain  armor  worn  by  a  North- 
wester in  the  early  times.  One  hot  night  when  he 
took  it  off,  the  skin  came  with  it. 

Long  after  McLoughlin  came  in  1824,  the  river 
bristled  with  danger.  Once  the  Dalles  Indians,  the 
banditti  of  the  Columbia,  united  to  make  him  pay 
tribute.  One  dark  night  in  1829  their  war  canoes 
dropped  noiselessly  down  upon  the  fort.  But  the 
sleepless  watch  was  on  the  walls,  the  guns  were  set. 
Chief  Kesano,  a  friendly  Multnomah,  rallied  his  tribe 
to  aid  the  traders.  All  night  the  savages  blew  their 
shells  and  beat  their  drums.  The  next  morning  Dr. 
McLoughlin  called  a  council.  One  by  one  the  hostile 
chiefs  were  admitted.  Douglas  was  there,  and  Pam- 
brun,  and  Kesano  with  his  sub-chiefs.  McLoughlin 
had  men  concealed,  ready  to  fire  at  a  sign  of  treachery. 
The  chiefs  were  sullen  when  into  their  midst  came 
Colin  Fraser,  a  six-foot  Highlander  in  Scottish  kilt 


90  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

and  flowing  plume  and  played  the  bagpipes.  Up  and 
down  the  great  council  hall  he  strode  and  played  an 
hour  while  they  waited  for  McLoughlin.  "  Music  hath 
charms."  The  savages  were  so  subdued  they  forgot 
their  warlike  errand.  While  still  the  piper  played, 
McLoughlin  entered  with  a  treaty  ready  drawn  up 
that  they  would  never  molest  Vancouver.  It  was 
signed,  presents  were  distributed,  and  the  hostiles 
departed  happy. 

One  night  in  that  same  year,  Kesano  and  his  people 
came  with  shouts  and  blows  to  the  postern  gate,  bring- 
ing Jedediah  Smith,  an  American  trapper,  who  had 
escaped  from  a  massacre  on  the  Umpqua.  In  1828 
Jedediah  led  the  first  party  that  ever  crossed  the 
Sierras  into  California.  The  Spaniards  viewed  them 
with  suspicion.  Out  of  the  hands  of  the  Spaniards 
they  fell  into  the  snares  of  the  Indians  —  out  of  eighteen 
men  three  only  escaped  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
fort  on  the  Columbia.  Dr.  McLoughlin  was  astounded. 
"  Stay !  "  he  cried.  "  McKay !  Tom  McKay !  This 
American  has  been  robbed,  his  party  massacred.  Take 
fifty  men,  ride  light,  and  go  down  to  the  Umpqua." 

McKay  and  his  Canadians  crossed  the  Columbia  that 
night.  Down  on  the  Umpqua  the  Indians  came  in,  sus- 
pecting nothing.  Captain  Tom  counted  out  the  peltries. 
"  There,"  he  said,  "  for  these  I  will  pay  you."  He 
handed  out  their  value  in  goods.  "  But  these  with  the 
trappers'  mark  belong  to  the  men  you  murdered.  Look 
to  the  murderers  for  payment."  The  enraged  Umpquas 
fell  upon  the  murderers  and  Tom  and  his  men  galloped 
out  of  the  country.  Dr.  McLoughlin  paid  Jedediah 
Smith  three  thousand  two  hundred  dollars  for  his  furs. 
The  grateful  trapper  left  the  Columbia  to  rejoin  his 
friends  east  of  the  mountains. 


EARLY  EVENTS  AT  FORT  VANCOUVER   91 

In  1829,  too,  a  Boston  ship  came  into  the  Columbia 
for  salmon.  Was  it  "  the  Bostons,"  as  the  Indians  said, 
or  was  it  the  first  ploughing  at  Fort  Vancouver,  that 
uncorked  the  vials  of  pestilence?  For  miles  the  shores 
of  the  Columbia  were  dotted  with  villages  so  near  that 
a  rifle-ball  would  reach  from  one  to  another.  The 
Willamette  was  filled  with  a  numerous  and  powerful 
people,  a  people  that  had  good  houses,  great  fisheries, 
and  manufactured  thread  and  nets  and  cloth  from  the 
fibre  of  the  milkweed.  The  deadly  fever  came  among 
them.  The  simple  Indian  remedies  failed.  The  jug- 
glery of  medicine  men  proved  vain.  In  vain  was  the 
general  sacrifice  of  eagle's  feathers  and  wooden  images. 
The  fated  Multnomahs  went  into  their  sweat-houses. 
Half-suffocated  in  the  vapor-bath,  reeking  with  perspira- 
tion, they  jumped  into  the  cold  Columbia.  Barely 
crept  they  back  to  the  wigwam  door.  In  three  weeks 
Kesano's  people  perished,  and  he  had  been  wont  to 
summon  five  hundred  warriors  to  the  chase.  At  his 
village,  Wakanasissi,  six  miles  below  Vancouver,  the 
bones  lay  five  feet  high  and  ten  rods  long  for  years, 
where  the  dead  were  piled  in  a  ghastly  open  tomb. 
With  six  solitary  survivors  Kesano  moved  his  lodge  to 
Fort  Vancouver.  Here  ever  after  the  old  chief  was 
honored  above  all  other  Indians  with  a  plate  at  a  side 
table  in  the  great  hall,  with  a  feather  in  a  silk  hat  and  a 
scarlet  coat.  With  his  large  flat  head,  bright  clear  eyes 
that  could  look  one  through,  Roman  nose,  heavy  jaws, 
set  firm  lips,  and  hair  carefully  dressed,  old  Chief 
Kesano  stalked  in  and  out,  an  honored  pensioner  at 
Fort  Vancouver. 

That  fever  time  !  From  1829  to  1832  thirty  thousand 
Indians  perished  in  the  valley  of  the  Columbia  and 
Willamette.  In  1831,  on  the  Cowlitz,  the  living  sufficed 


92  McLOUGHLIN  AND   OLD   OREGON 

not  to  bury  the  dead,  but  fled  to  the  sea-coast,  leaving 
their  homes  to  the  ravens  and  the  wolves.  The  sun 
shone  fair  as  ever  —  the  changeless  sun  of  an  Oregon 
summer.  Not  a  cloud,  not  a  shower,  not  a  wind,  but 
the  still  Egyptian  lotus-sky  above  the  changeless  days. 
Had  the  boy  Bryant  of  New  England  divined  this  when 
he  wrote,  — 

"  Lose  thyself  in  the  continuous  woods 
Where  rolls  the  Oregon  and  hears  no  sound 
Save  his  own  dashings.     Yet  the  dead  are  there  "  ? 

Forty  men  lay  sick  at  Fort  Vancouver,  and  wretched 
Indians  at  the  gates  plead  for  "  la  medecine."  There 
was  no  physician  but  Dr.  McLoughlin.  His  hands 
were  full.  He,  too,  fell  sick  of  the  fever  and  sent  his 
clerks  among  the  sufferers  with  pockets  lined  with  vials 
of  quinine. 

There  was  an  Indian  village  on  Wapato  Island  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Willamette.  For  several  weeks  no  one 
had  come  from  there.  Chief  Trader  Ogden  arrived  at 
the  fort.  "  Go  over  to  Wapato  and  see  what  is  the 
matter,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

"  There  is  something  dead  in  Wapato,"  said  Ogden, 
as  his  boats  neared  the  edge  of  the  island.  There  cer- 
tainly was  a  sickish,  fetid  odor  in  the  air.  The  oak- 
trees  whispered  as  they  passed.  The  gleaming  alders 
fluttered  their  nervous  twigs.  The  willows  shook  their 
large  oblanceolate  leaves  with  whitened  under-edges. 
The  wood-dove  mourned  in  a  thicket  of  young  firs. 
Canoes  lay  idle  on  the  beach.  Nets  hung  on  the  willow 
boughs.  Dogs  watched,  birds  carolled,  insects  hummed 
and  flitted,  but  no  voice  came  from  the  village.  As 
Ogden  strode  forward  he  saw  them  lying  dead  every- 
where, all  dead  but  one  little  slave-boy  to  whom  the 


EARLY  EVENTS  AT  FORT  VANCOUVER   93 

sweat  and  the  river-douse  had  been  refused.  Thrown 
out,  the  boy  burned  through  the  fever  and  lived. 

"My  legal  primer  says  necessity  knows  no  law," 
said  the  practical  Ogden,  lighting  the  funeral  pyre. 
Men,  now  living,  saw  the  grinning  skulls  of  that  Gol- 
gotha. Dr.  McLoughlin  adopted  the  little  Indian  slave 
and  named  him  Benjamin  Harrison,  for  a  member  of  the 
London  Board.  He  was  a  bright,  attractive  child,  and 
became  a  favorite  at  the  fort. 

There  was  another  chief,  Maniquon,  an  old  man 
bereft  of  his  people.  Sometimes  they  could  hear  him 
at  night  walking  around  the  fort,  singing  a  low  sad  song 
of  death.  Sometimes  he  would  tell  of  other  days,  when 
he  rode  to  the  chase  or  fought  in  battle.  "  Eighty 
snows  have  chilled  the  earth  since  Maniquon  was  born. 
Maniquon  has  been  a  great  warrior."  The  dim  eye 
would  glitter,  the  withered  chief  would  leap  and  brand- 
ish an  imaginary  tomahawk,  then  sink  back  exhausted. 
"  Maniquon  is  not  a  warrior  now.  He  will  never  raise 
his  axe  again.  His  young  men  have  deserted  his  lodge. 
His  sons  have  gone  down  to  their  graves,  and  the  squaws 
will  not  sing  of  their  great  deeds."  Leaning  toward  the 
listener  he  would  ask,  "  Who  has  made  my  people  what 
they  are?" 

"  The  Great  Spirit,  Maniquon." 

The  old  chief  would  leap  like  a  fiend  and  fiercely 
whisper,  "The  white  man  did  it;  the  white  man  did 
it."  Fierce  old  Maniquon.  To  the  end  of  his  days  he 
believed  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  poisoned  the 
people  of  Wapato  to  get  the  beautiful  island  for  a  dairy 
farm.  Long  ago,  in  the  ancient  days  of  Wauna,  the 
Multnomahs  were  a  mighty  people.  All  the  tribes  met 
them  in  council  under  the  oaks  and  willows  of  Wapato. 
Now  herds  of  cattle  were  sent  to  range  where  Indian 


94  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

kings  once  trod.  Hogs  wallowed  in  the  sloughs  or 
fattened  on  acorns  and  wapato.  Beneath  the  oaks  of  the 
ancient  council  grove  the  herdsman  built  his  hut,  and 
Sauvie,  a  French  Canadian,  was  given  charge  of  a  dairy 
not  far  from  the  site  of  the  deserted  village. 

An  old  woman,  Waskema,  wandered  like  an  unquiet 
spirit  in  the  valley.  Here,  long  years  before  the  white 
man  came,  Waskema  was  wedded  to  Canemah  the 
arrow-maker.  There  he  wrought  the  jewelled  arrow- 
heads of  yellow  jasper,  red  jasper,  green  jasper,  and 
pale  chalcedony,  or  wrought  out  knives  of  translucent 
obsidian  carefully  chipped  down  to  a  glassy  edge. 
Canemah's  arrows  were  famed  from  Des  Chutes  to  Til- 
lamook.  Old  Waskema  had  never  forgiven  the  white 
man  for  bringing  the  fatal  fever  that  carried  off  her  hus- 
band and  sons.  Among  the  scrofula-stricken  fragments 
of  her  race  she  strove  to  preserve  the  old  superstitions 
and  the  old  customs,  preferring  the  necklace  of  claws 
and  teeth  and  shells  to  even  the  gayest  of  Hudson's 
Bay  beads.  Each  year  as  she  went  up  to  the  fisheries, 
she  tortured  her  heart  with  memories  of  the  time  when 
first  she  toiled  with  her  arrow-maker  gathering  baskets 
of  agate  and  jasper  and  carnelian  along  the  quiet  river 
sands. 

In  1828  there  was  trouble  with  the  Clatsops  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia.  The  "  William  and  Ann,"  the 
company's  ship  from  London,  was  wrecked  one  dark 
and  stormy  night  on  the  Columbia  bar.  All  on  board 
were  lost.  Goods  destined  for  Fort  Vancouver  were 
thrown  out  upon  the  beach.  Dr.  McLoughlin  heard  of 
the  loss  of  the  ship  and  sent  to  demand  the  cargo.  An 
old  broom  was  sent  back  in  derisive  answer.  The  sur- 
mise grew  into  a  conviction  that  the  Clatsops  had  mur- 
dered the  crew  as  they  tried  to  land  that  stormy  night 


EARLY  EVENTS  AT  FORT  VANCOUVER   95 

The  new  Caledonian  brigade  was  just  in.  The  doctor 
despatched  them  to  Clatsop  with  all  the  swivels  in  the 
courtyard.  Boom !  bang !  boom !  down  went  the 
wooden  huts.  The  frightened  people  ran.  A  few  were 
killed.  The  Clatsops  had  buried  a  quantity  of  the  cargo 
in  the  sands  on  the  seashore.  The  Canadians  dug  it 
out. 

"  Mind  ye  !  Mind  ye  !  "  was  McLoughlin's  message. 
"Ye  cannot  profit  by  disasters  to  vessels  nor  murder 
white  men  for  plunder." 

Weeks  passed.  Peltries  accumulated  in  the  hands  of 
the  Clatsops.  Their  ammunition  was  out,  but  no  one 
had  courage  to  face  the  White-Headed  Eagle  at  Fort 
Vancouver.  Dr.  McLoughlin  divined  this  and  sent 
Celiast  down  to  conciliate  her  people.  Three  daughters 
had  Coboway,  chief  of  the  Clatsops,  —  Kilakota,  Celiast, 
and  Telix,  all  wedded  to  white  men.  Donning  her 
gayest  dress  and  spreading  a  blanket  sail  in  her  little 
canoe,  Celiast  and  her  cousin  Angelique  glided  down 
to  Clatsop. 

It  was  a  forlorn  little  town  the  Indian  princess 
entered.  The  cedar  logs  lay  in  splinters  on  the  sod. 
The  salmon  season  had  come,  and  all  had  been  too  busy 
to  restore  the  shattered  houses.  Celiast  sat  down  with 
her  people  on  the  grassy  slope  toward  the  sea.  Grave 
men,  voluble  women,  little  children  told  her  the  story. 
"  The  ship  was  wrecked  on  the  middle  sands  and  the 
crew  all  drowned  one  windy  night  in  March,"  they  said. 
"  The  first  we  knew  of  the  wreck  was  when  the  goods 
were  coming  ashore  in  the  morning."  With  a  firm 
belief  in  the  innocence  of  her  people  and  a  promise 
of  kind  treatment  when  they  came  to  the  fort,  Celiast 
made  matters  right  and  restored  harmony. 

About   the  same  time  another  Boston  ship  entered 


96  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  Columbia,  turned  into  the  Willamette,  and  ran 
aground  at  the  Clackamas  rapids  one  hundred  miles 
inland.  The  Clackamas  Indians  were  fishing  at  the  Falls. 
Around  the  bend  they  saw  the  ship.  "  King  George  man 
hate  Boston,"  said  the  fishers.  "  Kill  urn  Boston."  They 
left  their  fishing  and  crowded  around  the  unfortunate 
ship.  There  was  an  ominous  sound  in  their  scoffing 
laughter.  Already  their  bows  were  drawn  to  the  arrow- 
heads when  a  crew  of  boatmen  hove  in  sight.  It  was 
McLoughlin's  men  despatched  from  Fort  Vancouver. 

Tom  McKay's  loud  voice  resounded,  —  "  The  White- 
Headed  Eagle  sends  word :  if  you  kill  one  Boston  it 
shall  be  the  same  to  him  as  his  own  King  George  man. 
Fall  back."  The  Indians  fell  back,  and  McLoughlin's 
men  got  out  their  hawsers  and  pulled  the  rash  adven- 
turer from  the  rocks. 


XI 

BACHELORS  HALL 

1839 

T3  ACHELORS'  HALL  was  the  gossiping  place,  the 
-L)  clerks'  quarters,  a  long,  low,  whitewashed  log 
structure  on  the  east  side  of  the  court.  Here,  in  the 
central  assembly  room,  with  a  rousing  fire  and  tables 
littered  with  pens,  ink,  and  paper,  the  gentlemen  often 
chatted  till  the  stroke  of  midnight.  Hunting,  fishing, 
fowling,  these  were  the  sports  of  summer,  but  during 
the  long,  rainy  winter  evenings  Bachelors'  Hall  became 
the  nightly  theatre  of  song  and  story.  All  grades  of 
employes,  the  aristocratic  Briton,  the  feudal  Highlander, 
the  restless  Frenchman,  the  picturesque  Indian,  shone 
in  the  kaleidoscopic  shift  of  firelight.  Here  the  gay 
and  brusque  McLoughlin  discussed  religion  with  the 
funereal,  formal  Douglas,  or  joked  him  on  the  customs 
of  his  Scottish  chiefs. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  was  a  hero-worshipper  —  Napoleon 
was  his  hero.  That  is  the  key  to  his  swift  flights  of 
travel ;  it  explains  his  demand  for  instant  and  unques- 
tioned obedience,  his  system  of  rewards  and  punish- 
ments, and  his  far-reaching  schemes  for  power.  Like 
Napoleon,  his  frown  was  a  terror  to  the  culprit,  his  ap- 
probation the  delight  of  his  subordinates.  An  offender 
would  choose  rather  to  flee  away  to  the  hostile  Black- 
feet  than  to  feel  again  the  blaze  of  that  displeasure. 

In  Bachelors'  Hall  Waterloo  was  fought  again  and 
again.  Bruce  had  been  an  actual  participant.  Clerk 

7 


98  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Allen  saw  the  French  prisoners  brought  to  Lanarkshire. 
In  his  native  village  he  saw  the  bonfires  of  tar  barrels 
that  celebrated  Wellington's  victory,  and  he  saw  Na- 
poleon's coach  that  was  captured  at  Waterloo  and 
exhibited  throughout  Great  Britain.  Once,  while  dress- 
ing a  wounded  hand  for  Allen,  Dr.  McLoughlin  became 
so  excited  in  discussing  the  Peace  of  Amiens  that  Allen 
records  in  his  journal,  "  The  doctor  hurt  me  so  that 
I  wished  Napoleon  and  the  Peace  of  Amiens  far 
enough !  " 

Well  bred,  well  read,  were  the  magnates  of  Fort  Van- 
couver. Scholars  loved  their  society.  Many  a  mile 
the  library  of  standard,  leather-bound,  weather-stained 
volumes  travelled  by  canoe,  to  cheer  the  lonely  traders 
around  their  soughing  fires  in  the  northwest  forest. 
Scott,  Burns,  Shakespeare,  —  these  were  daily  food. 
The  arrival  of  the  American  Irving's  books  created  a 
great  sensation. 

"  How  I  should  like  to  write  the  other  side  of  Bonne- 
ville,"  cried  Chief  Factor  Pambrun  one  night  in  Bach- 
elors' Hall.  "  He  came  to  Walla  Walla.  We  gave  him 
of  our  best.  As  an  officer  of  the  United  States  army 
we  were  hospitable  to  him,  but  as  a  rival  trader  we  had 
no  favors  to  bestow." 

Pambrun  felt  he  had  reason  for  resentment.  Bonne- 
ville  distributed  presents  so  lavishly  among  the  Walla- 
Cayuses,  and  paid  them  so  handsomely  for  their  furs, 
that  he  interfered  with  the  Hudson's  Bay  business. 
The  Cayuse  chiefs  came  to  Walla  Walla  and  demanded 
better  pay  for  beaver.  Pambrun  refused.  "  The  rate 
is  fixed,"  he  said.  Then  Tauitau  threw  him  down  and 
stamped  upon  his  breast  until  the  chief  factor  cried, 
"  Hold  !  hold  !  I  leave  the  decision  to  Dr.  McLoughlin." 

The  next  time  Bonneville  came,  the  Indians  had  been 


BACHELORS'    HALL  99 

so  instructed  by  the  company  that  they  fled  at  his 
approach.  Fort  Walla  Walla  was  closed  against  him  — 
not  even  a  dog  could  be  bought  on  the  Columbia.  The 
Indians  slunk  away  as  if  from  a  contagion.  Bonneville 
could  not  get  a  crew  to  take  him  down  to  Fort  Van- 
couver. He  had  to  give  it  up,  and  turning  back  lost 
his  way  in  the  deep  snows  of  the  Blue  Mountains. 
Finally  the  Nez  Perces  found  him  and  brought  him 
fainting  to  the  lodge  of  Red  Wolf  on  the  Snake.  The 
Nez  Perces  nursed  him  like  a  brother,  gave  him  horses 
and  provisions,  and  sent  him  and  his  men  out  of  the 
country.  Then  Irving  wrote  the  "  Bonneville  Tales  "  — 
commentaries  on  the  days  when  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  ruled  on  the  Columbia. 

When  Captain  Wyeth  was  on  his  way  to  Oregon  he 
had  fallen  in  with  a  party  of  Blackfeet  at  a  mountain 
rendezvous  where  Bonneville  was  and  Sublette's  trap- 
pers. There  was  a  half-breed  interpreter  in  Bonneville's 
camp,  Baptiste  Dorion,  son  of  the  interpreter  in  Irving's 
"  Astoria."  The  Blackfeet  greeted  the  whites.  "  We 
have  heard  of  the  Americans/'  said  the  Blackfoot  chief, 
decorated  from  head  to  foot  in  eagle  plumes.  He 
held  Wyeth's  hand  in  friendly  converse  when  "  whiz " 
went  a  bullet  from  Dorion's  rifle.  As  the  chief  of  the 
Blackfeet  fell  Dorion  snatched  his  painted  robe  and  fled. 
Never  a  robe  was  bought  more  dearly.  The  out- 
raged Blackfeet  pursued  the  white  man  from  that  hour. 
Four  years  later  one  of  Wyeth's  men  smoked  the  pipe 
of  peace  with  Jemmy  Jock,  the  Rob  Roy  of  the  Black- 
feet.  Even  as  he  smoked  Jemmy  Jock  gave  the  signal 
and  Godin  fell.  Upon  his  brow  Jemmy  Jock  carved 
Wyeth's  name—  "  N.  J.  W." 

"  The  Indian  has  a  double  nature,"  said  Dr.  McLough- 
lin,  —  "  one  peaceable  and  friendly,  one  savage  and  dia- 


ioo  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

bolical.  Somebody  has  stirred  up  the-  devil  with  the 
Blackfeet." 

When  Jason  Lee  was  on  his  journey  back  to  the 
States,  the  first  steamboat  on  Missouri  waters  ran  up 
from  St.  Louis  to  purchase  furs.  Somewhere,  in  the 
present  Montana,  an  Indian  stole  a  blanket  that  had 
belonged  to  a  man  who  died  of  smallpox.  The  Black- 
feet  died  like  flies.  Beyond  the  Missouri  the  smallpox 
flew,  far  up  among  the  Sarcies  and  Assiniboins,  on,  up 
through  Alaska  to  the  borders  of  the  Arctic.  For 
years  the  bones  of  the  Blackfeet  lay  unburied  on  the 
Yellowstone,  and  to  this  day  decaying  lodges  of  skele- 
tons are  found  along  the  Yukon. 

"  And  now,  Tom,  what  is  the  latest  trick  of  Jemmy 
Jock? "asked  Dr.  McLoughlin,  who  always  delighted  in 
his  stepson's  tales. 

"'T  was  on  the  Yellowstone,"  said  Tom.  "  One  night 
I  gave  strict  orders  to  the  Canadians  on  watch  to  keep 
a  good  lookout.  They  did  so,  rifle  in  hand.  Jemmy 
Jock,  dressed  as  a  Canadian,  entered  the  camp  unob- 
served, walked  up  to  the  watchman,  and  said  in  French, 
*  I  have  received  orders  that  the  horses  shall  be  turned 
out  to  graze.'  Supposing  the  order  was  from  me,  he  let 
the  horses  out.  In  no  time  we  heard  the  whoop  of  the 
Blackfeet  as  they  mounted  our  stock  and  rode  away." 

It  used  to  be  a  favorite  escapade  for  Jemmy  Jock  to 
steal  into  a  hostile  camp,  and  over  the  very  shoulders 
of  the  foe  to  watch  the  game  of  chance.  Quietly  he 
walked  among  them,  taking  what  he  wanted,  and  cut- 
ting the  hopples  of  their  horses.  A  gift  of  wampum 
dropped,  a  cap  with  his  feather,  and  a  distant  whoop, 
alone  revealed  that  Jemmy  Jock  and  his  Blackfeet  had 
paid  them  an  evening  visit.  Sometimes  in  lonely  moun- 
tain trails  the  trappers  found  letters  set  up  on  sticks  by 


BACHELORS'   HALL  101 

the  joking  Jemmy  Jock  to  tell  them  that  he  had  camped 
there,  to  give  a  useful  hint  or  to  lead  them  into  a  trap. 
The  Americans  offered  $500  for  his  head. 

"Jemmy  Jock  plays  no  more  tricks,"  said  Ermatinger- 

"What?" 

"  Smallpox." 

Even  hundreds  of  miles  away  this  carried  a  shudder 
to  Fort  Vancouver. 

Dr.  Barclay  was  the  new  physician ;  one  of  the  old 
Scotch  Barclays,  a  Shetlander,  born  in  a  manse  beside 
the  ocean  whose  seven  foot  thick  walls  had  been  in  the 
family  for  hundreds  of  years.  He  studied  at  Glasgow, 
took  his  diploma  at  the  London  College  of  Physicians 
and  Surgeons,  and  went  to  the  Arctic. 

"  Tell  us  of  your  Arctic  life,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin  in 
Bachelors'  Hall. 

The  cheek  of  the  young  physician  flushed  as  he  told 
of  Arctic  adventure.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  interest 
of  an  Arctic  tale  to  these  servants  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company.  Had  they  not  promised  to  find  the  North- 
west Passage,  —  Hearne,  Ross,  Parry,  Back  —  the  com- 
pany claimed  them  all,  and  Franklin  wintered  at  their 
northern  posts.  Clerk  Allen  of  Vancouver  had  dined 
with  Franklin  the  day  before  he  sailed  for  Hudson's 
Bay.  Rae  had  a  younger  brother  destined  yet  to  win 
renown  in  the  icy  North. 

Old  days  in  Canada  were  discussed.  "Furs,  man?" 
Dr.  McLoughlin  used  to  say,  —  "  Lord  bless  you,  man, 
furs  are  worth  more  than  mines.  While  the  Spaniard 
was  ransacking  Mexico  and  Peru,  France  and  England 
were  trapping  skins,  and  they  made  more  out  of  it. 
Furs  led  the  Russian  hunter  across  Siberia,  furs  led 
him  along  the  isles  to  Sitka.  Furs  opened  Pacific  trade. 
At  Nootka  Sound  Captain  Cook's  men  exchanged  trin- 


102  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

kets  for  otter-skins  for  their  own  use  and  comfort,  but 
when  they  reached  the  ports  of  China  the  merchants 
offered  such  incredible  sums  for  that  accidental  stock 
of  furs  that  they  all  wanted  to  give  up  exploration  and 
turn  traders.  Cook's  men  introduced  the  sea-otter  to 
England.  Furs  led  to  the  exploration  of  North  Amer- 
ica. The  first  white  men  on  the  Great  Lakes,  the  Missis- 
sippi, the  Missouri,  the  Columbia,  and  the  waters  of 
the  North,  were  fur-traders."  When  McLoughlin  got 
started,  he  was  a  famous  story-teller. 

"  Once,  our  magazines  were  full  of  unsalable  bear- 
skins. One  of  our  chief  factors  selected  a  set  of  fine 
large  skins,  had  them  dressed  in  silver  with  the  king's 
arms,  and  presented  them  to  a  royal  duke.  His  lord- 
ship put  them  into  his  state  coach  and  drove  to  court, 
in  a  fortnight  every  earl  in  England  was  scrambling 
after  bear-skins."  With  long  whiffs  at  their  pipes  they 
listened.  McLoughlin  knew  the  fur  trade  like  a  book. 

"  The  Russian  Empress  Catharine  set  the  fashion  for 
sables  —  now  we  have  miles  of  traps,  baited  with  meat 
and  mice.  England  alone  consumes  one  hundred  thou- 
sand Hudson's  Bay  sables  a  year.  But  the  beaver !  I 
heard  old  gray-beards  tell  in  my  boyhood,  that  when  a 
Parisian  hatter  set  the  fashion,  all  the  young  men  of 
Canada  left  their  seigniories  and  took  to  the  woods. 
Their  farms  went  back  to  forests.  Du  Luth  left  Mont- 
real with  eight  hundred  men  at  one  time.  Nobody 
knows  how  far  they  did  go,  but  when  they  came  back 
with  their  fur-filled  boats  they  lived  like  kings,  they 
dressed  in  lace,  and  wore  the  sword,  and  made  Montreal 
a  pandemonium  with  their  drunken  revels. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  man,  the  markets  of  France  were 
glutted,  the  ships  would  take  no  more,  every  warehouse 
in  Montreal  was  packed,  and  still  the  brigades  came 


BACHELORS'   HALL  IO3 

paddling  down  the  St.  Lawrence.  They  stacked  the 
bales  in  empty  squares;  some  became  damaged.  At 
last,  to  get  rid  of  so  much  beaver,  they  built  great  bon- 
fires, and  thousands  of  pounds  were  burnt  in  the  streets 
of  Montreal.  That  was  about  the  time  the  Americans 
were  hanging  witches  at  Salem  and  the  French  were 
fighting  the  Inquisition  at  Quebec.  Nobody  ploughed 
the  fields  in  Canada,  there  was  almost  a  famine,  but 
those  men  who  ranged  the  woods  could  never  bring 
themselves  to  settle  down  on  their  farms  again.  They  be- 
came wild,  and  cared  for  nothing  but  adventure.  They 
settled  in  the  woods,  and  their  children  are  our  Iroquois 
voyageurs  of  to-day.  You  '11  not  find  a  full  blood 
among  them  —  their  grandfathers  were  the  Frenchmen 
of  that  old  fur-time !  " 


XII 

THE  BRIGADE    TO    CALIFORNIA 
1839 

DR.  McLOUGHLlN  had  much  to  do  in  gathering 
up  the  threads  of  routine.  "  Where  is  our  Span- 
ish brigade?"  he  asked. 

"  Ready  equipped  at  Scappoose  Point,"  answered 
Michel  La  Framboise.  "  We  start  to-morrow." 

There  was  always  bustle  when  a  brigade  set  out. 
A.t  daylight  two  hundred  horses  were  pawing  at  Scap- 
poose Point  just  across  the  western  end  of  Wapato. 
Tom  McKay  had  a  ranch  there,  rich  in  sleek  horses 
and  cattle,  and  oceans  of  grass.  A  string  of  boats  came 
down  from  the  fort  with  a  jolly  picnic  party  to  give  the 
trappers  a  send-off.  The  cottonwoods  were  yellow  on 
Wapato,  sprinkling  with  gold  the  old  council  ground  of 
the  Multnomahs.  October  russet  dotted  the  Scappoose 
hills.  The  Cascade  Mountains  lay  in  banks  of  crimson 
against  the  sunrise.  The  ladies  from  the  fort  leaped  to 
their  saddles  tinkling  with  tiny  bells.  The  gentlemen 
rode  at  their  sides,  gay  as  Charles's  cavaliers,  with  love- 
locks round  their  faces. 

As  usual,  Dr.  McLoughlin  took  the  lead  on  his  Bu- 
cephalus. Madame  rode  Le  Bleu,  a  dappled  white  and 
sky  blue,  that  in  her  day  had  galloped  seventy-two 
miles  in  eight  hours,  to  carry  the  tobacco,  the  sine  qua 
non  of  an  Indian  trade.  David  mounted  Le  Gris  de 
Galeaux  like  a  Cossack.  Rae  and  Eloise  followed  on 
Guenillon  and  the  snowy  Blond,  all  favorite  horses  at 


THE   BRIGADE  TO   CALIFORNIA  105 

Fort  Vancouver.  Ermatinger  with  his  Bardolphian 
nose  cut  a  laughable  figure  on  Le  petit  Rouge  by  the 
side  of  his  fair  bride  Catherine  on  Gardepie. 

After  the  gentry  came  La  Framboise  at  the  head  of 
his  long  array  of  French  trappers  in  scarlet  belts  and 
Canadian  caps,  with  their  picturesque  Indian  families, 
the  plumes  of  men  and  women  dancing  and  waving  in 
the  wind,  brilliant  as  a  hawking  party  in  the  days  of 
mediaeval  song. 

Michel  La  Framboise  had  been  a  famous  voyageur, 
one  of  the  picked  few  sent  out  by  John  Jacob  Astor. 
He  could  flip  his  canoe  over  the  choppy  waves  where 
no  one  else  would  dare  to  go.  Now,  every  autumn  after 
the  harvest  was  over,  he  led  the  horse  brigade  to  the 
Spanish  country. 

The  trappers  always  travelled  with  their  families ;  the 
mother  bestrode  the  family  horse,  with  its  high-pom- 
melled Mexican  saddle;  the  children  jogged  along  on 
their  Cayuse  ponies  and  slept  until  night,  when  down 
they  slid,  full  of  glee,  gathering  flowers,  shooting  their 
little  arrows,  and  listening  to  tales  of  grizzly  bears  and 
Blackfeet. 

La  Framboise  was  proud  of  his  half-breed  wife, 
Angelique,  his  Grande  Dame,  in  her  bloomers  of  beaded 
blue  broadcloth;  Angelique  was  proud  of  the  pretty 
white  pappoose  that  dangled  from  her  pommel,  asleep 
in  its  little  miau  of  beads  and  ribbon.  Close  behind 
came  the  children,  with  elfin  locks  and  flashing  eyes, 
with  one  hand  whipping  their  horses  to  make  the  bells 
go  "  zing-zing-zing,"  with  the  other  hugging  tight  the 
buckskin  dollies  with  blue  bead  eyes  and  complexions 
chalked  to  the  whiteness  of  the  charming  missionary 
women. 

The  Indian  boys  brought  up  the  rear,  lashing  their 


106  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

unruly  packhorses  heavily  laden  with  camp  equipage 
and  Indian  goods.  All  were  in  fine  feather;  the  caper- 
ing steeds,  the  crisp  air,  the  scintillant  sun,  the  tuneful 
meadow  lark,  harmonized  completely  with  the  bursts  of 
song  and  gay  and  lively  laughter. 

The  Willamette  was  carpeted  with  green  from  the 
early  autumn  rain.  Scarlet-flaming  thickets  of  vine 
maple  glowed  along  the  watercourses.  Every  hill-slope 
was  a  bank  of  burning  ash.  The  cavaliers  were  armed 
to  the  teeth ;  from  every  belt  depended  a  leathern  fire- 
bag  with  pipe,  tobacco,  knife,  and  flint  and  steel.  There 
were  hunters  in  that  brigade,  rough  as  the  grizzlies  they 
hunted ;  hunters  keen  as  the  deer,  suspicious  as  the  elk ; 
hunters  that  read  like  a  book  the  language  of  tracks. 
Leaning  over  their  horses'  necks,  they  could  discern  the 
delicate  tread  of  the  silver  fox,  the  pointed  print  of  the 
mink,  and  the  otter's  heavy  trail.  With  whip-stock  in 
hand  La  Framboise  points — "A  bear  passed  last  week," 
"  An  elk  yesterday,"  "  A  deer  this  morning."  In  a 
moment  a  deer  tosses  its  antlers,  sniffs  the  wind,  then 
bounds  with  slender,  nervous  limbs  into  the  thickest 
shade. 

A  brisk  morning  ride  over  the  Scappoose  hills  and 
down  into  the  Tualitan  plains  was  followed  by  a  picnic 
dinner  around  a  gypsy  fire,  then  McLoughlin  dismissed 
the  trappers  into  the  Indian  country. 

The  parting  cavalcades  looked  at  each  other  from 
their  curveting  steeds.  "  Beware  on  the  Umpqua," 
called  the  doctor.  "  If  the  new  men  get  the  fever  give 
them  plenty  of  broth  and  quinine."  Again  he  turned 
with  a  parting  word  and  gesture :  "  Look  out  for  the 
Rogue-Rivers ;  they  '11  steal  the  very  beaver  out  of  your 
traps." 

With  gay  farewells  the  fort  people  galloped  back  to 


THE   BRIGADE  TO   CALIFORNIA  107 

the  crossing  at  Wapato.  The  California  brigade  fol- 
lowed along  the  winding  trail  to  the  south.  La  Fram- 
boise always  touched  at  La  Bonte's,  a  solitary  garden 
spot  in  miles  and  miles  of  prairie.  "  How  much  land 
do  you  own,  mon  frere  La  Bonte?  " 

"  Begin  in  the  morning,"  the  old  trapper  was  wont  to 
say,  —  "begin  in  the  morning  on  a  Cayuse  horse.  Go 
west  till  the  sun  is  very  high,  then  go  south  till  it  is 
around  toward  the  west,  and  then  back  to  the  river ; 
that  is  my  manor." 

And,  too,  there  was  always  a  stop  at  Champoeg,  — 
every  man  at  Champoeg  was  "  mon  frere "  or  "  mon 
cousin  "  to  La  Framboise.  Beside  his  wide  hearth  for 
many  and  many  a  year  La  Chapelle  loved  to  sit  and  tell 
of  the  days  when  he,  too,  was  bourgeois,  and  Madame 
his  wife  was  the  grandest  dame  that  ever  bestrode  a 
pony.  And  for  the  thousandth  time  the  good  dame 
brought  out  the  dresses  stiff  with  beads  that  were  worn 
in  that  gay  time  when  the  Monsieur  led  the  hunt  to  the 
head  waters  of  the  Willamette. 

The  head  waters  of  the  Willamette  was  a  royal 
beaver  republic.  There  the  little  colonies  cut  down 
whole  forests,  built  up  wonderful  dams  and  bridges, 
scooped  out  lakes,  and  piled  up  islands.  With  their 
long  sharp  teeth  they  cut  up  the  timber  and  shaped 
their  houses,  plastering  them  neatly  with  their  broad, 
flat  tails.  They  had  rooms  in  their  houses  and  dining- 
halls  and  neat  doorways,  these  deft  little  builders,  more 
cunning  than  the  fox,  more  industrious  than  the  bee, 
more  patient  than  the  spider,  more  skilful  than  the 
Indian.  "  The  beaver  can  talk,"  says  the  Indian.  "  We 
have  heard  them  talk.  We  have  seen  them  sit  in  coun- 
cil on  the  lazy  ones.  We  have  seen  the  old  chief  beat 
them  and  drive  them  off." 


io8  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Two  hundred  miles  south  of  the  Columbia,  La  Fram- 
boise descended  from  a  high  ridge  of  mountains  down  to 
a  little  plantation  on  the  banks  of  the  Umpqua,  the 
fortalice  of  old  Fort  Umpqua.  Carronades  peeped 
from  the  donjon  tower.  Tom  McKay  built  it  after  that 
disaster  to  the  American  trappers  —  sometimes  they 
called  it  Fort  McKay.  Here  a  solitary  white  man  ruled 
the  Umpqua.  Jules  Gagnier  was  a  Frenchman,  the  son 
of  an  honorable  and  wealthy  family  in  Montreal.  In 
vain  they  made  efforts  to  reclaim  him  from  his  wander- 
ings and  his  Indian  wife.  Hither,  twice  every  year,  La 
Framboise  came,  twenty  miles  off  his  trail,  to  bring 
Gagnier  Indian  goods  and  to  carry  away  his  beaver. 
Here,  summer  and  winter,  year  in  and  year  out,  the 
jolly,  genial  Frenchman  traded  with  his  red  friends  and 
cultivated  his  little  patch  of  garden.  Such  were  the 
first  white  men  who  broke  the  way  for  pioneers  on  the 
northwest  coast. 

La  Framboise's  brigade  wound  along  gorges  and 
canyons,  through  the  Rogue  River  valley  with  its  or- 
chards of  sunlit  manzanita  and  hillsides  of  gnarled  mad- 
rono and  chinquapin,  into  the  Switzerland  of  America, 
where  Mt.  McLoughlin  on  the  summit  of  the  Cascades 
was  the  most  conspicuous  landmark  on  the  southern 
trail.  One  more  pull  —  over  the  Siskiyous  —  and  they 
have  crossed  the  Spanish  border.  As  a  rule  the 
brigades  started  early,  to  avoid  the  snows  of  Shasta, 
where  once  they  lost  the  whole  of  their  furs  and  three 
hundred  horses.  All  day  long,  for  days  and  days,  the 
triple  peaks  of  Shasta  watched  them  winding  down  the 
Sacramento.  La  Framboise  set  his  traps.  Sutter's 
men  began  to  look  with  unfriendly  eye  upon  the  in- 
truders from  the  Columbia,  but  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  had  a  permit  from  the  Spanish  Governor 
Alvarado. 


XIII 

DR.  McLOUGHLIN  AT  HOME 

1839 

T7LOISE  at  the  door  was  stitching  as  usual.  Little 
JLL/  Cecelia  on  a  cricket  at  her  feet  was  untangling 
the  many-colored  skeins  of  silk. 

In  the  doctor's  room  they  were  discussing  the  Rus- 
sian question.  Now  and  then  she  could  distinguish  a 
phrase:  "along  the  coast,"  "ten  leagues,"  "a  lease," 
"  ten  thousand  otter-skins."  Somehow,  half-dreamily 
putting  two  and  two  together,  Eloise  understood  that 
the  company  had  leased  the  Russian  strip  over  which 
they  fought  five  years  ago.  She  knew  that  scores  of 
Canadians  had  come  to  man  the  new  posts  on  the  Rus- 
sian strip. 

"  Now,  daughter,  you  and  Rae  shall  take  your 
bridal  trip."  Dr.  McLoughlin  came  out  on  the  ve- 
randa and  laid  his  hand  on  the  thick,  glossy  braids 
of  Eloise. 

"  Where?  To  Canada?"  asked  Eloise,  with  a  quick 
glance  toward  her  husband,  who,  pulling  at  the  grape- 
vines, seemed  absorbed  in  thought. 

"  Worse  yet,  to  rainy  Stikine,"  said  Rae,  looking 
away  from  his  wife. 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut,  my  son.  Don't  quarrel  with  your 
promotion,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin.  "The  most  dan- 


no  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

gerous  post  in  the  service  is  the  most  .important  just 
now." 

"  I  am  satisfied,"  explained  Rae,  "  but  Eloise  —  I 
hate  to  expose  her."  It  was  the  old  fear,  —  a  white 
woman  in  an  Indian  country. 

"  William,"  said  Eloise,  rising  like  a  queen,  "  do  you 
not  think  I  shall  be  safe  if  you  are  there  ?  Do  not 
hesitate  if  my  father  thinks  it  best.  Perhaps  you  can 
do  more  than  any  other  toward  reducing  that  district 
to  order.  They  send  only  the  most  trusted  men  to 
posts  like  that." 

"  Spoken  like  McLoughlin's  daughter,"  said  Douglas, 
coming  through  the  door.  "  These  Hudson's  Bay  girls 
inherit  heroic  blood."  The  words  were  both  a  com- 
pliment to  Eloise  and  a  tribute  to  his  own  brave  wife, 
who  at  that  moment  approached  from  the  other  end 
of  the  long  veranda. 

So  during  that  winter  preparations  were  made  for 
the  trip  in  the  early  spring.  Arrangements  for  the 
lease  were  yet  to  be  perfected,  so  an  opportunity  offered 
for  Rae  and  Eloise  to  accompany  Douglas  to  Sitka 
before  settling  to  the  dangers  of  dreary  Stikine.  Rae 
carefully  completed  his  accounts  to  hand  over  to  Du- 
gald  McTavish,  his  successor  in  the  head-clerkship. 
Douglas  looked  after  sundries  for  the  new  forts.  Mrs. 
Douglas  assisted  Eloise  in  overhauling  her  boxes  of 
v  London  dresses  preparatory  to  meeting  the  Russian 
grandees  at  Sitka  castle. 

How  did  they  dress  when  Eloise  was  young?  Van- 
dyck  puffs  and  wing  bretelles,  everything  just  as  it  is 
now,  was  in  fashion  sixty  years  ago.  Noah's  ark,  a 
massive  cedar  chest  bound  with  copper  and  lined  with 
zinc,  was  hauled  out  of  a  capacious  closet  of  the 
governor's  residence.  Noah's  ark  came  from  over  the 


DR.    McLOUGHLIN   AT  HOME  in 

sea,  packed  full  of  carefully  folded  and  perfumed 
dresses  of  made-up  silk  from  the  hands  of  London 
dressmakers.  Everything  lovely  was  in  that  old  cedar 
chest,  — "  silken  hose  and  satin  shoon,"  Indian  shawls 
and  Canton  crepes,  brocades  and  French  embroidery, 
old-time  ruffs  and  stomachers  and  caps,  velvet  cloaks 
and  Parisian  bonnets,  odds  and  ends  of  chemisettes  and 
under-sleeves,  silken-fringed  bretelles,  and  even  the  tie 
of  her  father's  old  peruke  that  he  used  to  wear  in  the 
dance  at  Montreal.  Ten  or  twelve  breadths  were  in 
the  skirts  of  those  dresses;  neat-fitting  bodices  ran 
down  to  a  point;  all  sorts  of  bell  sleeves  flared  like 
the  cups  of  convolvuli.  If  there  was  anything  the 
fur-magnates  were  proud  of,  it  was  their  daughters, 
and  they  had  the  money  wherewith  to  gratify  that 
pride. 

All  winter  the  axe  of  the  Iroquois  chopper  rang 
in  the  woods;  all  winter  the  little  saw-mill  hummed. 
Roderick  Finlayson  had  been  put  in  charge  of  the 
new  grist-mill.  At  the  end  of  the  week,  Saturday 
night,  he  walked  home  to  the  fort,  five  miles,  in  the 
heavy  winter  rain.  It  was  late.  The  gate  was  locked. 
The  new  clerk  beat  on  the  wall.  Bruce  looked  out. 

"  Ye  're  brakin'  the  rooles  a-coomin'  this  time  o* 
nicht,"  said  the  crusty  old  gatekeeper,  letting  him  in. 
The  quick  ear  of  Dr.  McLoughlin  caught  the  sound. 
Finlayson  was  summoned. 

"Why  are  you  out  contrary  to  regulations?  Are 
you  not  aware  that  clerks  must  be  inside  the  fort  at 
ten  o'clock?  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have  to  discipline 
you  young  gentlemen  from  the  East." 

Finlayson  explained,  some  accident  at  the  mill. 
"  And,"  he  added,  "  after  my  work  was  done  I  had  to 
walk  five  miles,  sir." 


ii2  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  about  that,"  said  the  doctor. 
Finlayson  was  only  eighteen.  When  Dr.  McLoughlin 
saw  the  boy,  cold,  wet,  and  hungry,  whose  only  crime 
was  zeal  in  doing  his  duty,  he  spoke  kindly,  and  turning 
to  Douglas  said,  "You  had  better  let  him  have  a  horse, 
James."  Finlayson  bowed  his  thanks  and  walked  away. 
"  A  horse,"  cried  Dr.  McLoughlin  after  him,  "  a  horse; 
but  mind  ye,  no  saddle;  ye  must  furnish  your  own 
saddle." 

Monday  morning  Finlayson  selected  a  spirited  horse 
and  bought  a  good  saddle  with  Mexican  spurs  and  gay 
trappings.  Saturday  night  came  again.  The  dashing 
cavalier,  seeing  the  gate  open,  reined  his  prancing 
steed  within  the  palisade.  "  Who  the  devil  is  that 
daring  to  break  the  rules  of  the  establishment  by  com- 
ing into  the  square  in  that  fashion  ? "  roared  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin, levelling  his  spectacles. 

"  Roderick  Finlayson,  at  your  honor's  service,"  an- 
swered the  gay  young  clerk,  reining  up  before  the 
governor. 

"Dismount,  sir,"  cried  the  governor  in  a  tone  of 
thunder.  "  Do  you  suppose  the  court  is  a  parade 
ground?  Do  you  suppose  we  want  half-broken  colts 
in  the  presence  of  these  women  and  children?  This 
is  a  private  square,  sir,  and  not  a  public  horseyard. 
Baptiste,  take  the  horse.  Young  man,  you  may  walk 
hereafter."  So  poor  Finlayson  had  to  wade  through 
the  mud  the  rest  of  the  winter. 

Discipline  was  strict  at  Fort  Vancouver.  In  the 
semi-military  life  idleness  was  unknown.  For  weeks 
the  Canadian  voyageurs,  laid  up  for  the  winter,  thwacked 
with  the  flails  in  the  barns,  thrashing  out  the  harvest 
of  Canadian  peas.  All  winter  the  ploughs  followed  the 
furrows.  "  Mind  ye  make  them  straight,"  said  the 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN   AT   HOME  113 

doctor.  The  straightest  furrows  ever  drawn  at  Fort 
Vancouver  were  by  the  unerring  eye  of  the  Iroquois, 
perfect  as  a  surveyor's  line.  Spades  dug  in  the  ditches. 
When  nothing  else  offered,  decayed  pickets  in  the  pali- 
sade were  pulled  out  and  replaced  with  fresh  ones 
from  the  forest. 


XIV 

AT  OLD    CHAMPOEG 

1839 

WINTER  rains  followed  the  departure  of  the 
brigade  to  California,  —  the  still,  steady  rain  of 
Oregon,  that  falls  straight  down.  The  grass  revives, 
buds  swell,  moss  runs  rampant.  One  morning  Dr. 
McLoughlin  watched  the  sun  swinging  his  chariot  of 
light  above  Mt.  Hood.  "  T  is  like  the  suns  of  Napo- 
leon, propitious,"  he  said.  "  Charlefoux !  " 

"  Oui,  oui,  sire,"  answered  the  guide. 

"  Let  us  get  to  Champoeg  before  the  next  rain." 

"  Oui,  oui,  sire." 

Sometimes  in  summer  Dr.  McLoughlin  took  Madame 
to  visit  Champoeg  and  the  mission.  His  fleet  of  canoes 
brought  beds,  bedding,  tea,  coffee,  sugar,  bread,  cakes 
and  wine,  a  numerous  suite,  and  a  cook.  He  camped 
beside  the  mission,  and  took  a  lively  interest  in  its 
work.  "  The  doctor's  urbanity,  intelligence,  and  ex- 
cellence of  character  made  his  visits  very  agreeable," 
say  the  old  chronicles. 

To-day  he  sped  with  only  his  Iroquois.  At  the  Falls 
of  the  Willamette,  where  the  blue  sea  tide  came  up 
to  the  foaming  cataract,  he  made  a  portage.  Dr. 
McLoughlin  had  a  house  there,  two  of  them,  holding 
the  claim  to  the  site  of  a  future  city  that  he  dreamed 
of.  Forty  miles  from  the  Columbia  the  shrill  "  Rouli% 
roulant,  ma  bottle  roulant"  rang  over  French  Prairie. 


AT   OLD   CHAMPOEG  115 

Wherever  the  Frenchman's  heel  has  danced  from 
polar  snows  to  San  Diego,  the  Frenchman's  oar  has 
cut  each  lake  and  stream  to  this  favorite  song  of  the 

forest,  — 

"  Rouli,  roulant,  ma  boule  roulant^ 
En  roulant  ma  boule  roulant^ 
En  roulant  ma  boule" 

The  deep  rich  orotund  "  roll,  rolling  "  from  the  chests 
of  the  canoe-men  rang  an  endless  round  that  sixty 
years  ago  made  Oregon  waters  vocal.  The  moon  had 
risen  over  the  tree-tops.  The  deep,  swift  river  slid  like 
a  dream  between  her  umbrageous  banks.  The  gentle 
dip  of  the  oars  broke  the  water  into  a  million  diamonds, 
trailing  behind  in  a  wake  of  silver.  As  they  neared  the 
landing  at  Champoeg  the  song  was  answered  from  the 
shore  —  even  the  tiniest  child  could  sing  "  Rouli,  rou- 
lant!' The  voyageurs  gave  a  last  repeat  to  the  ever- 
repeating  chorus  as  they  leaped  into  the  water  and 
dragged  the  boats  upon  the  shore.  Many  a  night  in  the 
marshy  muskegs  of  the  North  had  they  presented  their 
shoulders  to  carry  Dr.  McLoughlin  dry  shod  to  shore. 

While  Charlefoux  pitched  the  tents  Dr.  McLoughlin 
strode  rapidly  up  the  bank  toward  the  mossy-roofed 
houses  of  old  Champoeg.  The  barns  loomed  duskily. 
From  every  parchment  window  there  came  a  glow  of 
firelight,  sparkles  danced  over  the  chimney-tops  like 
fireflies  in  the  dark.  There  was  a  smell  of  southern- 
wood and  sweet  marjoram  as  the  governor  climbed 
the  stiles  and  crossed  the  pole-picketed  gardens.  The 
long-horned  Spanish  cattle  were  lowing  around  the 
well-sweeps  in  the  neighboring  corrals. 

"  Felicite,"  the  doctor  called.  He  had  halted  in  the 
mossy  porch  of  a  double  log  house,  fitienne  Lucier's 
charming  daughter  sprang  out  with  a  glad  laugh.  The 


n6  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

governor  kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  "  That  *s  a  good 
girl.  Tell  your  mother  to  bring  on  the  gingerbread," 
he  said,  as  she  led  him  into  an  immense  room  with  a 
huge  fireplace  occupying  the  entire  opposite  end. 

It  was  a  sight  for  gods  and  red  men  when  the  pom- 
pous governor,  six  feet  three  in  his  moccasins,  entered 
the  low-raftered  room  and  threw  off  his  ample  blue 
cloth  cloak  on  a  leathern  chair  before  the  fire.  His 
obsequious  vassals,  the  father  and  sons,  bowed  down  to 
the  chair-tops,  quite  overcome  by  the  honor  of  his 
visit.  The  children  courtesied  from  their  corners.  If 
King  George  himself  had  entered,  the  good  dame  could 
not  have  felt  more  flattered.  A  horde  of  slaves  were 
summoned.  The  heavy  fir  table  was  loaded  with  fruits 
of  the  hoe  and  the  hunt,  hams  of  venison,  and  wheaten 
cakes.  Of  nothing  were  the  Canadians  more  proud 
than  of  their  wives'  skill  in  bread-making.  Under  the 
tuition  of  the  Methodist  mission,  the  women  of  Cham- 
poeg  vied  with  one  another  in  this  useful  art.  Nearly 
every  time  the  bateaux  went  down  to  Fort  Vancouver 
some  Canadian  carried  to  Dr.  McLoughlin  a  sample  of 
his  wife's  baking,  neatly  browned  and  rolled  in  a  towel. 
And  to  every  one  the  encouraging  governor  said, 
"Bless  me!  Bless  me!  The  best  bread  this  side  of 
London  "  —  a  compliment  the  proud  housewife  stored 
ever  after  in  her  heart. 

" '  Ee  eat  no  more  tan  te  sparrow,"  urged  the  host, 
pressing  upon  the  distinguished  guest  the  Madame's 
choicest  dried  huckleberries.  The  slaves  in  their  buck- 
skin dresses  peeped  and  peered  until  their  dusky  mis- 
tress "  shooed  "  them  back  into  the  shadow. 

Reverence  fails  to  express  the  depth  of  feeling  these 
Champoeg  settlers  entertained  for  the  indulgent  Hud- 
son's Bay  governor.  He,  together  with  the  gentlemen 


AT  OLD   CHAMPOEG  117 

at  the  fort,  constituted  the  noblesse  of  the  forest,  linking 
the  red  men  with  the  London  nobles.  No  less  was  it  a 
bond  of  kinship  that  Dr.  McLoughlin  was  Canadian- 
born  and  spoke  provincial  French.  Almost  fabulous 
tales  were  told  of  his  power,  his  wealth,  his  benevolence. 
Some  to  this  day  regard  him  a  saint  not  yet  canonized 
on  the  books  of  the  clergy.  This  was  partly  Dr. 
McLoughlin's  natural  philanthropy,  partly  his  habit  of 
reading  prayers  to  his  people  and  lecturing  on  their 
morals. 

"  Eh  ?  begosh !  Eef  mon  'ave  more  nor  one  wife  de  hoi 
dogtor  will  'ang  eem,"  whispered  the  voyageurs. 

McLoughlin  donned  his  bright  chintz  dressing-gown. 
His  feet  were  on  the  fender.  His  clean-cut  face  looked 
almost  classic  in  the  firelight  as  he  watched  the  hurry- 
ing slaves  clearing  out  the  room  for  a  dance.  Indian 
slavery  was  no  exotic  in  Oregon;  it  had  grown  into 
Champoeg  with  its  Indian  wives  and  aboriginal  tradi- 
tions. Back  of  every  manse  their  cabins  straggled  like 
quarters  of  the  blacks  in  Georgia.  Every  autumn  still 
the  Klamaths  came  over  the  Calapooias,  bringing  their 
captives  to  trade  for  ponies  and  three-point  blankets. 
Five  blankets  would  purchase  a  boy,  fifteen  a  girl. 
Beads,  blankets,  and  guns  would  buy  a  wife,  some  cap- 
tive princess  from  Rogue  River  or  the  Shasta  land. 
Even  as  they  jostled  one  another  in  futile  haste  to  move 
tables  and  settees,  up  the  back  path  through  the  onion 
bed  came  the  toot-a-toot-toot  of  Andre's  squeaking  fid- 
dle. Never  a  voyageur  was  there  who  could  not  make 
his  own  fiddle  and  draw  from  it,  too,  the  good  old  tunes 
his  father  brought  from  France  when  the  fleur-de-lis 
flew  over  Quebec.  In  short  order,  neighbors  of  every 
complexion  were  treading  the  night  away  in  honor  of 
the  guest.  The  fire  burned  low  and  the  moon  was  pale 


n8  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

when  the  governor  was  escorted  back  to  his  camp. 
The  dark  boats  tied  to  the  shore  rocked  idly  on  the 
glassy  Willamette. 

The  bell  in  its  frame  on  Father  Blanchet's  new  chapel 
rang  in  the  Sabbath.  In  every  direction  the  habitants 
were  wending  their  moccasined  steps  to  the  house  of 
worship.  Last  night's  dancers  brought  their  numerous 
children  packed  three  and  four  in  a  bunch  on  horse- 
back. Graceful  young  half-breeds  on  their  Cayuse 
ponies  came  loping  in  with  a  long  and  easy  swing. 
Some  sweethearts  sat  in  pairs  upon  the  sturdy  little 
steeds.  Everywhere  the  gayest  garbs  brightened  the 
picturesque  prairie. 

White-headed  Dr.  McLoughlin,  in  his  blue  cloth 
cloak  adorned  with  double  rows  of  silver-gilt  buttons, 
stood  on  the  steps  with  a  hearty  hand-shake  for  each 
father  and  son  and  a  cordial  kiss  for  each  wife  and 
daughter.  No  wonder  he  stole  their  hearts  away,  this 
gallant  governor  of  early  Oregon !  Among  those 
weather-beaten  faces  were  some  of  the  first  white  men 
that  ever  crossed  the  continent ;  faithful  Canadians,  who 
in  1792  paddled  and  poled  that  homespun  old  baronet, 
Sir  Alexander  Mackenzie,  from  Montreal  to  the  Fraser ; 
men  who  came  with  Lewis  and  Clark  ;  and  Astor's 
trappers,  who  had  drifted  into  the  old  Northwest  before 
the  war  of  1812.  In  the  fur-service  they  had  grown 
gray.  Now  with  their  native  wives  and  half-breed  chil- 
dren they  had  come  to  a  halt  in  the  incomparable  valley 
whose  fruitful  acres  invited  repose. 

They  seated  themselves  quietly  on  the  rough  benches, 
the  men  on  one  side,  the  women  on  the  other,  devoutly 
kneeling  and  crossing  themselves  as  Father  Blanchet 
went  through  the  Catholic  service.  There  was  a  rat- 
tling of  beads  as  toil-stiffened  fingers  counted  the 


AT   OLD   CHAMPOEG  119 

rosary.  Weather-cracked  voices  joined  in  the  canticles 
learned  long  ago  on  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence. 

Liberal  as  he  was  in  religious  matters,  Dr.  McLough- 
lin  felt  a  peculiar  home  feeling  in  that  rude  little  church 
with  its  tawdry  pictures  of  the  saints  and  its  candles 
before  the  Virgin.  It  carried  him  back  to  his  native 
hamlet  at  Riviere  du  Loup  among  the  maples  of  Canada. 
These  old  servants  were  indeed  his  brethren.  He  loved 
them  as  he  loved  the  memory  of  his  mother  and  the 
pictures  of  childhood.  After  mass  the  children  lin- 
gered for  a  word  of  recognition,  the  old  men  loitered  to 
consult  about  private  affairs  and  recount  losses  and  trials 
to  the  patriarchal  governor,  who  took  a  personal  in- 
terest in  every  one  of  them.  Whatever  he  told  them  to 
do,  that  they  did.  Obedience  is  one  of  the  first  virtues 
of  the  French  Canadian,  learned  long  ago  at  the  foot  of 
Mother  Church.  If  they  were  industrious  he  praised 
them,  and  let  them  have  whatever  they  needed  from  the 
stores  at  Fort  Vancouver.  If  they  were  shiftless  and 
wasted  the  harvest  season  in  horse-racing  and  idle 
games,  he  came  down  with  denunciations  that  frightened 
them  back  into  rectitude.  Hearts  stood  still  like  a 
whipped  school-boy's  when  they  heard  Dr.  McLoughlin's 
loud  voice  bidding  them,  "  Go  to  work !  Go  to  work ! 
Go  to  work !  "  There  were  no  written  laws ;  the  gov- 
ernor settled  their  disputes  arbitrarily.  Whatever  he 
said,  that  was  law  in  the  valley  Willamette. 

They  were  a  careless,  thoughtless,  happy  people, 
these  Canadian  farmers  of  old  Champoeg,  quiet,  simple- 
hearted,  free  from  fear  and  envy,  temperate,  —  for  the 
governor  allowed  no  ale  in  the  valley,  — honest,  for  there 
was  nothing  to  steal.  Free  from  cares  of  Church  and 
State,  no  political  issue  troubled  them,  no  church 
schism.  There  were  few  books  and  less  English.  Their 


120  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

great  galas  were  weddings.  A  wedding  lasted  a  week 
at  old  Champoeg.  Everybody  far  and  near  came  and 
danced,  danced  till  they  wore  out  their  moccasins,  then 
pulled  them  off  and  danced  in  their  stockings. 

"  Don't  'e  recollect?  I  danced  at  your  wedding,"  was 
the  open  sesame  to  almost  any  favor.  Long  winter 
evenings  were  spent  around  the  ample  hearths,  while  the 
rain  went  drip,  drip,  drip  outside,  recounting  over  and 
over  their  boyhood  days  in  Montreal,  dog-sled  tours  to 
Athabasca,  and  canoe-brigades  on  the  Saskatchewan. 
Covering  the  fire,  for  coals  were  precious  and  not  to  be 
lost,  they  retired  to  sleep  without  locks  on  their  doors 
or  ambition  in  their  hearts. 

In  a  solitary  cabin  across  the  river  from  Champoeg 
there  dwelt  a  lonely  Tennesseean.  He  had  come  from 
California  with  a  herd  of  Spanish  horses  only  to  find 
French  Prairie  blazoned  with  his  name: 

"BEWARE    OF  EWING  YOUNG  THE   BANDIT." 

In  wrath  he  tore  the  placards  down.  "  Who  dares," 
he  cried,  "  who  dares  insult  an  honest  man !  " 

The  timid  Canadians  avoided  the  tainted  stranger. 
Their  doors  were  shut.  In  need  of  clothing,  he  sent  a 
pack  of  beaver  down  to  Fort  Vancouver.  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin  declined  the  beaver,  but  sent  a  gift  of  food 
and  clothes  to  the  supposed  bandit.  In  a  towering 
rage  Ewing  Young  hired  Indians  and  a  canoe  and 
journeyed  to  Fort  Vancouver. 

"Before  you  arrived,  sir,"  exclaimed  Dr.  McLoughlin 
in  the  hot,  explosive  interview,  "  before  you  arrived  I 
had  warnings  of  you.  Our  schooner  '  Cadboro' '  return- 
ing from  Monterey  brought  word  from  the  governor  of 
California  that  Ewing  Young,  journeying  to  this  coun- 
try, was  chief  of  a  gang  of  banditti,  —  horse-thieves,  sir; 


AT  OLD   CHAMPOEG  12 1 

that  is  the  word  he  used.  As  head  of  a  great  company 
trading  to  California,  what  can  I  do  in  face  of  such  a 
charge  and  from  such  a  source?" 

"  Do?"  cried  Young,  white  with  rage,  "why,  give  a 
fellow-man  a  chance.  Demand  the  proof.  I  myself 
will  probe  this  thing  to  the  bottom,  if  I  have  to  go  to 
Monterey  to  do  it." 

In  view  of  this  indignation  and  this  stout  denial, 
Dr.  McLoughlin  himself  began  to  be  half  convinced  of 
Ewing  Young's  innocence.  Letters  of  inquiry  in  time 
brought  back  a  retraction  of  the  charge.  "  Not  Ewing 
Young  himself,  but  some  of  his  followers,"  the  Spanish 
governor  explained. 

Nevertheless  the  outraged  Tennesseean  could  not  for- 
get the  insult.  At  his  ranch  in  the  valley  he  continued 
to  nurse  his  wrath  and  his  herds  of  horses.  Hate,  hate, 
hate  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  and  distrust  of  its 
every  move  became  the  keynote  of  the  life  of  Ewing 
Young.  He  talked  it  to  every  American  that  entered 
the  valley ;  with  Jason  Lee  he  wafted  a  breath  of  it  to 
Boston  and  to  Congress. 


CHRISTMAS  AT  FORT   VANCOUVER 

1839 

THVECEMBER  arrived.  Basil's  Christmas  fires  kept 
•*-^  up  incessant  roaring.  The  rafters  of  the  pro- 
vision house  creaked  under  the  weight  of  birds  picked 
smooth  and  white.  The  high-backed  settees  took  on  a 
knowing  air  as  Dr.  McLoughlin  walked  through  the 
kitchen.  The  tin  and  copperware  winked  on  the  wall. 
Even  the  kitchen  had  Christmas  greens. 

Burris  set  all  his  Kanakas  in  a  whirl.  Some  turned 
the  plovers  on  the  spit.  Some  set  the  quails  on  the 
gridiron.  Burris  kept  an  eye  on  the  sun-dial,  and  every 
now  and  then  took  a  sly  nip  of  ale  behind  the  buttery 
door.  With  a  thump  of  the  rolling-pin  he  announced 
the  Christmas  dinner.  Fat  goose,  cranes,  swans,  so  fat 
they  swam  in  grease,  plum-duff  crowned  with  holly, 
ducks,  showing  the  rich  red  after  the  knife,  and  baked 
quails,  white  to  the  bone,  —  these  the  Oregon  epicures 
ate  for  Christmas  dinner  in  1839. 

The  tables  were  removed,  and  the  governor  in  flowing 
peruke  and  ruffled  waistcoat  led  the  dance  with  Madame. 
The  hall  blazed  in  greenery.  The  tall  central  posts 
were  wound  with  the  holly-leaved  Oregon  grape,  the 
Christmas  candles  were  wreathed  in  ivy.  A  Yule-log  of 
fir  beaded  with  globules  of  resin  snapped  and  sparkled. 
Scotch  clerks  and  English  kissed  the  pretty  girls  beneath 
the  mistletoe,  plucking  each  time  a  pale  gray  berry  from 
the  bough. 


CHRISTMAS  AT  FORT  VANCOUVER         123 

And  who  were  the  pretty  girls  ?  Eloise,  of  course,  and 
Catharine  —  the  Canadian  Lily.  Six  weeks  Ermatinger 
duly  courted  her ;  and  then  they  were  married.  From 
the  mouth  of  the  Columbia  there  came  the  handsome 
Birnie  girls,  whose  father,  James  Birnie,  a  genial,  jolly 
Aberdeen  Scotchman,  kept  the  only  hostelry  from  Van- 
couver to  the  sea  and  from  Sitka  to  San  Francisco. 
Old  Astoria,  renamed  Fort  George,  had  been  aban- 
doned ;  but  after  the  Clatsop  trouble  Dr.  McLoughlin 
had  sent  Birnie  there  to  keep  a  lookout  for  passing 
ships.  Here  he  cultivated  a  little  garden,  did  a  little 
Indian  trading  in  salted  salmon  and  sea-otter  skins,  kept 
a  weather  eye  out  on  the  bar  over  which  at  long 
intervals  a  ship  came  into  the  river.  Astor's  old  post 
was  burned ;  only  the  scarified  and  blackened  chimney 
stood  among  the  ruins  that  were  overrun  with  brier  and 
honeysuckle.  The  latchstring  of  Birnie's  log  house  on 
the  hillside  was  out  to  the  trapper,  the  trader,  the 
Indian,  and  the  sailor.  More  than  one  old  missionary 
has  paid  tribute  to  the  housekeeping  virtues  of  his 
pretty  wife,  the  daughter  of  a  Hudson's  Bay  trader  in 
the  north  country.  Her  blazing  hearth,  clean-scrubbed 
fir  floor,  and  neat  pine  table  of  snowy  whiteness,  offered 
cheer  and  comfort  to  all  the  early  wanderers  who  came 
"  the  plains  across  or  the  Horn  around."  Sole  Saxon 
of  the  forest,  Birnie's  flag  was  first  to  welcome  the 
incoming  ship,  and  last  to  wave  a  farewell  from  the 
shore. 

Chief  Factor  Pambrun,  the  tinas  tyee  (little  chief) 
that  held  in  check  the  upper  tribes,  sent  down  his  fair 
Maria,  the  pride  of  Walla  Walla.  Pambrun  himself 
was  a  blond  with  thin  light  curls.  This  in  his  child 
developed  into  peach-bloom  red  and  white,  blue  eyes, 
and  the  midnight  hair  of  her  mother  rolling  in  her 


124  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

father's  curls.  Very  well  Miss  Maria  remembered  the 
urbanity  of  that  accomplished  Captain  Bonneville  who 
came  riding  so  gayly  over  the  mountains,  and  then  — 
rode  back  again.  With  his  feet  under  Astor's  table  in 
New  York  City,  he  told  Irving  a  pretty  tale  of  "  Pam- 
brun's  attractive  wife  and  her  singularly  beautiful 
children." 

The  chief  factor's  daughter  had  seldom  passed  be- 
yond the  stockade  of  Walla  Walla  except  to  the  neigh- 
boring mission,  where  she  became  the  favorite  pupil  of 
Mrs.  Whitman.  The  good  Chief  Factor  Pambrun  him- 
self was  a  great  friend  to  Dr.  Whitman,  —  more  than 
once  he  called  the  Indians  to  task  for  some  act  of 
discourtesy  to  the  devoted  missionary.  There  was  a 
young  American  at  Whitman's,  Cornelius  Rogers,  an 
enthusiastic  missionary,  and  the  finest  Indian  linguist 
in  the  upper  country,  who  madly  lost  his  heart  to  the 
curly-haired  daughter  of  the  chief  factor.  Maria  was 
a  beautiful  singer.  Rogers  taught  her  music.  Her 
visits  to  the  mission  became  events  in  his  life  —  she 
seemed  a  child  of  joy  and  beauty.  The  pensive,  stu- 
dious young  missionary  watched  her  from  afar  as  she 
rode  with  her  father  after  the  fox-hounds,  like  Christine 
of  Colvile,  like  Eloise  of  Fort  Vancouver. 

This  feudal  life  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  re- 
produced in  the  western  wilds  the  feudal  age  of  Europe. 
The  chief  of  nearly  every  post  had  a  beautiful  daughter 
who  sat  behind  her  casement  window,  harp  in  hand, 
and  sang  the  songs  of  France.  Many  of  the  chief 
factors  took  pride  in  the  education  and  companionship 
of  their  children,  the  nearest  links  to  the  Saxon  world 
from  which  they  came.  The  sons  were  sent  abroad  to 
be  educated ;  some  of  them  are  influential  chief  factors 
in  the  North  to-day.  The  girls  were  sent  to  Red  River 


CHRISTMAS   AT   FORT  VANCOUVER          125 

or  Montreal.  Even  Maria  had  once  started  for  Mon- 
treal. It  was  during  one  of  her  father's  long  absences 
that  the  fur-traders  were  sometimes  obliged  to  make. 
An  uncle  sent  for  the  little  girl  to  come  to  Montreal 
for  her  education.  For  her  child's  good  Mrs.  Pambrun 
consigned  her  weeping  little  daughter  to  the  care  of  the 
east-bound  brigade.  Somewhere  in  the  north  country, 
on  Rainy  Lake,  Lake  of  the  Woods,  or  contiguous 
waters,  the  little  girl  lay  sleeping  in  the  bottom  of  the 
canoe.  Suddenly  she  heard  a  well-known  voice,  her 
father's  voice,  crying  his  orders.  Up  popped  the  curly 
head.  The  west-bound  brigade  was  flying  past  them 
toward  the  sunset.  "  Papa,"  she  screamed. 

"  Why,  Maria,  is  that  you?  "  exclaimed  the  astonished 
chief  factor.  "  Where  in  the  world  are  you  going?  " 

"  They  are  sending  me  to  school  at  Montreal." 

"  I  guess  not  Come,"  said  the  chief  factor,  holding 
out  his  arms.  With  one  leap  the  lovely  child  cleared 
the  intervening  space  and  nestled  her  head  on  her 
father's  bosom  with  a  little  cry  of  joy.  From  that 
hour  they  had  never  been  separated. 

Poesy  and  song  found  its  way  into  those  old  forts ; 
it  was  no  rare  thing  to  find  a  chief  factor's  daughter 
far  better  instructed  than  many  an  Enid  or  Elaine  of 
Tennysonian  song.  The  clerks  went  wild  over  these 
beautiful  girls,  so  fair  in  contrast  with  their  dusky  sur- 
roundings. Cornelius  Rogers,  the  missionary,  went  to 
the  chief  factor. 

"Marry  her?  Marry  my  daughter?"  ejaculated  the 
chief  factor.  "  With  all  my  heart,  young  man,  with  all 
my  heart.  I  shall  be  proud  to  call  you  my  son-in-law." 

But  Maria's  blue  eyes  flashed,  "Father,  I  do  not 
care  to  marry,  and  when  I  do  I  prefer  a  Hudson's 
Bay  man." 


126  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Do  not  urge  your  suit  now  —  time  will  do  wonders," 
said  the  chief  factor  to  the  impatient  American.  But 
that  Rogers  should  marry  his  daughter  became  the 
chief  wish  of  the  factor's  life.  He  discussed  it  with 
Dr.  Whitman,  he  consulted  Dr.  McLoughlin ;  he  made 
a  will  bequeathing  a  thousand  pounds  sterling  to 
Cornelius  Rogers. 

Every  autumn  of  her  life  Maria  Pambrun  had  walked 
the  ramparts  of  Fort  Walla  Walla,  watching  for  the 
Montreal  express.  Somehow,  in  her  romantic  little 
heart,  she  believed  that  a  knight  would  come  out  of  that 
north  from  some  castle  beside  a  distant  sea,  and  then 
—  then  - —  Day  after  day  she  sat  there  and  dreamed, 
beading  the  moccasins  in  her  lap.  Along  the  northern 
wall  rolled  the  wild  Columbia,  sucking  in  the  lesser 
Walla  Walla  in  its  mighty  sweep  to  the  sea.  Eastward, 
the  Blue  Mountains  purpled  in  the  sun.  The  bunch- 
grass  prairies  were  covered  with  horses.  Close  around 
the  fort  lay  the  ever  drifting,  shifting,  changing  sands 
of  the  peninsula,  darkening  the  sky  in  summer  and 
sweeping  in  gales  at  night.  And  now,  with  such  dreams 
in  her  head,  she  had  come  down  to  Christmas  at  Fort 
Vancouver. 

At  this  Christmas  festivity,  Douglas  and  his  wife 
Nelia,  Rae  and  Eloise,  Maria  and  the  clerks,  and  the 
Birnie  girls  and  Victoire,  the  daughter  of  La  Bonte 
from  the  valley,  all  whirled  in  the  dance  together.  Dr. 
Barclay  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  unexpected  beauty  of 
Maria  Pambrun  "  in  her  kirtle  green  and  a  rosebud 
in  her  hair."  She  danced  with  David  McLoughlin. 
David's  long  black  locks  had  a  careless  grace ;  he  had 
his  father's  fine,  straight  nose,  and  his  mother's  square- 
set  mouth ;  there  was  a  ring  on  his  finger  and  a  sword 
at  his  belt.  Dr.  Barclay's  eyes  followed  the  pair  with 


CHRISTMAS   AT  FORT  VANCOUVER         127 

a  strange  surprise,  and  David  —  cared  for  no  one 
yet. 

"  Ah,  I  beg  your  pardon."  It  was  unusual  for  David 
to  do  an  awkward  thing,  but  he  trod  on  Bruce's  toes, 
and  Bruce  had  corns.  Snuff-box  in  hand,  the  old 
Scotch  warder  reposed  from  the  care  of  the  flags,  the 
guns,  the  garden,  and  the  gate,  sleepily  watching  the 
weaving  dancers  and  thinking  —  of  Waterloo,  perhaps. 
Burris,  portly  and  rubicund,  resplendent  in  a  huge  roll 
of  colored  neckerchief  and  horn  spectacles  astride  his 
nose,  slipped  out  again — to  take  a  nip  of  ale  behind 
the  buttery  door. 

To  be  the  governor's  guest  at  Christmas  was  no  light 
honor.  Monique  and  Charlefoux  were  there  in  their 
gayest  dress,  fine  green  cloth  coats  and  silver  buttons, 
crimson  caps  and  golden  tassels,  cutting  pirouettes  and 
pigeon  wings,  stamping  in  the  noisy  rigadoon,  and  heel- 
ing it  and  toeing  it  on  air.  Tom  McKay  alone  made 
no  change  in  dress.  With  the  free,  frank  manners  of  the 
Scot  and  the  grace  and  affability  of  the  Frenchman,  he 
came  in  his  hunting  outfit.  Scorning  the  effeminate 
foppery  of  the  Canadians,  he  wore  as  usual  his  leathern 
belt,  from  which  depended  the  powder-flask,  the  bullet- 
pouch,  and  the  long  scabbard  that  concealed  the  sword- 
like  hunting-knife.  Tall,  dark,  powerful,  Tom  McKay 
acknowledged  no  master  save  McLoughlin.  No  other 
man  could  do  what  McKay  did  at  Fort  Vancouver  or 
on  the  trail.  His  name  was  a  terror  in  the  mountains. 
The  Indians  believed  this  Hudson's  Bay  cousin  of  theirs 
bore  a  charmed  life ;  the  whites  knew  him  to  be  an  un- 
erring shot.  But  with  all  his  fierceness  Tom  McKay 
had  the  gentle  heart  of  a  woman. 

Past  midnight  the  dance,  half  Highland  with  a  dash 
of  Indian,  ceased,  and  the  dancers  disappeared.  Old 


128  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Burris  returned  in  his  peaked  nightcap  and  carefully 
bore  away  the  last  brand  of  the  Yule-log  to  light  the 
next  year's  Christmas  fire.  And  he  took  a  nip  of  ale 
behind  the  buttery  door. 

From  Christmas  to  New  Year's,  feudal  hospitality 
reigned  at  Fort  Vancouver.  The  servants'  rations  were 
doubled,  and  they  danced  more  madly.  On  New  Year's 
every  employ^  put  on  his  best  and  mounted  the  flight 
of  steps  to  the  governor's  door.  Madame  and  her 
daughter  stood  at  the  heaped  and  laden  tables,  and  with 
gracious  air  dispensed  English  candies,  cakes,  and  coffee 
to  the  governor's  guests. 

Far  away  in  the  dim  recesses  of  the  Oregon  woods  an 
altar  was  reared  that  Christmas  night.  Before  a  green 
bower  lit  with  candles  and  hung  with  garlands  stood  the 
Jesuit  Father,  De  Smet,  among  the  Flatheads.  A  hun- 
dred lodge-fires  burned,  a  thousand  red  men  slept.  At 
a  signal  gun  the  Indians  rose.  The  midnight  mass,  the 
mystery,  the  swinging  censers,  the  decorated  altar,  the 
solemn  ceremonial  awed  the  savage  heart.  Indian 
voices  chanted  the  Kyrie  Eleison  and  the  Te  Deum, 
Indian  fingers  signed  the  cross  and  took  the  beads. 
The  baptismal  rite  was  read  with  the  rising  sun.  The 
neophytes  knelt  with  fluttering  hearts.  "  Receive  this 
white  garment,"  said  the  smooth-shaven  priest.  "  Re- 
ceive this  burning  taper."  The  red  hand  received  it 
from  the  white,  robed  in  a  flowing  sleeve.  One  by  one 
the  untutored  red  men  retired,  proud  of  the  white  vest- 
ment and  deeply  impressed  with  the  Black  Gown's 
method  of  making  medicine. 

So  ended  the  Oregon  Christmas  of  1839. 


XVI 

RETURN  OF  JASON  LEE 
1840 

THE  grizzlies  were  waking  up  from  their  winter 
naps  and  the  drumming  of  the  partridge  in  the 
woods  gave  token  of  returning  spring.  A  thousand 
crystal  streams  leaped  from  the  glaciers  of  Mt.  Hood. 
In  March  Bruce  was  out  with  a  scythe,  laying  low 
the  thick  swaths  of  grass.  On  every  hillside  the  scarlet 
currant  invited  the  gay  little  Nootka  humming-bird  to 
sip  its  hidden  sweets.  In  March,  too,  Chief  Factor 
Douglas  and  Finlayson,  and  Chief  Trader  Rae  and 
Eloise,  embarked,  along  with  fifty  Canadian  assistants, 
to  man  the  new  forts  on  the  Russian  strip. 

Often  had  Eloise  seen  the  fur-ships  come  and  go, 
often  had  she  watched  the  brigades,  dimly  remembering 
the  time  when,  as  a  little  child,  she  came  down  the 
Columbia ;  but  to-day,  for  the  first  time,  she  was  really 
bent  on  a  journey.  Dr.  McLoughlin  held  his  daughter's 
hand,  while  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  Her  mother  sat 
wailing  on  the  shore. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  turned  to  Rae.  "  My  son,  to  you  I 
intrust  my  child.  Never  betray  that  trust."  Then  the 
disciplinarian  came  uppermost.  "  You  are  going  to  a 
dangerous  post,  William.  With  Indians,  firmness  and 
management  can  do  everything.  Avoid  offence.  Soothe 
irritation.  Deal  honestly.  Be  kind,  be  patient,  be  just, 

9 


130  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

but  remember  Napoleon's  motto,  '  Be  master.'  In  a 
subject  country  always  expect  an  attack.  Look  for  it. 
Prepare  for  it.  Crush  it.  Trust  nothing  to  chance." 
In  these  few  words  Dr.  McLoughlin  outlined  his  own 
life  policy  with  the  Indian. 

David  lingered  at  his  sister's  side,  but  to  Eloise,  to- 
day, more  than  father  or  mother  or  brother  was  the  tall 
young  Scot  whose  fortune  henceforth  was  hers.  The 
barque  spread  her  wings,  and  with  fluttering  farewells, 
sped  like  a  sea-gull  out  of  sight. 

During  the  winter  there  had  been  great  excitement 
at  old  Wascopam,  by  the  Dalles.  Daniel  Lee  had 
preached  to  the  fishing  Indians  until  a  thousand  fell  on 
their  knees  to  Christ.  Now,  in  early  spring,  Daniel 
Lee  followed  down  along  the  Columbia  to  the  sea, 
preaching  as  he  went.  He  reached  a  Chinook  village. 

Naked  little  pot-bellied,  bow-legged  Chinook  children, 
with  wedge-shaped  heads  and  goggle-eyes,  were  rolling 
in  the  sand.  No  white  man  ever  looked  upon  the  queer 
little  Chinook  children  without  a  shudder  —  there  was 
something  so  elfish,  so  impish,  so  almost  inhuman  in 
the  distorted  little  faces.  As  soon  as  a  baby  was  born 
it  was  swaddled  in  moss,  its  poor  little  forehead  was 
pressed  down  with  cedar  bark  and  tightly  corded  to  a 
board.  The  child  cried  all  the  time  —  presently  it 
stopped;  sensibility  seemed  deadened.  The  swelled 
cheeks  and  bulging  black  eyes  reminded  one  of  a 
mouse  choked  in  a  trap.  The  pitiful  little  attempts  to 
smile  under  the  frightful  pressure  resulted  in  grimaces, 
funnier  than  Palmer  Cox's  funniest  brownies ;  but  to  the 
end  of  life,  all  subjected  to  this  cruel  practice  had  the 
most  aristocratic  and  flattest  of  heads. 

"  Great   canoe !    Great   canoe !   "  cried   the   Indians. 
The   Chinook   chief,  his   copper   highness   Chenamus, 


RETURN   OF  JASON   LEE  131 

rose  from  his  rush  mat  at  the  door  of  his  cedai  house 
and  looked  out.  Sure  enough,  a  ship  was  crossing  the 
bar.  He  wrapped  his  rat-skin  toga  around  him,  put  on 
a  conical  bear-grass  hat,  slipped  a  scalping-knife  into 
his  sheath,  and  called  his  runners.  They  launched  the 
royal  canoe  that  lifted  her  prow  like  the  beak  of  a 
Roman  galley,  and  Daniel  Lee,  Chenamus,  and  his 
two  squaws  were  off.  With  a  monotonous  "  Ho-ha-ho- 
ha-ho-ha,"  to  keep  time,  the  Indian  crew  sent  the  cedar 
barque  like  a  wherry  through  the  water. 

Safely  the  mate  in  the  masthead  cried  his  orders, 
safely  the  sailor  hanging  far  over  sounded  the  misty 
breakers,  safely  the  good  ship  crossed  the  bar.  The 
little  canoe  touched  her  side,  then  all  clambered  up, 
just  as  the  Indians  had  clambered  into  the  Boston  ship 
of  discovery  forty-eight  years  before  (1792).  Pressing 
his  nephew  to  his  bosom,  the  ever-directing,  guiding, 
energetic  Jason  Lee  lingered  but  a  moment,  then  char- 
tering the  crew  and  canoe  of  King  Chenamus,  set  out 
for  the  mission,  to  make  arrangements  for  the  reception 
of  his  unexpectedly  large  reinforcement. 

All  that  time  Dr.  McLoughlin  was  toiling  abroad  for 
the  aggrandizement  of  England  on  the  Pacific,  Jason 
Lee,  the  missionary,  was  lecturing  in  the  States.  He 
woke  up  Congress,  suggested  that  a  mile  square  of  land 
be  offered  to  immigrants.  He  stirred  the  entire  country. 
Through  him  Caleb  Gushing,  of  Newburyport,  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  trading  in  the  Columbia.  In  re- 
sponse to  his  call  for  men  and  money,  the  Methodist 
Board  granted  $40,000,  and  a  mission  colony  of  fifty- 
three  persons,  ministers,  mechanics,  farmers,  and  teach- 
ers, sailed  out  on  that  ship  "  Lausanne  "  from  New  York 
harbor.  At  Honolulu,  Jason  Lee  arranged  a  treaty  of 
commerce  with  the  king  of  the  Sandwich  Islands. 


132  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Fifty  miles  an  Indian  runner  sped  to  Fort  Vancouver. 
Back  came  McLoughlin's  compliments  in  the  schooner 
"  Cadboro',"  bringing  milk  and  vegetables,  a  bag  of 
fresh  bread,  and  a  tub  of  Sauvie's  fresh-churned  butter. 
The  "  Lausanne "  anchored  at  Vancouver  with  the 
largest  company  of  missionaries  that  had  ever  left  an 
American  port.  Dr.  McLoughlin  came  on  board  —  his 
momentary  surprise  at  their  numbers  passed,  as  with 
the  courtesy  for  which  he  was  famous  he  invited  them 
all  to  the  hospitalities  of  the  fort. 

"Pest  take  it  all!"  grumbled  the  clerks.  "The 
governor  goes  too  far  when  he  turns  us  out  of  our 
comfortable  bunks  to  make  room  for  these  Americans." 

The  same  day  four  ragged  boys  came  down  the 
Columbia  in  a  canoe.  "  Well !  well !  well !  "  ejaculated 
Dr.  McLoughlin,  unprepared  for  this  second  accession. 
"  And  where  do  you  come  from  ?  " 

"From  the  States,  across  the  plains,"  answered  the 
boys. 

"  At  this  time  of  year?  And  where  did  you  winter, 
pray?" 

"  Among  the  Indians." 

"  They  are  certainly  runaways,"  said  the  missionaries. 

"  No,"  said  the  boys,  "  we  heard  Jason  Lee's  first 
lecture  when  he  reached  the  States,  and  we  resolved  to 
meet  him  here  and  grow  up  with  the  country." 

With  very  round  eyes  the  benevolent  doctor  sent 
them  to  the  dairy  to  get  some  bread  and  milk. 

"  It  won't  be  long  before  others  will  follow  in  their 
footsteps,"  said  Josiah  Parrish,  the  mission  blacksmith. 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  "  laughed  the  doctor,  waving  his  arm 
with  grandiloquent  air.  "  For  all  coming  time  we  and 
our  children  will  have  uninterrupted  possession  of  this 
country." 


RETURN   OF  JASON   LEE  133 

"  Before  we  die  we  shall  see  Yankees  coming  across 
the  mountains  with  their  teams  and  families,"  insisted 
the  missionary. 

"  As  well  might  they  undertake  to  go  to  the  moon," 
laughed  Dr.  McLoughlin,  in  his  genial  way,  feeling  that 
he  had  the  best  of  the  argument. 


XVII 

THE  BRIGADE  FROM  ERASER'S  RIVER 
1840 

JASON  LEE  sped  up  the  Willamette.  All  night  he 
rowed,  watching  the  fires  of  wigwams  on  the  shore 
where  naked  savages  passed  between  him  and  the  light. 
"He  be  faster  nor  Dogtor  Magloglin,"  said  the  Canadians, 
as  he  galloped  through  Champoeg.  The  children  were 
at  play,  the  dogs  slept  in  the  sun.  He  heard  as  of  old 
the  crowing  cocks  and  the  cooing  pigeons  in  the  barn 
lofts ;  again  he  waded  knee-deep  in  flowers,  again  the 
larks  flew  up  and  sang.  He  arrived  at  the  mission  un- 
announced, opened  the  door  of  his  own  room,  and 
paused  upon  its  threshold.  There  hung  the  dresses  of 
his  wife,  her  books,  her  portrait,  everything  just  as  he 
left  it  two  years  ago.  Through  the  wind-swayed  muslin 
curtain  he  saw  her  garden  in  the  rear,  blooming  just  the 
same. 

"Ah,  God,  why  did  they  leave  it  so  to  break  my 
heart?  It  seemed  so  long  ago.  Now  it  is  but  yester- 
day." 

"  Do  not  weep.  She  is  gone  from  you  entirely,"  said 
David  Leslie,  hurriedly  followed  by  the  tearful  house- 
hold. With  an  effort  in  their  presence  Jason  Lee  sup- 
pressed his  grief. 

"  Public  duty  will  not  wait  upon  my  sorrow.  We 
must  make  place  for  a  great  reinforcement.  Here  is 
the  list."  Jason  Lee  passed  the  day  in  action,  but 


THE   BRIGADE   FROM   ERASER'S  RIVER      135 

night  found  him  kneeling  in  the  dewy  grass  under  the 
firs. 

Again  Jason  Lee  came  toiling  down  the  Willamette. 
As  he  neared  Vancouver  he  saw  the  people  watching, 
he  heard  the  cry,  "  The  brigade  !  the  brigade  !  " 

The  flag  of  the  traders'  barge,  with  its  legend  "  Pro 
pelle  cutem,"  "  A  skin  for  a  skin,"  fluttered  down  the 
Columbia.  Every  canoe  shook  out  its  beaver-painted 
bannerol.  The  boatmen  in  full  song  rose  and  fell 
with  the  heavy  sweep.  Jason  Lee  paused  with  the  rest 
to  watch  the  glittering  pageant.  These  were  the  golden 
days  of  Fort  Vancouver,  when  wealth  poured  in  on 
every  passing  tide.  Nearer  came  the  swish  of  waves 
and  the  measured  rap  of  the  paddles  on  the  sides  of 
the  canoes ;  nearer  came  the  slender  vessels,  laden, 
heaped,  and  sunk  to  the  gunwales  with  their  precious 
freights  of  furs. 

With  only  less  fclat,  it  was  a  repetition  of  the  splendid 
panorama  of  the  governor's  return  eight  months  before. 
Again  the  bastions  roared  a  welcome ;  even  the  mission 
ship  caught  the  enthusiasm,  and  waved  her  flags  and 
fired  her  guns.  The  fort  gates  opened  to  receive  not 
knights  in  armor  clad,  but  the  brigade  of  gay  and  happy 
trappers  with  their  winter's  catch  of  skins. 

Dr.  McLoughlin,  with  an  eye  to  business,  lingered  a 
moment.  Clerk  Roberts  called,  "  Pack  in  the  bales, 
pack  in  the  bales."  The  voyageurs  leaped  to  the  task 
and  trundled  up  the  furs. 

Chief  Factor  Ogden,  homely  and  kind,  passed  on  up 
to  the  fort  with  Dr.  McLoughlin  and  the  other  factors  of 
his  fleet.  His  good  wife  Julia  and  his  daughter  Sarah 
Julia  followed  at  a  distance  with  Archibald  McKinley,  a 
tall,  red-headed  Highlander,  second  in  command  at 
Fort  St.  James.  All  the  way  down  the  zigzag  rivers  of 


136  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  North  McKinley  had  sailed  and  sung  with  Sarah 
Julia. 

"  Mons.  Pete,"  as  the  voyageurs  called  Peter  Skeen 
Ogden,  was  of  the  Ogdens  of  Ogdensburg  and  the 
Skeens  of  Skeensboro.  Away  back  sometime  his 
ancestors  had  founded  those  cities  in  New  York,  but 
when  the  Revolution  broke  out  the  Tory  Ogdens  crossed 
the  border,  —  "  saved  so  as  by  fire."  Peter  Skeen  was 
born  in  Canada.  As  a  lad  he  returned  to  what  would 
have  been  his  native  State  and  entered  the  service  of 
John  Jacob  Astor.  Astor  sent  him  to  Astoria,  on  the 
far  Pacific.  He  reached  there  just  in  time  to  find  the 
post  in  the  hands  of  the  British.  Of  course  Ogden  be- 
came British  again.  He  it  was  that  explored  the  Yel- 
lowstone, the  Utah  and  Shoshonie  countries,  made  his 
winter  rendezvous  at  Ogden's  Hole  in  the  Bear  River 
Mountains,  paddled  his  canoes  on  Great  Salt  Lake, 
and  discovered  Ogden's  River,  that  Fremont  renamed 
the  Humboldt.  He  raided  the  beaver  dams  of  Colorado, 
and  following  Jedediah  Smith  over  the  Sierras,  trapped 
on  the  Sacramento.  He  it  was  that  built  the  first  forts 
to  the  north,  stirred  up  the  trouble  with  the  Russians, 
and  now  ruled  Fort  St.  James,  the  capital  of  all  that 
region  from  the  Fraser  to  the  Russian  border. 

"  Here,  August."  He  handed  one  his  wet  moccasins, 
who  flew  away  to  hang  them  up  to  dry.  Little  Cecelia 
balanced  on  her  arm  the  pretty  feathered  pouch  that 
contained  "  Mons.  Pete's  "  shot.  Little  Benjamin  proudly 
bore  the  beautiful  embroidered  sheath  that  held  "  Mons. 
Pete's"  big  hunting-knife.  Sarah  Julia  fled  past  her 
father  into  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Douglas.  The  women  with- 
drew into  the  Douglas  apartments. 

"  I  don't  want  to  get  married,"  cried  Sarah  Julia, 
throwing  off  her  sun-hat  and  bursting  into  tears. 


THE  BRIGADE   FROM   ERASER'S  RIVER     137 

"  She  too  young,"  said  Princess  Julia,  her  mother. 
"  She  fifteen  summer." 

"  I  want  to  stay  with  my  mother,"  sobbed  Sarah  Julia. 

"Who  want  to  marry  you,  my  child?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Douglas,  slipping  her  arm  around  the  sobbing  girl. 

"  Monsieur  McKinley.  He  say  he  leave  the  service  I 
do  not." 

"  He  can  wait,"  suggested  Mrs.  Douglas. 

"  No,  he  will  go  with  my  father." 

"  And  where  is  your  father  going?  " 

"  To  Canada  when  the  brigade  go." 

Mrs.  Douglas  understood.  Lifting  the  tear-stained 
face,  she  said :  "  My  dear,  your  father  do  not  like  to 
undertake  a  journey  and  leave  you  unsettled.  If  any- 
thing should  happen  to  him,  what  would  become  of  you? 
Mr.  McKinley  may  be  chief  factor  some  day.  Haw 
you  seen  him  much?" 

"Every  day — every  evening  —  at  Fort  St.  Jame  — 
my  father  —  taught — me,"  came  between  the  sobs. 
"  When  he  gone  —  Mons.  McKinley  taught  me  till  I 
read  and  write.  We  have  read  books  together." 

"  And  do  you  care  for  him? " 

"Ye-— s,"  Sarah  Julia  admitted,  still  tearful,  "but 
how  can  I  leave  so  good  a  mother?" 

And  she  had  a  good  mother.  Princess  Julia  made 
the  fortune  of  Peter  Skeen  Ogden.  Long  ago  he  went 
into  the  Flathead  country  and  was  drawn  into  a  quarrel. 
The  chief  sent  for  him.  "  What !  "  cried  the  impulsive 
Ogden.  "  Do  you  demand  my  life  for  a  paltry  pony?  " 
Ripping  open  his  shirt  and  pointing  to  his  breast  —  "  Do 
you  think  you  sent  for  an  old  woman?  Fire  !  " 

"The  Flathead  never  killed  a  white  man,"  calmly 
answered  the  Indian  chief. 

A  council  was  in  session ;  in  the  council  sat  the  chief's 


138  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

daughter.  She  ruled  the  council ;  she  demanded  resti- 
tution for  the  stolen  pony,  and  Ogden  had  to  pay  it,  — 
but  he  saw  the  power  of  that  Indian  girl  and  resolved 
to  win  her.  She  proved  to  be  a  high-priced  maiden  — 
Ogden  sent  fifty  ponies  before  there  came  any  sign  of 
acquiescence.  Then  the  chief's  daughter  came  out  and 
mounted  the  last  one- — that  was  the  wedding.  He 
called  her  Princess  Julia.  There  was  a  great  feast  con- 
summating the  nuptials  of  the  son  of  Isaac  Ogden  of 
Montreal,  Chief  Justice  of  Canada,  to  the  daughter  of 
the  chief  of  the  polite  and  unobtrusive  Flatheads. 

This  marriage  was  distinctly  a  business  transaction, 
a  state  alliance.  Ogden  married  the  chiefs  daughter 
for  her  influence,  but  in  time  he  valued  her  far  more  for 
personal  bravery,  for  distinguished  talents,  and  undying 
devotion.  With  the  form  of  an  Indian  squaw  Princess 
Julia  had  the  head  of  a  statesman.  One  day  there 
came  .a  little  pappoose  to  Ogden's  tent  —  he  named  her 
Sarah  after  his  mother  in  Montreal,  and  Julia  after  his 
Flathead  spouse.  Mrs.  Ogden  had  much  finery  about 
her  pappoose-cradle,  —  embroidered  coverlets,  bird- 
wings,  and  hoops  of  bells  that  jingled  as  they  rode. 

Once  a  party  of  American  trappers  came  near  the 
Ogden  camp  and  began  selling  liquor  to  the  Indians  to 
get  away  their  furs.  In  the  hostile  state  of  feeling  that 
ensued  there  was  a  stampede  among  the  horses.  Along 
with  a  packhorse  loaded  with  furs  Mrs.  Ogden's  Cayuse 
pony  dashed  away  into  the  hostile  camp  with  Sarah 
Julia  hanging  to  the  saddle. 

"The  prize  is  ours  by  the  laws  of  war,"  said  the 
Americans.  At  that  instant  Princess  Julia  ran  into 
their  midst,  clasped  her  child,  leaped  upon  her  pony, 
and  leaning  down  seized  the  halter  of  the  packhorse. 
"  Shoot  her,  shoot  the  damned  squaw,"  was  the  cry. 


THE   BRIGADE   FROM   ERASER'S   RIVER     139 

"  Stop  !  She 's  a  brave  woman  !  Let  her  go,"  cried 
the  captain,  as  Princess  Julia  and  her  baby  galloped 
out  of  camp. 

As  long  as  she  lived  Mrs.  Ogden  retained  her  influ- 
ence over  the  Flatheads,  and  her  services  secured  her 
husband's  rapid  promotion  among  the  fur-traders. 
On  both  father  and  mother's  side  she  was  related  to  all 
the  great  chiefs  of  the  Northwest,  making  it  safe  for 
them  to  travel  where  no  one  else  would  dare  to  go 
Once  at  Salt  Lake  the  trappers  were  away.  The  faith- 
ful Julia,  mistress  of  the  lodge,  heard  the  dreadful 
war-whoop  and  ran  out  to  secure  the  horses.  Like  a 
Scythian  horde  the  enemy  came  dashing  down  upon  the 
defenceless  camp.  Gathering  up  the  halter  straps,  Prin- 
cess Julia  turned  —  and  faced  the  hawk's  eye  and  the 
Roman  nose  of  a  Crow.  The  war-bonnet  of  eagle 
plumes  trailed  in  his  hair. 

"  Ah !  "  said  the  feathered  chief,  leaping  from  his 
horse,  "  is  that  you,  my  sister,  that  is  camped  here? 
Let  your  horses  eat;  we  will  not  trouble  them ;  "  and  the 
rascals  of  the  mountain,  deadly  as  the  Blackfeet,  passed 
like  the  whirlwind. 

Many  a  time  she  kept  the  Indians  from  going  to 
trade  with  the  Americans.  "  Bring  the  furs  to  me,"  she 
said. 

Never  was  the  wife  of  the  chief  factor  idle.  Into 
her  husband's  work  she  threw  the  full  ardor  of  her 
nature.  When  the  strong,  swift  Snake  was  at  its  highest 
notch  and  no  horse  could  cross  it,  she  tied  a  rope  about 
her  waist  and  towed  to  the  other  shore  a  raft  of  price- 
less furs.  Once  in  March  she  swam  the  Snake  for  a 
goose  for  her  sick  child.  When  she  returned  to  camp, 
there  was  a  necklace  of  ice  around  her  neck  where  she 
held  her  head  above  the  water.  What  the  Hudson's 


i4o  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Bay  Company  owes  to  Indian  women  cannot  be  told. 
In  a  few  cases  they  acted  as  spies,  to  shield  the  wrong- 
doing of  their  own  people,  but  as  a  rule  they  became 
faithful  allies  of  their  white  partners,  persuading  the 
Indians  to  bring  in  their  trade  and  settling  many  a 
difficulty  to  the  satisfaction  of  both  parties. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  introduced  Mr.  Ogden  to  Jason 
Lee.  "  By  my  faith,  it 's  not  a  bad  thing  to  have  a 
minister  here  just  now,"  exclaimed  the  chief  factor. 
"  Never  before  these  later  days  have  I  heard  of  sermons 
or  prayers  either  in  a  Hudson's  Bay  fort.  But  re- 
member, my  friend,"  said  Ogden,  with  an  impressive 
shake  of  the  finger,  "  remember,  gunpowder  is  stronger 
than  prayers." 

Jason  Lee  was  astonished  at  the  effeminate  voice  of 
Peter  Skeen  Ogden,  a  voice  so  out  of  harmony  with 
the  hunter's  rough  external  make-up. 

Chief  Justice  Isaac  Ogden  was  the  greatest  lawyer  in 
Canada,  and  Peter  Skeen,  too,  had  been  destined  for 
the  bar,  —  but  that  voice!  As  a  boy  in  Montreal  he 
pored  over  the  yellow  tomes.  He  set  them  back  on  his 
father's  bookshelf.  "  I  can  never  plead  in  this  falsetto, 
father.  The  very  clerks  would  snicker  in  their  sleeves." 
So  that  harsh,  squeaking,  unmanageable  voice  drove 
Peter  Skeen  Ogden  into  the  fur  trade.  Instead  of  de- 
voting his  life  to  tracing  the  seigniorial  subdivisions 
of  Canadian  property,  the  son  of  the  chief  justice 
became  a  Nimrod  of  that  primitive  age  fast  slipping 
into  fable.  So  long  had  Ogden  been  among  the 
Indians  that  his  manners  resembled  theirs.  There  was 
the  same  wild,  unsettled,  watchful  expression  of  the 
eye,  the  same  gesticulation  in  conversation.  Never  did 
he  use  a  word  when  a  sign,  a  contortion  of  face  or  body, 
would  indicate  his  thought. 


THE  BRIGADE   FROM   ERASER'S   RIVER     141 

"  Let  me  introduce  you  to  my  kloochman  (wife)/' 
continued  Ogden,  in  the  same  squeaky  voice.  "  She 's 
the  best  moccasin-maker  this  side  of  Winnipeg,  Mr. 
Lee,  —  not  so  handsome  as  some,  but  I  tell  you  she  's 
a  goddess.  And  to-morrow  I  want  you  to  marry  this 
young  man  to  my  daughter,"  turning  toward  McKinley. 
Sarah  Julia  had  yielded  to  her  fate. 

"It  was  due  to  the  company,"  Mrs.  Douglas  said. 
That  was  a  great  consideration.  Everything  was  due 
to  the  company.  And  Peter  Skeen  himself,  —  he 
would  not  have  the  company  lose  a  promising  young 
man  for  want  of  a  bride,  even  if  that  bride  were  to  be 
his  own  daughter  and  the  groom  a  much  less  desirable 
man  than  Archibald  McKinley. 

These  Hudson's  Bay  men,  living  in  the  vast  solitudes, 
seeing,  hearing,  knowing  little  but  the  fur  trade,  natur- 
ally looked  up  to  "the  company"  as  the  one  great 
power  next  to  England's  queen.  Its  interests  were 
their  life.  Their  devotion  to  it  became  a  mania.  As 
contrasted  with  Indian  wigwams,  their  substantial  log 
posts  took  on  palatial  splendors,  their  governors  were 
kings,  their  chief  factors  high  nobles,  and  their  daugh- 
ters fit  consorts  for  the  best-bred  young  gentlemen  the 
company  could  employ. 

The  gentlemen  from  the  various  posts  assembled 
at  Fort  Vancouver  viewed  with  apprehension  the  host 
of  missionaries  within  their  domain.  Right  there  in 
Bachelors'  Hall  Jason  Lee  made  appointments  to 
stations  at  the  Dalles,  Puget  Sound,  the  Falls  of  the 
Willamette,  and  at  Clatsop-by-the-Sea.  Dr.  McLough- 
lin,  a  model  host,  with  boats,  provisions,  and  packhorses, 
was  there  to  speed  the  parting  guest.  But  before  they 
separated  Sarah  Julia  became  the  bride  of  Archibald 
McKinley. 


XVIII 

DEPARTURE    OF  THE  BRIGADE 
1840 

JULY  brought  the  shining  days  of  Oregon  summer, 
beginning  with  twilight  two  hours  after  midnight 
and  ending  again  in  twilight.  The  clerks  were  fitting 
the  brigades  for  their  return  to  the  interior.  Indian 
goods  were  packed  for  transportation.  The  black- 
smiths were  preparing  axes,  horseshoes,  bridle-bits, 
beaver  traps.  The  newly  gummed  boats  were  lying  at 
the  shore.  The  freshet  had  reached  its  climax,  and  the 
governor  came  out  to  set  up  his  graduated,  painted  pole 
to  note  the  number  of  feet.  Old  Waskema,  the  squaw, 
watched  from  under  her  shaggy  brows  and  said :  "  The 
flood  is  over.  It  will  stop  now.  The  White-Headed 
Eagle  has  set  out  his  stick  to  stop  the  river's  rise." 

The  Indians  looked  with  awe  upon  the  old  crone. 
Sure  enough,  the  river  did  cease  to  rise.  "  She  talks 
with  the  dead  at  night.  She  understands  the  white 
man's  magic."  In  their  eyes  old  Waskema  was  wise  as 
the  chiefs  at  Fort  Vancouver. 

The  voyageurs  were  dressing  for  the  launch,  devoting 
an  unconscionable  amount  of  time  to  the  decoration  of 
their  legs.  The  fringed  buckskin  trousers  were  tied 
with  beaded  garters  and  knots  of  gaudy  ribbon.  From 
their  silken  sashes  hung  fire-pouches  like  ladies'  reti' 


DEPARTURE   OF  THE   BRIGADE  143 

cules,  with  pendent  tails  embroidered  with  beads  and 
silk. 

"  My  canoe  is  my  castle,"  laughed  the  electric-eyed 
Monique,  strutting  in  the  bow  of  his  boat  under  a  bonnet 
like  the  headpiece  of  a  drum-major. 

At  ten  o'clock  Dr.  McLoughlin  summoned  them  in  to 
take  the  parting  cup  of  good-fellowship.  Some  songs, 
some  tears,  and  repeated  hand-shakes  wafted  the  half- 
wild,  Arab-like  voyageurs  upon  the  wave. 

"  Good-bye  !  Bon  voyage  !  "  The  New  Caledonian 
brigade  shot  gracefully  into  the  current.  All  the  up- 
river  boats  fell  in.  The  cannon  boomed,  the  trading 
guns  sent  back  a  parting  salute.  The  boat  song  struck, 
and  Sarah  Julia  turned  in  a  paroxysm  of  tears  from  the 
last,  fond  look  of  her  Indian  mother.  No  more  she 
travelled  up  the  zigzag  rivers  of  the  north. 

The  brigade  bore  straight  toward  the  base  of  Mt. 
Hood.  No  mountain  in  the  world  looms  like  Hood 
beside  the  Columbia.  Although  twenty-five  miles  away, 
it  appears  to  approaching  boats  to  rest  on  the  broad 
water,  and  towers  pyramidal  into  the  clouds. 

The  brigade  turned  to  the  left  and  was  lost  amid  the 
hills.  At  Okanogan  they  transferred  to  horses,  and  to 
boats  again  on  the  upper  Fraser.  It  was  a  thrilling 
sight  when  the  caravans  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  and 
three  hundred  horses,  laden  with  merchandise,  wound 
through  the  pack-trails  of  the  North.  Merrily,  as  amid 
the  lochs  and  bens  of  their  home  across  the  sea,  the 
hardy  Highlanders  sent  the  skirl  of  bagpipes  screaming 
from  hill  to  hill.  At  old  Fort  Kamloops  the  rout  and 
revel  rang,  as  the  trading  brigades  drove  through  the 
gates  and  hung  their  saddles  on  the  wall. 

Fort  St.  James,  54°  North,  on  a  peninsula  in  Stuart's 
Lake,  was  Ogden's  castle.  Here  the  humorous,  eccen- 


144  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

trie,  law-defying  chief  factor  ruled  absolute  among  the 
red  men  and  sent  his  dog-sleds  over  the  snow  to  still 
more  northern  forts.  Every  April  he  left  St.  James,  with 
his  family  and  retinue,  for  the  summer  trip  to  Fort  Van- 
couver, reaching  home  again  in  late  September.  This 
time,  however,  the  chief  factor  bade  his  brigade  adieu 
in  the  warm  and  fertile  Flathead  country,  and  turned 
his  face  toward  the  Rockies. 

Ogden  carried  a  breeze  across  the  Rockies. 

"  What  does  Dr.  McLoughlin  mean  by  encouraging  so 
many  missionaries  ?  What  does  he  mean,  I  say  ?  "  ex- 
claimed Sir  George  Simpson,  the  most  arbitrary  Hud- 
son's Bay  governor  since  the  days  of  Prince  Rupert. 
"  I  '11  checkmate  this  American  move  if  I  have  to  de- 
populate Red  River." 

Sir  George  recognized  the  resources  of  Dr.  McLough- 
lin—  he  did  him  the  honor  to  overestimate  them. 
Despatching  his  agent,  he  made  this  promise  to  the 
prosperous  farmers  of  the  Red  River  valley: 

"  To  the  head  of  every  family  emigrating  to  the  Ore- 
gon country  we  will  give  ten  pounds  sterling  in  advance, 
goods  for  the  journey,  horses  and  provisions  at  the  forts 
en  route,  and  on  the  arrival  at  Puget  Sound  the  com- 
pany will  furnish  houses,  barns,  fenced  fields,  fifteen 
cows,  fifty  sheep,  oxen,  horses,  farming  implements,  and 
seed.  On  the  other  hand,  the  farmers  shall  deliver  to 
the  company  one-half  of  the  crops  yearly  for  five  years 
and  one-half  the  increase  of  the  flocks  at  the  end  of  five 
years." 

In  the  chilly  autumn  nights  the  farmers  talked  it 
over. 

"  Not  every  day  does  such  a  fortune  fall  into  our  laps. 
Charlefoux  says  it  rains  and  the  grass  is  green  all 
winter.  Never  is  there  a  thunder,  never  a  lightning, 


DEPARTURE  OF  THE   BRIGADE  145 

never  a  blizzard,  drought   or   hail.     Let   us  go,"  they 
said. 

So  twenty-three  families  of  eighty  persons  altogether 
agreed  to  accept  Sir  George's  offer,  and  meet  at  ren- 
dezvous the  following  June  on  the  White  Horse  Plain 
west  of  Fort  Garry. 


XIX 

DR.    WHITMAN  AND  HIS   CAYUSES 

1837-39 

in\R.  WHITMAN'S  Indians  were  proud  of  their  little 
*~*  farms.  He  bought  them  ploughs.  The  first 
time  they  broke  ground  for  planting,  a  strange  sickness 
broke  out  among  the  Cayuses.  They  were  filled  with 
consternation.  Dr.  Whitman  attended  from  lodge  to 
lodge.  When  over-eating  and  unnecessary  exposure 
brought  on  a  relapse,  "This  medicine  bad,  bad,  bad," 
they  cried.  "Go  bring  the  tew-at  doctors." 

The  wife  of  the  oldest  chief  fell  sick  and  came  near 
dying.  Umtippe  cried  in  a  rage,  "  Whitman,  my  wife 
die  to-night,  I  kill  you !  "  Dr.  Whitman  was  nearly 
sick  with  the  excitement  and  care  of  them  all. 

Umtippe  sent  for  the  great  Walla  Walla  tew-at.  He 
came.  He  muttered  and  mumbled  and  waved  his 
wand  and  pronounced  her  well.  Umtippe  gave  him 
a  horse  and  two  blankets.  The  next  day  she  was  the 
same  again.  "  He  bad,  bad,  bad,"  cried  Umtippe. 
"  Ought  to  be  killed." 

All  through  April  the  Cayuses  groaned  in  their 
teepees.  Umtippe  himself  was  stricken  and  sent  for 
Dr.  Whitman.  The  doctor  thought  he  would  die; 
fortunately  the  medicine  relieved  him.  Just  then  the 
Cayuse  war  chief  died  in  the  hands  of  the  great  Walla 
Walla  tew-at.  The  same  day  Umtippe's  younger  brother 
rode  to  Walla  Walla,  arrived  at  twilight,  and  shot  the 


DR.   WHITMAN  AND   HIS  CAYUSES          147 

tew-at  dead.  That  is  Indian  fashion.  The  medicine 
man  is  responsible. 

Sticcas,  a  sub-chief,  fell  sick  and  came  to  the  mission 
for  care  and  treatment.  Late  at  night  Mrs.  Whitman 
sat  by  the  sick  Indian  with  her  seven  weeks'  baby  on 
her  lap,  writing  to  her  mother.  Utterly  worn  out,  Dr. 
Whitman  had  thrown  himself  down  to  sleep.  Sticcas 
was  the  most  enlightened  man  of  his  tribe,  but  because 
he  was  not  well  in  a  moment  he  became  restless  and 
uneasy.  He  rolled  in  his  sleep  and  muttered,  "The 
tew-ats,  the  tew-ats,  send  for  the  tew-ats" 

In  a  few  days  he  was  better;  soon  he  was  well.  When 
the  warm  Chinook  blew  in  the  May  all  the  Cayuses 
recovered.  Then  great  was  the  fame  of  Dr.  Whitman. 

That  baby  born  at  the  Whitman  mission  was  named 
for  two  grandmothers  —  Alice  Clarissa.  Her  advent 
created  great  excitement  among  the  Cayuses.  The 
whole  tribe  of  the  Walla  Wallas  moved  their  teepees 
nearer.  Far  away  to  the  buffalo  country  the  tidings 
flew,  up  among  the  Nez  Perces  and  to  the  distant  Flat- 
heads.  The  next  day  after  she  was  born  Chief  Tilou- 
kaikt  called  at  the  mission. 

"  Ugh-ugh !  "  he  grunted,  at  sight  of  her  ladyship. 
"Ugh-ugh!  fall  to  pieces !  Tecast !  tecast!"  he  cried, 
dropping  his  buckskin  robe  and  waving  his  arms  so 
wildly  that  Mrs.  Whitman  thought  something  must  be 
the  matter. 

The  old  chief  knelt  down  and  poked  the  baby's 
clothes  with  his  big  red  fingers  to  see  if  under  the 
dainty  flannels  there  might  not  be  indeed  a  hidden 
tecast  (baby-board). 

Pio-pio-mox-mox  came,  and  Five  Crows  and  Elijah, 
all  worshippers  at  the  shrine  of  the  little  white  child. 
Five  Crows  remained  a  long  time,  smoking  in  the 


i48  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Indian  room  and  asking  strange  questions  of  Dr.  Whit- 
man. 

The  house  became  such  a  highway  for  every  passing 
band  that  Dr.  Whitman  had  to  put  up  a  stockade  fence 
to  keep  them  out.  Sheets  had  to  be  hung  to  keep 
them  from  peeping  through  the  windows  and  keyholes 
and  crevices.  They  dug  the  moss  out  of  the  chinks  to 
get  a  little  glimpse  of  the  mysterious  chamber  within, 
so  much  they  wondered  at  this  respectful  care  of  a  white 
wife  in  childbirth,  when  their  own  women  at  such  a  time 
were  turned  out  of  the  lodge  to  live  or  die  alone. 

Every  day  the  chiefs  and  headmen  came  to  marvel  at 
the  baby  that  was  not  lashed  to  a  tecast  and  yet  did  not 
fall  to  pieces.  Indian  women  thronged  the  house  con- 
tinually to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  little  stranger. 

"  She  Cayuse  terni,  Cayuse  girl,"  said  Tiloukaikt, 
"  born  on  Cayuse  land." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  laughed  Dr.  Whitman,  "  she  is  a  Cayuse 
girl." 

"  Ugh-ugh  !  "  grunted  Tiloukaikt.  "  I  not  live  long. 
I  give  all  my  land  to  her." 

How  she  stole  their  hearts  away,  that  little  Cayuse 
girl!  Every  day  she  saw  the  dark  faces  around  her. 
By  and  by  she  began  to  prattle  in  the  Cayuse  tongue. 

"  Ugh-ugh!  Cayuse  girl  talk  Cayuse."  They  were 
wild  with  joy.  The  chiefs  would  sit  for  hours  teaching 
her  Cayuse  words. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  sent  up  an  orphan  Indian  girl  to 
assist  Mrs.  Whitman.  She  became  the  baby's  nurse. 
Mrs.  Whitman's  kitchen  was  full  of  little  Indian  children 
morning  and  night,  learning  to  read  and  write  and  sing. 
At  one  year  little  Alice's  size  and  strength  astonished 
the  Indians.  She  was  as  large  and  active  as  Indian 
babies  two  years  old. 


DR.  WHITMAN   AND   HIS  CAYUSES          149 

"  Because  she  was  never  tied  to  a  tecast"  said  the 
Indians. 

"  Because  she  has  better  food  and  better  care,"  said 
Mrs.  Whitman.  How  she  pitied  the  poor  Indian  women, 
struggling  along  with  burdens  greater  than  they  could 
bear  and  a  little  baby  tied  on  top  of  all.  No  wonder 
they  did  not  thrive  when  the  overworked  mother  herself 
was  ready  to  sink  with  exhaustion.  And  the  little 
graves  —  it  was  shocking  how  many  died  from  pure 
neglect. 

In  those  days  it  was  a  familiar  sight  to  see  Dr. 
Whitman  riding  from  plantation  to  plantation  with  little 
Alice  on  the  horse  before  him.  She  was  fair  as  her 
mother,  and  her  flossy  hair  hung  in  silky  yellow  curls. 
Mrs.  Pambrun  sent  a  present  of  a  rocking-chair  to  Mrs. 
Whitman  and  a  little  chair  for  Alice.  Like  a  fairy 
queen  the  little  girl  sat  in  her  chair  in  the  Indian  school, 
beating  time  with  her  tiny  hands  and  singing  the  Nez 
Perce  hymns.  Her  readiness  to  learn  amazed  them, 
but  not  more  than  the  aptness  of  the  Cayuse  children 
amazed  Mrs.  Whitman. 

"  They  are  good-looking,  quite  handsome  children," 
said  Mrs.  Whitman.  "To  sit  at  a  little  distance  and 
hear  them  sing  one  would  not  think  he  was  in  a 
heathen  land." 

Sometimes  Mrs.  Whitman  took  baby  Alice  and  went 
to  Tauitau's  lodge  to  help  them  sing.  It  was  a  com- 
pound lodge,  —  several  lodges  together,  made  into  a 
long  hall  of  skins  and  rush  mats,  with  a  fire  in  the  centre. 
Here  Dr.  Whitman  talked  to  the  Indians  and  Mrs. 
Whitman  sang  with  little  Alice  on  her  lap.  In  the  old 
New  York  days  Dr.  Whitman  could  not  sing,  but  here 
he  discovered  a  new  talent,  and  in  rich  tenor,  led  the 
Indian  chorus. 


150  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

The  Oregon  Indians  moved  with  the  seasons.  When 
the  wapato  lay  ripe  under  the  last  drip  of  winter  rain, 
the  women  went  waist  deep  into  the  marshes  to  dig  this 
Indian  potato.  When  the  summer  sun  killed  the  stem 
of  the  star-flowered  camas  down  to  the  ground,  they 
dug  in  the  prairies.  Before  the  spring  freshet  subsided 
the  salmon  came  sliding  up  the  streams;  while  yet 
their  opaline  hues  were  glancing  on  the  wave,  the  ripen- 
ing berries  called  the  squaw-mothers  to  the  hills  and 
the  hunter  to  the  buffalo  beyond  the  Snake.  Septem- 
ber brought  the  salmon  back  to  the  sea,  roots  again 
filled  the  smoky  October.  So  the  Indian  had  his 
fishing  trip  to  the  Columbia,  his  summer  residence  in 
the  mountain,  his  autumn  camp  on  the  prairie,  and  his 
winter  home  in  some  sheltered  hollow  contiguous  to 
water,  fuel,  and  winter  pasture.  For  a  time  these  roving 
habits  threatened  to  render  nugatory  every  effort  of 
Dr.  Whitman  to  settle  the  Indians  on  farms  of  their 
own,  where  he  could  superintend  their  education. 

"  Come,  Narcissa,"  said  the  doctor  one  day,  "  let  us 
go  a  little  while  and  live  with  the  Indians  in  their  own 
lodges.  It  will  give  us  better  access  to  their  language 
and  more  opportunities  for  instruction." 

So  one  January  morning  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Whit- 
man mounted  their  horses,  and  taking  little  Alice  before 
them,  rode  fifty  miles  over  the  sun-dried  plain  to  the 
Cayuse  camp  on  the  Tucannon.  The  Indians  received 
them  with  delight  and  entertained  them  in  the  best 
lodge.  Mrs.  Whitman  conversed  with  the  women,  the 
doctor  mingled  with  the  warriors.  The  little  children 
lay  around  on  the  ground,  with  their  elfin  locks  in  their 
eyes,  listening  to  every  word  and  drinking  in  the  beauty 
of  the  flossy-haired  little  Alice.  Every  morning  at 
dawn,  every  evening  at  twilight,  the  song  of  worship 


DR.   WHITMAN   AND   HIS   CAYUSES          151 

arose.  At  midday  the  doctor  addressed  the  attentive 
throng.  Again  at  evening,  with  the  moon  shining  in 
full  splendor,  the  dark,  eager  faces  gathered  around  the 
great  fire  in  the  open  air.  With  a  shawl  around  her 
shoulders  and  a  handkerchief  on  her  head,  Mrs.  Whit- 
man sat  in  the  door  of  her  tent  facing  the  fire  in  the 
foreground,  with  little  Alice  asleep  in  her  arms.  The 
air  was  clear  and  cold,  but  the  cheeks  of  Alice  were 
never  so  rosy.  Now  the  doctor  related  the  parable  of 
the  rich  man  and  Lazarus,  anon  it  was  the  tale  of  the 
Crucifixion.  Sobs  and  cries  burst  from  the  Indians, 
women  buried  their  faces  in  their  hair.  Almost  as 
weird  a  scene  as  on  that  night  in  Calvary,  was  enacted 
on  the  banks  of  the  lonely  Tucannon. 

Sometimes  the  missionary  dwelt  on  their  own  sinful 
lives,  their  hearts,  "  deceitful  above  all  things  and 
desperately  wicked."  Then  their  faces  grew  stern  and 
they  drew  back. 

"  Don't,  don't,  don't  tell  us  that.  That  talk  is  bad, 
bad,  bad.  Now  give  us  some  good  talk.  Tell  us  about 
the  Bible  country." 

In  summer  the  squaws  had  filled  hundreds  of  rush- 
bags  with  dried  roots,  and  berries,  and  salmon  pemmi- 
can,  that  they  had  worked  hard  to  pulverize  on  the 
rocks  in  the  sun.  They  buried  them  at  night  in 
caches,  and  went  to  the  hills  with  the  hunters  to  chase 
the  deer.  While  they  were  gone  other  tribes  came 
down  and  robbed  their  salmon  caches  —  those  cellars 
where  their  winter  stores  lay  hid  —  and  great  suffering 
resulted. 

"  Ah,  my  poor  people,"  said  the  sympathetic  doctor, 
"  I  see  some  of  your  discomforts.  Some  of  these  days 
I  shall  have  you  all  off  the  ground,  out  of  the  smoke, 
living  in  nice  comfortable  houses  of  wood.  And  you 


152  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

must  all  have  farms,  so  you  need  not  depend  on  the 
precarious  living  of  roots  and  fish." 

And  they  treasured  these  things  in  their  hearts. 

"Margaret,  where  is  Alice  Clarissa?"  said  Mrs. 
Whitman  to  the  Indian  nurse  one  day  in  June  after  her 
second  birthday.  Never  could  the  fond  mother  bear 
the  child  out  of  her  sight. 

"  I  go  see,"  said  nurse  Margaret.  The  Hawaiian 
servant  also  went  out  and  returned.  "  There  are  two 
cups  in  the  river,"  he  said. 

"How  did  they  get  there?"  asked  Mrs.  Whitman, 
imperiously. 

"  Let  them  be,"  said  the  doctor,  "  and  get  them  out 
to-morrow." 

"How  did  they  get  there?"  insisted  Mrs.  Whitman, 
"and  what  cups  are  they?" 

As  in  a  dream  she  recalled  a  glimpse  of  the  curly- 
haired  sprite  —  "  Mamma,  supper  is  most  ready.  Let 
Alice  get  some  water."  Going  up  to  the  table  she  took 
two  cupSy  hers  and  Margaret's  and  disappeared.  Like 
a  shadow  it  passed  across  her  mind,  passed  away  and 
made  no  impression.  Mrs.  Whitman  did  not  recollect 
it  until  she  reached  the  river  brink  where  the  child  had 
fallen  in.  No  Alice  could  be  seen.  Turning  toward 
the  house,  they  saw  an  old  Indian  preparing  to  enter 
the  river.  They  stopped  to  see  him  swim  under  the 
water. 

"  She  is  found,"  he  cried,  holding  aloft  the  lifeless 
form. 

Mrs.  Whitman  ran,  but  the  doctor  passed  her  and 
snatched  the  baby  to  his  arms.  The  precious  life  had 
taken  flight. 

Four  days  they  kept  her.  "  Then,"  says  Mrs.  Whit- 
man, "  when  she  began  to  melt  away  like  wax  and  her 


DR.   WHITMAN   AND   HIS  CAYUSES          153 

visage  changed,  I  felt  it  a  great  privilege  that  I  could 
put  her  in  so  safe  and  quiet  and  desirable  a  resting- 
place  as  the  grave.  Although  her  grave  is  in  sight 
every  time  I  step  out  of  the  door,  yet  my  thoughts 
seldom  wander  there.  I  look  above,  where  her  joys  are 
perfect." 

In  a  home-made  casket  the  stricken  parents  and  the 
weeping  Indians  consigned  to  her  grave  the  golden- 
haired  Cayuse  temi,  the  light  of  the  Whitman  mission. 


XX 

THAT  WAGON 
1840 

CHIEF  YELLOW  SERPENT,  old  Pio-pio-mox- 
mox,  sat  on  a  buffalo-robe  at  the  door  of  his  tent, 
smoking  his  calumet  and  watching  the  horses.  Far  out 
as  the  eye  could  see  the  hills  were  covered  with  horses, 
coal  black,  cream  white,  spotted  white  and  roan  and 
bay,  Cayuse  horses,  well-knit,  deep  and  wide  at  the 
shoulders,  broad-loined,  fleet-footed.  At  the  slightest 
hint  of  danger  the  wild  beauties  would  lift  their  heads 
with  a  shrill  neigh,  dart  in  air  their  light  heels,  and 
speed  with  horizontal  manes  and  tails  across  the  hills. 

The  young  men  had  gone  to  hunt  the  buffalo  far 
away.  Out  in  the  meadows  the  Indian  women,  with 
long  crooked  sticks,  were  busily  digging  the  camas,  the 
queen  root  of  the  Columbia,  and  tossing  the  bulbs  into 
baskets  slung  on  their  backs.  Some  were  baking  them 
into  figs  to  pack  away  for  winter  use.  Others  pulled  the 
conical  kouse,  the  biscuit  root,  to  bake  into  sweet  little 
cakes  for  the  winter's  bouillon. 

As  the  old  chief  sat  there  he  heard  a  sound  unlike 
the  hum  of  insects  or  the  whir  of  grouse.  'Twas  not 
the  bleating  of  the  kid  nor  the  plaintive  call  of  the 
fawn.  Far  out  beyond  this  city  of  conical  teepees 
something  was  following  the  horse-trail  through  the 
grass. 

Yellow  Serpent  turned  and  bent  his  eye  upon  the 
approaching  wonder.  Some  of  his  people  were  gather- 


THAT  WAGON  155 

ing  around  a  vehicle  that  rolled  on  the  grass.  Yellow 
Serpent  stood  up.  "  Chick-a-chick,"  said  the  Indians, 
imitating  the  phenomenal  sound.  "  Horse  canoe," 
cried  Yellow  Serpent.  Round  and  round  the  Indians 
walked  and  gave  it  up.  Yellow  Serpent  bent  and 
peered  and  touched  it  with  a  stick.  The  horse  canoe 
paused  for  a  moment,  then  rolled  on  over  the  grass  to 
Whitman's  mission.  It  was  that  wagon. 

Beaver  had  grown  scarce  in  the  mountains.  Jo 
Meek,  the  American  trapper,  and  his  "  pard "  had  de- 
cided to  settle  in  the  Willamette  valley.  They  went  to 
Fort  Boise"  and  got  Whitman's  old  wagon.  Into  it  they 
packed  their  Indian  wives  and  babies,  and  drove  by  a 
recently  discovered  trail  over  the  Blue  Mountains  to 
Waiilatpu.  Dr.  Whitman  and  his  wife  came  out  to 
meet  them.  These  trappers  they  had  met  in  the  moun- 
tains seemed  like  old  friends. 

"'Twar  a  hard  trip  over  the  mountings,"  said  Jo 
Meek.  "Back  thar  ^on  the  plain  the  sage-brush  war 
over  the  mules'  backs  and  the  flippers  a' most  cut  off 
the  axletrees.  I  war  a'most  sorry  we  undertook  to 
bring  the  wagin." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Dr.  Whitman,  "  you  will  never  regret 
it.  You  have  broken  the  road.  When  others  see  that 
one  wagon  has  passed  they  too  will  pass,  and  in  a  few 
years  the  valley  will  be  full  of  our  people."  A  Dela- 
ware standing  by  heard  these  words,  and  told  the  In- 
dians. Like  wild-fire  it  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

Dr.  Whitman  killed  the  fatted  hog  for  his  trapper 
friends  and  they  had  a  feast.  Jo  Meek  left  his  little 
half-breed  daughter  Helen  Mar  to  be  educated  at  the 
mission.  "How  did  you  get  that  famous  name?" 
asked  Mrs.  Whitman,  smoothing  the  tangled  locks  of 
the  little  girl. 


156  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Waal,"  he  answered,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  we 
war  reading  the  '  Scottish  Chiefs '  in  the  mountings 
when  the  little  gal  came,  so  I  named  her  Helen  Mar." 
The  trappers  passed  on  and  took  up  farms  west  of  the 
Willamette,  where  their  descendants  live  to  this  day. 
Soon  after,  the  famous  Captain  Bridger  sent  his  little 
Nez  Perce"  daughter  Mary  Ann  to  the  Whitman  school. 
On  his  first  journey  Dr.  Whitman  had  cut  an  Indian 
arrow  from  the  back  of  Bridger,  a  feat  of  surgery  that 
gave  him  great  fame  in  the  mountains. 

At  the  Indian  camp  a  little  half-breed  Spanish  boy 
abandoned  by  his  Cayuse  mother  lay  in  a  hole  in  the 
ground.  The  Indian  children  were  amusing  themselves 
lighting  sticks  in  the  camp-fire  and  burning  spots  on 
his  little  bare  body.  An  old  squaw  passed  by  heavily 
laden  with  her  lord's  saddles  and  bridles  and  blankets ; 
with  a  jerk  that  might  have  dislocated  the  infant's  arm, 
she  snatched  him  away  from  his  tormentors,  tossed  him 
on  top  of  her  burden,  and  running  across  the  Walla 
Walla  on  the  teetering  foot-log  laid  him  down  at  the 
door  of  the  mission.  So  now  the  Whitmans  had  three 
adopted  half-breed  children  to  take  the  place  of  the 
flossy-haired  Alice. 


XXI 

A   TRIP  TO  SITKA 
1840 

WHEN  Douglas  and  his  crew  and  Rae  and  Eloise 
left  Vancouver  that  March  morning  in  1840, 
they  slid  down  the  Columbia  to  the  confluence  of  the 
Cowlitz.  Entering  this  river,  milky  with  volcanic  ash 
from  St.  Helen's,  they  soon  came  to  its  headwaters  and 
crossed  overland  on  horses  to  Puget  Sound.  All  the 
storied  beauty  of  Scottish  lakes,  Italian  skies,  and  Isles 
of  Greece  seemed  centred  here,  on  these  unsung  shores 
that  commemorate  the  name  and  fame  of  Lieutenant 
Peter  Puget.  Here  the  little  black  "  Beaver,"  the  first 
steamer  on  Pacific  waters,  took  them  out  on  their 
northern  journey. 

For  miles  and  miles,  interlacing  the  northwest  coast, 
rocky  islands,  like  the  summits  of  submerged  moun- 
tains, hold  their  green  fringes  down  to  the  sea.  In 
serried  rank,  the  Douglas  spruce  — "  the  tree  of 
Turner's  dreams,"  the  king  of  conifers,  the  great  tim- 
ber-tree of  the  world  —  stands  monarch  of  the  hills. 
Once,  twice,  thrice,  they  ran  up  rivers  where  Hudson's 
Bay  forts  held  subject  the  clans  of  red  men.  "  Reports 
from  these  posts  form  the  most  agreeable  part  of  my 
library,"  McLoughlin  was  wont  to  say. 

One  evening  the  little  "  Beaver "  rounded  a  rocky 
point  and,  quite  unexpectedly,  the  Bay  of  Sitka  burst 
into  view.  Beside  Mt.  Edgecumbe  it  lay,  dimpling  in 
the  sunset.  A  few  Russian  ships  lay  at  anchor  in  the 
Norse-like  fiord  close  under  the  guns  of  Sitka  Castle. 


158  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

On  either  side  of  the  bay,  precipitous  walls  of  rock 
dipped  into  the  emerald  waters  and  waved  their  plumes 
of  pine-trees  far  above.  As  soon  as  word  went  up  to 
headquarters,  a  salute  rang  from  the  brazen  guns,  and 
Governor  Etholine,  in  his  gig,  ran  out  to  greet  his 
English  guests.  Only  three  weeks  since,  Adolphus 
Etholine  had  arrived  from  Kronstadt,  bringing  with 
him  a  blond  bride  from  Helsingfors.  The  events  of 
the  London  council  were  fresh  in  Etholine's  mind,  as 
he  greeted  the  envoys  of  the  potentate  on  the  Columbia. 

On  a  high  rock  overlooking  the  Indian  village  of 
Sitka  old  Count  Baranoff  had  built  a  castle,  —  built  it 
strong,  of  heavy  hewn  cedar,  pierced  by  copper  bolts, 
• —  and  on  the  terrace,  commanding  land  and  water,  he 
planted  his  batteries  of  a  hundred  cannon.  At  the  top 
he  ran  up  a  lighthouse  tower,  that  flashed  the  first 
beacon  ray  on  Pacific  waters.  Above  it  waved  the 
Russian  flag  and  the  eagles  of  the  czar.  For  twenty 
years  the  bearded  old  Baranoff  ruled  Alaska,  and  de- 
spatched home  shipload  after  shipload  of  furs,  that  sold 
for  fabulous  sums  in  the  markets  of  Russia.  The  count 
was  a  shrewd  old  tyrant,  bold,  enterprising,  with  a  heart 
of  stone,  nerves  of  steel,  and  a  frame  of  iron.  Under  his 
vigorous  rule,  seals,  sea-lions,  beaver,  and  sea-otter  per- 
ished by  millions,  and  the  overworked  Alaskans  dwin- 
dled away  to  a  few  sad-faced,  cringing  slaves. 

When  Astor  sent  his  expedition  to  Oregon  in  1810, 
Baranoff  was  in  the  prime  of  his  power,  alternating  days 
of  toil  with  nights  of  revelling  on  raw  rum  and  fiery 
vodhka.  Setting  out  the  foaming  camp-kettles,  he 
would  sing  and  shout  like  an  old  Norse  viking,  "  Drink, 
children,  drink,"  till  every  serf  and  slave  in  Sitka  Castle 
lay  sprawling  on  the  floor. 

But  he  was  a  great  manager.      Sea-furs  and  walrus 


A  TRIP   TO    SITKA  159 

ivory  were  to  be  had  for  the  taking,  so  that  when  the 
Russian- American  fur-ships  came  home,  nobles  and 
princes  and  the  czar  himself  took  shares  in  the  stock, 
and  dreamed  of  one  day  controlling,  not  only  Alaska, 
but  the  entire  coast  of  California. 

One  day  Baranoff  died.  "The  Directory  at  St.  Peters- 
burg sent  out  Baron  von  Wrangell,  and  now  the 
baron's  successor,  Adolphus  Etholine,  a  young  admiral 
of  noble  birth,  had  come  to  live  in  viceregal  splendor 
in  the  stronghold  that  guarded  the  strip  of  shore,  the 
tundra  moors  and  mountains  of  rainy  Alaska.  The 
business  had  greatly  fallen  off,  yet  Etholine  was  able 
to  despatch  every  year  to  St.  Petersburg  peltry  valued 
at  half  a  million  silver  roubles,  and  his  returning  ships, 
commanded  by  officers  of  the  imperial  navy,  brought 
back  the  luxuries  of  Italy,  Spain,  and  France.  Could 
plain  old  Baranoff  have  looked  in  upon  their  mirrors 
and  carpets  and  curtains  and  candelabra,  he  would  have 
torn  his  beard  in  Russian  rage  and  sworn  a  big  round 
oath  at  these  degenerate  days. 

At  dawn  Governor  Etholine  and  several  officers 
assisted  Chief  Factor  Douglas  and  his  companions  to 
disembark.  Sitka  was  a  dirty  village,  full  of  drunken 
Indians,  reeking  with  all  imaginable  smells,  through 
which  they  hastened  to  the  steep  flight  of  steps  leading 
up  to  the  castle. 

Etholine's  drawing-rooms,  with  portraits  of  the  czars, 
decorated  walls,  damask-draped  windows,  waxed  floors, 
and  heavy  carved  furniture,  quite  surprised  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  officials,  who,  in  their  plain  quarters  at  Van- 
couver, had  studied  comfort  rather  than  display.  Here 
was  a  fur  company  that  certainly  had  no  greater  income 
than  their  own,  yet  everywhere  were  signs  of  extrava- 
gant display  and  costly  living. 


160  McLOUGHLIN  AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Perhaps  they  need  it  to  reconcile  them  to  this  awe« 
inspiring,  silent  Sitkan  land,"  thought  Douglas,  as  he 
mentally  counted  the  cost. 

Through  parted  curtains,  Etholine's  petite  child  wife 
entered ;  like  a  fairy  she  approached  the  stately  daugh- 
ter of  the  magnate  on  the  Columbia.  She  spoke  in 
French.  Thanks  to  her  father  and  "  Telemachus," 
Eloise  had  a  fluent  command  of  French.  There  were 
other  ladies,  maids  and  companions,  and,  yes,  there 
really  was  a  princess,  Madame  Racheff,  who  had  re- 
nounced the  gayeties  of  the  Russian  court  to  accompany 
her  husband  to  the  far  Pacific  exile. 

Long  they  lingered  at  the  state  breakfast  in  the 
resounding  banquet-hall.  What  unexpected  viands! 
Wines  from  France  and  fruits  from  Spain,  hyperborean 
pickles  and  caviare,  flanking  and  interlarding  long 
arrays  of  sauces  and  chevreuil.  There  were  toasts  and 
jokes  and  laughter,  not  so  wild,  perhaps,  as  in  the  old 
BaranofY  days,  but  enough  to  prove  that  the  Russian 
and  English  fur  companies  were  no  longer  at  war. 

"By  the  way,"  exclaimed  Etholine,  "the  Russians 
came  near  appropriating  the  Columbia  long  before 
you  fellows  took  it." 

"How  is  that?"  inquired  Chief  Factor  Douglas. 

"It  was  in  1802  that  the  Directory  met  at  St.  Peters- 
burg to  consider  the  post  at  Sitka.  Some  complaints 
had  reached  them  against  Count  Baranoff.  It  was  a 
ticklish  thing  to  deal  with  Baranoff —  he  was  autocrat 
here.  In  general,  they  left  him  to  his  own  way. 
But  Prince  von  D.  said,  'We  ought  to  extend  the 
business/ 

"  '  We  need  a  better  base  of  supplies/  said  Baron  X. 

" '  What  we  really  need  is  to  send  a  responsible  man 
to  look  after  Baranoff/  added  Count  T. 


A  TRIP  TO   SITKA  161 

"  '  Why  not  take  lands  farther  south  and  start  an 
agricultural  colony?'  suggested  Baron  von  Resanoff. 

"  Everybody  stared  at  the  young  baron  who  had 
come  up  for  the  first  time  to  take  his  seat  in  the  Direc- 
tory. He  returned  the  stare  with  the  additional  sug- 
gestion, 'Why  not  make  the  Columbia  a  base  of 
supplies  for  Sitka?' 

"  After  a  good  deal  of  talking  it  was  decided  to  send 
Von  Resanoff  himself  as  the  Russian  Imperial  Inspector 
of  Alaska.  1805-6  found  him  at  Sitka,  laying  plans 
with  Baranoff,  one  of  which  was  to  expel  American 
traders  from  the  North  Pacific.  All  too  numerous  had 
become  those  Boston  skippers  on  this  northwest  coast. 
Frequent  complaints  had  been  made  to  the  American 
president  that  his  people  were  selling  fire-arms  to  our 
Indians,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Von  Resanoff  said  it 
was  an  outrage,  and  we  were  justified  in  using  force. 
Supplies  went  low  at  Sitka  that  winter.  No  ship  came. 
No  flour,  no  fish,  not  even  seal  blubber  for  the  garrison 
could  be  bought  or  caught.  Just  then,  when  all  the 
cannon  were  loaded  to  sweep  the  Yankee  skippers 
from  the  sea,  a  little  Rhode  Island  ship  sailed  into 
Sitka  harbor. 

" '  Shall  we  expel  these  American  traders  from  the 
North  Pacific  ? '  said  Von  Resanoff. 

'"For  the  love  of  God,  no/  cried  Baranoff.  'That 
little  ship  is  our  saviour/ 

"  Into  the  starving  garrison  the  Yankee  captain 
brought  bread  and  beef,  and  raised  the  famine  siege 
at  Sitka  Castle.  Baranoff  bought  that  little  ship,  the 
'Juno/  that  saved  their  lives,  and  sent  her  down  the 
coast  to  cruise  for  supplies.  Von  Resanoff  sailed  with 
her,  trying  to  find  the  Columbia,  to  plant  a  Russian 
colony.  Those  exploring  Americans,  Lewis  and  Clark, 

XI 


1 62  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

were  just  leaving  their  winter  post  at  Clatsop,  but  Von 
Resanoff  knew  nothing  of  that.  The  whole  coast  might 
have  been  ours,  but  he  could  not  get  across  the  bar. 
Beastly  river,  the  Columbia.  Tried  it  three  days  and 
gave  it  up  and  went  on  down  to  California.  There  he 
found  supplies,  and  fell  in  love  with  the  Spanish  com- 
mandant's charming  daughter,  Dona  Conception. 

"The  matter  was  brought  before  the  commandant 
—  would  he  give  to  the  baron  the  hand  of  his  daughter 
as  a  seal  to  the  compact  for  future  supplies  to  Sitka? 

"  Don  Arguello,  the  commandante,  considered  and 
consented,  but  a  dreadful  lion  lay  in  the  way!  Von 
Resanoff  was  a  Greek  Catholic,  the  donna  a  Roman 
Catholic.  Von  Resanoff  laughed  at  the  lion :  Til  go 
to  St.  Petersburg.  I'll  beg  the  consent  of  the  czar 
himself;  then  to  Madrid,  and  doubt  not,  I  '11  conciliate 
the  King  of  Spain.' 

"  They  parted  with  tears.  Far  out  from  shore  his 
handkerchief  fluttered  farewell.  But  alas  !  in  his  haste 
to  cross  Siberia,  Von  Resanoff  fell  from  his  horse  and 
broke  his  neck.  The  girl  is  down  there  yet,  somewhere. 
But  England  forestalled  Russia  on  the  Columbia." 

After  breakfast  the  gentlemen  went  away  to  attend 
to  their  commission.  Lady  Etholine  and  the  Princess 
Racheff  led  Eloise  out  on  the  promenade  around  the 
castle.  Below  them  lay  the  low,  square,  rough-hewn 
huts  of  the  half-breed  Sitkans.  Yonder  were  the 
officers'  homes,  three-storied,  lemon-yellow  houses  with 
iron-red  roofs  and  stained-glass  windows.  The  green 
roof  of  the  bishop's  house  shone  in  the  sun,  and  the 
green  dome  of  the  Greek  church,  surmounted  by  its 
oriental  spire.  Behind  the  castle,  the  princess  pointed 
to  the  living  green  flanks  of  Vestova,  where  the  Mus- 
covites held  their  summer  picnics. 


A  TRIP  TO   SITKA  163 

"All  the  year  round  the  glaciers  glitter  on  those 
heights  beyond,"  she  said.  "And  you  can  read,  at 
night.  You  can  read  all  night  in  these  Sitkan  sum- 
mers. The  midnight  sun  just  dips  behind  Edgecumbe, 
and  before  twilight  is  gone  the  dawn  is  here." 

Edgecumbe  rose  like  a  snowy  cone  beyond  the 
island-studded  harbor.  A  fleet  of  skin  bidarkas  moved 
in  and  out  among  the  ships.  The  steamer  "Alex- 
ander," from  Okhotsk,  was  landing  the  mail  from  St. 
Petersburg,  whereat  the  princess  flew  away  for  letters. 

"And  do  you  like  it  here?"  asked  Eloise  of  the 
dainty  Lady  Etholine. 

"  One  always  likes  the  home  of  the  honeymoon," 
answered  the  bride  of  Etholine.  "  My  husband  says 
the  grandest  scenery  of  the  world  lies  along  this  coast. 
I  love  to  fancy  this  is  Naples,  with  its  cliffs  by  the  sea 
and  its  lava  cone.  It  lay  like  this  long  ago  before  the 
Romans  built  their  villas  on  its  shores." 

"And  do  you  think  some  Virgil  yet  may  write  an 
^Eneid  here?"  asked  Eloise,  smiling. 

"Who  knows?  Baranoff  would  be  a  worthy  hero. 
They  tell  great  tales  of  him  in  his  battles  with  the 
Sitkans.  Some  dark  tales,  too.  When  at  night  I  hear 
the  roar  of  the  sea-lions  and  the  pitiful  cry  of  the  seals, 
I  tell  Adolphus  it  sounds  like  the  moans  of  all  the  dead 
Alaskans." 

Governor  Etholine  and  his  lady  were  model  hosts. 
Sumptuous  dinners  and  courtly  balls  followed  each 
other  in  swift  succession.  At  sunrise  the  reveille 
sounded,  at  sunset  the  drums  beat,  and  the  great  light 
blazed  in  the  tower.  The  heavy  Muscovite  padlocks 
were  turned  in  the  gates,  and  all  night  the  sentinels 
paced  the  promenade,  guarding  the  life  and  treasure  of 
Sitka  Castle. 


1 64  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Meanwhile  Douglas  and  Etholine  were  discussing 
provisions  and  boundaries  and  tariffs  for  the  Indian 
trade.  Douglas  took  part  in  all  the  gayeties  of  the  fort ; 
at  the  same  time  he  criticised  them  in  private. 

"  It  is  not  our  way  of  doing  things,"  he  said  to  Rae. 
"  These  Russians  are  squandering  all  they  make.  What 
folly  to  appoint  naval  officers  to  the  command  !  They 
know  nothing  of  the  business,  yet  draw  pay  from  both 
the  fur  company  and  the  government.  Look  at  these 
establishments  crowded  with  idle  officers  and  men, 
fifteen  vessels  afloat,  and  thousands  spent  every  year 
on  provisions  for  Sitka  alone.  You  never  saw  such  a 
lazy  crew  around  Vancouver  —  the  doctor  would  n't 
have  it." 

Too  soon  the  week  rolled  by.  The  ten-league  trans- 
fer was  made  according  to  the  London  agreement,  and 
exchanges  concluded  in  grain  and  furs.  Farewells  were 
quickly  said,  salutes  were  fired,  and  the  little  "  Beaver  " 
sped  down  the  coast  to  the  sandy  flats  of  Fort  Stikine. 
On  the  self-same  spot  where  a  few  years  ago  the  Russian 
gunboats  had  threatened  Ogden,  lay  a  Russian  brig  of 
thirty-two  guns,  ready  to  hand  the  redout  over  to 
Douglas  and  the  English.  As  Rae  marched  out  with 
his  detachment  of  eighteen  Canadians  the  Russian 
officer  drew  back. 

"  What !  hold  this  fort  with  eighteen  men !  I  re- 
quired fifty,  and  you  can  do  with  no  less." 

"  Other  forts  we  rule  with  twenty  men,  and  we  can 
hold  Stikine,"  said  Rae,  setting  his  lips  in  the  firm  way 
habitual  to  him. 

At  the  mouth  of  the  Stikine  River,  on  a  strip  of  sand 
that  was  an  island  at  high  tide,  stood  the  old  Russian 
redout,  St.  Dionysius,  near  the  present  Fort  Wrangell. 
Over  the  log  fort  Rae  hung  out  the  English  flag  and  the 


A  TRIP  TO    SITKA  165 

Hudson's  Bay  pennant,  and  with  his  wife  and  eighteen 
Canadians  saw  the  Russian  brig  set  sail  for  Sitka, 
and  the  "Beaver"  and  Douglas  depart  to  build  Fort 
Takou. 

Scarcely  had  the  Russians  disappeared  when  the 
Indians  began  hostilities.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  out- 
look, on  that  bank  of  sand  scarce  large  enough  to  hold 
the  fort,  with  only  the  rising  and  falling  tide  to  break 
the  monotonous  days. 

In  the  inner  gallery  a  watchman  paced,  ever  on  the 
outlook,  with  a  loaded  swivel  above  the  gate.  In  the 
bastions  eight  nine-pound  guns  and  an  armory  of 
Hudson's  Bay  flintlocks  lay  ready  for  action.  The 
wood-boats  plied  back  and  forth  with  musketoons  on 
their  gunwales. 

Here,  there,  everywhere,  rolled  the  smoke  from 
savage  camps.  Canoes  came  over  with  beaver,  beaver, 
beaver,  until  the  fort  was  packed  with  beaver,  but  all 
the  pay  they  would  take  was  drink,  making  night 
hideous  with  their  orgies.  Years  after  Eloise  spoke 
of  this  time  with  a  shudder.  Once,  at  midnight,  the 
savages  attempted  to  scale  the  stockade  and  take  the 
fort.  A  thousand  bidarkas  came  down  from  the  north 
and  shot  their  arrows  at  Fort  Stikine.  The  brave  girl 
stood  by  her  husband's  side,  beating  them  back  with 
the  carronades. 

In  autumn  the  "  Beaver  "  passed  as  she  gathered  in  her 
furs,  but  no  one  came  when  the  dark  and  rainy  winter 
sent  the  waterfalls  tumbling  down  the  mountains  and 
swept  the  white  foam  out  to  sea. 

Meanwhile  events  were  occurring  at  Fort  Vancouver 
that  led  Dr.  McLoughlin  to  recall  Rae  to  take  charge  of 
another  important  post 


XXII 

ERMATINGER   GUARDS  THE  FRONTIER 
1840 

/CONSUMPTION  was  eating  away  the  vitals  of  Tom 
^•^  McKay.  This  was  not  strange,  in  view  of  the 
winter  bivouacs  on  the  Missouri,  the  dog-sled  journeys 
to  Colvile,  the  fights  and  flights  at  Okanogan  long  ago, 
the  days  of  wet  moccasins  and  nights  of  damp  blankets, 
the  weeks  of  sand-dust  and  alkali  along  the  Shoshonie. 
His  brigade  was  handed  over  to  Ermatinger. 

"  Tom  will  spend  the  winter  in  California,"  said  Dr. 
McLoughlin. 

There  were  reasons  for  despatching  Ermatinger  to 
the  Shoshonie.  More  and  more  St.  Louis  trappers  were 
crossing  the  Rockies  and  disputing  grounds  with  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  and  the  Blackfeet. 

"  This  opposition  must  be  frozen  out,"  said  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin. "  We  must  fight  fire  with  fire,"  said  Douglas. 
So  Ermatinger  rushed  over  the  twisted  aromatic  sage- 
brush of  the  upper  country,  snuffing  the  air  for  rivals. 
Witty,  skilful,  affable,  he  was  the  trump  card,  and  they 
played  it. 

How  kind  Ermatinger  was,  how  insinuating !  How 
hospitably  he  received  a  rival  camp  !  —  inspecting  their 
outfit  from  the  corner  of  his  eye.  He  knew  to  a  skin 
how  much  the  Americans  carried.  He  counted  every 
gun,  and  reckoned  up  the  value  of  the  goods.  How 
trickily  he  misled  them !  —  worse  than  Jemmy  Jock. 


ERMATINGER   GUARDS  THE   FRONTIER     167 

How  deftly  he  planted  the  seeds  of  discontent !  —  "  Your 
leader  pays  you  ha  beggarly  rate ;  hour  men  would  never 
put  hup  with  it."  How  he  fomented  disputes,  how  dis- 
interestedly he  conveyed  word  to  the  Indians,  how  he 
played  on  their  superstitions!  — "  These  Bostons  bring 
trouble.  If  you  deal  with  the  Bostons  we  shall  sell  you 
no  more  smoke-smoke.  These  Bostons  hare  swindlers. 
They  charge  ten  dollars  for  scarlet  that  just  falls  to 
pieces.  We  charge  honly  thirty-two  shillings  for  cloth 
that  will  last  a  lifetime." 

But  when  the  missionaries  came  Ermatinger  was  in 
his  glory.  Gray,  Walker,  Eells,  Griffin,  Hunger,  and 
their  wives,  all  passed  under  his  convoy.  "  Surely 
there  is  no  danger  in  missionaries,"  he  said ;  "  they 
come  not  to  trap  nor  to  trade  nor  to  make  settlements, 
they  come  only  to  teach  the  Indians."  Ermatinger 
flew  around  among  his  men.  "  Company  to-night. 
Company  to-night.  Put  hon  your  best  faces,  boys. 
Serve  up  the  supper  hon  has  clean  ha  mat  has  you  can 
find,  Baptiste.  Let  them  see  that  we  live  on  civilized 
fare.  More  cakes,  Gabriel,  plenty  of  fried  cakes." 

The  quick  Canadians,  trained  to  obey,  turned  camp 
over  at  his  call.  Cook  Gabriel,  blowzy  at  the  fire, 
dropped  ball  after  ball  of  flour  and  water  dough  into 
the  boiling  tallow,  stirring  it  afar  off  with  a  pointed 
pole  to  avoid  the  blistering  heat. 

Skipping  out  to  meet  his  guests,  the  little  man 
bowed  profoundly — "  Come,  ladies  hand  gentlemen,  let 
me  hintroduce  you  to  the  chairs  hand  tables  hand 
hedibles." 

There  was  something  almost  homelike  in  Ermatin- 
ger's  companionable  camp,  with  regiments  of  buffalo  ribs 
propped  up  before  the  blaze  on  dress  parade,  and  savory 
fumes  of  fleece  meat  bubbling  in  the  kettles.  There 


1 68  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

had  been  a  great  hunt;  even  now  the  buffalo  runners 
were  restless  in  the  camp,  the  hills  east  of  the  Snake 
were  black  with  shaggy  herds,  and  their  deep-mouthed 
bellowings  rolled  like  thunder  far  away.  Some  of  the 
Canadians  were  still  busy  with  hatchets,  cracking  the 
marrow-bones,  to  lay  bare  the  rolls  of  trappers'  butter 
contained  within;  others  had  cleaned  the  intestines, 
turned  them  inside  out,  and  tucked  them  full  of  strips 
of  salted  and  peppered  tenderloin,  and  beside  the  ribs 
these  long,  brown  festoons  of  trappers'  sausage  snapped 
and  crackled  with  their  juicy  contents. 

The  missionaries,  young  men  just  out  of  the  semi- 
naries, and  their  rosy-cheeked  brides,  sat  down  on  the 
Indian  mats  spread  on  the  grass.  Ermatinger  kept  up 
incessant  chatter. 

"  I  'm  'ungry  's  a  grizzly.  Pour  the  coffee,  Baptiste. 
Notice  hany  trappers  this  side  hof  the  Rockies?  'Elp 
yourselves,  'elp  yourselves.  Don't  stand  hon  ceremony. 
To-day  hit  his  buffalo  'umps  hand  marrow-bones,  to- 
morrow hit  may  be  mice.  We  starve  when  we  must,  but 
when  we  'ave  plenty  we  heat  the  best  first,  for  fear  hof 
being  scalped  by  han  Injun  before  we  've  henjoyed  it." 

On  their  brushwood  beds  the  wandering  missionaries 
slept  in  this  early  Oregon  time.  The  wolves  howled 
them  to  sleep  every  evening,  howled  them  awake  every 
morning;  all  the  night  long  the  wolves  bayed  at  the 
moon  as  she  rode  in  a  cloudless  sky.  Under  their 
heads  they  hid  the  meat  for  pillows,  to  keep  it  away 
from  the  wolves  —  even  then  some  sly  old  gray-back 
would  come  in  the  night  and  pull  it  out. 

"  Harise  !  Harise  !  Harise  !  "  was  Ermatinger's  day- 
light call.  "  Hi  '11  be  'anged  hif  the  wolves  'ave  n  't 
grown  so  bold  hand  saucy  they  've  come  to  the  fire  to 
warm  themselves ! " 


ERMATINGER   GUARDS  THE   FRONTIER     169 

There  they  sat,  three  great  gray  wolves,  with  noses 
pointing  to  the  fire.  One  touch,  over  they  toppled, 
dead,  set  up  by  this  joking  hunter  in  the  night  to 
frighten  the  tenderfeet  from  over  the  Rockies! 

"  Hi  '11  be  'anged  if  the  dogs  'ave  n't  heaten  my  mocca- 
sins," was  the  next  discovery.  Perhaps  the  remnant  of 
a  cap  chewed  out  of  recognition  lay  under  a  tent  edge. 
More  than  likely  one  leg  of  a  pair  of  buckskin  panta- 
loons was  all  that  was  left  of  somebody's  apparel. 

The  missionaries  laughed,  laughed,  laughed  as  at 
holiday.  How  could  they  look  for  guile  when  all  went 
merry  as  a  marriage-bell  under  the  lead  of  this  good- 
humored,  winsome  host?  To  Ermatinger  they  confided 
their  plans  and  acted  on  his  advice.  He  slapped  them 
on  the  shoulders,  lounged  round  their  tent  doors,  and 
sat  in  their  secret  councils.  He  penetrated  their  inmost 
hearts,  warned  them  against  trespassing  the  regula- 
tions of  the  great  company. 

"What  are  the  regulations  of  the  company?"  asked 
the  incoming  missionaries. 

"  Hamericans  must  not  trade  with  Hinjuns,  they  must 
confine  themselves  to  hagriculture  hand  mission  work, 
hand  keep  to  the  south  side  hof  the  Columbia,"  was  the 
answer,  impressed  like  a  solemn  law.  And  he  tricked 
them,  tricked  them  out  of  their  tame  cattle  for  long- 
horned  Mexican  heifers  that  needed  to  be  caught  with 
a  lasso  and  held  for  milking,  tricked  them  out  of  their 
gentle  American  horses  for  wild  Indian  ponies.  Even 
at  Whitman's  he  tried  his  wiles. 

"You  live  too  plainly.  You  dress  too  plainly. 
Splendor  wins  the  Hinjuns.  You  must  put  hon  more 
style  hand  get  all  the  hinfluence  possible.  The  Hameri- 
can  Board  agrees  to  give  you  your  living;  that  living 
must  not  be  mean."  Then  the  tempter  passed,  leaving 


1 7o  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

a  worry  in  the  heart  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Whitman,  for 
to  some  extent  they  knew  his  words  were  true. 

Sometimes  the  conversation  fell  on  politics.  Then 
Ermatinger  fired : 

"  If  the  Hunited  States  tries  to  drive  hus  from  the 
country  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  will  harm  'er  height 
'undred  mixed  bloods,  and  with  their  knowledge  hof  the 
mountain  fastnesses  we  can  'old  Horegon  hagainst  the 
world.  Ham  hi  not  ha  marvellously  proper  man  to  go 
a-soldiering?  "  The  little  man  drew  himself  up,  and 
his  big  nose  shone.  Of  course  everybody  laughed, 
"It  is  only  Ermatinger." 

Even  Dr.  McLoughlin  would  laugh,  "  Bow-wow-wow ! 
It 's  only  Ermatinger." 

"  Ho,  no,  this  country  can  never  be  settled,"  said 
Ermatinger,  slyly  taking  the  missionaries  through  the 
most  difficult  goat-trails  over  the  mountains.  "  'Ow 
could  wagons  hever  get  through  these  jungles?  "  Over 
sharp-cut  rocks  he  led  them,  through  dense  woods,  and 
over  mountain  patches  of  snow  where  never  man  or 
beast  had  trod  before. 

Long  since,  the  Indians  had  revealed  to  Dr.  Whitman 
wide,  comfortable  trails  that  the  company  had  hoped 
to  keep  secret.  But  Ermatinger,  leading  the  new-com- 
ers a  thorny  chase,  laughed,  laughed,  laughed  because 
he  had  fooled  the  missionaries. 

"  Be  silent,  exclusive,  secret,"  said  the  company, 
"  lest  the  furry  folk  be  frightened  away.  We  shall  be 
undone  if  colonies  of  people  supplant  our  colonies  of 
beaver.  Mill-dams  break  up  beaver-dams ;  they  never 
flourish  in  the  same  water." 

"Why  have  you  never  taught  the  Indians  agricul- 
ture ? "  inquired  Dr.  Whitman. 

"  Hoh,  beaver  is  hour  business.  Why  meddle  with 
the  plough?"  was  Ermatinger's  careless  answer. 


ERMATINGER   GUARDS  THE   FRONTIER     171 

"  How  came  the  Spokanes,  then,  to  plant  and 
plough?" 

"The  Spokanes  'ave  planted  for  twenty  years. 
Raster's  men  built  Spokane  House  hand  made  ha  little 
garden.  The  Hinjuns  watched  them,  tasted  their  vege- 
tables. When  they  left  the  squaws  saved  the  seed  hand 
tried  their  'and  hat  gardens." 

"  Does  n't  that  prove  that  all  the  Indians  want  is  a 
chance  —  that  they  are  ready  to  take  up  civilization?" 
Dr.  Whitman  was  standing  by  that  historic  wagon  with 
his  foot  on  the  hub. 

Ermatinger  knocked  the  ashes  from  his  ever-burning 
pipe  with  an  impatient  snap. 

"  Yes,  too  ready,  if  anything.  We  don't  want  'em  civ- 
ilized—  we  want 'em  to  catch  skins.  That  is  why  the 
company  gets  along  better  with  the  Injun  than  you 
Hamericans  do  —  we  leave  'im  to  'is  own  ways.  You 
try  to  change  'im.  All  along  your  border  states  you 
say, '  'ere,  take  a  farm  and  settle  down  like  white  folks,  or 
get  hout.'  That 's  no  way  to  get  halong  with  Hinjuns." 

"  Exactly."  Never  before  had  Dr.  Whitman  grasped 
so  clearly  the  difference  of  the  two  policies.  Then 
began  the  nervous  walk  in  which  he  indulged  when 
under  the  pressure  of  exciting  thought.  "It's  here  in 
a  nutshell,  Ermatinger.  The  fur-hunter  meets  the 
Indian  half-way,  he  intermarries,  he  perpetuates  barbar- 
ism. The  American  brings  the  rifle,  the  axe,  the  home. 
For  the  beaver-dam  and  buffalo-range  he  substitutes 
the  plough,  the  mill,  the  school,  the  railroad,  the  city." 

Ever  after  Dr.  Whitman  seemed  to  hear  a  voice 
soughing  in  the  wind  like  the  worried  ghost  of  the  great 
company :  "  Away  !  away !  You  must  not  civilize  our 
Indians.  Away  !  away !  Your  mills,  your  ploughs  and 
schools  and  shops  must  not  frighten  our  beaver." 


172  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Silence  brooded  over  Oregon,  the  silence  of  the 
grave.  England  looked  upon  the  great  •  fur  preserve  as 
a  waste,  a  desert  where  a  few  wild  beasts  gained  a 
scanty  living.  As  the  fur-traders  tramped  the  forest 
they  knew  of  coal,  but  they  never  told  it ;  they  knew  of 
marble  and  iron,  but  they  kept  it  secret ;  voyageurs  dis- 
covered ledges  of  gold,  but  were  enjoined  to  silence ; 
the  Indian  was  not  more  quiescent.  To  publish  to  the 
world  these  vast  savannas  and  belts  of  a  greater  Britain 
would  bring  in  people,  and  people  frighten  away  the 
game.  So  Oregon  slept  behind  her  battlements,  waiting 
for  the  prince  at  whose  magic  kiss  the  gates  should 
fall,  the  forest  trails  expand,  and  her  thousand  industries 
leap  to  life. 

In  November  again  Monique's  brigade  glanced  like  a 
shadow  down  the  River  of  the  West. 

"Time?  time?"  he  called  at  Fort  Colvile.  Chief 
Factor  McDonald  gave  him  the  time.  Monique  scrib- 
bled it  on  his  orders. 

"  Time?  time?  "  he  called  at  Walla  Walla. 

"Time?  time?  "  at  Fort  Vancouver. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  looked  at  his  watch.  "  Five  minutes 
past  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning."  Monique  scribbled 
it  on  his  papers  and  passed  them  in. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  looked  over  the  record  in  the  quiet 
of  his  office.  With  drooping  head  the  Iroquois  stood 
like  a  weary  race-horse.  Dr.  McLoughlin  came  to  the 
Colvile  paper. 

"  You  scoundrel,  you  !  "  he  cried,  leaping  to  his  feet. 
"  You  have  run  every  cascade  this  side  of  Colvile  !  " 

Up  flew  his  cane,  but  Monique  dodged  and  darted 
through  the  door.  The  proud  Indian  had  reached  the 
goal  that  Kennedy  missed,  the  fastest  time  ever  made 
from  Colvile  to  Fort  Vancouver. 


ERMATINGER   GUARDS   THE   FRONTIER     173 

When  December  rains  were  beating  on  the  hills, 
James  Douglas  and  Tom  McKay  took  a  run  on  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  barque  Cowlitz  down  to  Mon- 
terey. The  company's  ships  had  become  frequent 
visitors  at  that  southern  port,  buying  up  sea-otter  and 
paying  a  handsome  fee  for  the  privilege. 

On  New  Year's  day  they  anchored.  The  warders  of 
the  old  Spanish  castle  on  the  coast  were  not  backward 
in  collecting  customs. 

With  lifted  beaver  Douglas  returned  their  civilities. 
f '  No,  not  sea-otter  to-day,  thank  you,  gentlemen ;  we 
wish  to  see  the  governor." 

With  a  shade  of  disappointment  the  Spanish  officials 
conducted  the  Hudson's  Bay  ambassador  to  the  home 
of  Alvarado.  It  was  an  unpretentious  mansion,  luxu- 
rious only  in  windows  overlooking  the  sea,  windows 
upon  windows  in  those  California  days  when  glass  was 
worth  its  weight  in  solid  silver.  The  common  people 
had  no  glass,  only  wooden  shutters  and  outdoor 
verandas,  that  were  the  actual  living  rooms. 

When  La  Framboise  came  home  from  the  Spanish 
land  he  had  brought  this  word  from  Captain  Sutter: 
"  The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  need  not  come  down 
here  to  trap  any  more.  I  have  engaged  these  grounds." 
No  attention  was  paid  to  it.  In  autumn  La  Framboise 
set  out  as  usual.  Now  Douglas,  in  the  presence  of 
Alvarado,  after  the  usual  salutations,  inquired,  — 

"  Did  you  authorize  Captain  Sutter  to  order  our 
brigade  to  leave  the  Sacramento?" 

"  Captain  Sutter  was  authorized  to  act  for  the  gov- 
ernment, not  in  one  hostile  way,  but  merely  to  request 
the  withdrawal  of  your  partie  on  account  of  the  new 
settlements,"  said  the  Governor  Alvarado. 

"Very   well,   then,"    replied    the    haughty   Douglas, 


i74  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  when  your  wishes  shall  be  officially  communicated 
they  shall  be  followed  to  the  letter.  For  the  present  I 
suppose  the  old  agreement  stands." 

"  Certano,  Signer,  certano?  answered  Alvarado,  some- 
what puzzled,  somewhat  flattered. 

Douglas  found  it  hard  to  bend  the  knee  and  sue  for 
favors  from  this  southern  potentate,  but  he  did  it.  In 
the  end  his  courtliness  quite  undermined  the  gallant 
Captain  Sutter. 

In  the  bay  of  Saint  Francisco  the  fur  company  wished 
to  establish  a  post  to  capture  the  Spanish  trade  — 
perhaps  the  Spanish  state. 

"  Certano,  certano,  Signor,  by  payment  of  suitable 
duties." 

"  And  we  want  sheep  to  stock  our  farms." 

"  Certano,  certano"  said  Alvarado. 

All  Douglas  wished  and  more  he  got,  —  a  post  on 
the  bay,  trappers'  rights  renewed,  and  five  thousand 
sheep  from  the  old  missions,  three  thousand  to  be 
driven  overland,  and  two  thousand  to  be  brought  by 
sea. 

Tom  McKay,  tall,  dark,  long-haired,  standing  hat  in 
hand,  had  been  a  silent  auditor.  As  negotiations  pro- 
gressed mutual  esteem  mounted  high  and  higher. 
With  fluttering  flags  of  Spain  and  England  at  the  mast 
Douglas  dined  and  wined  the  Spanish  grandees  on  his 
ship.  He  lent  the  impoverished  Californians  powder  to 
fire  a  salute  from  the  old  castle  and  departed  amid  a 
shower  of,  "  A  Dios  !  A  Dios ! "  leaving  McKay  to 
recruit  his  health  and  superintend  the  sheep  brigade. 


XXIII 

AN  AMERICAN  EXPLORING  SQUADRON 
1841 

THE  New  Year  of  1841  opened  a  new  act  in  the 
drama  on  the  Columbia.  In  his  lonely  cabin  on 
the  Willamette,  Ewing  Young,  the  Tennesseean,  lay 
dead.  Outside,  his  herds  grazed  on  the  hillsides,  with- 
out a  visible  heir.  The  little  handful  of  Americans, 
scarce  thirty-six  all  told,  gathered  at  his  funeral. 
Jason  Lee  deeply  felt  the  situation.  No  law,  no  court, 
no  government,  nothing  from  the  Spanish  land  to  Sitka, 
but  the  arbitrary  will  of  Dr.  John  McLoughlin.  "  He 
is  a  good  man,"  said  Jason  Lee,  "  but  the  one  man  power 
is  not  American." 

They  carried  the  Tennesseean  out  and  buried  him 
under  the  oaks  on  his  ranch,  and  then  returned  to 
discuss  the  disposition  of  his  property. 

"  We  must  have  some  sort  of  organization,"  said 
Jason  Lee.  "  We  must  draft  a  constitution  and  frame 
a  code  of  laws." 

The  committee  sat,  with  pens  in  hand,  when,  presto ! 
change !  an  American  exploring  squadron  came  sail- 
ing into  the  Oregon  waters  bearing  the  banners  of 
Uncle  Sam. 

The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  on  the  Columbia  had 
paid  little  attention  to  the  young  republic  at  the  east, 
they  sometimes  forgot  there  was  a  United  States ;  but 
this  sudden  apparition  startled  them  with  its  possi- 
bilities. Conciliatory,  urbane,  troubled,  the  doctor 


1 76  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

and  Douglas  visited  the  American  commodore  on 
shipboard.  The  yards  were  manned,  salutes  were 
fired,  the  flags  of  both  nations  flew  at  the  international 
banquet  where  the  two  governments  met  on  the  dis- 
puted Columbia. 

"  Come  right  over  to  the  fort,"  was  the  doctor's 
cordial  invitation.  "  Rooms,  boats,  guides,  whatever 
you  need  is  at  your  service." 

Commodore  Wilkes  set  up  his  tents  outside  the  Brit- 
ish stronghold,  but  like  all  others  who  passed  that  way, 
he,  too,  was  enchanted  with  this  old  feudal  host  and 
hospitality.  Like  Whitman,  he  viewed  the  fields  and 
farms,  like  Sutter  he  tasted  the  wine  and  heard  the 
song,  like  Lee  he  ascended  the  charming  Willamette. 
Under  the  roof  of  the  new  mission  house  George 
Abernethy,  the  mission  steward,  entertained  the 
commodore. 

"Do  you  advise  us  to  establish  a  government?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  the  commodore ;  "  wait.  The  British 
interest  already  feels  itself  threatened  by  the  presence 
of  this  exploring  squadron.  Any  action  on  your  part 
may  precipitate  trouble,  in  which  case  you  are  too  few 
and  too  far  away  to  be  properly  supported.  Wait 
till  your  numbers  augment." 

"  Dr.  McLoughlin's  wine  has  affected  his  judgment," 
said  the  men  of  the  mission. 

In  the  purple  twilight,  Commodore  Wilkes  walked  in 
the  fields  of  wheat.  The  crescent  moon  hung  over 
Mt.  Hood.  "  A  lovely  land,"  he  murmured ;  "  charming 
by  day,  enchanting  by  night.  Tell  me,  what  do  you 
Americans  think  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company?" 

"The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  is  Great  Britain's 
instrumentality  for  securing  Oregon,"  was  the  answer. 


AN   AMERICAN   EXPLORING   SQUADRON     177 

"  But,"  urged  the  commodore,  "  the  missionaries 
have  received  untold  favors  from  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  and  if  they  are  gentlemen,  it  is  their  duty  to 
return  them." 

The  missionary  faced  about  in  the  commodore's 
path.  "  Return  them  ?  Certainly.  I  will  exchange 
favors  with  Dr.  McLoughlin  or  any  other  man  or 
set  of  men,  but  I  will  not  sell  country  for  it" 

Wilkes  was  almost  angry  with  this  blunt  missionary. 
Presently  he  inquired,  "  What  was  that  bleating  I  heard 
at  sunset  —  flocks  of  the  mission?  " 

"  It  is  the  company's  sheep  brigade,  being  driven 
overland  from  California,  to  stock  the  country  on  the 
Sound.  That  is  part  of  the  plan  for  holding  Oregon." 

Eloise  stood  at  Vancouver's  gate  as  the  sheep  passed 
by.  Already  she  had  been  summoned  from  Stikine, 
and  Rae  had  been  sent  to  the  South.  California  had  a 
new  meaning  for  her  now ;  even  the  shepherds  might 
bring  a  message  from  her  husband  at  the  company's 
new  post  on  the  bay  of  Saint  Francisco.  As  the  bleat- 
ing of  sheep  died  out  in  the  west  the  beaver-painted 
bannerols  of  Ogden's  brigade  came  fluttering  in  from 
the  east.  Among  the  gayly  decked  voyageurs  the  quick 
eye  of  Eloise  noted  the  drooping  curls  of  her  old  play- 
fellow, Maria  Pambrun. 

"  Maria  is  an  obedient  girl,"  Chief  Factor  Pambrun 
had  been  saying  six  weeks  before,  as  he  rode  with 
Cornelius  Rogers  on  the  flowery  meads  of  Walla  Walla, 
—  it  was  the  old  topic,  the  marriage  of  his  daughter,  — 
"  and  skilled  in  housewifery." 

At  that  moment  the  half-wild  Cayuse  pony  lost  the 
rope  from  his  mouth  and  ran  and  surged,  throwing 
Pambrun  over  the  high-pommelled  Mexican  saddle.  In 

12 


178  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

a  moment  Rogers  knelt  by  his  side.  Indians  came  run- 
ning to  the  rescue,  and  carried  the  injured  officer  home 
to  the  fort.  Dr.  Whitman  was  summoned,  but  in  vain. 
Four  agonized  days  the  piteous  appeal  resounded,  — 

"  O  Doctor,  Doctor,  give  me  something  to  kill  me 
quick !  " 

Then  Pambrun's  strength  failed.  All  was  hushed 
save  the  labored  breathing  and  the  lapping  waters  on 
the  northern  wall. 

"  Cornelius."  Cornelius  Rogers  bent  to  support  the 
dying  head.  "Cornelius  —  I  —  give  —  you  —  my  — 
watch  —  and  —  my  —  gun." 

The  sobs  of  Maria  and  her  mother  were  all  that 
broke  the  death-bed  silence. 

"  Cornelius  —  in  —  secretary  —  find  —  will  —  made  — 
in  —  your  —  favor  —  Take  —  care  —  of  —  my  — 
family." 

With  falling  tears  Cornelius  Rogers  smoothed  the 
clammy  brow.  "  Yes,  yes,  dearest  friend.  I  will  see 
to  everything."  A  look  of  peace  settled  on  the  ashen 
face. 

Pale  as  death  Maria  Pambrun  sat  on  the  bed  with 
one  of  her  father's  hands  pressed  close  in  both  of  hers. 
The  other  hand  Madame,  her  mother,  pressed  close  to 
her  heart.  The  chief  factor  fixed  his  glazing  eye  upon 
his  child  — 

"  Maria  —  darling  —  marry  —  Mr.  —  Rogers." 

The  anguished  girl  dropped  her  head  upon  her  bosom 
—  the  chief  factor  interpreted  it  as  a  sign  of  assent. 

"  God  —  bless  —  " 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Dr.  Whitman,  bending  low  to 
tatch  the  last  pulse. 

Maria  Pambrun  slid  from  her  perch  on  the  bedside. 
With  uplifted  face  and  hands  clenched  in  her  wild  dis- 


AN    AMERICAN    EXPLORING    SQUADRON     179 

ordered  curls  she  gave  a  shriek,  the  terrible  death-wail 
that  has  rung  for  ages  in  the  tents  of  the  dead.  The 
Indians  waiting  outside  caught  it  up,  till  it  rolled  in  one 
long  reverberation  over  the  plains  of  Walla  Walla.  It 
reached  the  home  of  Mrs.  Whitman  before  her  husband 
did,  and  she  knew  the  good  Chief  Factor  Pambrun  had 
gone  to  rest. 

They  buried  him  there  in  the  drifting  sand.  Ogden's 
brigade  came  by  and  Rogers  accompanied  the  mourn- 
ing family  down  to  Fort  Vancouver,  whither  they  had 
been  summoned  by  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

"  I  cannot  marry  him,"  sobbed  Maria  Pambrun,  hid- 
ing her  face  on  the  shoulder  of  Eloise.  Dr.  McLoughlin 
looked  on  in  compassion.  The  face  of  Cornelius  Rogers 
was  paler  than  Maria's,  set  as  marble. 

"  I  will  not  ask  it,"  said  Rogers.  He  heard  the  din 
in  the  court  as  the  doomed  man  hears  the  hammer  of 
the  executioner.  "  I  will  not  take  advantage  of  her 
helpless  situation.  Let  the  will  be  void.  I  return  the 
property,  but  the  watch  I  would  like  to  keep  as  a 
memento  of  my  dead  friend." 

His  own  voice  sounded  far  away  and  dead.  Maria 
ceased  her  sobs  and  breathless  waited  —  she  only  heard 
a  departing  step  and  the  shutting  of  a  door.  When  she 
looked  up  Rogers  was  gone.  Dr.  McLoughlin  stood 
there,  looking  at  the  closed  door.  The  arm  of  Eloise 
was  still  about  her  waist,  and  the  sun  through  the  grape- 
vine cast  checkered  shadows  on  the  Chinese  matting. 

"  That  is  an  honorable  man,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin, 
picking  up  the  torn  fragments  of  the  will  at  his  feet. 
"  He  is  worthy  of  an  excellent  wife.  But  remember, 
Maria,  you  and  your  mother  and  the  younger  children 
can  have  a  home  here  as  long  as  you  live.  I  adopt 
you  all." 


i8o  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Maria  had  scarcely  time  to  murmur  her  thanks  when 
a  shuffling  was  heard  outside. 

"  Boston  ship  at  Fort  George,  laden  with  liquor," 
announced  a  Frenchman,  hat  in  hand,  suddenly  break- 
ing up  the  tableau  in  the  doctor's  office.  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin  went  out.  In  ten  hours  he  stepped  from  his 
barge  on  the  sands  at  Astoria.  The  ''Thomas  H. 
Perkins"  looked  up  grimly,  demoniacally,  from  the 
water. 

"How  many  barrels  on  board?"  demanded  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin  of  the  captain.  "What  is  it  worth?  I  will 
take  the  whole  cargo."  And  in  the  end  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin  chartered  the  ship  itself,  to  put  a  stop  to  the 
business. 

"  It 's  cheaper  to  buy  '  blue  ruin '  out  of  hand  than 
to  deal  with  a  riot  of  drunken  savages,"  was  the  doctor's 
explanation  to  the  inquiries  of  Commodore  Wilkes.  The 
liquor  was  stored  in  the  basement  of  the  governor's 
house,  where  it  lay  untouched  for  years. 

Commodore  Wilkes  sent  exploring  parties  all  over 
the  country.  Everywhere  the  Indians  fell  into  convul- 
sions of  laughter  at  the  useless  labors  of  these  lunatic 
scientists,  who  came  squinting  around  at  rocks  and  soil 
and  hills  and  stars,  and  never  once  asked  for  beaver. 
Did  the  geologist  use  his  hammer  —  "  Ho  !  ho  !  ho  !  no 
kernel  in  that  nut !  Indian  know  better  than  that !  " 
Did  the  botanist  creep  along  picking  flowers  like  precious 
gems  — "He!  he!  he!  see  the  grass  man?"  All 
flowers  were  grass  to  the  Indian. 

"  Come  over  and  see  us  celebrate  the  Fourth  of  July, 
Doctor.  We  have  the  finest  warship  in  the  navy  there," 
said  Commodore  Wilkes,  setting  out  for  that  portion  of 
his  squadron  anchored  in  the  Sound. 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !     Ask  me  to  celebrate  the  Fourth  of 


AN   AMERICAN   EXPLORING  SQUADRON      181 

July  ?  "  laughed  the  doctor.  "  I  have  business  over  that 
way  and  may  run  down  to  look  at  your  ships." 

A  few  days  later  Dr.  McLoughlin  went  over  to  the 
Sound,  arriving,  however,  a  day  too  late  for  the  celebra- 
tion. At  this  moment,  while  the  doctor  was  gone,  the 
Rupert's  governor,  Sir  George  Simpson,  came  sweep- 
ing down  the  Columbia  with  his  retinue  of  fancy  voy- 
ageurs  and  his  buglers  and  bagpipers  on  his  journey 
around  the  world,  Douglas  did  the  honors  of  the 
fort. 

Sir  George  had  been  head  of  the  old  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  before  the  coalition,  and,  naturally,  had  never 
acquired  perfect  confidence  in  this  independent  north- 
wester who  never  took  the  trouble  to  cross  the 
mountains  to  his  annual  council  at  Norway  House  on 
Winnipeg. 

"  Ah !  "  was  Sir  George's  mental  comment  as  he  took 
off  his  tall  felt  chimney-pot  hat  and  scratched  the  bald 
spot  on  top  of  his  head.  "  Last  year  McLoughlin 
entertained  the  missionaries.  This  year  I  find  him 
hobnobbing  with  Americans  in  their  gunboats  on  the 
Sound." 

Everything  encouraged  Sir  George's  suspicions.  He 
was  angry  on  account  of  the  squadron,  angry  on  account 
of  Dr.  McLoughlin's  courteous  hospitality  to  it,  angry 
on  account  of  the  banquet  to  which  the  Americans  were 
invited  on  the  doctor's  return  to  the  fort.  Sir  George, 
in  narrow-waisted,  swallow-tailed  coat,  occupied  the 
chair  of  honor.  There  was  an  aristocratic  scantness  to 
the  tight-fitting  sleeves ;  a  corresponding  fulness  to  the 
immaculate  puffed  and  ruffled  shirt-front  above  the 
waistcoat  of  salmon-colored  satin.  Behind  his  chair 
the  pipers  played.  Dr.  McLoughlin  kept  up  the  con- 
versation. Under  the  rim  of  his  gold-bowed  glasses 


i82  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Sir  George  eyed  the  commodore  from  an  immeasurable 
distance  of  formality  and  reserve.  His  temper  cast  a 
damper  on  the  festive  scene,  despite  the  magnificent 
table  garnished  with  venison  and  rosemary,  grouse  and 
salmon  and  cygnets. 

"  The  dinner  was  a  funeral,"  said  the  clerks  that 
night. 

"  It  was  like  a  feast  of  feudal  times,"  said  Commodore 
Wilkes. 

"Those  Americans  are  spies,"  said  Sir  George,  re- 
proving the  doctor  in  private. 

"  You  are  not  to  encourage  Americans  in  any  way," 
said  Sir  George,  in  the  positive  tone  bred  of  years  of  com- 
mand. "The  United  States  will  never  possess  more 
than  a  nominal  jurisdiction  west  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, nor,  if  you  do  your  duty,  will  it  long  possess  even 
that.  You  make  a  great  mistake  in  assisting  these 
missionaries.  Let  them  take  care  of  themselves,  refuse 
them  favors,  drive  them  out  of  the  country  as  soon  as 
possible." 

"  But,"  interposed  the  doctor,  standing  up  beside  Sir 
George  —  he  could  look  down  upon  him  like  a  little 
boy — "what  excuse  can  we  have  for  driving  them  out 
of  the  country?  They  are  peaceable,  industrious,  help- 
ful to  the  Indian.  By  the  terms  of  our  treaty  with 
the  United  States  they  have  as  good  right  here  as  we 
have." 

"  The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  was  not  chartered  to 
educate  the  Indian,"  curtly  responded  Sir  George, 
hitching  up  the  wires  of  his  glasses  in  a  few  once  curly 
locks  behind  his  ears.  "  That  is  no  part  of  our  business. 
I  would  not  give  them  even  a  spade  to  till  the  soil. 
We  want  furs,  not  farms.  We  must  tolerate  nothing 
that  interferes  with  our  business." 


AN   AMERICAN   EXPLORING   SQUADRON     183 

"  Sir  George  prays  only  to  mammon,"  was  a  well- 
known  saying  in  the  upper  country. 

The  doctor  kept  his  temper.  Better  than  any  one 
else  west  of  the  mountains  he  understood  the  policy 
of  his  company,  and  never  had  that  company  a  more 
brilliantly  cold  and  calculating  manager  than  Sir  George 
Simpson. 

"  By  your  management  already  you  have  lost  us  all 
that  country  south  of  the  Columbia,"  continued  Sir 
George. 

"/lost  that  country?"  cried  Dr.  McLoughlin,  bris- 
tling at  this  unexpected  charge.  "  England  never 
claimed  it.  The  company  never  expected  to  hold  it. 
The  Joint  Occupancy  Treaty  was  in  itself  official  notice 
to  that  effect.  As  for  these  missionaries  —  when  they 
come  bringing  passports  signed  by  the  Secretary  of 
War,  dare  I  treat  them  like  Yankee  skippers  or  over- 
land traders?" 

Sir  George  by  his  John  Bull  obstinacy  was  fast  driv- 
ing the  doctor  into  an  American  advocate. 

He  saw  his  error,  and  with  the  quick  diplomacy  for 
which  he  was  noted  Sir  George  grasped  the  angry 
doctor's  hand. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Chief  Factor  McLoughlin  —  I 
beg  your  pardon.  Your  situation  is  indeed  a  compli- 
cated one.  I  shall  take  immediate  measures  to  press 
this  Oregon  question  to  an  issue.  England  cannot 
afford  to  lose  this  territory." 

How  he  pressed  this  question  is  hidden  in  the  Eng- 
lish archives.  A  few  days  later  Sir  George  left  with 
Douglas  to  inspect  the  northwest  coast  and  visit 
Sitka. 

When  Ogden  went  back  up  the  Columbia  he  took 
with  him  Cornelius  Rogers  to  the  Whitman  mission, 


184  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

and  his  son-in:law,  Archibald  McKinley,  whose  young 
wife,  Sarah  Julia,  the  first  woman  of  white  blood  born 
on  the  Snake,  was  destined  now  to  become  mistress  of 
the  driftwood  fort  at  Walla  Walla. 

Failing  to  secure  the  hand  of  Maria  Pambrun,  Mr. 
Rogers  became  discouraged  over  the  work  of  the  mis- 
sion. He,  who  never  before  could  see  an  obstacle,  be- 
gan to  say,  "  Religious  truth  can  never  be  taught  in 
the  Indian  tongue.  They  have  no  words  for  spiritual 
thought.  How  can  the  Indian  unacquainted  with  law 
be  made  to  understand  a  broken  moral  law?" 

"This  reasoning  is  delusive,"  said  Dr.  Whitman. 
"  The  Indian  knows  the  right  and  wrong.  That  is  the 
basis  of  all  moral  law." 

Nevertheless  Cornelius  Rogers  left  the  mission  and 
settled  in  the  Willamette  valley. 

Before  a  year  had  rolled  away  there  was  another 
wedding  at  Fort  Vancouver.  The  bride  was  Maria 
Pambrun,  still  in  mourning  —  the  groom  was  Dr. 
Barclay. 

One  October  morning,  after  Sir  George's  return  from 
Sitka,  a  mist  hid  the  Columbia  from  view,  but  up  the 
terraced  plain  rang  the  familiar 

"  Sur  la  feuille  ron  — don  don  don!'  of  the  voyageurs. 

Far  back  on  the  Saskatchewan,  months  before,  Sir 
George  had  passed  a  lengthened  cavalcade  toiling  west- 
ward under  the  broiling  sun  of  a  northern  July,  And 
now  those  bronzed,  determined  men,  those  women  and 
children  have  crossed  the  Assiniboian  plains  in  ox- 
carts and  wagons,  and  scaled  the  mountains  on  pack- 
horses;  they  have  arrived  to  claim  Sir  George's 
promise. 

Sir  George  paled  slightly  under  the  doctor's  ques- 
tioning glance. 


AN   AMERICAN    EXPLORING   SQUADRON     185 

"  No  doubt  it  is  those  half-breeds  of  Red  River,"  he 
said.  "  Possession  is  nine  points  of  the  law,  and  actual 
possession  is  now  conclusive  in  our  favor.  You  must 
help  me  meet  them." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  leaders  and  headmen  of  the  Red  River  immi- 
grants came  up  to  the  fort.  The  people  camped  on 
the  plain  below.  Sir  George  Simpson,  Dr.  McLough- 
lin,  and  James  Douglas  met  them  in  the  hall.  Sir 
George  knew  he  had  to  face  an  ordeal,  and  nerved  him- 
self with  a  glass  of  wine.  He  saw  the  hope  on  every 
face  —  and  shattered  it  at  a  glance. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  that  we  cannot  fulfil  our 
agreement,"  began  Sir  George,  hesitating  at  the  dis- 
agreeable truth.  "  We  have  neither  horses  nor  barns 
nor  fields  for  you,  and  you  are  at  liberty  to  go  where 
you  please.  You  may  go  with  the  California  trappers 
and  we  will  give  you  an  outfit  as  we  give  others.  If 
you  locate  south  of  the  Columbia  we  will  help  you 
none.  If  you  go  to  the  Cowlitz  we  will  help  you  some. 
To  those  who  will  go  to  the  Sound  we  will  fulfil  our 
agreement." 

For  a  moment  the  Red  River  immigrants  were  struck 
dumb  with  amazement.  Then  wrath  arose,  some  oaths 
escaped.  Sir  George  with  utmost  coolness  declared 
the  interview  at  an  end.  Dr.  McLoughlin  was  greatly 
distressed  at  the  plight  of  the  poor  people  who  had 
sold  their  homes  and  travelled  to  a  wilderness  two  thou- 
sand miles  away,  on  the  strength  of  such  great  expecta- 
tions. He  followed  them  out  to  their  encampment,  and 
in  every  way  helped  them  to  their  destination  with  food, 
clothing,  boats,  and  horses.  Slowly,  wearily,  disheart- 
ened, heaping  imprecations  on  the  company's  head, 
they  toiled  over  to  the  woods  on  Puget  Sound.  After 


1 86  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

a  winter  of  ineffable  suffering  most  of  them  moved  to 
the  Willamette  valley,  where  their  descendants  still  live, 
loyal  citizens  of  the  United  States. 

From  that  hour  the  coolness  increased  between  Sir 
George  and  the  doctor.  Sir  George  was  angry  be- 
cause Dr.  McLoughlin  was  not  prepared  to  furnish 
houses,  barns,  and  fenced  fields  to  all  these  people. 
The  doctor  was  astonished  that  such  a  promise  had 
ever  been  made. 

"  I  will  go  back,"  said  James  Sinclair,  the  leader  of 
the  northern  immigrants,  "  and  I  will  tell  the  Red  River 
people  this  latest  fraud  of  Sir  George  Simpson's.  It 
is  not  enough  that  the  company  has  throttled  that 
colony  in  its  cradle;  it  is  not  enough  that  they  have 
subordinated  every  interest  there  to  the  fur  trade ;  it  is 
not  enough  that  they  have  frustrated  every  effort  at 
traffic  by  enormous  freights  and  jealous  regulations 
until  they  have  driven  our  best  men  over  the  border  into 
the  United  States,  but  now  they  must  needs  practice  on 
the  credulity  of  those  who  remain  and  rob  us  of  our  last 
little  all." 

When  next  Sir  George  went  back  to  Red  River  he 
fled  by  night  from  the  threatened  rebellion,  and  he 
disarmed  the  leader,  James  Sinclair,  by  despatching 
him  to  the  Columbia —  promoted  at  once  to  the  honors 
and  emoluments  of  a  chief  factorship. 


XXIV 

STAR   OF  OKEGON" 
1841 

'"T^HERE  was  an   animated    discussion    among   the 

A  Canadians  in  the  court  at  Fort  Vancouver. 
"What  is  it,  Baptiste?"  inquired  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

"  Begosh !  Dat  w'at  we  not  know,  Dogtor.  Dey 
say  hit  be  for  ferry-boat,  but  Antoine,  'ere,  sir,  'e  tink 
hit  for  be  keel  of  a  schooner." 

"What  looks  like  the  keel  of  a  schooner?"  inquired 
the  doctor. 

"  Dat  boat,  w'at  de  Hamericans  buil'  hon  de  islan'. 
Dey  'ave  borrow  w'ip-saw  an'  tools  on  de  mission. 
Dey  buy  hall  hour  hoi'  Dutch  'arness-rope  an'  want 
more." 

"Who  are  they?"  persisted  the  doctor,  with  sudden 
interest. 

"  Josef  Gale,  'e  ees  de  boss.  Felix  'At'way,  Je  ees 
de  'ead  builter.  Dere  be  five  hall  togedder." 

"Joseph  Gale!  Hathaway!  Joseph  Gale!  Hath- 
away !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  excitedly  turning  toward 
the  office  where  the  head-clerk  sat.  "  The  very  men ! 
The  very  men !  They  were  mad  because  we  had  a 
monopoly  on  cattle.  They  tried  to  get  passage  on  the 
'  Cadboro ' '  to  buy  cattle  in  California.  I  refused  to  let 
them  go,  but  offered  to  help  them  settle.  They  ap- 
peared to  agree  and  got  supplies.  Let  me  see,  McTav- 
ish,  let  me  see  what  Gale  and  Hathaway  have  bought" 


i88  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

He  began  turning  over  the  yellow  leaves.  "  Here  is 
their  bill :  Draw-rope,  Draw-rope,  Bagging,  Draw-rope, 
Sails  and  rigging  as  I  live !  Gale  is  a  renegade  sea- 
captain,  Hathaway  a  deserter  from  the  '  Convoy.'  I  Ve 
no  love  for  Hathaway ;  he 's  the  rascal  that  built  a  house 
on  my  island  at  the  Falls.  I  sent  him  word,  but  he 
paid  no  attention  to  it." 

Dr.  McLoughlin  reappeared  in  the  yard. 

"  Dere  be  one  of  dose  mon  now,  Dogtor,"  said  Bap- 
tiste,  pointing  to  a  young  man  just  entering  the  gate. 

"  And  what  do  you  want  now,  Mr.  Woods,  what  do 
you  want  now?"  Dr.  McLoughlin  abruptly  inquired, 
walking  toward  the  young  man.  Sir  George's  rebukes 
had  temporarily  affected  the  doctor's  urbanity  to 
Americans. 

"  Why,  Governor,  some  of  us  fellows  are  trying  to 
build  a  schooner  to  go  to  California  to  get  some  cattle. 
If  you  will  trust  us  for  chains  and  anchors  and  rigging, 
we  can  pay  you  by  and  by." 

"How?  how?  how,  I'd  like  to  know,  —  how,  sir?" 
cried  the  doctor. 

"  In  furs  and  wheat,  sir,"  answered  the  American. 

"  A  schooner  to  go  to  California  on  this  iron-bound 
coast?  Tut,  tut,  tut!  You'll  all  be  drowned,  and  I'll 
not  be  party  to  such  a  transaction.  You  had  better 
settle  in  the  valley,  as  I  told  you,  and  take  up  farms. 
I  '11  lend  you  all  the  seed  you  want,  but  chains  and 
anchors  don't  grow  in  this  climate." 

"  But,  Doctor,  cattle  —  " 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  "  'impatiently  the  doctor  waved  the 
petitioner  away.  "  A  hare-brained  scheme !  a  hare- 
brained scheme!  Who  ever  heard  of  a  trapper-sailor? 
You've  no  idea  of  the  danger  you  venture  into.  No 
slipshod  schooner  can  live  on  this  rock-bound  coast." 


"THE   STAR  OF   OREGON"  189 

"And  you  won't  advance  supplies,  sir?"  asked  the 
young  man,  whitening. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  it  was  a  hare-brained  scheme? 
Why,  boy,  don't  you  know  that  without  papers  you  are 
liable  to  be  captured  as  a  pirate,  and  how  do  I  know 
you  do  not  intend  to  become  one?"  said  the  doctor, 
looking  very  fierce  and  nodding  his  head. 

"  Well,  Doctor,"  shouted  the  enraged  Yankee,  "  you 
may  keep  your  paltry  rigging.  You  carry  matters  with 
a  high  hand  now,  but  it  won't  last  always.  Remember, 
sir,  I  have  an  uncle  in  the  States,  that,  rich  as  you 
are,  is  able  to  buy  your  great  company  out  and 
several  more  such.  He  '11  come  along  here  some 
day  when  you  ain't  thinking  of  him  and  send  you  all 
packing." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut!"  cried  the  doctor,  reddening.  "I 
am  glad  to  hear  so  rich  a  man  as  your  uncle  is  coming 
to  this  country.  Who  is  it,  Mr.  Wood?  What  is  his 
name,  Mr.  Wood?  I  should  like  to  know  him,  Mr. 
Wood." 

"  Why,  they  call  him  Uncle  Sam,  and  he 's  liable  to 
come  out  here  looking  after  us  fellows  most  any  day," 
retorted  the  angry  American,  making  a  bee-line  for  the 
gate. 

"The  persistency  of  these  Americans  is  amazing," 
said  the  doctor,  as  he  watched  the  retreating  figure. 
"  If  I  tell  my  Canadians  to  stop,  they  stop,  but  these 
Americans  keep  right  on." 

And  the  Americans  did  keep  on.  On  Wapato  Island 
they  found  material  fit  for  a  keel  and  a  frame  of  swamp 
white  oak.  They  grubbed  up  red  fir  roots  for  knees, 
put  up  beams  of  red  fir  timber,  and  planked  their  boat 
with  cedar  dressed  by  hand.  Parrish,  the  mission  black- 
smith, made  the  spikes  and  irons. 


i9o  McLOUGHLIN   AND  OLD   OREGON 

When  Commodore  Wilkes  went  up  the  Willamette  he 
saw  the  unfinished  craft. 

"Yes,  we've  got  so  far,"  said  Gale,  "but  Dr. 
McLoughlin  refuses  to  sell  us  supplies.  Can  you?" 

"  I  cannot  sell  to  you,"  said  the  commodore.  "  I  am 
not  in  the  trading  business,  but  I  could  give  you  cord- 
age and  anchor  out  of  my  ship-stores  in  case  of  distress. 
I  '11  interview  Dr.  McLoughlin  when  I  get  back." 

"  They  are  making  a  coffin  for  themselves,"  said  the 
doctor,  when  Wilkes  approached  him  on  the  subject. 
"  Now  there  is  Gale.  He  has  been  in  our  employ  for 
several  years  as  a  hunter  and  trapper.  Now  what  does 
he  or  the  rest  of  them  know  about  managing  or  navigat- 
ing a  vessel  at  sea?" 

"  I  have  tested  Gale's  knowledge.  He  is  an  old 
sailor,  and  I  have  given  him  papers,"  said  Commodore 
Wilkes. 

"  You  have  ?  "  exclaimed  the  amazed  doctor.  "  But 
do  you  think  that  vessel  is  strong  enough  to  make  the 
voyage  to  San  Francisco  ?  " 

"  It 's  stout  enough  to  double  Cape  Horn,"  said 
Wilkes.  "  Gale  knows  what  he  is  about  and  Hathaway 
worked  in  a  shipyard  in  the  States.  If  you  have  such 
things  as  they  need  you  will  oblige  me  by  letting  them 
have  them.  If  they  are  not  able  to  pay,  charge  it  up 
to  me.  I  shall  need  considerable  cordage  and  canvas 
myself." 

"  Oh,  well,  well,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "  they  can 
have  whatever  they  want."  So  the  store  was  thrown 
open,  and  the  delighted  Americans  hastened  to  get  all 
they  needed  before  Commodore  Wilkes  got  out  of  the 
country.  The  commodore  gave  them  a  flag,  an  ensign, 
a  compass,  an  anchor,  and  a  hawser  one  hundred  and 
forty  fathoms  long,  and  a  log-line  and  glasses. 


"THE  STAR  OF   OREGON"  191 

The  little  schooner,  clinker-built  on  the  clipper  model, 
painted  black  with  a  white  ribbon  running  from  stem 
to  stern,  was  in  the  eyes  of  her  builders  the  cutest 
little  craft  that  ever  sat  upon  the  water.  With  flying 
sails  she  dropped  down  the  Willamette,  and  for  pure 
buncombe  crept  up  to  Fort  Vancouver.  The  little 
clipper  ran  so  close  to  the  barque  "  Vancouver  "  that 
it  nearly  touched  her  side. 

"  Helm-a-lee !  "  cried  Captain  Gale. 

As  she  spun  around  on  her  keel  the  stars  and  stripes 
were  flung  in  the  face  of  the  British  tars  and  they  read 
on  her  side  in  full-face  letters,  "  The  Star  of  Oregon." 

Dr.  McLoughlin  was  absent.  Gale  sent  word  to 
Douglas : 

JAMES  DOUGLAS,  Esq. : 

SIR,  —  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  California.  If  you  have 
any  letters  or  commands  that  you  wish  to  send  to  Mr.  Rae, 
residing  there,  I  will  with  pleasure  take  them  to  him. 

Yours,  JOSEPH  GALE. 

"Talk  of  their  getting  to  California  —that's  all  brag- 
gadocio," said  Douglas,  as  he  penned  the  answer. 

MR.  JOSEPH  GALE  : 

SIR,  —  As  the  schooner  "  Cadborough  "  will  leave  for  that 
port  soon,  we  will  not  trouble  you  in  that  particular. 

Yours,  etc.,  J.  DOUGLAS. 

Again  at  old  Fort  George  (Astoria)  the  daring  little 
crew  unfurled  the  stars  and  stripes  for  Birnie  and  his 
men  to  see. 

"  Oh,  ho ! "  cried  the  British  tars,  "  as  soon  as  you 
see  the  Pacific  your  hearts  will  fail  and  you  '11  all  be 
back  again." 


192  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  I  '11  go  to  Davy  Jones's  locker  first,"  cried  Gale, 
spreading  his  sheets  to  the  wind. 

Gale  had  a  quadrant  epitome  and  a  nautical  al- 
manac that  some  one  had  brought  to  the  country. 
He  set  out  with  his  crew  of  four  and  a  little  Indian  boy, 
not  one  of  whom  knew  the  compass.  After  giving  his 
men  a  few  lessons  in  steering  in  a  seaway  and  by  com- 
pass, they  crossed  the  bar,  and  just  at  sunset,  September 
12,  1842,  turned  their  faces  to  the  south.  The  wind 
freshened  to  a  tempest,  the  little  barque  skipped  like  a 
stormy  petrel  on  the  surface  of  the  sea,  the  crew  fell 
seasick,  and  for  thirty-six  hours  the  dauntless  captain 
stood  at  the  helm  and  steered  his  flying  ship. 

On  the  fifth  day  the  little  "  Star  "  shot  through  the 
portals  of  the  Golden  Gate,  and  just  as  the  sun  went 
down  dropped  anchor  abreast  of  the  old  Presidio. 
Not  the  Spaniards  when  they  found  the  new  world  felt 
prouder  than  the  youthful  crew  of  the  little  ship. 

"  Oregon,  Oregon,"  mused  an  officer  in  port  when 
the  little  "  Star "  touched  Yerba  Buena  the  next  day. 
"  I  '11  be  hanged  if  there 's  any  port  by  that  name  on 
any  of  our  charts." 

"Are  there  letters  for  me?"  asked  Rae,  amazed  at 
the  sight  of  the  little  craft. 

"  No  letters,"  said  Gale ;  "  they  '11  come  creeping  in 
by  and  by  on  the  '  CadboroV  This  delivery  is  a  trifle 
too  swift." 

The  boys  sold  the  little  "Star"  for  three  hundred 
and  fifty  cows.  They  trimmed  up  a  cottonwood  tree 
and  ran  up  the  stars  and  stripes.  Under  it  forty- 
two  Americans  gathered  to  emigrate  to  Oregon.  The 
next  season  the  boys  came  back,  bringing  with  their 
settlers  three  thousand  head  of  sheep,  six  hundred 
head  of  horses,  and  twelve  hundred  and  fifty  head 


"THE  STAR   OF   OREGON"  193 

of   cattle,   forever    breaking    the   stock    monopoly    in 
Oregon. 

The  little  "  Star,"  the  first  ship  ever  built  on  the 
coast,  remained  in  the  South,  where  she  ran  on  the 
Sacramento  in  the  days  of  gold.  But  Joseph  Gale 
never  parted  with  the  dear  old  flag  that  floated  from 
her  masthead.  He  made  it  into  a  canopy,  under  which 
he  slept,  and  was  buried  with  it  around  his  coffin. 


XXV 

McKINLEY  AT  WALLA  WALLA 
1841 

SOON    after  Archibald    McKinley   took    charge   at 
Walla  Walla,  a  younger  brother  of  Elijah,  ram- 
bling around   the   place,   came  upon   a  pile   of  birch 
seasoned  for  pack-saddles. 

"  Put  that  down,"  demanded  the  clerk. 

"  The  wood  is  ours,"  retorted  the  boy,  defiantly  tuck- 
ing it  under  his  blanket. 

The  clerk  stepped  out  and  struck  the  lad.  Swelling 
with  rage,  the  little  savage  fled  through  the  gate  to  his 
father's  lodge.  Archibald  McKinley  was  busily  sorting 
and  matching  furs,  when  he  caught  sight  of  the  Walla 
Walla  chieftain  and  a  dozen  warriors  filing  into  the 
court.  There  was  something  grim  in  the  old  chiefs 
lofty  look. 

"What  will  you  have  this  fine  day?"  inquired  the 
politic  trader,  advancing  and  shaking  hands. 

" Him"  roared  Yellow  Serpent,  shaking  an  ominous 
finger  at  the  clerk.  "  Big  Boston  say  '  Indian  strike 
white  man,  whip  him.  White  man  strike  Indian,  whip 
him' "  The  chief's  attendants  advanced  and  seized  the 
clerk. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  inquired  the  chief  trader. 
The  Indian  deigned  no  reply.  One  drew  out  a  lash. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  McKinley,  wheeling  through  the  door 
of  the  Indian  shop  and  returning  with  a  copper  keg  of 


McKINLEY   AT  WALLA  WALLA  195 

gunpowder.  Knocking  out  the  head  and  crossing  a  flint 
and  steel  —  "  Touch  him  and  I  '11  fire,"  said  McKinley, 
with  determined  look,  yet  trembling  with  excitement. 

Pio-pio-mox-mox  threw  up  his  hands.  His  men 
loosed  their  hold  and  fled  precipitately.  The  old  chief, 
with  eye  on  the  powder,  backed  out  after  them. 

In  that  hour  old  traditions  passed  away.  At  one 
bound  McKinley  became  a  "great  big  brave  of  the 
skookum  turn-turn"  (strong  heart). 

"  How  long,  sir,"  roared  Dr.  McLoughlin,  when  next 
the  clerk  appeared  at  Fort  Vancouver,  —  "how  long, 
sir,  do  you  suppose  we  could  hold  this  country,  with 
our  feeble  forces,  if  you  are  going  to  get  into  a  row 
with  every  boy  over  a  paltry  whip-handle  ?  " 


XXVI 

DELAWARE   TOM 
1841-5 

WHEN  the  Cayuse  Indians  dashed  on  their  fleet 
ponies  through  the  Grande  Ronde,  they  often 
noted  a  smoke  curling  on  the  Blue  Mountains,  and  said, 
"  There  is  the  lodge  of  Delaware  Tom." 

It  was  in  a  mountain  pocket,  rich  in  trout  and  beaver. 
Occasional  herds  of  elk  wandered  into  its  green  plateau, 
and  the  salmon  of  the  Columbia  ascended  into  the  little 
mountain  lake.  Here,  in  a  lodge  of  deerskin,  with  his 
Nez  Perce"  wife,  dwelt  Tom  Hill,  an  educated  Delaware 
Indian,  once  a  student  at  Dartmouth,  now  an  independ- 
ent trapper  in  the  mountains.  His  knowledge  of 
English  made  him  valuable  to  the  white  man.  For 
several  years  he  was  employed  as  an  express  between 
the  trading  posts  of  Bent,  Laramie,  and  St.  Vrain.  No 
runner  could  surpass  him,  no  obstacle  lay  in  his  way 
as  he  took  his  swift  courses  over  mountain  height 
or  foaming  rapid.  Alone,  without  a  horse  or  a  dog, 
he  first  came  to  Oregon,  into  the  Grande  Ronde  where 
the  Nez  Perec's  were  digging  camas. 

Indians  as  well  as  white  people  are  conservative  to 
strangers.  Gradually  the  Delaware  worked,  into  their 
confidence.  He  heard  that  white  men  had  penetrated 
even  here. 

"  I  know  the  white  man,"  he  said.  "  He  came  to  the 
Delawares  a  welcome  guest.  We  invited  him  to  the 


DELAWARE   TOM  197 

best  lodge,  seated  him  on  the  best  robe,  smoked  with 
him  the  calumet.  He  came  again  and  killed  off  all  our 
game.  A  third  time  he  came  and  took  our  lands.  So 
it  will  be  with  you.  We  are  but  dogs,  to  be  driven 
from  his  path.  I  have  come  step  by  step  across  from 
tribe  to  tribe  and  watched  the  Americans.  They  begin 
by  sending  missionaries,  who  say  all  men  are  brethren, 
you  must  live  in  harmony.  When  you  live  in  harmony 
then  they  want  to  buy  a  little  piece  of  land.  Then 
more  come,  and  more  and  more,  until  they  have  occu- 
pied all  the  land." 

The  Nez  Perces  began  to  be  deeply  interested  in  this 
strange  Indian  who  had  seen  so  much.  The  Cayuses 
came  around  and  the  Walla  Wallas  listened. 

"  I  am  acquainted  with  missionaries,"  said  Delaware 
Tom.  "  It  is  only  a  way  of  making  property.  There 
is  nothing  in  religion  only  to  make  money.  You  can 
see  that  Look  how  they  are  selling  everything  they 
raise  on  your  own  lands.  You  cannot  get  anything 
from  them  without  paying  for  it,  not  so  much  as  a  piece 
of  meat  when  you  are  hungry." 

The  Nez  Percys  invited  Delaware  Tom  to  go  with 
them  and  visit  Spalding's  mission  at  Lapwai.  Mr. 
Spalding  was  very  busy  attending  to  the  wants  of  his 
people  and  paid  no  attention  to  a  single  stranger.  It 
piqued  the  pride  of  Delaware  Tom. 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  if  these  were  true  men  of  God,  they 
would  supply  every  one  of  you  with  food  and  clothing. 
God  gives  you  all  things  free  of  charge.  The  Indian 
shares  his  wealth;  the  white  man  gets  it  all  for 
himself." 

They  took  him  to  visit  the  school. 

"  I  know  schools,"  said  Delaware  Tom.  "  White  men 
have  books  to  describe  great  scenes  of  the  West.  We 


198  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

have  the  scenes  themselves.  White  men  measure 
mountains.  Does  the  Indian  measure  a  mountain  that 
he  can  climb?  " 

Mr.  Spalding  had  been  explaining  the  use  of  the 
compass. 

"What  care  we  for  the  compass?"  scoffed  Delaware 
Tom.  "  We  follow  the  stars.  The  trail  leads  to  the 
hunt.  The  shores  guide  our  canoes.  The  green  leaves 
tell  us  when  it  is  spring ;  the  yellow,  when  to  pitch  our 
winter  teepees.  White  men  have  the  locomotive  — 
what  need,  when  our  own  fleet  feet  out-travel  the 
horse?  The  missionary  teaches  you  to  weave  cloth. 
Has  not  the  buffalo  spun  a  robe  for  you  ?  The  white 
man  tears  up  the  soil,  it  becomes  full  of  worms  and 
weeds.  He  makes  a  garden.  Are  not  your  meadows 
full  of  camas,  your  rivers  full  of  fish,  your  father's  hill- 
sides stocked  with  game?  Who  would  obstruct  the 
streams  with  bridges?  Does  not  the  beaver  build 
bridges  enough  for  you  ?  " 

This  talk  drove  the  Nez  Perec's  into  a  frenzy  of 
excitement.  Tom  Hill  would  gallop  down  from  the 
mountains,  talk  around  a  few  days,  then  go  back  for 
weeks  of  solitary  hunting.  He  refused  to  wear  any- 
thing made  of  cloth;  day  in  and  day  out  his  squaw 
sat  beating  the  buffalo  skin  to  make  it  soft  and  pliant 
for  the  couch  of  her  lord.  Mr.  Spalding  heard  of  the 
Delaware's  instructions  and  warned  his  people  against 
them.  But  the  Indians  looked  up  to  Tom  Hill  as  a 
mighty  tyee,  learned  in  the  secrets  of  the  white  man. 
A  few  left  the  main  tribe  and  camped  with  the  Dela- 
ware on  the  mountain.  The  Nez  Perc6  chiefs  only 
laughed,  and  went  on  cultivating  their  farms  and 
gardens. 

Mr.  Spalding  went  to  the  mountains  for  material  to 


DELAWARE  TOM  199 

build  a  mill.  The  childish  Indians  saw  him  rolling 
down  the  stones.  It  annoyed  them  that  these  inventive 
white  people  could  find  uses  for  even  the  stones  on  the 
hills. 

"  Bad,  bad,  bad,"  said  the  disciples  of  Tom  Hill. 
"  Mr.  Spalding,  we  going  to  kill  you." 

"  Oh,  no,"  carelessly  responded  the  missionary,  roll- 
ing away  at  his  stone. 

"  Yes,  we  are." 

"  Oh,  no ;  you  would  n't  do  that.  What  would  you 
gain  by  it?  If  you  do  I  have  many  friends  over  the 
mountains  who  will  come  and  destroy  you  all  and  take 
your  wives  and  children  and  horses." 

This  awful  prospect  quieted  the  discontents.  Some 
spoke  with  McKinley  at  Fort  Walla  Walla. 

"  What  say  you  ?  Shall  we  drive  these  missionaries 
away  from  our  lands?  " 

"You  are  braves,"  said  McKinley,  "and  there  are 
many  of  you.  It  would  be  easy  to  kill  two  men  and 
two  women  and  a  few  little  children.  Go  quickly  and 
do  it,  if  you  wish.  But,  remember,  if  you  do,  I  shall 
have  you  punished." 

Delaware  Tom  and  a  few  Nez  Perces  came  down  into 
the  Walla  Walla  valley  to  visit  Dr.  Whitman.  For 
a  long  time  the  doctor  had  heard  rumors  of  the  Dela- 
ware and  had  formed  an  unfavorable  impression  of 
the  supposed  renegade.  Quite  surprised,  then,  was 
he  when  an  attractive  Indian  of  prepossessing  appear- 
ance approached  him  with  excellent  English  and  in 
a  cordial  manner  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Dr. 
Whitman." 

The  black  locks  two  and  one-half  feet  long  were 
dressed  with  uncommon  care.  The  eager,  flashing  eye 
was  lit  with  intelligence.  Dr.  Whitman  had  heard  that 


200  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  Delaware  was  vain  of  his  learning  and  approached 
him  through  that  medium. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Hill,  I  am  pleased  to  welcome  you  to  our 
mission.  I  am  told  you  are  a  student  of  Dartmouth  —  a 
great  institution." 

Pleased,  flattered,  the  Indian  became  easy  and  talka- 
tive, revealing  a  surprising  acquaintance  with  the 
politics  of  Europe  and  America.  He  dwelt  on  his 
school-life,  describing  again  and  again  the  walks  and 
groves  of  Dartmouth. 

"  Why  do  you  leave  civilized  life  for  the  precarious 
life  of  the  wilderness?  "  inquired  Dr.  Whitman. 

"  For  reasons  found  in  the  nature  of  my  race," 
answered  the  Delaware.  "  Never  again  shall  I  visit 
the  States  or  any  other  part  of  the  earth  torn  and 
spoiled  by  the  slaves  of  agriculture.  The  pines  of 
the  Connecticut  look  on  an  age  of  decay.  Only  the 
Indian  is  strong  and  free.  I  shall  live  and  die  an 
Indian." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  strong  and  free?"  inquired 
the  doctor,  curious  to  investigate  this  riddle. 

"  I  mean  the  white  men  are  too  many.  Population  is 
increased  to  an  unnatural  extent.  They  crowd  one 
another.  That  necessitates  laws,  it  curtails  liberty. 
There  is  no  freedom  among  the  whites.  You  break  a 
law,  they  lock  you  in  a  jail  or  hang  you  on  a  tree. 
They  have  laws  to  punish  murder.  My  own  arrow  can 
do  it  better." 

The  Delaware  began  to  speak  of  his  own  tribe  —  a 
certain  scintillant  gleam  began  to  coruscate  in  his  eye 
as  he  dwelt  on  the  wrongs  of  his  people.  Dr.  Whitman 
wisely  cut  off  the  discussion  by  announcing  a  feast  in 
honor  of  his  guest. 

An  immense  kettle  of  mush  —  cornmeal  cooked  in 


DELAWARE  TOM  201 

tallow  —  was  set  in  the  centre  of  the  school-room.  The 
principal  chiefs  of  the  neighborhood,  Pio-pio-mox-mox, 
Five  Crows,  Tauitau,  and  Tiloukaikt  came  in  and  sat 
down  on  the  floor.  The  tallow  dips  were  lighted  and 
Mrs.  Whitman  brought  in  the  tea.  The  Indians  dipped 
in  sugar,  four,  five,  six  teaspoonfuls  to  a  cup.  They 
ate  without  a  word,  sipping  noisily,  as  Indians  do ;  now 
Dr.  Whitman  and  now  a  chief  dipping  his  big  wooden 
spoon  into  the  kettle.  Other  Indians  came  in,  until 
every  bench  in  the  school-room  was  crowded.  At  last 
the  Hawaiian  servant  carried  the  kettle  away,  and  for 
two  hours  Tom  Hill  spoke  eloquently  in  the  Cayuse 
tongue  on  the  benefits  of  education. 

"  I  like  Dr.  Whitman  better  than  Spalding,"  he  said 
to  the  Nez  Perces  on  reaching  home.  "  He  asked  me 
into  his  house  sometimes." 

But  spite  of  all,  Tom  Hill  did  the  mischief  with  the 
Cayuses.  Pointing  to  the  mission  house  — 

"  See,"  he  said,  "  big  house,  big  barn,  big  mill,  grain, 
all  out  of  Cayuse  land.  All  belongs  to  you."  Pointing 
to  their  graves  he  affectionately  asked,  "  Where  are  all 
your  principal  men  who  were  alive  when  these  pre- 
tended teachers  of  God  came  among  you  ?  Is  not  Dr. 
Whitman  a  great  medicine  to  let  your  people  die  in  that 
fashion?"  Mr.  Spalding  wrote  to  a  friend:  "  God  has 
interposed  in  a  wonderful  manner  to  prevent  this 
calumny  from  taking  effect  upon  Dr.  Whitman." 

At  a  joint  meeting  of  the  missions  the  question  was 
debated  whether  danger  from  that  source  had  not  be- 
come so  great  that  duty  required  them  to  leave.  But 
on  their  knees  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Whitman  resolved  to  com* 
mit  themselves  anew  to  the  work. 

"  God  does  not  understand  Injun  language,"  was  the 
next  report  from  the  oracle  in  the  Blue  Mountains. 


202  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

The  distressed  Nez  Perces  were  shocked.  Of  all  known 
tribes  they  were  most  inclined  to  prayer.- 

Dr.  Whitman  wrote  to  a  friend  in  the  valley :  "  The 
question  of  worship  or  no  worship  is  now  before  the 
minds  of  our  people  as  urged  by  Tom  Hill,  a  Delaware 
Indian.  I  am  in  hopes  we  can  turn  his  influence  to  the 
best  account,  not  only  in  regard  to  religion,  but  in 
regard  to  the  intercourse  of  the  whites  with  Indians,  as 
he  is  well  acquainted  with  the  border  history." 

Delaware  Tom  visited  Fort  Walla  Walla.  From  the 
corner  of  his  eye  he  scrutinized  every  lock  and  barri- 
cade. 

"  Since  these  skin  buyers  have  come  we  can  do  noth- 
ing without  their  guns  and  ammunition,"  he  said. 

The  Delaware  visited  the  Willamette  and  shook  his 
head  at  the  signs  of  white  men.  He  came  to  Fort 
Vancouver — Dr.  McLoughlin  kicked  him  from  the 
gate.  The  Delaware  picked  himself  up  and  gave  one 
look.  Dr.  McLoughlin  never  forgot  those  eyes,  — 
strange  eyes,  wonderful  eyes,  glittering,  scintillating 
with  inward  fire.  Back  in  the  Blue  Mountains  the 
Delaware  ground  his  teeth. 

"  Why  do  not  all  Indians  band  together  and  fight 
for  the  independence  of  their  native  land?  We  are 
like  the  partridge  wounded  by  the  hunter.  They  have 
given  us  guns  until  now  we  have  forgotten  the  use  of 
the  arrow.  They  alone  have  the  secret  of  gunpowder. 
Could  we  plant  the  powder  and  make  it  grow,  could 
we  gather  shot  like  pebbles  on  the  shore,  we  might  be 
free.  Now  we  are  slaves." 

Walking  nearer  and  shaking  his  finger  in  the  solemn 
faces  of  his  auditors  —  "White  men  bring  diseases. 
Look  at  the  Willamettes,  dying  year  by  year ;  yet  once, 
like  you,  they  were  brave  and  free  and  rich  and  inde- 


DELAWARE  TOM  203 

pendent.  Look  at  the  Blackfeet,  fleeing  to  the  moun- 
tains to  escape  the  contagion  of  white  men."  Slowly 
and  yet  more  solemnly  spoke  the  Delaware:  "Disease 
will  come  to  you  and  you  will  die,  and  they  will  take 
the  land.  I  have  warned  you.  Beware.  Have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  white  men.  They  scorn  us.  They  kick 
us  from  their  gates.  We  are  but  dogs." 

Again  the  Delaware  spoke :  "  They  judge  us  by  the 
border  Indian  degraded  by  the  vices  of  white  men. 
They  call  us  drunken.  Who  brought  the  fire-water? 
We  drank  from  the  rill  and  the  spring.  They  say  the 
Indian  fights.  Has  the  white  man  never  fought?  The 
savage  red  man  burns  his  enemy  at  the  stake.  Did 
the  enlightened  white  man  never  burn  his  kindred,  even 
helpless  women,  at  the  stake?  I  have  read  it." 

Some  one  ventured  to  remark,  "  Dr.  Whitman  is 
good  to  Indians."  The  Delaware  blazed.  He  leaped 
from  the  ground  and  strode  back  and  forth,  talking  and 
gesticulating  to  the  Indians  that  squatted  before  the 
camp-fire. 

"  A  white  man  good  to  the  Indian  ?  Never.  It  is 
not  in  the  race.  Do  I  not  know?  Did  they  not  come 
to  my  home  on  the  Susquehanna?  Did  not  the  white 
man  want  a  little  land  to  till  and  we  let  him  have  it? 
And  did  not  more  white  men  come,  and  more  and  more, 
until  the  Delawares  were  driven  west  and  west,  and  no 
longer  had  any  home?  Does  not  Whitman  say  this 
land  belongs  to  the  Americans?  Is  he  not  encourag- 
ing immigrants  to  come  this  way?  In  a  little  while 
they  will  come  in  a  great  tide,  and  the  poor  Indian 
may  slink  like  a  dog  away." 

The  Delaware  raised  his  hand  —  "Never  let  the 
Americans  settle  on  your  lands." 

"  NEVER,"  said  the  Cayuses,  "  never,  never." 


204  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

For  a  long  time  Tiloukaikt  had  shown  good  evidence 
of  conversion.  He  longed  for  the  beautiful  and  myste- 
rious rite  of  baptism.  But  Dr.  Whitman  put  him  off. 
"Too  many  wives,  Tiloukaikt,  too  many  wives.  God 
says  one  man,  one  wife." 

"Ugh-ugh!"  said  Tiloukaikt.  "Ugh-ugh  !  "  echoed 
the  Indians.  Then  he  went  away  and  stayed  for  weeks. 

"  He  has  talked  enough  about  your  bad  hearts," 
said  a  priest  at  Walla  Walla.  "He  ought  to  have 
baptized  you  long  ago." 

One  day  Tiloukaikt  rode  to  the  mission  on  his 
spotted  Cayuse,  opened  the  door,  walked  in,  and  sat 
down  on  the  mat  before  the  fire.  "  Well,  Tiloukaikt, 
are  you  going  to  put  away  your  wives?"  asked  Dr. 
Whitman.  The  Indian  continued  gazing  into  the  bed 
of  driftwood.  He  spread  his  taper  fingers  before  the 
blaze.  His  hands  were  smaller  and  more  shapely  than 
the  squaws'  who  dug  the  camas. 

"  Cannot  —  cannot,"  said  the  savage,  slowly  shaking 
his  head.  "One  old  wife  —  no  work  any  more,  old, 
old.  She  mother  of  sons,  tall  sons,"  gesturing  high 
above  his  head.  "I  take  care  her.  One  young  wife 
—  she  strong.  She  take  care  me.  Three  wives  — 
dig  camas,  tan  robe,  pick  berry,  pack  salmon,  take 
care  all." 

"You  can  be  married  to  one  and  take  care  of  the 
rest  until  they  find  husbands,"  suggested  Dr.  Whitman. 

"  Ugh-ugh-ugh ! "  grunted  the  old  chief,  shaking 
his  head  again  and  again.  "Much  squaw  —  much 
camas." 

"  Must  be  white  men,"  said  Five  Crows  at  the  lodge 
that  night.  "  One  wife,  wood  house,  big  plantation, 
cattle." 

Tiloukaikt  wrinkled  his  vinegar  face.     On  Sundays 


DELAWARE   TOM  205 

the  Indians  came  to  the  mission  for  ten  and  fifteen 
miles  around,  except  a  few  to  watch  the  lodges.  Some- 
times hundreds  met  after  the  buffalo  hunt.  Tiloukaikt 
stayed  away. 

"  It  was  good  when  we  knew  nothing  but  to  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep.  Now  it  is  bad,  bad,  bad,"  growled 
Tiloukaikt,  poking  around  the  hoes  and  shovels  in  the 
lodge.  "Prayers  no  bring  guns  and  blankets.  Me  no 
pray  for  nothing." 

He  kicked  every  implement  of  civilization  out  of  his 
lodge.  He  trampled  up  his  garden  in  a  rage.  He 
struck  the  bread  out  of  the  women's  hands  —  bread 
they  had  learned  to  bake  at  Mrs.  Whitman's.  "  Bad, 
bad,  bad.  Lazy  squaw,  get  kouse,  camas,  salmon," 
raising  his  frightful  double-thonged  whip,  "  Go." 

Jason  Lee  had  said,  "  My  Indians  are  so  anxious  for 
civilized  food  that  they  will  even  dig  up  potatoes  after 
they  are  planted  and  eat  them."  Tiloukaikt  kicked  the 
potatoes  into  the  river. 

The  old  chief  watched  Mrs.  Whitman  with  jealous 
eye.  "  Doct'  Whit'n,  why  you  take  you  wife  where 
you  go  ?  Why  not  go  alone  ?  See,  I  leave  my  wives, 
they  work,  pack  fish,  camas,  skins.  Why  you  treat  her 
so  like  big  chief?" 

"  It  is  good  for  her  to  go  with  me,"  said  Dr.  Whit- 
man. "  We  are  one.  Wives  are  given  us  for  com- 
panions." 

"  Ugh-ugh  !  "  growled  Tiloukaikt.  "  That  was  Adam. 
God  made  him  wife  from  rib.  These  wives  not  our  rib. 
These  not  one  with  us." 

In  a  wretched  little  hut  constructed  by  herself  a  pretty 
young  squaw  lay  dying  in  childbirth.  Dr.  Whitman 
heard  of  it,  snatched  his  surgical  case,  hastened  to  the 
spot. 


206  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Te-he-he-he,"  tittered  the  Indians.  "  Squaw-doctor ! 
squaw-doctor  !  squaw-doctor  !  Te-he-he-he  !  " 

Year  after  year  Dr.  Whitman  went  quietly  on  in  his 
work  of  mercy,  but  his  Christ-like  forbearance  seemed 
lost  upon  the  savage. 

"  Ha  knock-down  with  a  club  would  hinduce  more 
respect,"  said  Ermatinger. 

"  It  takes  time,  time,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  "  Civili- 
zation is  not  the  work  of  a  day." 

Above  his  squaw,  above  his  pony,  the  Cayuse  prized 
his  gun.  He  ornamented  the  rough  flint  from  a  Lon- 
don smithy  with  streaks  of  red  ochre  and  studded 
it  with  brass  nails.  He  slid  it  into  a  mink-skin  case 
and  slept  with  it  over  his  heart.  To  him  that  old 
gun  brought  food  and  furs  and  security  from  the 
hated  Blackfeet.  And  the  greatest  hero  in  Indian 
eyes  was  the  finest  shot.  That  youth  that  could 
bring  down  the  eagle  on  the  wing  was  in  the  line  of 
chieftainship. 

Tom  McKay  had  an  old-fashioned  rifle  heavily 
ornamented  with  silver.  Ermatinger  called  it  "  ha 
gingerbread  gun." 

When  McKay  came  up  the  Walla  Walla  with  his 
favorite  gun,  the  clans  followed  him  like  sheep.  The 
Indians  believed  he  bore  a  magic  life.  They  trusted 
and  admired  his  coolness  and  bravery.  None  but  he 
would  have  dared  to  trounce  the  impudent  chieftain  at 
the  Dalles,  none  but  Tom  could  have  killed  a  boastful 
Walla  Walla  and  escaped  the  Avenger  of  Blood.  At 
one  hundred  paces  he  could  drive  a  dozen  balls  through 
a  Spanish  dollar  or  knock  off  a  duck's  head  at  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  yards.  "  I  always  shoot  a  bear  in  the 
mouth  to  save  the  skin,"  he  said. 

Dr.  Whitman  seldom  touched  a  gun,  only  now  and 


DELAWARE   TOM  207 

then  to  shoot  a  pony  in  his  corral  for  horse-steak. 
The  grouse  and  the  gray  hare  looked  in  his  face  and 
laughed. 

"  Te-he-he-he  !  "  laughed  the  Indians.  "  Doct'  Whit'n, 
he  put  up  he  gun  so  —  shut  he  eye  so  —  go  bang. 
Poolalik  (the  rabbit)  —  nibble  —  nibble  —  nibble  just  'e 
same." 

"  Dr.  Whitman,  you  are  too  indulgent  with  your 
Indians,"  said  McKinley  at  the  fort.  "  Indians  cannot 
be  controlled  except  by  fear.  You  must  learn  to  use 
your  gun." 

"Doct'  Whit'n,"  said  Tiloukaikt,  "I  am  mad  at 
you.  Before  you  came  we  fought  each  other,  killed 
each  other,  enjoyed  it.  Before  you  came  the  spot 
where  Walla  Walla  stands  was  red  with  blood.  You 
have  taught  us  that  it  is  wrong,  and  we  have  in  a  great 
measure  ceased.  So  I  am  mad  at  you,  Doct'  Whit  'n. 
I  am  mad  at  you." 

The  young  chief  Elijah  had  shot  up  into  the  teens 
straight  as  a  fir  and  beautifully  fashioned  as  the  Apollo 
Belvedere  of  Canova.  Those  who  remember  him  best 
say  he  had  the  face  of  a  Roman,  at  times  lively  and 
laughing,  at  times  solemn,  even  sad.  When  he  looked 
upon  the  scrofula-smitten  children  of  the  Willamette  his 
dark,  luminous  eyes  spoke  volumes.  As  a  lad  he  played 
among  them  in  his  embroidered  tunic  of  deerskin  and 
his  little  band  of  eagle  plumes.  His  small,  swift  feet 
outsped  them  in  the  race,  his  shapely  hands  outshot 
them  with  the  bow.  "  He  is  very  bright,"  they  said  at 
the  mission.  Sometimes  the  boy  boasted  :  "  My  father 
and  my  father's  father  were  chiefs.  My  mother  is  a 
sister  of  chiefs,  and  I  am  a  chief." 

At  seventeen,  in  his  war-cap  of  eagle  feathers  and  his 
robe  wrought  in  porcupine,  the  young  chief  Elijah  was 


ao8  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

every  inch  an  Indian  king.  Already  he  had  been  sent 
to  Spirit  Hill  in  the  Grande  Ronde  to  learn  his  destiny ; 
already  he  led  the  braves  in  the  buffalo  hunt. 

In  October  the  Walla  Walla-Cayuses  came  home 
from  the  summer  hunt  laden  with  spoils  of  buffalo-beef 
and  hides.  The  nights  were  cold  and  the  driftwood 
fires  blazed  merrily. 

Walking  there  in  the  soft  twilight  with  the  hum  of 
the  lighted  lodges  around  him,  Elijah  heard  the  gossip 
of  the  Indian  village.  Here  it  was  the  whisper  about 
his  uncle,  Five  Crows,  who  wanted  a  white  wife.  A 
year  ago  he  had  asked  the  missionaries  for  one ;  he  had 
been  down  to  Vancouver  to  negotiate,  and  at  last  dis- 
missing his  five  present  wives  he  had  gone  in  great 
state  of  fine  horses  and  blankets  to  Fort  Walla  Walla  to 
propose  to  Chief  Factor  Pambrun  for  the  hand  of  the 
lovely  Maria.  To  his  astonishment,  the  suit  was  re- 
jected with  a  kick,  and  the  discomfited  chief  returned 
home  and  married  a  Modoc  slave  to  the  great  scandal 
of  the  tribe. 

Here  the  talk  was  of  some  trouble  at  the  mission. 
The  Cayuse  horses  had  broken  into  the  mission  field 
and  damaged  the  growing  grain.  When  Dr.  Whitman 
reproved  the  Indians,  Tiloukaikt  said :  "  It  is  not  your 
grain,  it  is  ours.  The  land  is  all  ours,  and  the  water 
and  the  fuel." 

One  threw  mud  on  him  and  pulled  his  ears,  one 
snapped  a  gun  at  him,  and  another  aimed  an  axe  that 
the  doctor  dodged. 

"  What  Indians  did  that?  "  demanded  Elijah,  turning 
sharply. 

"  The  ones  that  talk  so  much  with  Delaware  Tom," 
was  the  answer. 

"  And  did  not  Dr.  Whitman  punish  them?  " 


DELAWARE   TOM  209 

"  No,  but  Mr.  McKinley  heard  of  it  and  made  them 
beg  his  pardon." 

Elijah  passed  on  frowning.  "That  renegade  Dela- 
ware will  get  us  into  trouble  yet.  I  wish  he  would  go 
back  to  his  own  people.  Why  need  we  fear  the  whites? 
Is  not  my  father  a  very  great  chief?  " 


XXVII 

THE  HUDSON'S  BAY  COMPANY  IN 
CALIFORNIA 

1841 

TN  wintry  mist  and  flying  cloud,  Dr.  McLoughlin  and 
•*•  Sir  George  Simpson,  on  board  the  Hudson's  Bay 
barque  "  Cowlitz,"  dropped  down  the  Columbia  on  the 
way  to  California,  and  with  them  went  Eloise  Rae  to 
her  husband.  Following  the  swells  toward  the  whitened 
strand,  the  ship  entered  the  Golden  Gate,  still  quiet  in 
the  age  before  commerce  discovered  that  auriferous 
highway.  The  little  square  Presidio,  with  its  Mexican 
flag,  was  fast  asleep.  Horses  and  cattle  dotted  the  hills 
around  the  bay.  There  was  a  handful  of  houses  at 
Yerba  Buena  cove,  and,  yes,  there  was  Rae,  glass  in 
hand,  watching  for  the  ship  to  bring  his  bride.  It  was 
on  the  last  day  of  1841  that  Dr.  McLoughlin,  Sir 
George,  and  Eloise  landed  on  the  sand-dunes  where  in 
a  few  short  years  should  rise  the  magic  city  of  San 
Francisco. 

The  New  Year's  holiday  was  quietly  spent,  then  fol- 
lowed diplomatic  visits  to  the  Spanish  grandees.  It 
was  a  radiant  morning  when  they  set  out  across  the 
bay  to  Sonoma,  the  home  of  General  Mariano  Guada- 
lupe  Vallejo,  the  Prince  of  Northern  California. 

"  Their  castanets  do  not  click  together,"  the  Span- 
iards said  of  Sutter  and  Vallejo.  But  they  were  far 
enough  apart.  In  California,  as  in  Oregon,  these  old 


HUDSON'S  BAY   COMPANY   IN   CALIFORNIA    211 

feudal  chieftains  counted  their  land  by  leagues  instead 
of  sections.  Before  1836  Vallejo  had  been  comman- 
dant at  Sonoma,  where  the  old  mission  stood.  Now, 
since  the  confiscation  of  missions  Sonoma  belonged 
to  Vallejo  as  chief  of  the  colonial  army.  It  was  his 
strong  arm,  more  than  anything  else,  that  had  seated 
his  nephew,  Alvarado,  in  the  governor's  chair  at 
Monterey. 

Vallejo's  house  was  the  finest  on  the  coast.  Eight 
thousand  cattle  bore  his  brand  on  the  hills ;  his  leagues 
of  wheat  yielded  eight  hundred  fanegas  for  every  eight 
sown.  Indian  serfs  without  number  tilled  his  lands 
and  toiled  in  his  house. 

Vallejo  sent  mounted  horsemen  to  bring  in  his 
guests.  As  Dr.  McLoughlin,  Sir  George,  and  Rae  and 
Eloise  galloped  under  the  arched  gateway,  his  retainers 
fired  a  salute  under  the  Spanish  flag.  Vallejo's  young 
brother,  Don  Salvador,  led  the  way  in  jingling  spurs 
and  serape.  The  handsome  general  came  out  in  his 
dark-blue  broadcloth  cloak,  the  senora  bowed  in  her 
silken  gown  and  spangled  satin  shoes,  and  a  star  like  a 
coronet  in  her  hair. 

Everything  had  an  old-world  air,  —  gilded  mirrors, 
square  old  Spanish  sofas,  even  the  spindle-legged 
pianoforte,  the  only  one  in  California.  The  carpets 
were  made  by  Indians  of  Mexico.  Vallejo,  and  his 
nephew,  Alvarado,  had  collected  the  only  libraries  west 
of  the  Rockies.  The  senora  sparkled  at  dinner,  and 
the  senora's  charming  daughters.  Indian  servants  sped 
to  and  fro  with  frijoles  and  tortillas,  olives,  stewed  beef 
with  red  pepper,  and  onions  and  native  wines. 

General  Vallejo,  of  old  Castilian  stock,  born  in  Cali- 
fornia, foresaw  the  building  of  a  great  commonwealth. 
All  the  world  knew  that  Spanish  rule  was  trembling  in 


212  McLOUGHLIN  AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  balance.  To  Vallejo's  feet  France,  Russia,  England 
sent  suitors,  as  if  in  his  hand  lay  the  •  disposal  of  this 
fair  Pacific  province. 

Naturally  the  conversation  turned  on  the  future  of 
the  country,  its  independence  of  Mexico,  whether 
feasible,  and  could  it  be  maintained  by  the  few  whites 
then  in  California,  the  idea  of  a  French  protectorate, 
the  extension  of  the  Russian  claims  to  this  free  and 
lovely  land,  and  Sir  George's  suggestion  in  a  quiet 
way  that  England  could  make  it  to  Vallejo's  advantage 
to  favor  the  queen.  Vallejo  was  used  to  this  —  had  he 
not  a  hand  full  of  propositions?  With  due  Spanish 
etiquette  he  listened  to  all,  entertained  all,  drew  out 
the  various  phases  of  advantage,  yet  held  himself 
uncompromised. 

Evening  brought  on  the  fandango.  Don  Salvador 
and  his  troopers  played  the  guitar,  the  Alcalde  paddled 
over  the  bay  with  the  fierce,  fat  little  commandant  of 
the  Presidio,  round  as  an  apple  dumpling.  One  or 
two  padres,  not  loath  to  taste  the  general's  wine, 
dropped  in  on  their  way  to  San  Dolores.  The  people 
at  Vancouver  were  dancers,  but  even  they  had  never 
seemed  to  so  melt  into  the  liquid  poetry  of  Terpsichore 
as  did  these  sinuous  Spaniards. 

"  Let  this  not  be  the  last  of  your  visits,"  said  General 
Vallejo,  as  his  guests  departed  after  a  round  of  festivity. 
"  When  these  pretty  senoritas  are  married  there  will  be 
whole  weeks  of  fandango  and  bull-fights,  and  no  end  of 
drinking  sweet  wines."  In  truth,  the  California  days 
promised  to  be  far  from  depressing. 

A  few  days  later  Eloise  sat  in  the  Hudson's  Bay 
House  at  Yerba  Buena,  when  a  jingling  cavalier  rode 
up  to  the  door.  He  seemed  a  typical  Spaniard,  in 
broad-brimmed  sombrero,  with  silken  cord  and  tassel, 


HUDSON'S   BAY   COMPANY  IN   CALIFORNIA     213 

profusions  of  lace  and  embroidery  and  buttons,  and 
pantaloons  split  on  the  side  and  laced  to  the  ankle.  A 
long  sword  was  thrust  into  the  right  boot  of  untanned 
deerskin,  a  silken  sash  drooped  at  the  side.  Eloise 
looked  for  the  fierce  mustachios  and  piercing  eyes  of  a 
Spaniard,  and  beheld  —  Ermatinger  ! 

With  lifted  sombrero  and  laughing  face  he  called, 
"Are  Sir  George  and  the  doctor  here?" 

"  They  sailed  five  days  ago  for  Monterey,  sir,"  an- 
swered Eloise. 

"And  Rae?" 

"  Is  with  them.     Where  is  your  brigade?"  she  asked. 

"  Camped  with  La  Framboise  beside  the  old  mis- 
sion,"  and  with  a  jingle  he  was  gone,  galloping  down 
the  trail  to  Monterey. 

It  was  the  work  of  a  moment  for  Eloise  and  her 
maids  to  saddle,  and  set  out  for  the  first  time  to  meet 
the  California  brigade  from  the  other  end  of  the  route. 
They  heard  the  Spanish  women  singing  and  thrumming 
guitars  in  the  whitewashed  adobes  on  the  scattered 
farms.  Now  and  then  they  passed  a  gilded  and  painted 
horseman,  in  steeple-crowned  sombrero  and  fiery  ser- 
ape,  flying  to  the  race-track.  Eloise  hastened  on  over 
the  sandy  hills  covered  with  dwarf  oak  and  strawberry 
trees,  past  San  Dolores  walled  in  with  skulls  of  slaugh- 
tered cattle,  scarce  noting  the  mouldering  pile  where  once 
the  Indian  converts  carded  wool,  and  wove  blankets  and 
cloth  with  home-made  looms.  A  few  Indians  lingered, 
still  chanting  canticles  traced  by  the  early  fathers  in 
the  great  choir  books  of  sheepskin.  She  scarce  noted 
the  narrow  windows  deep  set  in  the  wall,  or  the  gaping 
roofs  whence  the  lazy  Californians  had  stolen  the  tiles 
for  their  farmhouses  on  the  bay.  Her  heart  thrilled  as 
children's  will  when  all  at  once  the  full  brigade  burst 


214  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

into  view,  —  La  Framboise  in  his  Hudson's  Bay  buttons, 
Angelique  as  of  old  on  her  beaded  palfrey,  and  all  the 
long  line  of  bearded  men  and  butternut-colored  belles 
like  some  far  caravan  on  Arabian  hills.  Around  the 
camp,  fisher,  beaver,  and  marten  were  stretched  to  dry, 
and  through  the  door  of  a  gypsy  tent  she  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Catharine  Ermatinger  lying  on  a  couch  of 
skins. 

"  Where  have  they  all  been  to-day  ? "  asked  Eloise. 

"  On  dress  parade  to  Sonoma,"  she  said. 

So  much  they  had  to  tell. 

"  Yes,  my  husband  saw  Captain  Sutter  and  he  is  very 
angry,"  said  Catharine.  "  He  and  the  Americans  think 
Sir  George  and  Dr.  McLoughlin  are  down  here  not  only 
to  monopolize  the  trade  but  to  get  possession  of  Cali- 
fornia. Do  you  know  that  Captain  Sutter  has  bought 
the  Russian  post  at  Bodega  Bay  for  $30,000?"  added 
Catharine. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Eloise,  "  the  Russians  offered  that 
to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  when  we  were  at  Sitka 
and  Douglas  thought  the  price  too  high." 

"  Money  is  no  obstacle  to  Captain  Sutter,"  said 
Catharine.  "  He  has  bought  the  post  and  hauled  its 
cannon  down' to  his  fort  on  the  Sacramento." 

"  Catharine,  are  you  not  afraid  here?  "  asked  Eloise. 

"Why  should  I  be,  with  our  people  all  around?  " 

"  Because,"  answered  Eloise,  "  they  told  us  at  So- 
noma the  mountains  are  full  of  banditti.  When  the 
missions  broke  up  some  of  the  Indian  converts  became 
servants,  but  the  bolder  ones  fled  to  the  mountains. 
They  hate  their  Spanish  oppressors  and  come  down  to 
steal  their  horses  and  cattle.  Once  they  tried  to  kid- 
nap Senora  Vallejo's  beautiful  sister,  but  she  was  res- 
cued. Now  the  Spanish  lancers  go  out,  and  when  they 


HUDSON'S  BAY  COMPANY   IN   CALIFORNIA     215 

come  to  a  strange  village  they  spear  down  men,  women, 
and  children.  I  have  heard  them  tell  it." 

Catharine  shuddered. 

"  The  Spaniards  hunt  them  like  cattle,"  continued 
Eloise.  "  The  story  is  told  that  one  governor  drilled 
a  company  of  Indians  as  soldiers ;  they  became  so  pro- 
ficient the  governor  became  alarmed  and  ordered  them 
all  to  be  shot !  " 

"  It  is  not  strange  these  California  Indians  have  that 
hunted,  haunted  look.  Whenever  we  approach  they 
flee  away  and  hide,"  said  Catharine,  thinking  of  the 
flitting  shadows  of  the  Shasta  route. 

"  England  has  no  rival  on  this  coast  but  the  Rus- 
sians," said  Sir  George  as  he  sailed  to  Monterey. 
"Now  Mexico  owes  to  British  subjects  a  debt  of  more 
than  fifty  millions  of  dollars.  By  assuming  a  share  of 
this  debt  on  condition  of  being  put  in  possession  of 
California  —  " 

Sir  George  looked  what  he  did  not  say.  Dr. 
McLoughlin  was  silent.  He  too  had  his  dreams. 

Again  the  warders  of  the  old  Spanish  castle  at 
Monterey  looked  out  and  saw  a  Hudson's  Bay  barque 
approaching  the  shore. 

Governor  Alvarado,  "  grown  in  four  years  from  a  thin 
and  spare  conspirator  into  a  plump  and  punchy  lover 
of  singing,  dancing,  and  feasting,"  as  Sir  George  ex- 
pressed it,  also  beheld  them  from  his  balcony.  The  "  A 
Dios !  "  of  Douglas  still  rang  in  his  ear,  but  the  doub- 
loons had  long  since  gone  from  his  pockets. 

Whatever  Monterey  could  afford  was  shown  to  the 
doctor  and  Rae  and  Sir  George.  Whatever  trade  was 
suggested  was  welcomed,  but  State  affairs  —  Alvarado 


2i6  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

was  silent.  He  was  jealous  of  his  own  seat  at  the 
head  of  Spanish  power;  he  was  even  jealous  of  his 
Uncle  Vallejo  at  Sonoma,  with  whom  he  divided  the 
province. 

"  Monterey  is  the  kitchen  to  Santa  Barbara's  parlor," 
said  Sir  George,  after  they  doubled  Point  Conception 
and  landed  at  the  latter  village.  Evidently  Sir  George 
was  not  satisfied  with  Alvarado.  They  were  enchanted 
with  the  lovely  dons  and  donas  of  Santa  Barbara,  rich, 
even  in  that  day,  in  linen  and  lace  and  damask  and 
satin.  At  the  Spanish  mission  they  were  served  by  a 
middle-aged  nun  in  black. 

"  Dona  Conception,  a  famous  lady  hereabouts,"  said 
the  padres,  as  she  passed  from  the  room  with  a  plate 
of  cakes. 

"What!  Dona  Conception  who  would  have  been 
the  bride  of  Baron  von  Resanoff?  "  asked  Sir  George, 
who  had  just  been  to  Sitka. 

"  The  same,"  said  the  padres.  "  He  never  came,  so 
she  devotes  herself  to  the  instruction  of  the  young  and 
the  consolation  of  the  sick." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Sir  George.  "  Is  she  not  aware 
that  Von  Resanoff  is  dead?  " 

"  Dead  ? "  shrieked  the  nun  in  black  at  the  open 
door. 

"  Yes,  my  lady,  he  fell  from  his  horse  and  was  killed 
at  Krasnoyarsk  on  his  road  to  Europe  more  than  thirty- 
five  years  ago." 

And  the  nun  who  had  mourned  her  lover  for  thirty- 
five  years  went  away  and  wept  in  a  cell  of  the  mission 
at  Santa  Barbara. 

Rae  returned  with  Ermatinger  to  Yerba  Buena.  The 
doctor  and  Sir  George  sailed  away  to  interview  the  king 
of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  Kamehameha  III.  made  the 


HUDSON'S  BAY   COMPANY   IN    CALIFORNIA     217 

same  promises  he  had  given  to  Jason  Lee,  and  pre- 
sented Sir  George  with  a  feather  mantle  for  Lady 
Simpson.  Dr.  McLoughlin  returned  to  the  Columbia, 
and  Sir  George  went  on  across  Siberia  in  his  journey 
around  the  world. 


XXVIII 

THE  FIRST  IMMIGRANTS 
1842 

TT  was  September,  1842.  Dr.  Whitman  was  talking 
•*•  Cayuse  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  directing  his  Indians, 
when  he  caught  sight  of  a  small  pack-train.  "  'T  is 
early  for  the  Shoshonie  brigade."  Shading  his  eyes  to 
scan  more  closely  —  "  No,  there  's  not  a  red  belt  nor  a 
Canadian  cap  among  them.  They  are  not  trappers. 
They  are  not  Indians." 

"  Why,  Marcus,  see  those  women !  They  must  be 
immigrants !  "  cried  Mrs.  Whitman  at  the  door.  With 
three  bounds  Dr.  Whitman  cleared  garden,  field,  and 
irrigating  ditch.  Mrs.  Whitman  flew  to  greet  these 
women  who  had  followed  her  to  the  farthest  West. 
Fifty  men,  a  dozen  women,  with  children  in  their  arms, 
sat  upon  their  jaded  horses. 

"Where  are  your  wagons?"  was  Dr.  Whitman's  first 
inquiry. 

"  Broke  them  up  for  pack-saddles  on  Green  River. 
The  rest  are  at  Fort  Hall.  The  Hudson's  Bay  agent 
told  us  no  wagon  could  cross  the  Blue  Mountains." 

"  Left  your  wagons?  All  a  mistake,  all  a  mistake. 
Come  in,  come  in,"  said  Dr.  Whitman,  hurriedly,  help- 
ing the  women  down.  "  Any  accidents  by  the  way?  " 

"None,  barring  that  our  two  lawyers  here  were 
captured  by  the  Indians  and  we  had  to  buy  them  back 


THE   FIRST   IMMIGRANTS  219 

again  with  tobacco.  The  rest  of  us  were  sharp  enough 
to  keep  out  of  their  clutches."  Everybody  laughed  at 
the  expense  of  the  lawyers. 

"Hasten,  Sticcas;  bring  corn  and  flour  for  these 
people."  The  obedient  Cayuse  started  for  the  mill. 

"Roll  up  some  melons,  Aps."  The  Walla  Walla 
backed  into  the  melon-patch,  his  eye  still  on  the  doctor 
helping  down  the  women.  This  deference  was  a  strange 
mystery;  Indian  women  bundled  off  alone. 

Mrs.  Whitman  escorted  them  to  the  house.  How 
gladly  their  tired  eyes  took  in  the  poppy  garden  and 
the  curtained  windows.  "A  house!  a  house!  How 
good  it  is  to  see  a  house !  "  they  cried,  wiping  away  an 
involuntary  tear.  "  We  have  lived  so  long  in  tents  we 
have  almost  forgotten  what  homes  are  like."  They 
glanced  from  room  to  room,  —  Indian  matting,  hand- 
made chairs,  a  table  covered  with  white  — "  Can  we 
ever  realize  the  preciousness  of  home  again ! " 

Dr.  Whitman  called,  "  Bring  bread,  Narcissa.  The 
men  will  camp  in  the  field."  Mrs.  Whitman  gathered 
up  the  loaves  of  a  fresh  baking,  the  first  bread  the 
travellers  had  seen  since  leaving  Fort  Laramie  on  the 
Platte.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Whitman's  pantry  was  swept. 
Her  hoarded  jars  of  yellow  butter  went  with  the  rest, 
and  Dr.  McLoughlin's  latest  gift  of  apples,  and  the 
pickled  tongues  from  Colvile  —  nothing  was  too  good 
for  the  doctor's  fellow-countrymen.  Some  one  sug- 
gested pay. 

"Pay?"  echoed  the  doctor.  "This  is  not  an  inn. 
You  are  my  guests  to-day."  Dr.  Whitman  was  all  in  a 
fever.  "What  of  immigrants?"  he  asked. 

"They  are  talking  of  Oregon  all  along  the  border," 
answered  one.  "  These  came  this  year,  more  will  try  it 
next,"  said  another. 


220          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Ever  since  the  Red  River  immigration  Dr.  Whitman 
had  been  uneasy.  At  a  glance  he  had  'penetrated  Sir 
George's  design  in  the  English  race  for  occupation. 

"What  is  Congress  doing?  Is  the  boundary  set- 
tled? Will  government  extend  its  arm  over  us  soon?" 
These  and  a  thousand  other  queries  fell  from  the  lips 
of  the  energetic  doctor.  "  Oregon  don't  count  in  poli- 
tics so  long's  the  nigger  question's  on  the  boards," 
answered  one  of  the  lawyers.  "  I  believe  Webster  was 
talking  of  trading  it  for  a  codfishery  when  we  left,"  he 
added  by  way  of  a  joke. 

Oregon  was  no  joke  to  Dr.  Whitman.  Setting  his 
lips  firmly  and  looking  the  speaker  in  the  eye  —  "  Do 
you  think  it  possible  for  me  to  cross  the  mountains  at 
this  time  of  year,  Mr.  Lovejoy?  " 

"  I  think  you  can  if  you  start  immediately,"  replied 
the  lawyer. 

Again  that  studied,  anxious  look  that  had  led  Mrs. 
Whitman  so  often  to  say,  "  Marcus,  you  are  a  bundle  of 
thoughts."  He  spoke  again:  "You  see,  Mr.  Lovejoy, 
I  have  adopted  Oregon  as  my  country,  the  Indians  as 
my  field  of  labor.  But  there  will  be  a  great  immigra- 
tion next  year.  Some  one  must  superintend  it.  There 
can  never  be  any  great  influx  of  settlers  to  this  country 
until  they  learn  to  bring  their  wagons.  Such  a  wagon 
train,  safely  carried  through,  will  lay  the  foundation  for 
speedy  settlement.  If  it  fails,  it  will  discourage  any 
further  attempt  for  years  to  come.  Meanwhile,  Ore- 
gon will  be  lost.  My  idea  is  to  go  back,  meet  these 
immigrants,  pilot  them  through,  and,  if  possible,  go  to 
Washington  and  present  the  needs  of  a  military  road 
across  the  continent.  In  that  matter  you  could  be  of 
great  help  to  me.  Will  you  accompany  me?  " 

The  question  was  unexpected ;  the  lawyer  requested 


THE   FIRST   IMMIGRANTS  221 

time.  The  next  day  he  brought  his  decision,  —  "  I  will 
accompany  you."  Aged  men,  yet  living  (1899),  say 
that  in  answer  to  their  responses  concerning  Congress, 
he  kept  saying,  as  if  talking  to  himself,  "I'll  do  it; 
I'll  go,  I'll  go  to  Washington." 

This  was  no  sudden  impulse.  "  This  vast  and  fertile 
country  belongs  to  us,"  Dr.  Whitman  was  wont  to  say. 
"  Congress  had  delayed  too  long,  while  England  gains 
a  foothold.  Bring  in  people,  build  houses,  plough  up 
the  soil,  and  Oregon  is  ours." 

There  was  another  reason  for  going.  A  letter  had 
been  brought  from  the  American  Board  at  Boston: 
"  The  Indians  are  so  intractable  that  we  have  decided 
to  discontinue  the  mission." 

"  Discontinue  the  mission !  "  That  would  be  taking 
the  heart  out  of  Dr.  Whitman.  "  Have  I  toiled  here 
six  years  to  abandon  the  field  at  last?  It  must  not  be. 
Why,  these  Indians  have  their  little  farms  in  every 
direction,  and  are  every  year  extending  them  farther. 
Is  that  nothing  in  six  years?  Suppose  they  are  unruly 
at  times, — what  else  can  be  expected  of  wild,  untamed 
Cayuses?  Men  are  not  civilized  in  a  day.  And  is 
not  this  on  the  highway  of  all  future  immigration? 
The  very  gateway  and  the  key?" 

An  Indian  courier  flew  over  the  hills  to  Lapwai,  an- 
other to  Tschimikain,  near  the  present  Spokane,  where 
Walker  and  Eells  had  built  a  station.  In  the  little 
library  at  Whitman's  they  met  for  consultation.  In 
an  agony  of  grief  Mrs.  Whitman  begged  their  inter- 
vention. Even  imperious  little  Helen  Mar  stamped 
and  cried. 

"  You  must  not  go,"  said  Spalding. 

"No  man  can  live  upon  the  plains  in  winter,"  said 
Walker. 


222  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  You  will  be  lost  in  the  mountains ;  you  will  perish 
in  the  snows,"  said  Eells. 

"  My  first  duty  is  to  my  country.  I  am  not  expa- 
triated by  becoming  a  missionary,"  said  Whitman, 
rising  before  them. 

"  Doctor,  Doctor,  it  is  madness.  Even  the  trappers 
remain  in  camp  until  the  snows  are  gone.  Think  of 
the  famished  wolves  on  that  wintry  waste ;  think  of  the 
frozen  streams,  the  lack  of  food,  the  howling  storms, 
the  hostile  tribes  that  will  cut  you  off.  Doctor,  three 
thousand  miles  —  " 

"  Say  no  more,"  cried  the  hero  of  that  winter  ride, 
closing  his  eyes  and  shaking  his  hand  at  the  speaker. 
"  I  am  ready,  not  to  be  bound  only,  but  to  die  at  Jeru- 
salem, or  in  the  snows  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  for  the 
name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  or  my  country.  I  must  go, 
even  if  I  sever  with  the  mission." 

Who  could  stand  against  the  will  of  Whitman !  He 
bore  down  every  objection,  just  as  six  years  before  he 
bore  down  every  objection  to  his  coming  on  a  mission 
to  the  Indians.  Through  her  tears  Narcissa  Whitman 
smiled.  "  He  is  right.  He  is  right.  Let  him  go,"  she 
said.  Reluctantly,  seeing  that  he  would  go  anyway, 
they  gave  consent.  Like  Samson  of  old,  he  snapped 
the  withes  that  bound  him  and  passed  from  their 
control. 

"  It  will  never  do  to  let  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
know  what  I  am  after,"  said  Whitman  in  a  lower  tone, 
as  if  the  very  walls  might  hear  and  tell  the  message. 
"  Delegate  me  to  Boston.  I  '11  take  care  of  the  rest." 

There  was  a  day  of  hurried  preparation.  There  was 
a  ride  to  Fort  Walla  Walla  to  purchase  certain  neces- 
saries. "  I  am  going  to  Boston  on  business,  Mr. 
McKinley.  I  would  like  to  leave  my  wife  in  your 


THE   FIRST  IMMIGRANTS  223 

care.  I  have  sent  to  the  Willamette  for  Mr.  Geiger  to 
assist  in  the  mission.  He  will  be  here  shortly." 

A  wish  from  Dr.  Whitman  was  a  command  with  the 
chief  factor.  The  warmest  friendship  subsisted  between 
the  two.  His  young  wife,  Sarah  Julia,  had  become  Mrs. 
Whitman's  most  intimate  friend,  neighbor,  and  pupil. 

There  was  little  sleep  that  night  at  Waiilatpu.  With 
tears  silently  falling  Mrs.  Whitman  put  the  last  stitch  in 
the  buckskin  garments.  The  food,  the  axe,  the  rifle,  the 
medicine,  horses,  —  all  were  ready.  Spalding  and  the 
rest  had  departed  for  their  stations. 

"  The  board  may  dismiss  me,  but  I  shall  do  what  I 
can  to  save  Oregon  to  my  country,"  was  Dr.  Whitman's 
parting  word. 

With  a  single  companion,  Lovejoy,  the  lawyer,  the 
intrepid  doctor  undertook  a  journey  that  well  might 
daunt  a  less  courageous  heart. 

What  apprehensions  surged  through  the  soul  of  Mrs. 
Whitman  as  she  turned  from  the  farewell  at  the  gate ! 
She  heard  the  hoof-beats  die  on  the  sod  —  the  riders 
melted  into  the  tawny  shadow  of  the  grass.  She  re- 
entered  the  lonely  home;  she  paced  from  room  to 
room.  "Why  do  you  cry?"  said  Mary  Ann  Bridger. 
"Will  father  be  home  to-morrow?  "  said  Helen  Mar. 

Dr.  Whitman  set  out  on  his  famous  ride  October  3, 
1842.  In  eleven  days  he  reached  Fort  Hall.  The 
Indians  were  returning  from  buffalo-hunting.  Once, 
twice,  thrice,  the  doctor  sent  letters  to  his  wife.  Each 
day  she  wrote  a  line  to  him,  hoping  for  an  opportunity 
to  send  it.  Let  us  make  a  few  extracts: 

Oct.  4,  1842.  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND, — The  line  you  sent  me 
to-day  by  Aps  did  me  great  good.  .  .  .  Night  and  day  shall 
my  prayers  ascend  in  your  behalf,  and  the  cause  in  which 


224  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

you  have  sacrificed  the  endearments  of  home  at  the  risk  of 
your  life. 

Oct.  5.  In  arranging  the  cupboard  to-day  I  found  that 
you  had  not  taken  the  compass  as  you  had  designed.  .  .  . 

7/$.  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND,  —  I  got  dreadfully  frightened  last 
night.  About  midnight  I  was  awakened  by  some  one  trying 
to  open  my  bedroom  door.  I  raised  my  head  and  listened 
awhile.  Soon  the  latch  was  raised,  and  the  door  opened  a 
little.  I  sprang  from  bed  and  closed  the  door  again,  but  the 
ruffian  pushed,  and  I  pushed  and  tried  to  latch  it,  but  could 
not.  Finally  he  gained  upon  me  until  he  opened  the  door 
again,  and,  as  I  supposed,  disengaged  his  blanket  (at  the  same 
time  I  calling  John)  and  ran  as  for  his  life.  The  east  dining- 
room  door  was  open.  I  thought  it  was  locked.  I  fastened 
the  door,  lit  a  candle,  and  went  to  bed,  trembling  and  cold, 
but  could  not  rest  until  I  had  called  John,  the  Hawaiian  ser- 
vant, to  bring  his  bed  and  sleep  in  the  kitchen.  Had  he,  the 
intruder,  persisted  I  do  not  know  what  I  should  have  done.  I 
did  not  think  of  the  war-club,  but  I  thought  of  the  poker. 

Chief  Trader  McKinley,  at  Walla  Walla,  heard  of  the 
attempt  to  break  into  Mrs.  Whitman's  room.  Without 
delay  he  sent  a  runner  saying,  "  Come  to  us.  We  will 
fix  you  a  comfortable  room.  It  is  not  safe  for  a  woman 
to  be  there  alone." 

Oct.  12.  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND,  —  I  am  now  at  Walla  Walla. 
I  could  not  refuse,  as  Mr.  McKinley  came  on  purpose  to  take 
me  in  the  wagon.  The  Indians  did  not  like  my  leaving  very 
well,  seemed  to  regret  the  cause.  I  felt  strongly  to  prefer  to 
stay  there  if  it  could  be  considered  prudent. 

Oct.  22.  MY  DEAR  HUSBAND,  — The  word  is  given  that  the 
Express  is  arriving,  and  I  hasten  to  write  you  my  farewell, 
praying  earnestly  that  we  may  be  permitted  to  meet  again  and 
spend  many  years  together.  .  .  .  Indeed,  much  as  I  shall,  and 


THE   FIRST   IMMIGRANTS  225 

do,  want  to  see  you,  I  prefer  that  you  stay  just  as  long  as  it  is 
necessary  to  accomplish  all  your  heart's  desire  respecting  the 
interests  of  this  country,  so  dear  to  us  both  —  our  home. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  sent  me  a  keg  of  fresh  apples  from  Fort 
Vancouver,  and  ever  since  we  have  been  enjoying  apple  pies. 

The  Indians  that  met  you  beyond  Grande  Ronde  appeared 
very  happy  to  say  they  had  seen  you,  and  to  hear  something 
about  your  plans  for  returning,  from  yourself.  Sticcas  really 
mourns  about  you,  that  he  did  not  come  and  see  you  before 
you  left.  I  believe  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  them  to  see  me 
left  behind.  They  tell  me  they  are  waiting  to  see  where  I 
go,  before  they  decide  where  to  go  for  the  winter. 

Almost  three  long  weeks  have  passed  since  we  exchanged 
the  parting  kiss,  and  many,  many  long  weeks  are  yet  to  come 
before  we  shall  be  permitted,  if  ever,  in  this  world,  to  greet 
each  other  again.  ...  I  follow  you  night  and  day,  and  shall 
through  the  whole  journey,  in  my  imagination  and  my  prayers. 
My  heart  is  as  your  heart  in  this  matter.  I  confidently 
believe  you  will  be  blessed  in  the  object  of  your  visit  to  the 
States. 

Read  this  letter,  my  husband,  and  then  give  it  to  my 
mother.  Perhaps  she  would  like  once  more  to  take  a  peep 
into  one  of  the  secret  chambers  of  her  daughter's  heart.  .  .  . 

NARCISSA. 

Even  while  Mrs.  Whitman  was  writing,  the  Cayuses 
were  fishing  in  the  Walla  Walla.  Dr.  Whitman  had 
just  thrashed,  and  the  straw  lay  in  a  pile  by  the  mill. 
They  built  a  fire  to  roast  their  fish.  That  night,  while 
the  careless  Cayuses  slept,  the  sparks  crept  from  straw 
to  straw  until  they  reached  the  pile.  At  midnight  the 
flames  of  the  burning  mill  cast  a  lurid  glare  on  the  walls 
of  Whitman  mission. 

It  was  enough.  "  I  dare  not  go  back,"  she  said. 
The  Methodist  mission  sent  an  invitation  for  Mrs. 

'5 


226  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Whitman  to  come  down  to  the  Dalles,  so,  when  the 
Montreal  express  came  singing  by,  she-  embarked  with 
a  heavy  heart,  full  of  foreboding. 

The  weather-beaten  voyageurs  recognized  the  prima 
donna  of  Fort  Vancouver.  They  heard  the  story  of  her 
flight.  Was  it  the  delicate  sympathy  of  those  brawny 
Canadians  that  prompted  the  thought?  The  song  she 
taught  them  six  years  ago  thrilled  with  pathetic  melody 
the  evening  air :  — 

"  Watchman,  tell  us  of  the  night, 

What  its  signs  of  promise  are, 
Traveller,  on  yon  mountain  height, 

See  that  glory-beaming  star. 
Watchman,  does  its  beauteous  ray 

Aught  of  joy  or  hope  foretell  ? 
Travaller,  yes,  it  brings  the  day, 

Promised  day  of  Israel." 

A  solitary  star  twinkled  above  the  cliffs  that  rose  per- 
pendicularly on  either  hand.  The  music  reverberated 
from  wall  to  wall  of  the  narrow  gorge.  Never  in  arched 
cathedral  or  gilded  choir  rang  out  that  old  hymn  as  on 
that  night  in  the  Dalles  of  the  Columbia. 

The  mission  at  the  Dalles  received  Mrs.  Whitman  as 
a  sister.  After  the  solitary  life  at  Waiilatpu,  it  was  like 
a  home-coming  to  see  again  white  men,  white  women, 
white  children.  She  noted  not  the  tall  Indians  passing 
and  repassing  and  peering  in  at  the  windows ;  her  soul 
was  with  the  rider  on  the  plains. 

The  flight  of  Mrs.  Whitman,  and  a  rumor  that  the 
Indians  were  coming  down  "  to  kill  off  the  Bostons," 
created  a  panic  in  the  Willamette  valley.  The  handful 
of  settlers  loaded  their  guns  and  barricaded  their  doors. 

Scarcely  a  month  had  Dr.  Whitman  been  on  his  way 
when  an  Indian  subagent,  who  had  come  with  the  immi- 


THE   FIRST   IMMIGRANTS  227 

grants,  invited  Tom  McKay  to  go  up  with  him  to  quiet 
the  Indians.  Cornelius  Rogers  accompanied  them. 
Chief  Trader  McKinley  joined  them  at  Fort  Walla 
Walla.  They  rode  out  to  Waiilatpu  — it  was  deserted. 
The  charred  mill  lay  on  the  river  bank.  One  hundred 
miles  northeast  they  galloped  through  a  beautiful, 
undulating  country,  to  the  lodge  of  Red  Wolf  on  the 
Snake. 

"  See  my  trees,"  said  the  chief.  By  a  creek  at  his 
door  grew  a  tiny  orchard,  planted  by  his  own  hands. 
Mr.  Spalding  had  presented  the  sets  that  blossomed 
into  the  first  fruit  raised  by  an  Oregon  Indian.  Follow- 
ing the  great  Nez  Perce  trails  that  terraced  the  hillsides 
for  hundreds  of  miles,  they  spied  across  the  Clearwater 
River  a  low,  irregular  roof,  with  wings,  sheltering  an 
establishment  of  eleven  fireplaces.  It  was  Spalding's 
mission  at  Lapwai. 

In  the  schoolroom  two  hundred  children  were  busy 
with  books  and  pens,  printing  like  copper-plate  in  the 
Nez  Perce  tongue.  In  the  weaving  and  spinning  room, 
Nez  Perce  girls  were  knitting  and  making  cloth.  In  the 
kitchen,  Nez  Perce  women  were  cooking  and  sewing 
and  shelling  peas.  In  the  fields  one  chief  had  just 
harvested  one  hundred  and  seventy-six  bushels  of 
beans,  one  hundred  bushels  of  corn,  and  four  hundred 
bushels  of  potatoes.  Forty  others  had  raised  grain, 
eight  had  ploughs.  Several  exhibited  with  pride  a 
few  cows,  some  pigs  and  sheep  and  poultry. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  Indian  children  ran  to  the 
mission,  and  without  being  called,  began  teaching  one 
another,  and  continued  so  until  dark.  The  chiefs  gov- 
erned the  school ;  taking  the  books  home  at  night, 
every  lodge  became  a  schoolroom. 

"  Yonder  sits  my  most  promising  pupil  and  our  first 


228  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

convert,  Chief  Joseph,"  said  Mr.  Spalding.  "  The  one 
beside  him  is  the  Cayuse  chief,  Five  Crows,  —  they  are 
half-brothers  on  the  mother's  side.  Three  winters  now 
Five  Crows  has  driven  his  herds  over  here  and  attended 
our  school.  That  one  with  the  hawk's  nose  is  Lawyer, 
my  teacher.  With  his  aid  I  have  been  able  to  translate 
the  four  gospels  and  many  hymns  into  Nez  Perce\  We 
have  a  printing-press  now,  the  first  one  west  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains." 

A  little  boy  sat  on  Chief  Joseph's  knee,  the  image  of 
his  father,  even  to  the  band  of  feathers  in  his  hair. 
Every  day  the  child  came  to  school  with  his  father  at 
the  mission.  Who  then  dreamed  that  little  Joseph 
would  one  day  lead  our  troops  a  bloody  chase  of  a 
thousand  miles,  twice  crossing  the  Rockies,  fighting 
pitched  battles  from  point  to  point,  retiring  each  time  in 
masterly  retreat  with  his  women  and  wounded,  until  his 
name  should  be  written  in  the  scroll  of  great  military 
leaders? 

"Have  you  no  trouble  with  the  Indians?"  inquired 
the  agent.  "We  are  agitated  with  strange  rumors  in 
the  valley." 

"  Yes,  we  have  trouble,"  was  Spalding's  answer.  "  A 
renegade  Delaware  has  been  exciting  their  fears.  In- 
dians are  children,  and  easily  influenced.  Just  now 
they  are  excited  over  Dr.  Whitman's  going  to  the  States. 
They  have  been  told  that  he  will  bring  back  an  army  of 
immigrants  to  take  their  lands." 

It  was  decided  to  summon  a  council  on  the  plains  at 
Lapwai.  Twenty-two  chiefs  responded.  Dark-eyed, 
long-haired  men  and  women  poured  thickly  over  the 
hills.  Silently,  stoically,  the  Indians  listened,  until  an 
old  chief,  father  of  the  famous  two  that  journeyed  to  St. 
Louis,  tottered  to  his  feet. 


THE   FIRST   IMMIGRANTS  229 

"  I  speak  to-day,"  he  said.  "  To-morrow  I  die.  I  am 
the  oldest  of  the  tribe,  was  high  chief  when  Lewis  and 
Clark  came  to  this  country.  They  visited  me,  honored 
me  with  their  friendship.  I  showed  my  wounds  received 
in  bloody  battle  with  the  Snakes.  They  told  me  it  was 
not  good,  it  was  better  to  be  at  peace,  gave  me  a  flag  of 
truce.  I  held  it  up  high.  We  met  and  talked,  but  never 
fought  again.  Clark  pointed  to  this  day.  We  have 
long  waited.  Sent  our  sons  to  Red  River  to  school  to 
prepare  for  it.  Two  of  them  sleep  with  their  fathers. 
One  is  here,  can  be  ears  and  mouth  and  pen  for  us.  I 
say  no  more.  I  am  quickly  tired.  I  am  glad  I  live  to 
see  you  and  this  day.  I  shall  soon  be  quiet  in  death." 

He  ceased.  The  Nez  Perec's  were  moved  as  by  a 
wind.  The  instructions  of  forty  years  were  voiced  by 
that  old  chief.  The  memory  of  Lewis  and  Clark  was  a 
potent  spell.  Distrust  of  the  Americans  gave  place  to 
confidence.  Ellice,  the  old  man's  educated  son,  was 
that  day  elected  High  Chief  of  the  Nez  Perec's  nation. 

Among  those  who  accompanied  the  subagent  up 
from  the  Willamette  valley  was  Baptiste  Dorion,  a  half- 
breed  interpreter,  the  same  Dorion  that  shot  the  Black- 
foot  chief  and  stole  his  painted  robe.  Dorion's  mother, 
the  heroine  of  Irving's  "  Astoria,"  had  brought  him  as 
a  child  over  the  Blue  Mountains  to  the  camp  of  Pio- 
pio-mox-mox,  the  Yellow  Serpent.  He  came  now  to 
visit  his  benefactor. 

The  Walla  Walla-Cayuses  were  preparing  the  ground 
for  winter  wheat.  Dorion's  ever  restless  eye,  "  the  lurk- 
ing home  of  plots  and  conspiracies,"  fell  upon  their  rude 
husbandry. 

"Why  do  you  make  farms  and  build  houses?  It  is 
no  use,"  said  Dorion.  "  Dr.  Whitman  will  come  in 
the  summer  and  bring  an  army.  Then  the  whites  will 


23o  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

destroy  everything,  take  your  lands  and  kill  you,  or 
make  you  slaves/' 

Dorion  returned  to  the  valley,  but  the  words  of 
Dorion  flew  from  lip  to  lip.  The  young  men  grew  wild 
for  war.  "  Let  us  rush  to  the  Willamette,"  they  cried. 

"Be  cautious,"  counselled  the  old  men.  "  The  season 
is  late.  The  trail  around  Mt.  Hood  is  deep  with  snow. 
Let  us  wait  —  see.  We  do  not  wish  to  go  to  war,  but  if 
the  Bostons  come  to  take  away  our  lands  we  will  fight 
to  the  last  drop  of  blood.  Yellow  Serpent  is  a  wise  and 
careful  chief.  Let  us  send  him  to  talk  with  the  White- 
Headed  Eagle  at  Fort  Vancouver." 

Directly  after  his  return  with  the  subagent,  to  the 
Willamette,  Cornelius  Rogers  went  up  the  valley  to  wed 
the  daughter  of  David  Leslie  at  the  old  Methodist  mis- 
sion. The  bridal  party  came  down  the  laughing  river. 
A  thousand  rainbows  danced  that  February  morning, 
when  the  bride  and  groom  were  landing  at  Willamette 
Falls.  And  at  that  moment,  while  friends  waited  with 
congratulations,  the  boat  veered  into  the  current.  Re- 
sistlessly  it  tore  the  rope  away  from  the  Indians  on 
shore.  Only  inanimate  rocks  answered  the  despairing 
shriek,  as  Cornelius  Rogers  and  his  bride  and  her  sisters 
swept  over  the  Falls  and  into  the  yawning  gulf  together. 
The  cruel  waters  whirled  and  hissed  and  curled,  but  the 
seething  maelstrom  never  gave  up  its  dead. 


XXIX 

WHITMAN'S  RIDE 
1842 

OCARCE  an  hour  had  Dr.  Whitman  ridden  from  his 
*~*  door  at  Waiilatpu  when  the  Cayuses  fiercely  gath- 
ered and  barred  his  progress. 

"  Back,  go  back,"  they  cried.     "  You  cannot  go." 

"  You  promised  to  build  houses." 

"  You  promised  fences." 

"  You  promised  a  saw-mill." 

"  You  promised  sheep." 

"  You  promised  cattle." 

On  every  side  arose  the  clamor  recounting  every  im- 
provement the  doctor  had  ever  suggested.  When  the 
doctor  said,  "  We  will  do  so  and  so,"  the  Indians  con- 
strued it  into  a  promise,  and  to  the  Indian  a  promise  is 
a  sacred  thing. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,  my  boys,"  said  the  doctor,  pleased  at 
this  sudden  recollection,  yet  impatient  to  be  off.  "  I  '11 
do  it.  I  am  going  now  to  see  about  it.  Look  for  me 
back ;  meet  me  at  Fort  Hall  when  the  corn  is  ripe." 

Still  they  delayed  and  detained  him,  —  they  feared  he 
was  leaving  entirely.  After  repeated  assurances  and 
promises  they  let  go  his  bridle-rein  and  regretfully 
watched  his  departure. 

To  avoid  the  hostile  Sioux,  to  strike  a  warmer  clime, 
and  to  gain  the  trail  of  the  Mexican  traders,  Dr.  Whit- 
man turned  south  by  way  of  Fort  Wintee,  Salt  Lake, 


232  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD  OREGON 

Taos,  and  Santa  Fe.  A  Siberian  winter  set  in.  Stormed 
in  on  the  mountains,  imprisoned  in  dark  defiles  for 
days,  feeding  their  horses  on  cottonwood  bark,  yet  on, 
still  on.  The  multitudinous  cry  of  coyotes  followed  on 
their  track.  Blizzards  obscured  the  winter  trail,  the 
guide  lost  his  way  in  the  darkened  air;  their  steps 
must  be  retraced,  but  whither?  Even  the  morning 
trail  was  lost  in  the  blinding  drift.  There  in  the  wild 
mountain,  with  the  wintry  tempest  howling  loud  and 
louder,  all  seemed  lost.  Dr.  Whitman  threw  himself 
upon  his  knees  and  committed  his  wife,  his  mission,  and 
his  cause  to  God.  The  half-frozen  mule  began  to  prick 
his  ears,  and  turning  about  led  them  back  to  the  morn- 
ing fire.  After  days  of  weary  waiting  the  wind  lulled, 
the  sun  broke  through  the  dun  clouds,  and  through  the 
dazzling  snow  the  travellers  broke  a  path  to  Grand 
River.  Here  again  the  sides  were  frozen.  A  black 
current  dashed  down  the  middle. 

"  Danger.  Cannot  cross,"  said  the  Indian  guide  in 
the  sign  language  of  his  race. 

Dr.  Whitman  set  his  lips  as  Washington  did  that 
night  on  the  Delaware,  and  rode  to  the  edge  of  the  ice. 
He  tried  to  force  the  animal  in,  but  he  sat  back  on  his 
haunches. 

"  Push,"  commanded  the  doctor. 

Lovejoy  and  the  guide  pushed.  Down,  down  they 
went,  the  doctor  and  the  horse,  completely  out  of  sight, 
then  rising  like  Poseidon  on  the  foam,  they  battled  with 
the  current.  Sweeping  far  below  they  reached  the 
other  shore,  and  the  doctor  leaped  upon  the  ice.  With 
his  master's  aid  the  dripping  steed  clambered  after. 
Lovejoy  and  the  guide  followed  with  the  packhorses, 
and  all  soon  melted  their  coats  of  icy  mail  before  a 
blazing  bonfire.  Another  month  of  cold  and  hunger, 


WHITMAN'S   RIDE  233 

of  mule-meat  and  dog-flesh,  took  them  over  the  Sierra 
Madres  to  Taos  in  New  Mexico.  Rest,  supplies,  then 
a  final  charge  conquered  the  main  ramparts  of  the 
Rockies.  Safe  on  the  plains  beyond,  the  exultant  mis- 
sionary could  no  longer  restrain  his  impatience  to  reach 
Bent's  Fort  on  the  Arkansas.  Leaving  Lovejoy  and 
the  guide  to  follow,  he  set  on  ahead.  Bleak  Arctic 
wind  rolled  down  upon  the  rider  in  his  lonely  saddle. 
Again  he  was  lost,  bewildered,  and  Indians  directed 
him  down  the  river  to  the  Fort.  Lovejoy  followed  him 
and  gave  up  at  Bent's  Fort,  but  Whitman  pushed  on, 
until  one  cold  February  morning  he  stood  in  the  streets 
of  St.  Louis  surrounded  by  mountaineers  entreating 
him  to  tell  the  story  of  his  winter  trip. 

"  Not  now ;  I  cannot  stay,  I  must  get  to  Washington." 
Stopping  not  even  to  change  his  clothes,  with  frost- 
bitten ears  and  feet  and  fingers,  with  the  very  flesh 
of  him  burnt  with  cold,  the  heroic  Whitman  paused 
not  till  he  stood  in  the  presence  of  Daniel  Webster. 
In  his  shaggy  great  buffalo-coat  and  hood  and  fur 
leggings  and  moccasins,  he  was  certainly  a  curiosity. 
Daniel  Webster  looked  at  him  with  those  historic  lion's 
eyes  and  said :  "  You  are  too  late.  The  treaty  has  been 
signed." 

"  So  I  heard  in  St.  Louis,  but  Oregon  —  " 
"Lies  untouched,"  said  Webster, with  unmoved  coun- 
tenance, still  curiously  eying  the   man  in  the  shaggy 
great-coat. 

"  Then  I  am  not  too  late,"  said  Whitman,  "  not  too 
late  to  tell  you  that  Oregon  is  a  treasure  worth  our 
holding,  a  land  of  broad  rivers  and  fertile  valleys." 

Webster  was  tired.  The  "  intricacies  and  complexi- 
ties and  perplexities"  of  this  boundary  question  had 
worried  him  for  years.  New  England  was  dissatisfied 


234          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

with  his  settlement  of  the  Maine  boundary,  the  west 
was  howling  about  his  Ashburton  Treaty.  Senator 
Linn  had  introduced  a  call  for  information  as  to  why 
Oregon  had  not  been  included  in  this  last  treaty. 
Fifteen  days  ago  Linn's  bill  was  carried  in  the  upper 
and  lost  in  the  lower  House  —  and  now  here  comes  this 
Oregon  man  to  reopen  the  whole  discussion. 

Webster  was  not  a  foe  to  Oregon,  but  had  he  not 
heard,  time  and  again,  that  the  Americans  must  be 
crazy  to  think  of  trying  to  cross  unbroken  wastes  of 
desert  and  impassable  mountains  to  occupy  a  country  fit 
only  for  the  beaver,  the  bear,  and  the  savage  ?  Had  not 
the  "  London  Examiner  "  said  the  whole  territory  in  dis- 
pute was  not  worth  twenty  thousand  pounds  to  either 
power?  Had  not  the  Senator  from  South  Carolina  just 
said  in  the  Senate  that  he  would  not  give  a  pinch  of 
snuff  for  the  whole  territory?  That  he  thanked  God 
for  his  mercy  in  placing  the  Rocky  Mountains  there  to 
keep  the  people  back?  With  all  this  in  mind  Webster 
was  inclined  to  misinterpret  that  rapid  utterance  and 
that  positive  tone. 

"  You  are  an  enthusiast,  Mr.  Whitman ;  you  certainly 
are  an  enthusiast.  Sir  George  Simpson  says  wagons 
can  never  get  over  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  he  must 
know.  He  has  traversed  those  wilds  from  his  youth. 
Besides,  the  country  is  good  for  nothing,  the  papers  are 
full  of  it." 

"  All  from  English  reprints,"  added  the  doctor, 
quickly.  "The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  has  flooded 
Great  Britain  with  such  reports  to  keep  the  land 
to  themselves.  It  is  to  their  interest  to  keep  it  a 
wilderness." 

Secretary  Webster  endeavored  to  change  the  subject. 

"  How  did  you  get  to  Oregon,  Mr.  Whitman?" 


WHITMAN'S   RIDE  235 

"With  two  women  and  a  wagon  across  the  Rocky 
Mountains." 

"  How  did  you  return?  " 

"  On  horseback  over  the  snow." 

An  hour  they  talked,  but  the  subject  was  ever  the 
same,  —  Oregon,  the  paradise  by  the  sea. 

"  I  want  the  President  and  Cabinet  to  hear  what  you 
have  said  to  me,"  said  the  great  statesman,  visibly  im- 
pressed with  the  heroic  effort  of  Dr.  Whitman. 

They  were  called  together,  and  Dr.  Whitman  spent 
an  evening  answering  their  questions  on  Oregon,  its 
importance  and  its  resources. 

President  Tyler  listened  attentively.  "  Dr.  Whit- 
man," he  said,  "  your  frozen  limbs  and  leather  breeches 
attest  your  sincerity.  Can  emigrants  cross  the  moun- 
tains in  wagons?  " 

"  My  own  wagon  went  across." 

"  Is  there  likely  to  be  an  emigration  this  year?  " 

"  They  are  already  gathering  on  the  frontier.  I  am 
publishing  a  pamphlet  to  help  it  on.  I  came  to  the 
States  for  that  express  purpose." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  the  President.  "  Go  ahead 
with  your  wagons.  This  question  can  rest  till  we  see 
if  you  get  them  through." 

"  That  is  all  I  ask,"  said  Whitman,  rising. 

Promising  to  forward  to  his  old  school  friend,  the 
Secretary  of  War,  a  synopsis  of  a  bill  for  a  line  of  posts 
to  Oregon,  he  hastened  away. 

Twenty  years  before,  Senator  Benton  had  urged  the 
occupation  of  the  Columbia.  "  Mere  adventurers  may 
enter  upon  it  as  ^Eneas  entered  upon  the  Tiber,  and  as 
our  forefathers  came  upon  the  Potomac,  the  Delaware, 
and  the  Hudson,  and  renew  the  phenomenon  of  indi- 
viduals laying  the  foundation  of  future  empire." 


236  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Now  Benton  said,  "  Thirty  thousand  rifles  in  the 
valley  of  the  Columbia  is  our  surest  ground  of  title." 

"  What  are  you  here  for,  leaving  your  post?  "  gruffly 
inquired  the  Secretary  of  the  American  Board,  eying 
his  shaggy  visitor  as  Dr.  Whitman  entered  the  office  in 
Boston. 

"  I  came  on  business  to  Washington,"  answered  the 
doctor,  unabashed. 

"  Opening  up  new  territories  to  settlement  is  not  a 
part  of  our  business,"  was  the  Secretary's  comment 
on  his  scheme  to  pilot  emigrants  over  the  mountains. 
"  Here,  take  some  money  and  get  some  decent  clothes ; 
then  we  '11  talk." 

"  Marcus  came  to  father's  house  in  sorry  plight,"  says 
his  sister  Harriet  in  a  letter  to  this  author.  "  He  had 
been  so  chilled  in  coming  over  the  mountains  that  he 
was  suffering  all  the  time.  He  was  the  grandest  man  in 
overcoming  difficulties  and  executing  the  most  improb- 
able things.  Yet  his  heart  was  tender  as  a  woman's." 

By  order  of  Congress  Senator  Benton's  son-in-law, 
John  Charles  Fremont,  was  despatched  to  accompany 
the  proposed  immigration.  When  the  first  grass  sprung 
the  emigrants  crossed  the  border  with  their  rifles  on 
their  shoulders.  Already  the  long  train  of  wagons  was 
far  out  on  the  Platte  when  Dr.  Whitman  joined  them  in 
May,  so  far  out  that  Fremont  barely  caught  up  and 
followed  in  their  wake  to  Oregon. 

Long  after  Webster  remarked  to  a  friend,  "  It  is  safe 
to  assert  that  our  country  owes  it  to  Dr.  Whitman  and 
his  associate  missionaries  that  all  the  territory  west  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains  and  north  of  the  Columbia  is  not 
now  owned  by  England  and  held  by  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company." 


XXX 

A   PROVISIONAL    GOVERNMENT 

1843 
CAPTAIN    COUCH,  sent  out  by  the  Cushings  of 


Newburyport,  opened  trade  with  the  Sandwich 
Islands  and  sailed  his  brig  up  the  Willamette.  Amer- 
ican sentiment  began  to  crystallize.  The  handful  of 
settlers  had  long  looked  with  jealous  eye  on  the  com- 
mercial aristocracy  of  the  Columbia.  Now,  hither  into 
their  midst  came  the  democratic  corner  grocery,  with 
its  tea  and  flour  and  Yankee  notions,  with  its  free  dis- 
cussions, long-spun  yarns,  and  political  caucus. 

The  immigrants  of  1842,  winding  over  the  pack-trails 
of  Mt.  Hood,  were  soon  ensconced  on  the  dry-goods 
box  and  nail-keg.  "Is  not  the  country  ours?"  they 
said.  "Did  not  an  American  discover  the  river?  Did 
not  Lewis  and  Clark  explore  it?  Did  not  John  Jacob 
Astor  found  Astoria  at  the  mouth  of  the  river?  Did 
not  England  admit  all  this  when  she  restored  Astoria 
after  the  war?  "  So  they  argued. 

As  early  as  1829  Dr.  McLoughlin  had  taken  a  claim 
at  the  Falls  of  the  Willamette,  the  town-site  of  the 
future  Oregon  City.  "  I  may  want  it  for  a  home  in 
my  old  age,"  he  said,  thinking  of  that  future  far-away 
time  when  he  might  be  too  old  to  serve  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company.  Already  some  adventurous  American 
had  jumped  his  claim  to  a  mill-site  on  an  island  at  the 
Falls.  Now  the  immigrants  had  come,  the  doctor  sur- 


238  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

veyed  his  claim  and  offered  lots  for  sale.  The  pot  be- 
gan to  boil. 

"  What  right  has  Dr.  McLoughlin  to  this  town-site?  " 
asked  the  jealous  immigrants.  "  He  is  head  of  a 
foreign  monopoly  and  he  does  n't  live  here.  There  is 
no  question  that  he  is  holding  this  town-site  and  water- 
power  for  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company." 

"  Fur  that  matter,"  chimed  in  a  mountaineer,  "  ther 
ain't  a  town-site  er  water-power  in  all  the  valley  wher 
the  company  ain't  built  a  shed  an'  sent  a  man  to  hold 
it  daown." 

"  Yes,  and  if  they  dared  they  would  set  up  a  great 
'No  thoroughfare'  board  to  keep  us  immigrants  out," 
added  another.  "  Were  it  not  for  that  Joint  Occu- 
pancy Treaty,  a  settler  would  have  no  more  right  to 
enter  Oregon  than  to  trespass  on  the  lawn  of  a  private 
gentleman  in  Middlesex,  England.  The  company 
designs  to  hold  Oregon,  as  it  holds  all  British  North 
America,  like  a  vast  estate,  exclusively  in  the  interests 
of  the  fur  trade." 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  on  the  company,"  suggested 
one  of  the  more  conservative.  "  We  live  here  under  its 
protection  and  in  comfort." 

"  We  live  here !  "  exclaimed  a  tall,  gaunt  man  astride 
the  counter.  "  Yes,  as  the  lamb  lives  with  the  lion,  to 
be  swallered  up.  Under  their  protection?  Yes,  be- 
cause our  own  country  refuses  to  give  it.  Like  a  great 
octopus  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  has  us  in  its  claws. 
No  private  trader  has  ever  ben  able  to  compete  with 
this  'ere  monopoly.  They  claim  every  fish  in  the 
stream,  every  beaver  in  the  dam.  Look  at  Wyeth, 
Bonneville,  and  the  trappers  that  venture  to  cross  the 
Rockies  —  defeated  every  time." 

"  I  move  that  we  draw  up  a  petition  to  Congress  to 


A   PROVISIONAL   GOVERNMENT  239 

protect  American  interests  in  Oregon,"  said  Robert 
Shortess,  a  native  of  Ohio.  "  This  salmon-skin  aris- 
tocracy has  ruled  the  country  long  enough." 

"  T  will  do  no  good,"  said  a  missionary.  "  Uncle 
Sam  is  dozing  while  England  takes  the  country.  We 
have  sent  petitions  by  the  yard,  —  Jason  Lee  took  one, 
Wyeth  wrote  a  memorial,  we  sent  one  by  Farnham,  we 
have  begged  and  plead,  and  prayed,  but  Congress  pays 
no  attention.  She  is  too  much  engrossed  in  the  nigger 
business  to  notice  an  obscure  little  settlement  on  the 
northwest  coast." 

Nevertheless  Shortess  and  Abernethy,  the  mission 
steward,  did  draw  up  a  document  bristling  with  charges 
against  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  and  despatched  it 
to  the  States.  Dr.  McLoughlin  heard  of  it  —  it  cut  him 
to  the  heart. 

The  people  in  the  valley  feared  the  restless  chiefs 
beyond  the  mountains.  Their  own  Indians  began  to 
mutter,  "  These  Bostons  are  driving  off  our  game  and 
destroying  our  camas-fields." 

The  woods  were  full  of  painted  faces.  Tomahawks 
and  scalping-knives  glittered  in  the  grass.  The  whites 
had  scorned  these  valley  Indians ;  now  a  secret  dread 
took  hold  of  every  heart.  Outlying  ranchers  came  in 
with  frightened  whispers  — 

"  The  Clackamas  Indians  are  on  the  move." 

"  The  Molallas  are  defiant." 

"The  Klickitats  are  collecting  back  of  Tualati  Plains." 

A  Calapooia  chief  crossed  the  Willamette,  shaking 
his  finger  toward  the  settlement  by  the  Falls.  "  Never 
will  I  return  till  I  bring  back  a  force  to  drive  out  these 
Bostons." 

"  Should  these  Injuns  combine,  we  are  lost,"  said  the 
settlers. 


240  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Dr.  McLoughlin  will  not  help  us  on  account  of  that 
memorial  to  Congress.  There  's  no  ammunition  except 
in  the  stockade  at  Fort  Vancouver." 

"  We  are  without  defence,"  said  the  settlers.  "  We 
cannot  wait  for  Congress,  we  must  organize." 

"  But  how?  "  queried  the  timid.  "  The  French  Cana- 
dians of  Champoeg  will  oppose.  They  are  not  afraid 
of  Injuns.  They  will  stand  by  the  company,  and  they 
are  more  than  we  in  number." 

"  We  must  find  a  basis  of  common  interest,  —  how 
about  wolves?  " 

Wolves?  How  they  laughed  and  cried  around  the 
mission  !  With  what  long  howls  they  struck  the  mid- 
night hour  beside  the  Falls !  What  multitudinous 
reveilles  rang  along  the  valley  at  the  first  red  streak  of 
dawn !  How  the  fine  bark  of  puppies  staccatoed  the 
hoarse  bass  of  big  gray  grenadiers !  How  they  ran 
down  herds  of  elk  and  horses  and  cattle !  How  they 
dined  on  pigs  and  poultry  and  calves ! 

"  Yes,"  was  the  unanimous  response ;  "  let  us  call  a 
wolf  meeting !  " 

So,  on  the  first  Monday  of  March,  1843,  every 
American  that  could  muster  a  boat  landed  at  old 
Champoeg  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  They 
proceeded  at  once  to  the  house  of  Joseph  Gervais. 
Telix,  faithful  housewife,  had  scrubbed  her  floor  and 
swept  her  hearth  and  hied  her  away  to  plant  her 
onion  bed. 

The  long-haired  Canadians,  indulging  in  their  favorite 
vice  of  smoking,  discussed  the  bears  and  wolves  and 
panthers  with  these  astute  Americans.  For  fifteen 
years  these  Frenchmen  had  depended  each  on  his  own 
old  rusty  trade-gun,  and  the  wolves  were  bad  as  ever. 
Every  night  the  good  wife  heard  the  squawking  in  her 


A   PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT  241 

chicken-coop,  and  the  farmer  ran  out  bare-legged  at 
the  squealing  of  his  pigs.  But  these  Americans  —  one 
loss  was  enough  to  set  loose  relentless  war  against  the 
"  varmints." 

"  How  is  it,  fellow-citizens,"  cried  the  ringing  voice 
of  an  immigrant  when  bounties  had  been  fixed  upon  the 
scalps  of  wolves,  "  how  is  it  with  you  and  me  and  our 
children?  Have  we  any  organization  upon  which  we 
can  rely  for  mutual  protection?  Is  there  any  power  or 
influence  in  the  country  sufficient  to  protect  us,  and 
all  we  hold  dear,  from  the  worse  than  wild  beasts  that 
threaten  and  occasionally  destroy  our  cattle  ?  Who  in 
our  midst  is  authorized  to  call  us  together  to  protect 
our  own  and  the  lives  of  our  families?  True,  the  alarm 
may  be  given,  as  in  a  recent  case,  and  we  may  run  who 
feel  alarmed  and  shoot  off  our  guns,  while  our  enemy 
may  be  robbing  our  property,  ravishing  our  wives,  and 
burning  the  houses  over  our  defenceless  families.  Com- 
mon sense,  prudence,  and  justice  to  ourselves,  demand 
that  we  act  consistently  with  the  principles  with  which  we 
commenced.  We  have  mutually  and  unitedly  agreed 
to  defend  and  protect  our  cattle  and  domestic  animals ; 
now,  fellow-citizens,  I  move  that  a  committee  be  ap- 
pointed to  consider  the  civil  and  military  protection  of 
this  colony,  and  that  said  committee  consist  of  twelve 
persons." 

Canadian  and  American,  the  ayes  were  unanimous. 
The  founders  of  Rome  were  suckled  by  a  wolf.  Out 
of  a  wolf  meeting  grew  the  government  of  Oregon. 

May  came.  Knee-deep  in  flowers,  the  delegates 
gathered  again  at  old  Champoeg.  The  larks  flew  up 
and  sang.  The  Canadians  made  big  eyes  at  one  an- 
other. "  The  old  regime  is  good  enough,"  they  said. 

"  Wait  until  the  sovereignty  is  decided." 

16 


242  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

The  Americans  groaned  in  spirit.  Some  opponent 
unknown  had  passed  from  house  to  house  in  old  Cham- 
poeg  and  said  to  the  Canadians,  "  Vote  no,  vote  no, 
vote  no  to  everything,"  The  Canadians  were  out  in 
force  —  hope  flickered  against  hope  that  some  of  them 
might  favor  American  institutions. 

They  stood  in  the  open  air.  The  river  ran  by  and 
laughed,  as  when  the  red  man  held  his  councils  on  the 
bluff.  The  report  of  the  committee  was  read. 

"  Shall  we  accept  the  report?  "  said  the  chairman. 

"  No  !  "  thundered  the  Canadians  as  one  man. 

The  hearts  of  the  Americans  thumped  against  their 
ribs.  Confusion  prevailed.  The  eye  of  the  Secretary 
measured  the  crowd  —  "We  can  risk  it;  let  us  divide 
and  count ! " 

Scarce  had  the  second  passed  when  Jo  Meek  the 
trapper  stepped  forward  with  stentorian  call :  "  Who 's 
for  a  divide?  All  in  favor  of  the  report  and  organiza- 
tion, follow  me !  " 

The  lines  marched  apart,  swayed  a  moment,  hesitated 
at  deadlock  —  then  —  after  a  moment  of  heart-throbs  — 
two  Canadians  crossed  to  the  American  side.  Fifty- 
two  against  fifty ! 

"  Three  cheers  for  freedom !  "  again  rang  out  the 
trappers'  call.  A  shout  went  up  that  summoned  the 
dusky  dames  to  their  doors  a  mile  back  on  French 
Prairie.  The  river  ran  by  and  laughed,  but  Oregon 
was  not  the  same. 

"  These  Americans  fatten  on  politics,"  said  the  clerks 
at  Fort  Vancouver.  "  Why,  it  was  as  good  as  '  Punch 
and  Judy'  to  see  the  fun  go  on.  And  they  were  so 
solemn  and  earnest  about  it,  too." 

The  Canadians  looked  on  and  wondered.  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin  could  hardly  realize  that  out  of  these  appar- 


A   PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT  243 

ently  trivial  proceedings  had  arisen  the  fabric  of  a 
State,  that  the  infant  settlement  had  donned  the  toga 
virilis. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  was  walking  in  the  garden  at  Fort 
Vancouver,  musing  upon  the  troubled  state  of  affairs. 
The  stronger  grew  the  American  colony  the  weaker 
seemed  his  influence  over  the  Indians.  The  last  re- 
turns of  each  brigade  grew  less  and  less.  The  beaver 
were  disappearing.  Added  to  this,  a  contest  between 
England  and  the  United  States  seemed  imminent,  in 
which  a  single  misstep  on  his  part  might  precipitate  a 
bloody  war.  The  usually  erect  form  was  bent.  A 
light  breeze  dallied  with  his  hair.  A  footstep  at  his 
side  attracted  his  attention.  He  turned  and  faced  the 
stalwart  form  of  Yellow  Serpent.  The  Walla  Walla's 
long  black  hair  rippled  over  his  beaded  buckskin. 
The  eagle-plumes  in  his  head-band  gave  a  regal  touch 
to  the  haughty  face. 

"  Ah,  my  son !  "  said  Dr.  McLoughlin,  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  here.  What  news  from  the  Walla  Walla?  " 

"  Bad  news,  my  father.  My  people  are  full  of  fears. 
I  have  come  a  long  journey  to  show  you  my  heart. 
Dorion  says  Dr.  Whitman  will  bring  white  men  to  take 
our  lands  and  kill  us  all." 

"Tut,  tut,  tut!  Why  does  the  naughty  Dorion 
frighten  my  people?  The  white  men  will  do  no  harm. 
They  are  your  friends.  They  come  to  help  you,  to 
teach  you." 

Yellow  Serpent  was  even  taller  than  Dr.  McLoughlin. 
Approaching  him  closely  he  bent  forward  and  looked 
him  eagerly  in  the  eye. 

"  Will  Boston  man  fight  King  George  man?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  answered  the  doctor;  "we  are  at 
peace." 


244  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  What  for  then  you  strengthen  your  stockade?"  said 
the  Indian,  majestically  waving  his  hand  toward  the 
wall.  "  What  for  another  big  gun?  What  for  big  ship 
guarding  you  all  winter?" 

"  Our  stockades  were  old.  We  renew  them  often," 
answered  the  doctor.  "The  ship  was  a  visitor,  not  a 
defender." 

The  Indian  went  on :  — 

"  We  hear  Boston  man  making  laws.  Getting  ready 
to  become  great  people.  Dr.  Whitman  will  bring  many, 
many  people.  He  say  this  America  land.  He  take 
all  our  land.  Poor  Indian  will  have  no  horses,  no  land, 
no  home  by  and  by." 

"You  must  do  as  Dr.  Whitman  tells  you,"  said 
McLoughlin.  "  Build  homes  on  your  land.  Culti- 
vate your  ground,  and  you  can  keep  it  like  white 
people." 

"  My  people  fear  King  George  man  and  Boston  man 
join  together  and  kill  all  Indian."  Again  that  bent 
face,  that  eager,  searching,  flashing  look. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  saw  the  real  trouble  in  Yellow  Ser- 
pent's soul.  Truly  he  had  shown  his  heart.  Stepping 
toward  him  and  taking  the  Indian's  two  hands  in  his 
own  the  benevolent  doctor  said :  "  My  son,  is  this  what 
troubles  you  ?  Go  home  and  fear  no  more.  No  white 
man  will  harm  you.  Dr.  Whitman  is  your  true  friend. 
He  will  not  see  you  injured.  If  any  American  should 
make  war  on  you  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  would 
never  join  them.  Have  we  not  been  your  friends  for 
thirty  years?  Do  you  think  we  could  bring  our  hearts 
to  harm  our  brothers?  Go  home  and  work  in  your 
little  gardens  as  Dr.  Whitman  taught  you.  Drive  the 
wicked  Dorion  away.  He  will  bring  my  children  into 
trouble." 


A   PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT  245 

"  I  will  tell  your  words,"  said  Yellow  Serpent,  turning 
away. 

But  though  Dr.  McLoughlin  had  quieted  the  chief, 
he  himself  was  not  quieted.  In  considerable  mental 
distress  he  dismissed  the  friendly  chief  and  retired  to 
his  office.  An  hour  later  Douglas  entered. 

"  What  have  you  written?  "  inquired  Douglas,  as  the 
doctor  looked  up. 

"  I  have  written  to  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  that 
if  they  would  not  lose  the  country  they  must  protect 
their  rights  here;  that  immigrants  hostile  to  British 
interests  are  coming  in,  made  more  hostile  by  the 
publication  of  Irving's  '  Astoria '  and  '  Bonneville,'  — 
these  immigrants  really  fear  we  will  set  Indians  upon 
them;  that  by  kindness  we  are  striving  to  overcome 
this  prejudice;  that,  however,  we  have  enemies  here 
trying  to  make  trouble,  —  threats  have  been  made 
against  Fort  Vancouver,  and  really,  the  people  have 
been  encouraged  to  make  an  attack,  by  public  prints 
in  the  United  States,  stating  that  British  subjects  ought 
not  to  be  allowed  to  remain  in  Oregon;  that  there 
is  no  dependence  in  the  servants  about  the  fort  to 
do  sentry  duty  beyond  a  few  nights,  nor  are  there 
officers  enough  to  be  put  upon  guard  without  de- 
ranging the  whole  business;  that  our  forces  are  not 
sufficient  in  case  of  attack,  and  that  in  the  dry  season 
the  fort  could  easily  be  burned.  So  I  have  asked  for 
a  government  vessel  to  protect  Fort  Vancouver.  The 
great  question  with  me  is,  how  to  keep  the  peace  till 
the  sovereignty  is  decided.  I  think  that  covers  the 
case." 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Douglas.  The  chief  and  his  sec- 
ond always  consulted  each  other  and  always  agreed. 
The  letter  went  by  express  to  Canada  and  on  to 


246  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

London.  Dr.  McLoughlin  mounted  more  guns  and 
waited  for  a  reply. 

A  Catholic  priest  from  the  upper  country  brought 
word  to  Fort  Vancouver:  "The  Indians  say  they  are 
not  mad  at  the  King  George  men,  only  at  the  Bostons, 
because  they  take  their  lands." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  the  irritated  doctor.  "  Let 
the  Americans  take  care  of  themselves." 

"The  Indians  of  the  interior  are  endeavoring  to 
form  a  coalition  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  all  the 
Boston  people,"  wrote  the  missionaries  from  the  Dalles 
to  the  Indian  subagent  "  They  construe  the  language 
you  used  last  autumn  into  threats.  The  wicked  Dorion 
has  told  them  that  ships  are  coming  into  the  river  with 
troops." 

"  I  must  go  up  there  again  at  all  hazards,  and 
meet  those  Walla  Walla-Cayuses,"  said  the  subagent. 
He  engaged  twelve  Frenchmen  to  accompany  the 
expedition,  but  when  the  day  came  every  one  sent 
word,  "  We  have  decided  not  to  go." 

Not  to  be  daunted,  the  subagent  set  out  with  four 
companions  from  the  Methodist  mission.  At  Cham- 
poeg  Dr.  McLoughlin's  long  boat  met  him  with  a 
despatch,  —  "I  entreat  you  not  to  undertake  such  a 
dangerous  expedition.  In  all  probability  you  and  your 
party  will  be  cut  off."  But  the  subagent  went  on. 

At  the  Falls  a  second  runner  met  him  with  a  second 
letter  from  Dr.  McLoughlin.  "  I  advised  my  French- 
men to  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  quarrel.  Keep 
quiet,  keep  quiet.  The  excitement  will  soon  subside." 

Madame  and  Mrs.  Douglas  were  at  their  embroidery 
when  they  heard  loud  voices  in  the  fort :  "  Is  it  true 
that  you  refuse  to  grant  supplies  to  the  Americans  who 
signed  that  memorial?" 


A   PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT  247 

"  I  have  not  refused  supplies  to  the  signers,  but  the 
authors  need  expect  no  more  favors  from  me,"  answered 
Dr.  McLoughlin,  in  a  tone  that  made  the  household 
tremble. 

"  Then,  as  we  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  you  can  let 
us  have  Indian  goods  on  the  credit  of  the  United 
States  for  our  journey  up  the  Columbia,  can  you  not?  " 
persisted  the  subagent. 

"  I  am  astonished  that  you  think  of  going  up  there 
among  those  excited  Indians,"  roared  the  doctor,  look- 
ing hard  at  the  venturesome  four.  Dr.  McLoughlin's 
usual  tone  was  low  and  slow.  This  thunderous  key  he 
sometimes  used  to  his  servants  in  reproof  or  command, 
never  before  to  Americans. 

"  Not  all  the  people  of  the  valley  signed  that  paper, 
Dr.  McLoughlin.  Not  all  of  them  approved  of  it.  It 
was  puerile  and  childish.  I  shall  tell  the  commissioner 
of  Indian  affairs  in  my  next  report  that  if  any  one  not 
connected  with  the  fur  company  had  been  at  half  the 
pains  and  expense  that  you  have  been  to  to  establish  a 
claim  at  the  Willamette  Falls,  there  would  have  been 
few  to  object.  Under  the  Joint  Occupancy  Treaty  you 
have  as  good  a  right  as  they." 

This  statement  quite  mollified  the  doctor's  wrath. 
"  I  thought  my  character  as  an  honest  man  was  beyond 
suspicion,  but  when  I  heard  of  those  charges,  —  well, 
really,  really,  the  citizens  themselves  are  the  best  judges 
if  I  have  injured  them  or  not." 

The  governor  seized  a  pen  and  hastily  scribbled 
some  orders. 

"  Here,  Roberts !  McTavish !  Let  the  gentlemen 
have  whatever  they  want.  God  bless  you,  gentlemen, 
God  bless  you.  May  your  errand  succeed." 

Mrs.  Whitman  joined  them  at  the  Dalles.     Rogers, 


248          McLOUGHLIN,  AND   OLD   OREGON 

beloved  of  the  Indians,  Rogers  without  whom  Mrs. 
Whitman  felt  the  meeting  could  not  be  held,  was 
dead. 

The  Indians  were  watching  for  the  subagent  and 
the  subagent  was  watching  for  the  Indians.  Each 
expected  to  see  an  enemy.  When  three  or  four  whites 
entered  their  midst  unarmed,  their  fears  gave  way  to 
wonder. 

"  Yes ;  Yellow  Serpent  was  right,"  they  said.  "  We 
were  mistaken."  Ever  since  the  chief's  return  they  had 
been  working  on  their  little  plantations.  Corn,  peas, 
and  wheat  were  peeping  through  the  mould. 

"  I  actually  found  the  Indians  suffering  more  from 
fear  of  the  whites  than  the  whites  from  fear  of  the 
Indians,"  was  the  su'bagent's  report  on  his  return. 

The  Walla  Walla  meadows  were  purple  with  camas, 
the  plains  a  moquette  of  multicolored  phlox.  The 
Cayuses  were  camped  along  the  base  of  the  Blue 
Mountains.  Three  thousand  Walla  Wallas  were  camped 
on  the  Umatilla.  A  thousand  Nez  Perces  came  down 
from  the  North  on  their  best  horses.  The  mounted 
Cayuses  and  Walla  Wallas  rode  forth  to  meet  their 
guests  in  sham  battle.  In  front  of  Dr.  Whitman's  the 
entire  plain  was  a  glittering  cavalcade  of  prancing 
horses  and  plumed  warriors,  gay  as  when  the  monarchs 
of  old  met  on  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold.  Elijah, 
Tauitau,  Five  Crows  in  splendid  array  led  their  several 
bands. 

Yellow  Serpent  sounded  the  war  whistle.  Chief 
Joseph  answered  with  the  Indian  bugle.  The  spirited 
chargers  dashed  as  in  deadly  combat,  imitating  a  recent 
battle  with  the  Blackfeet.  There  was  a  rush  and  a  roar, 
a  whirl  and  confusion,  and  shouts  and  flying  foam,  as 
the  savage  cavalry  swept  the  plain.  Even  the  chiefs 


A   PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT  249 

began  to  fear  an  actual  battle,  when  Spalding,  from 
Lapwai,  said,  "  Let  us  retire  to  the  doctor's  house  for 
worship." 

Chief  Ellice  rose  on  the  back  of  his  splendid  charger, 
waved  his  hand  over  the  dark  mass,  and  all  was  still. 
The  horses,  gay  with  scarlet  belts  and  head-dresses 
and  tassels,  were  led  away.  The  trampling  of  many  feet 
resounded  in  the  mission  house.  Like  a  vision  Narcissa 
Whitman  glided  into  the  dark  assembly.  The  fair  brow, 
the  golden  hair,  the  clinging  dress,  riveted  every  eye. 
When  they  sang  her  clear  soprano  soared  like  a  bird 
above  the  Nez  Perce"  chorus.  Ever  since  her  return 
there  had  been  a  constant  stream  of  Indian  women, 
calling  with  little  gifts  to  show  their  love. 

The  next  day  the  chiefs  in  paint  and  plume  assem- 
bled at  the  Council. 

"You  have  heard  a  talk  of  war,"  said  the  subagent. 
"  We  are  come  among  you  to  assure  you  there  is  no 
war.  We  come  to  regulate  your  intercourse  with  white 
people.  If  you  lay  aside  your  quarrels,  cultivate  your 
lands,  and  receive  good  laws,  you  may  become  a  great 
and  happy  people. 

"Hear!  hear!  hear!"  cried  the  Walla  Walla- 
Cayuses. 

All  that  day  and  the  next  the  chiefs  discussed  the 
laws.  "  And  do  you  accept  them?  "  said  the  agent. 

"  Ay,"  said  all  the  Indians. 

At  this  point  excitement  rose  to  fever  heat. 

"Who  shall  be  our  High  Chief?" 

Some  said  Tauitau.  In  former  time  Tauitau  had  been 
head  sachem  of  the  Cayuse  nation,  but  after  his  attack 
on  Chief  Factor  Pambrun  that  officer  had  broken  up  his 
power,  encouraged  his  young  men  to  insubordination, 
and  had  advanced  the  influence  of  the  younger  brother, 


250  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Five  Crows.  Tauitau  wore  a  rosary  and  a  crucifix  and 
there  was  a  blue  cross  embroidered  on  'his  moccasions. 

"  He  is  a  Catholic.  We  do  not  follow  his  worship," 
roared  Tiloukaikt. 

"  I  cannot  accept  the  chieftainship,"  said  Tauitau. 
"  I  have  tried  to  control  our  young  men  in  former  time, 
but  I  am  left  alone  to  weep." 

Some  mentioned  Five  Crows.  "  He  is  a  strong  heart," 
said  one.  "  He  will  not  change,"  said  another. 

"  Our  hearts  go  toward  him  with  a  rush,"  cried  all  the 
people. 

Five  Crows,  the  most  ambitious  chief  of  all  the  Indian 
country,  did  not  respond  at  once.  He  only  bowed 
his  head  and  wept.  By  inheritance  the  chieftainship 
belonged  to  Tauitau,  now  by  election  it  was  his. 

The  wind  blew  the  tempting  fragrance  of  a  barbecued 
ox  toward  the  scene  of  deliberation.  A  fat  hog  hung 
hissing  over  a  pit  of  fire,  and  the  hungry  throng  soon 
gathered  around  a  feast  on  the  flowery  field.  The 
sharp  teeth  of  the  Walla  Walla-Cayuses  and  their  Nez 
Perce"  brethren  made  quick  work  of  the  savory  menu. 
Chief  Ellice  brought  out  the  Nez  Perce"  peace  pipe, 
three  feet  long  with  a  bowl  like  a  porringer,  and  laid 
upon  it  a  coal.  The  chiefs  puffed  first,  and  then  the 
whites.  As  each  one  drew  a  whiff  he  spoke,  —  Five 
Crows,  Ellice,  Tauitau,  Yellow  Serpent,  —  one  by  one, 
as  the  fragrant  aroma  curled  up  by  the  still  Walla 
Walla.  One  by  one  they  took  each  other's  hands  — 
and  went  out  from  the  council  and  faced  their  antelope- 
footed  horses  homeward.  Late  at  night  the  fires  still 
smouldered,  but  where  the  nations  camped  that  day 
only  one  solitary  old  Indian  remained  to  boil  up  the 
feet  of  the  barbecued  ox  for  his  next  day's  dinner. 


XXXI 

WHITMAN  RETURNS    WITH  A 
THOUSAND  PEOPLE 

1843 

"  HHRAVEL,  travel,  travel,  —  nothing  else  will  take 
-»-  you  to  the  end  of  your  journey.  Nothing  is 
wise  that  does  not  help  you  along.  Nothing  is  good 
for  you  that  causes  a  moment's  delay."  The  com- 
manding voice  and  clear-cut  face  of  Dr.  Whitman 
passed  from  wagon  to  wagon  of  that  great  procession 
on  the  plains. 

Back,  far  back  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  line 
extended,  a  thousand  souls,  one  hundred  and  twenty 
wagons  drawn  by  oxen,  and  following  in  the  rear 
fifteen  hundred  loose  horses  and  cattle  trampled  up  the 
dust.  Like  the  Greek  anabasis,  like  the  exodus  of 
Israel,  like  the  migrations  of  northern  Europe,  this 
little  army  of  emigrants  broke  all  previous  record,  as 
they  toiled  on  westward  two  thousand  miles  in  one 
unresting  march.  At  every  dawn  the  bugle  woke  the 
night  encampment.  At  every  dusk  the  tents  were  set 
and  supper  fires  were  kindled.  Old  rocking-chairs 
were  brought  out.  Grandams  knit  by  the  cheerful 
blaze  and  babies  toddled  in  the  grass.  Under  the 
mellow  moon  the  old  men  met  in  council,  and  young 
men  and  maids  tripped  the  toe  to  "  Pretty  Betty  Mar- 
tin "  on  the  velvety  plains  of  the  Platte.  Many  a  lover's 


252  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

vow  was  plighted  in  that  westward  march  from  Mis- 
souri to  the  sea.  Hunters  swept  in  from  the  buffalo- 
raid  and  scouts  reported  the  trail  of  Indians.  Future 
senators,  governors,  generals,  divines,  and  judges  were 
in  that  train ;  founders  of  cities  and  carvers  of  empire. 
Burnett,  a  brisk  lawyer,  good-looking  and  affable,  be- 
came the  first  governor  of  California;  William  Gilpin, 
the  first  governor  of  Colorado.  Nesmith  sat  in  the 
national  Senate ;  McCarver,  the  founder  of  Burlington, 
Iowa,  became  the  founder  of  Sacramento,  California,  of 
Tacoma,  Washington,  and  missed  by  only  ten  miles 
the  metropolis  of  Oregon.  Journeying  leisurely  in  the 
rear,  by  a  somewhat  different  route,  came  Lieutenant 
Fremont  with  fourteen  government  wagons,  following 
the  emigrants  out  to  Oregon. 

Here,  there,  everywhere,  Dr.  Whitman  attended  the 
sick,  encouraged  the  weary,  and  counselled  with  the 
pilot  over  the  safety  of  the  route.  He  was  patient  with 
complaints.  "  The  best  of  men  and  women,  when 
fatigued  and  anxious  by  the  way,  will  be  jealous  of 
their  rights,"  he  said.  For  them  he  sought  the  smooth- 
est route,  the  shallowest  ford,  the  most  cooling  pastures 
for  their  fainting  cattle. 

Men  were  in  that  train  who  had  inherited  a  hearty 
hatred  of  the  British,  men  whose  fathers  had  fought  in 
the  Revolution,  and  to  whom  1812  was  fresh  in  memory. 
Burnett,  the  lawyer,  struck  a  responsive  chord  when 
he  cried :  "  Let  us  drive  out  those  British  usurpers, 
let  us  defend  Oregon  from  the  British  lion.  Posterity 
will  honor  us  for  placing  the  fairest  portion  of  our  land 
under  the  stars  and  stripes." 

Along  the  Big  Blue  in  the  sweet  June  weather, 
ferrying  the  Platte  in  their  wagon-box  boats  in  the  July 
sun,  sighting  the  Rockies  in  August,  they  camped  and 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  253 

marched  and  marched  and  camped  toward  the  sunset. 
In  the  buffalo  country  the  Indians  peeped  like  black- 
birds over  the  hills  and  disappeared.  In  September, 
dashing  across  a  cut-off,  Dr.  Whitman  reached  Fort 
Hall  three  days  before  the  train.  Thither  to  his  great 
joy  he  found  his  faithful  Cayuses  had  packed  a  quantity 
of  provisions  on  their  plump  little  ponies.  There  they 
were,  riding  and  swaying  and  swinging,  clinging  with 
their  legs  under  the  ponies'  bellies  and  waving  their 
arms  in  greeting — the  poetry  of  Delsarte  before  Delsarte 
was  heard  of. 

We  can  well  imagine  Dr.  Whitman's  first  words, 
"My  wife?"  and  the  answer,  " Watching  for  you,"  in 
Indian  pantomime.  Something  of  the  May-feast  he 
may  have  learned  and  of  the  burned  mill  as  he  shook 
hands  with  his  red  retainers. 

Against  the  crackling  sage-brush  the  dust-covered 
train  came  rolling  in. 

"What  are  you  going  to  Oregon  for?  You  cannot 
get  the  wagons  through,"  said  Captain  Grant,  the 
Hudson's  Bay  factor  at  Fort  Hall.  "  'T  is  a  physical 
impossibility.  A  small  immigration  passed  through 
here  last  year.  I  told  them  as  I  tell  you,  wagons  never 
have  passed,  never  can  pass  through  the  Snake  country 
and  the  Blue  Mountains.  They  believed  me,  left  their 
wagons,  bought  pack  animals,  and  got  through  safely. 
My  advice  to  you  is  the  same,  get  pack  animals  and 
go  through,  but  I  advise  you  to  go  to  California.  The 
route  is  shorter  and  safer,  and  there  is  the  better 
country." 

"  Can't  get  the  wagons  through,"  was  the  word  that 
passed  from  lip  to  lip. 

"  No,"  said  Captain  Grant;  "there  you  see  the  ones 
abandoned  last  year." 


254  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Sure  enough,  there  in  a  corner  of  the  stockade  stood 
five  battered  old  wagons  left  by  the  venturesome  party 
last  year.  Along  with  them  were  ploughs  and  other 
implements  that  could  not  be  packed  on  horses.  At 
this  apparent  proof  the  men  looked  solemn.  The 
women  began  to  cry. 

"  Both  the  Snake  and  the  Columbia  are  deep,  swift 
rivers,"  continued  Captain  Grant ;  "  no  company  has 
ever  attempted  their  passage  but  with  a  loss  of  life. 
Besides,  several  Indian  tribes  in  the  middle  regions 
have  combined  to  prevent  your  passage.  Why,  the 
Willamette  is  a  thousand  miles  from  here.  The  dis- 
tance is  so  great  that  winter  will  overtake  you  before 
you  reach  the  Cascades.  I  am  astonished  that  you 
ever  scaled  the  Rockies,  but  the  Blue  Mountains  are 
much  more  formidable.  From  here  to  the  Blue  Moun- 
tains the  plain  is  a  cut-rock  desert  —  without  water. 
The  Snake  River  runs  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  canyon  — 
if  you  have  read  Irving's  '  Astoria '  you  remember 
how  Hunt's  party  wandered  along  the  brink,  and  yet 
almost  died  of  thirst  because  they  could  not  reach  the 
water.  There  is  absolutely  no  food  to  be  had  —  unless 
you  eat  gophers  and  ground-hogs  you  will  die  of  famine. 
I  would  n't  undertake  it ;  the  short  cut  to  California  is 
much  safer." 

Groups  stood  here  and  there,  talking  in  great  excite- 
ment, when  Dr.  Whitman  returned  from  his  conversa- 
tion with  the  Cayuses. 

"  What !  Can't  get  the  wagons  through  !  "  exclaimed 
Dr.  Whitman.  "That's  all  bosh.  My  wagon  went 
through  three  years  ago,  and  where  one  went  a  hundred 
can.  Bring  the  wagons  by  all  means.  You  '11  need 
them.  There  's  a  great  demand.  What  can  farmers  do 
without  wagons?  —  and  most  of  you  are  farmers.  Here, 


WHITMAN    RETURNS  255 

my  friend,  sell  me  that  light  dearborn  and  I  '11  prove 
what  I  say.  My  Cayuses  are  here,  they  know  the  trails ; 
they  are  the  safest  guides  in  the  world." 

Six  months  had  passed  since  that  gallant  company 
crossed  the  border  with  their  rifles  on  their  shoulders, 
headed  for  the  end  of  the  West. 

"  The  Sioux  will  oppose  you."  "  Look  out  for  the 
Crows."  "  Beware  of  the  Blackfeet,"  had  been  the 
warning  from  point  to  point.  No  foe  had  troubled  them. 
They  had  forded  many  a  rushing  stream,  had  followed 
the  wagon  route  of  two  women  round  and  round  and 
over  the  Rockies.  As  to  Dr.  Whitman,  some  of  them 
had  heard  his  bugle-call  along  the  border,  some  had 
read  his  pamphlet  as  far  away  as  Texas.  More  had 
heard  of  the  previous  immigration,  for  Oregon  was  in 
the  air,  and  the  settlers  of  the  then  isolated  Missouri 
believed  that  their  crops  might  find  a  better  market  by 
the  seaboard.  Of  Whitman  they  knew  nothing.  All 
they  saw  was  an  immigrant,  like  themselves,  who  had 
almost  recklessly  exposed  himself  in  hunting  fords  for 
their  wagons  and  cattle.  His  past  they  knew  not,  his 
future  not,  nor  his  plans ;  he  spoke  seldom,  and  to  the 
point,  and  always  hopefully.  He  was  worried,  perhaps, 
with  the  expense  of  that  winter  ride,  that  the  Board 
would  not  meet  and  he  must.  He  was  anxious,  perhaps, 
for  future  food  for  that  army.  Flour  at  Fort  Hall  was 
selling  at  mountain  prices,  —  a  dollar  a  pint,  forty  dollars 
a  barrel,  or  four  cows  a  hundred  weight.  The  immi- 
grants had  spent  thousands  of  dollars  for  provisions  at 
Laramie  and  Fort  Hall  —  he  knew  they  were  short  of 
money.  If  worst  came  to  worst  they  had  their  cattle, 
perhaps  the  mission  plantations  had  raised  enough  to 
last  them  down  to  Fort  Vancouver.  These  cogitations 
the  immigrants  saw  not,  but  they  did  see  an  American. 


256  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

His  positive  manner,  his  honest  face  gave  them  con- 
fidence. 

"  He  has  led  us  right  so  far,"  they  said.  "  He  has 
been  over  the  road.  He  lives  here.  These  Injuns  know 
him.  They  have  come  to  meet  him.  We  will  follow 
Dr.  Whitman." 

As  the  groups  closed  round  their  leader  again,  Captain 
Grant  expostulated. 

"  You  Americans  are  running  an  awful  risk.  There 's 
not  a  particle  of  pasturage  on  the  Snake ;  your  cattle 
will  all  die.  All  I  have  seen  convinces  me  'tis  a  beg- 
garly country.  The  buffalo  starves  there,  even  the 
wolves  are  so  thin  you  can  count  their  ribs.  As  for 
wagons,  the  pack-trails  are  of  sharp,  cut  rock,  and 
narrow  and  steep.  You  will  be  stranded  in  some 
lonely  gorge,  if  you  persist  in  this  attempt  to  take 
them  through  the  tangled  woods  and  rocky  cliffs  and 
canyons  of  the  Blue  Mountains.  But  I  wash  my  hands 
of  your  destruction." 

It  was  not  the  last  effort  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany to  divert  immigration  away  from  Oregon. 

Dr.  Whitman  gave  the  whole  of  the  provisions  brought 
by  the  Cayuses  to  the  immigrants,  reserving  only  scraps 
and  bones  for  himself,  and  with  a  body-guard  of  axe- 
men and  his  trusty  Indians,  set  on  ahead.  He  tacked 
up  notices  at  every  difficult  place,  and  set  up  guide- 
poles  in  the  dusty  desert.  Night  by  night  tents  were 
set  at  oases  of  buffalo-grass,  and  the  Indian  guides  by 
day  became  night  guards  and  herders.  The  Snake  was 
forded  at  Salmon  Falls,  then  over  the  future  battle- 
ground of  the  Chief-Joseph-Nez-Perce-War,  through  the 
deep  sand  and  tough  sage,  thirteen  miles  a  day,  they 
came  to  the  Burnt  River  canyon.  On  every  side  lay 
tangled  heaps  of  burnt  and  fallen  trees,  but  with  the 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  257 

genius  of  a  Caesar  Whitman  led  his  battalions  in  the 
centre  of  the  river-bed  for  twenty-five  miles.  Over 
the  rough  hills,  on  the  first  of  October,  the  main  body 
of  the  immigration  entered  the  Grande  Ronde  valley. 
Hundreds  of  Indian  women  were  digging  and  drying  the 
camas.  A  second  party  of  Cayuses,  on  their  plump 
little  horses  adorned  with  streamers,  came  out  to  meet 
them  with  a  feast  of  bread  and  berries  and  elk  meat. 
In  their  long-laced  leggings,  and  deerskin  jackets,  and 
flying  hair,  the  Cayuses  welcomed  Dr.  Whitman  with  a 
thousand  extravagant  antics,  circling  about  and  about, 
and  flinging  themselves  over  and  under  their  ponies  like 
circus  boys. 

The  Indians  offered  their  native  roots.  The  white 
people  gingerly  touched  the  bulbous  camas.  It  flaked 
off  like  an  onion.  "Better  than  licorice,"  said  the 
white  children.  The  snowy  kouse,  the  biscuit-root,  was 
tasted.  "  Sweet  potatoes,"  shouted  the  little  Yankees, 
and  later  most  of  them  learned  to  like  the  starchy 
wapato. 

While  yet  feasting,  a  courier  rode  into  the  Grande 
Ronde  and  stopped  at  the  doctor's  tent. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spalding  are  very  ill.  They  send  for 
you." 

Dr.  Whitman  turned  to  the  faithful  Cayuse  that  had 
met  him  at  Fort  Hall,  "  Sticcas,  my  boy,  can  you  guide 
these  people  in?" 

"  I  can,"  answered  the  sub-chief,  who  was  never 
known  to  refuse  a  request  of  Dr.  Whitman. 

The  doctor  struck  across  the  country  to  Lapwai. 
Sticcas  went  ahead,  with  forty  men,  cutting  a  road 
through  the  heavy  timber.  The  Applegates,  the  Daniel 
Boones  of  Oregon,  Burnett,  the  future  governor,  and 
Nesmith,  the  senator-to-be,  walked  all  the  way  through 

17 


258  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  Blue  Mountains,  with  axes  in  their  blistered  hands, 
hewing  a  wagon-way  through  the  crossed  and  criss- 
crossed fallen  trees. 

Nesmith  says,  "  Sticcas  was  a  faithful  old  fellow,  and 
although  not  speaking  a  word  of  English,  and  no  one  in 
our  party  a  word  of  Cayuse,  he  succeeded,  by  panto- 
mime, in  taking  us  over  the  roughest  wagon-route  I  ever 
saw." 

A  heavy  snow  fell  in  the  mountains,  the  warning  of 
approaching  winter.  Descending  the  western  slope, 
there  lay  before  them  the  great  valley  of  the  Columbia. 
At  their  feet  the  Cayuse  lodge-fires  curled  on  the  green 
Umatilla.  Miles  away  the  sinewy  Hood,  and  his  sister 
St.  Helen's,  swam  in  light,  Mt.  Adams  lay  like  a  couchant 
lion,  and  winding  'mid  her  battlements,  the  Columbia, 
a  long  line  of  liquid  gold,  blazed  in  the  setting  sun. 
Fatigue  was  forgotten  in  this  glorified  glimpse  of  the 
promised  land.  Exultant,  the  train  of  wagons  rolled 
into  the  plain. 

High  on  a  spur  of  the  Blue  Mountains  one  stood  and 
watched  the  moving  caravan.  A  dark  scowl  of  hate 
disfigured  his  face,  his  clenched  hand,  lifted,  sunk 
again.  Too  well  the  Delaware  knew  the  story  of 
American  immigration. 

For  miles  the  Indians  came  to  view  that  caravan, 
that,  farther  than  Caesar  bore  the  Roman  eagles,  had 
come  to  claim  a  land.  But  the  feature  that  most 
engaged  the  Indians  was  the  wagons,  the  mysterious 
"  horse  canoes,"  that  rolled  along  over  the  obstinate 
bunch-grass,  bearing  women  and  little  children  into 
Oregon.  On,  on  they  came,  it  seemed  to  the  Indians  a 
never-ending  train,  as  if  that  great  mysterious  land  to 
the  east  was  pouring  itself  into  the  vales  of  the  Colum- 
bia. All  their  doubts,  all  their  fears,  all  their  terrors 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  259 

leaped  anew.  "  Yes,  it  is  as  Dorion  said ;  they  have 
come  to  take  the  country."  But  no  hand  was  lifted 
against  the  new-comers  —  surprise  absorbed  all  other 
emotions. 

Dr.  Whitman,  the  Nestor  of  them  all,  had  already  de- 
spatched from  Lapwai  a  train  of  Nez  Perces,  with  grain 
and  potatoes,  that  the  immigrants  might  purchase 
needed  supplies  before  advancing  down  the  Columbia. 

"  I  said  I  would  bring  an  immigration  over  the  moun- 
tains, and  I  have  done  it,"  said  Dr.  Whitman,  bringing 
his  hand  down  on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle. 

"  Yes,  but  mind,  now,  Doctor,"  said  Spalding,  as  the 
pack-ponies  set  out,  "  I  furnish  those  provisions  only 
on  condition  that  you  accept  pay  for  them.  Of  course 
let  nobody  suffer,  but  remember,  we  are  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  give  out  of  hand  to  every  immigrant  as  you 
did  last  year.  I  know  your  generous  nature ;  you  would 
give  your  last  ounce  of  flour  and  live  yourself  on  the 
bran.  The  missions  are  compelled  to  be  self-support- 
ing. The  very  toil  we  expend  in  raising  these  supplies 
is  that  much  taken  out  of  our  time  for  preaching  and 
teaching." 

"  Not  so,  brother  Spalding,"  cheerfully  answered  the 
doctor.  "  With  the  plough,  the  spade,  the  hoe,  we  teach. 
When  the  Indians  see  us  work,  they  are  more  willing." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  Spalding,  "  my  Nez  Perces 
often  laugh  and  tell  me,  '  Before  you  came  we  never 
worked.  Now  we  are  become  a  nation  of  squaws.'  " 

The  worn-out  oxen  dragged  the  worn-out  wagons 
down  to  the  Dalles.  The  herders  drove  the  cattle  by 
the  trail  around  Mt.  Hood.  Some  cut  timber  and 
fashioned  log  rafts  to  navigate  the  perilous  river. 
Driving  on  their  wagons  and  piling  on  their  goods 
and  families,  down  they  glided,  Indians  assisting,  and 


26o  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

stealing  now  and  then,  till  the  seething  cascades  ren- 
dered the  crafts  useless.  On  one  of  those  rafts  a 
child  was  born. 

Pitching  their  tents,  the  men  struck  into  the  forest  to 
cut  a  wagon-road  around  the  Cascades.  It  was  toil- 
some work.  The  stormy  season  had  come.  Cold  rains 
set  in.  High  winds  from  the  sea  sucked  up  the  Colum- 
bia, blowing  down  the  tents  at  night,  drenching  the 
sleepers  in  their  beds.  Provisions  gave  out.  On  the 
very  threshold  of  their  Canaan  the  Oregon  immigrants 
of  1843  seemed  likely  to  perish  of  cold  and  hunger. 
The  hardships  of  the  entire  journey  seemed  concen- 
trated at  the  Cascades  of  the  Columbia. 

Below,  at  Fort  Vancouver,  the  Canadians  were  busy, 
as  usual,  beating  furs  in  the  court.  The  dull  thud  of 
their  batons  kept  time  with  snatches  of  song,  and  tilts 
of  wit  and  repartee.  The  furs  were  out  for  their  last 
airing,  to  be  sorted  and  packed  for  London.  Bales  of 
beaver,  bales  of  bear,  bales  of  otter  were  dusted  and 
folded  in  a  certain  way  for  their  long  journey  to  the 
dim  old  warerooms  on  Fenchurch  Street.  The  barque 
lay  in  the  river  taking  on  her  precious  freight. 

"  Dose  Engine  say  Bostons  camp  by  Mt.  Hood,  der 
odder  side,"  exclaimed  a  Canadian  in  from  the  court. 
"  Dose  Engine  say  women  and  wagons  —  " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  nonsense,  Gabriel.  You  're  like 
Father  De  Smet,  who  roused  the  whole  camp  crying 
'  Indians !  Indians !  '  in  his  dreams,"  said  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin,  sticking  his  quill  behind  his  ear,  and  hold- 
ing the  paper  he  was  writing  at  arm's  length. 

"Dose  Engine  say — "  but  the  doctor  waved  him  off 
impatiently. 

"Bah!  Indian  bugaboo  !  Indian  bugaboo  !  Don't  tell 
me." 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  261 

Nevertheless,  when  Gabriel  reluctantly  withdrew  the 
doctor  called  him  back. 

"  Say,  say,  Gabriel,  send  those  Indians  here." 

A  few  men  in  a  canoe  shot  the  Cascades  and  hurried 
down  to  Fort  Vancouver. 

"A  thousand  people?  Lord!  Lord!"  exclaimed  Dr. 
McLoughlin,  crossing  his  breast.  "  What  manner  of 
men  are  these  that  scale  the  mountains  and  slide  down 
the  rivers  as  the  Goths  of  old  down  the  Alps?  " 

He  heard  the  tale  of  distress.  Dr.  McLoughlin 
thought  not  of  the  company,  not  of  rivals;  he  only 
knew  that  women  and  little  children  were  perishing 
at  the  Cascades. 

"  Man  the  boats,"  he  cried.  In  fifteen  minutes  every 
boat  was  on  the  water. 

"  Take  provisions,  —  twenty-five  pounds  of  flour  to 
every  small  family,  fifty  to  every  large  one,  one  quart 
of  syrup  to  every  small  family,  half  a  gallon  to  a  large 
one ;  take  sugar  in  three  and  five  pound  packages  and  a 
pound  of  tea  to  every  family.  If  any  can  pay,  let  them, 
but  don't  stand  on  ceremony.  Make  haste,  reach  there 
to-night." 

The  boats  shot  out  on  the  errand  of  mercy.  The 
doctor  was  greatly  excited.  He  ordered  the  servants 
to  bring  great  piles  of  brush  and  fuel  for  bonfires  on 
the  morrow. 

The  boats  arrived  at  the  Cascades  none  too  soon. 
With  tears  streaming  down  their  cheeks  aged  women 
yet  living  say  fervently:  "God  bless  Dr.  McLoughlin  !  " 

Little  children  danced  for  joy.  Many  had  not  had  a 
square  meal  for  weeks.  So  starved  were  they,  some 
cooked  and  ate  all  night.  The  next  day  they  set  out 
for  Fort  Vancouver.  The  overloaded  boats  rocked  on 
the  tempestuous  river,  cold  brown  clouds  wrapped 


262  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

the  hills,  wheeling  eagles  shrieked  and  screamed,  the 
winter  rain  beat  in  their  defenceless  faces.  Mothers 
wrapped  their  babies  in  their  shawls,  and  fathers  with 
lips  set,  as  the  Pilgrims  of  1620,  looked  toward  the 
blast. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  had  been  up  since  daylight  and  was 
watching  on  the  bank.  There  were  Indians  all  around. 
The  doctor  noted  the  angry,  excited  glance  that  fell 
upon  the  approaching  boats.  As  the  first  boat  swung 
toward  the  shore  a  big  Indian  flourished  his  club  and 
shouted  to  his  comrades, — 

"  It  is  good  for  us  to  kill  these  Bostons." 

Dr.  McLoughlin's  quick  ear  caught  their  meaning. 
One  word  from  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  and  those 
Indians  would  rise  as  one  man  to  cut  off  the  incoming 
Americans.  The  possible  tragedy  seemed  about  to 
open  with  all  the  horrors  of  tomahawk  and  scalping- 
knife.  Rushing  upon  the  savage,  with  uplifted  cane, 
the  doctor  grabbed  him  by  the  throat,  — 

"Who  is  the  dog  that  says  it  is  a  good  thing  to  kill 
those  Bostons?" 

That  awful  tone,  that  made  the  red  men  tremble, 
seemed  doubly  awful  now.  Fire  blazed  from  his  eye. 
The  white  locks  flew  like  a  bush  around  his  head, 
giving  him  a  fierce  and  terrible  aspect.  The  craven 
slunk  back  in  abject  fear. 

"  I  spoke  without  meaning  harm,  but  the  Dalles 
Indians  say  so." 

The  doctor  gave  him  a  shake  as  a  terrier  would  a  rat. 
"Well,  sir,  the  Dalles  Indians  are  dogs  for  saying  so, 
and  you  also.  If  I  hear  another  such  word,  I  '11  put  an 
end  to  you."  With  that  he  flung  him  to  the  ground. 

Crestfallen  the  Indian  crept  away. 

Returning  to  the  landing,  Dr.  McLoughlin  anxiously 


WHITMAN    RETURNS  263 

took  the  hands  of  the  immigrants.  Bonfires  were  blaz- 
ing all  along  the  shore,  where  the  wet  people  hastened 
to  dry  their  drenched  garments.  In  five  minutes  the 
friendly  doctor  in  his  cap  and  cloak  seemed  like  an  old 
acquaintance,  meeting  them  there  as  a  matter  of  course. 
"  Go  right  up  to  the  fort  to  dinner,"  said  Dr.  McLough- 
lin.  Some  went  up,  glad  again  of  the  shelter  of  a  house 
and  a  civilized  meal. 

The  indoor  servants  were  busy,  sweeping,  replenish- 
ing fires,  dusting  clothes ;  but  at  a  word  from  the  Gov- 
ernor all  turned  in  to  wait  on  the  multitude  of  guests. 

"  And  what  did  you  have  for  dinner?"  was  asked  of 
one  now  white  with  eighty  years. 

"  Salt  salmon  and  potatoes,  hot  biscuit  and  tea.  It 
was  a  splendid  meal,  the  best  I  ever  ate,  and  we  were 
thankful  to  get  it." 

"  And  did  Dr.  McLoughlin  eat  with  you?" 

"  Oh,  no,  he  stayed  all  the  time  at  the  river-bank 
watching  the  boats  come  in.  It  was  raining  hard,  and 
the  wind  blew  his  long  white  hair  around  his  shoulders, 
but  he  would  not  leave  the  boats.  After  dinner  we 
went  on  up  the  Willamette,  but  the  last  we  saw  was  Dr. 
McLoughlin,  there  in  the  rain,  watching  the  boats." 

"  How  the  wind  howls !  "  said  Dr.  McLoughlin  that 
night. 

"  T  is  time  noo  to  lock  the  gates,"  answered  the  old 
gatekeeper,  pulling  down  his  hood  and  buttoning  up  his 
great  capote. 

"Leave  them  a  little,  Bruce.  Some  one  else  may 
come.  'T  is  a  stormy  time  for  immigrants.  I  am  sorry 
for  those  poor  families  that  went  up  the  river." 

All  day,  and  into  the  night,  and  for  days  thereafter, 
Dr.  McLoughlin  stood  by  the  river,  never  for  a  moment 
relaxing  his  vigilance,  personally  superintending  the 


264  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

reception  of  the  immigrants,  as  if  they  had  been  his 
own  invited  guests.  Many  a  hostile  intent  was  dis- 
armed, and  to  the  end  of  their  lives  the  heroes  of  1843 
cherished  a  brother's  regard  for  Dr.  John  McLoughlin. 

In  a  day  or  two  the  mission  blacksmith  came  down  to 
the  fort.  The  doctor  caught  sight  of  him  on  the  steps, 
and  that  prophecy,  "  Before  we  die  we  shall  see  the 
Yankees  coming  across  the  Rocky  Mountains  with 
their  teams  and  their  families,"  flashed  through  his  mind. 
Rapidly  crossing  himself,  Dr.  McLoughlin  exclaimed, 
"  God  forgive  me,  Mr.  Parrish,  God  forgive  me,  but  the 
Yankees  are  here,  and  the  first  thing  you  know,  they 
will  yoke  up  their  oxen,  drive  down  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Columbia,  and  come  out  at  Japan." 

The  servants  were  turned  out  of  their  beds,  every 
available  niche  and  cranny  of  the  old  fort  was  filled 
with  immigrants.  The  Montreal  express  came  in,  bring- 
ing Billy  McKay  home  from  the  States,  a  young  M.D. 
"  I  found  the  fort  full  of  immigrants,"  says  Dr.  McKay, 
"  and  my  father's  house  at  Scappoose,  and  all  the  Cana- 
dians' at  Champoeg.  There  were  only  six  houses  at 
the  Falls;  they  were  crowded,  and  all  the  posts  of  the 
Methodist  mission."  Through  the  long  autumn  the 
immigrants  continued  passing  at  Fort  Vancouver. 

"  How  they  ever  get  here  is  what  confounds  me," 
said  Dr.  McLoughlin.  "  These  Yankees  seem  to  be 
able  to  drive  a  wagon  where  our  men  can  only  lead  a 
packhorse." 

"  Can't  we  devise  some  method  to  head  them  off  to 
California?"  suggested  James  Douglas,  annoyed  by  the 
constant  arrivals. 

"Who  cries  '  head  them  off'?"  said  the  doctor, 
flushed  and  tired.  "  The  very  effort  would  precipitate 
trouble.  Too  many  Boston  ships  have  visited  this 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  265 

coast  for  us  to  hide  her  riches  now.  America  is  not 
asleep.  If  we  hold  north  of  the  Columbia  't  is  all  that 
we  can  hope." 

Black  Douglas  was  angry.  He  thought  the  doctor's 
philanthropy  excessive.  Ogden  felt  again  the  baleful 
star  of  his  birth  that  gave  him  no  rest  between  the  rival 
powers.  Ermatinger  put  on  the  cap  with,  "  Why, 
Doctor,  I  believe  you've  a  bit  of  Yankee  blood 
yourself." 

"  Thirty  miles  north  of  the  Maine  border  lacks  little 
of  it,"  growled  the  doctor,  nodding  his  shaggy  mane. 
Somehow  McLoughlin,  bom  on  the  St.  Lawrence, 
never  could  see  through  the  partial  eyes  of  a  Thames- 
born  Briton. 

He  walked  back  and  forth  with  excited  stride,  kick- 
ing now  and  then  a  chair  with  his  cane.  Absolute  in 
his  rule,  he  was  not  accustomed  to  being  crossed,  least 
of  all  by  strangers.  Many  things  had  gone  wrong. 
Despite  his  well-meant  kindness,  some  rough  fellows  of 
the  baser  sort  had  spoken  rudely.  He  caught  the  con- 
temptuous epithets,  "Money  bags,"  "  British,"  "  Monop- 
oly." His  companions  reminded  him  of  these  things. 
Turning  with  that  eye  of  his,  that  cut  to  the  marrow,  — 
"  Because  an  ill-bred  puppy  barks  shall  I  blame  a  whole 
people?" 

Stung,  harassed,  annoyed  on  every  hand  by  the  per- 
plexities  of  the  situation,  the  doctor  had  one  mentor 
that  always  led  him  right  —  his  faithful  wife,  the 
Madame.  Composed,  apparently  imperturbable,  she 
sat  with  her  knitting,  soothing  him  with  her  soft 
French,  —  "  There,  there,  Dogtor,  he  low-bred  fellow. 
Gentlemen  not  heed  such  thing." 

So  always  it  had  been.  Frequently  the  doctor's 
quick  temper  had  ignited  over  some  recreant  servant, 


266          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

and  he  had  stormed  in  a  rage,  "  I  '11  thrash  that  rascal. 
I  '11  —  "  until  the  Madame's  crooning,  "  There,  there," 
fell  upon  his  ear.  "  He,  poor  ignorant  boy,  he  not 
know  any  better,  he  not  understand,  he  tired,  he  too 
much  work,"  until  the  wrath  cooled  out  of  the  doctor's 
heart. 

Lieutenant  Fremont  hastened  down  to  Fort  Van- 
couver to  purchase  supplies  for  his  overland  trip  to 
California.  He  records  in  his  journal:  "I  immedi- 
ately waited  upon  Dr.  McLoughlin,  the  executive 
officer  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  who  received 
me  with  the  courtesy  and  hospitality  for  which  he  has 
been  eminently  distinguished,  and  which  makes  a 
forcible  and  delightful  impression  on  a  traveller  from 
the  long  wilderness  from  which  we  had  issued.  .  .  . 
Every  hospitable  attention  was  extended  to  me,  and  I 
accepted  an  invitation  to  take  a  room  in  the  fort  and 
to  make  myself  at  home  while  I  stayed. 

"  I  found  many  American  immigrants  at  the  fort ; 
others  had  already  crossed  the  river  into  their  land  of 
promise  —  the  Willamette  valley.  Others  were  daily  ar- 
riving, and  all  of  them  had  been  furnished  with  shelter, 
so  far  as  it  could  be  afforded  by  the  buildings  connected 
with  the  establishment.  Necessary  clothing  and  pro- 
visions (the  latter  to  be  afterward  returned  in  kind  from 
the  produce  of  their  labor)  were  also  furnished.  This 
friendly  assistance  was  of  very  great  value  to  the  immi- 
grants, whose  families  were  otherwise  exposed  to  much 
suffering  in  the  winter  rains,  which  had  now  commenced, 
at  the  same  time  that  they  were  in  want  of  all  the  com- 
mon necessaries  of  life." 

A  month  after  the  immigration  was  in,  Dr.  Whitman 
came  down  to  Fort  Vancouver  —  he  felt  it  his  duty  to 
come  in  person  and  thank  Dr.  McLoughlin.  These 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  267 

men,  of  opposite  religious  faiths  yet  of  equally  noble 
hearts,  had  always  entertained  for  each  other  the 
warmest  friendship. 

Whitman  was  always  direct  in  speech.  "  Doctor 
McLoughlin,"  he  said,  "  I  come  to  Vancouver  to  thank 
you  in  the  name  of  humanity  for  your  kindness  to  my 
countrymen.  That  very  act  disarmed  that  company  of 
a  thousand  prejudices  that  had  worried  me  all  the  way. 
By  a  single  act  you  turned  presumptive  foes  into  the 
warmest  friends." 

Dr.  McLoughlin  reddened.  It  was  hard  to  stand 
thus  and  be  thanked  by  one  who  had  just  returned 
from  the  errand  of  a  rival,  and  that,  too,  for  succoring 
the  very  ones  who,  confessedly,  came  to  take  the 
country  from  the  government  to  which  he  owed  alle- 
giance. And  he,  himself,  had  he  been  loyal  to  Britain? 
Banish  the  doubt.  There  is  a  law  above  all  personal 
consideration,  the  law  of  common  humanity.  In  feed- 
ing the  hungry  and  clothing  the  naked,  in  saving  fel- 
low-men from  the  tomahawk  of  the  savage,  no  mere 
worldly  policy  but  a  divine  principle  had  governed 
his  action. 

Justified  of  God,  he  smiled  and  grasped  the  hand  of 
Dr.  Whitman  —  "  Do  not  thank  me,  Doctor,  I  could 
not  help  it.  I  could  not  see  those  people  in  want  while 
I  had  stores  of  plenty.  But  there  was  another  reason, 
a  more  potent  one  yet.  I  stood  on  the  shore  that  day 
and  saw  your  first  stragglers  coming  up  in  their  canoes, 
and  I  read  in  the  looks  of  the  excited  Indians  that  there 
was  danger.  I  said  to  myself,  '  If  these  savages  see 
that  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  receives  these  people 
as  friends  they  are  safe,'  so  I  did  what  I  could.  I  was 
racked  with  fear  that  if  your  excitable  countrymen 
learned  the  situation  there  would  be  fighting,  and  so, 


268  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

without  concerted  plan,  they  would  all  be  cut  off. 
Fortunately  my  ruse  succeeded.  I  thought  some  of 
our  rascally  Iroquois  might  have  sprung  this  scheme, 
and  investigated  the  matter  afterward,  but  found  no 
light  on  the  subject." 

"  Oh,"  said  Whitman,  "  I  know  all  about  it." 

"You  do,  Doctor?"  ejaculated  the  governor. 

"  Yes,  and  I  have  known  it  for  two  years." 

"  You  have  known  it  for  two  years  and  have  told  me 
nothing !  Pray,  who  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  mischief? 
Who  is  making  you  trouble?  If  it  is  a  graceless  Iro- 
quois I  will  tie  him  to  the  twelve-pounder  and  give  him 
a  dozen." 

Dr.  Whitman  saw  in  fancy  the  irate  governor  already 
in  quest  of  a  guilty  Iroquois  and  said :  "  No,  it  is  not 
an  Iroquois.  His  name  is  Thomas  Hill." 

Dr.  McLoughlin  knit  his  brows  in  thought,  gazing 
at  Whitman.  "  We  have  no  one  by  that  name  in  our 
service,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

"  No,  it  is  Tom  Hill,  the  Delaware  Indian,  educated 
at  Dartmouth  College  in  the  States.  He  has  urged 
the  Indians  to  allow  no  Americans  to  settle  on  their 
lands  —  my  Cayuses  are  greatly  agitated  over  the  mat- 
ter. I  have  told  them  white  men  will  pay  them  for 
their  lands,  but  they  no  longer  believe  me.  I  think, 
however,  the  trouble  will  blow  over  and  they  will 
set  to  work  again.  Some  of  my  faithful  Cayuses 
met  us  at  Fort  Hall,  others  at  the  Grande  Ronde. 
The  immigrants  owe  a  great  debt  to  the  sub-chief 
Sticcas." 

"  Doctor,  take  the  advice  of  a  friend  —  come  down  to 
Fort  Vancouver.  Some  one  has  been  exciting  those 
Indians,  and  the  consequences  may  be  immediate  and 
awful.  You  know  while  you  were  gone  we  had  a  great 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  269 

deal  of  trouble.  Yellow  Serpent  came  to  me  for 
advice  and  told  me  the  same  tales.  My  brother,  I 
tremble  for  your  safety." 

Dr.  Whitman  sat  in  a  large,  leather-covered  chair  in 
the  doctor's  sitting-room.  Dr.  McLoughlin  had  risen 
and  laid  his  hands  upon  his  shoulders.  Entreaty  shone 
in  his  eyes  and  in  every  line  of  his  noble  countenance. 
"  Listen  to  me,"  continued  the  governor.  "  Indians 
are  not  to  be  trifled  with.  Leave  them.  Come  here 
and  stay.  By  and  by  they  will  invite  you  back.  Then 
you  can  go  in  safety." 

The  Indians  seemed  friendly;  they  had  welcomed 
him  back  with  joy.  He  could  see  no  danger,  and  yet 
Dr.  Whitman  was  not  unmoved  by  his  friend's  solici- 
tude. He  recognized  the  motive  of  the  generous 
heart  that  would  shield  him  from  possible  harm,  but 
he  said :  "  I  cannot  leave,  Doctor.  My  duty  lies  with 
the  Indians.  I  cannot  desert  my  post.  I  must  stay 
and  do  what  I  can." 

Dr.  Whitman  had  risen.  Two  heroes  stood  face  to 
face.  The  early  sunset  cast  its  slant  shadows  across 
the  wall,  lighting  up  the  silver  locks  of  the  Father  of 
Oregon,  and  resting  in  a  halo  on  the  brow  of  the  future 
martyr.  Catholic  and  Protestant,  British  and  Ameri- 
can, yet  brothers  in  a  common  fidelity  to  God  and 
humanity. 

Yes,  from  her  mission  door  Narcissa  Whitman,  watch- 
ing on  the  Walla  Walla,  had  heard  the  returning  hoof- 
beats  of  that  rider  on  the  plains.  From  that  door  she 
saw  the  wagons  rolling  in,  that  were  to  turn  the  rock- 
ing balance  forever  in  favor  of  her  country.  There 
were  immigrants  with  a  new-born  babe  in  her  bedroom, 
immigrants  with  four  little  children  in  the  room  east 


270  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

of  the  kitchen,  an  immigrant  family  with  six  little  chil- 
dren in  the  Indian  room,  immigrants  slept  on  the 
dining-room  floor.  Little  Mary  Ann  and  Helen  Mar, 
tucked  in  their  trundle-bed  in  the  doctor's  room,  asked, 
"  Mamma,  mamma,  where  so  many  people  come 
from?" 

A  village  of  Indians  camped  outside,  eager  to  ex- 
plain to  the  doctor:  "We  no  burn  the  mill.  We  no 
do  such  thing." 

"  I  know  it,  my  boys,  we  '11  build  another ;  "  and  the 
doctor  brought  out  his  blackboard,  and  printed  the 
lessons  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  At  the  ringing 
of  the  hand-bell  the  feet  of  little  Indians  came  tracking 
up  the  yellow  pine  floor,  and  musical  voices  joined 
the  Nez  Perce, 

"  Nesikapapa  kldxta  mitlite  kopa  sdh-a-le." 
Our     Father  who      art       in     the  above 

(or  Heaven). 

It  was  nearly  Christmas  before  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Whit- 
man were  fully  settled  to  the  old  routine  at  Waiilatpu. 
But  the  larder  was  bare,  as  if  swept  by  a  swarm  of 
locusts.  Everything  went  to  the  immigrants.  The 
mill  with  its  grain  was  gone.  Nothing  was  left  but 
potatoes  and  salt,  and  even  salt  was  two  dollars  a 
pound  at  Fort  Walla  Walla.  "  Never  mind,  Narcissa," 
said  the  doctor,  "  next  year  we  will  plant  enough  for 
all  that  come.  For  the  present  I  think  the  Indians  will 
sell  us  some  ponies  for  steak." 

Just  after  the  arrival  of  the  immigrants  a  heavy  cloud 
rose  over  Mt.  St.  Helen's,  and  continued  to  enlarge. 
A  copper  haze,  heavier  than  Indian  summer,  hung 
over  the  Columbia.  Mt.  Hood  was  hid  in  shadow. 
The  sun  glared  red  as  blood. 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  271 

"  Why,  this  is  equal  to  a  Christmas  fog  in  London," 
said  Dr.  McLoughlin,  noting  the  increasing  darkness. 

"  Has  the  mountain  fire-bug  been  out  again  ? "  in- 
quired Douglas. 

"  Cannot  be,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin.  "  September 
rains  extinguished  the  mountain  fires  long  ago." 

Old  Waskema,  returning  with  berries  from  Mt.  Hood, 
had  seen  the  immigrants  in  bateaux  going  down  to 
Fort  Vancouver.  Hastening  to  a  camp  of  Molallas 
who  were  fishing  for  the  late  run  of  salmon,  she  startled 
them  with  the  Cassandra-cry,  "  Woe,  woe,  woe  the  poor 
Indian !  " 

"Lou  —  wala  —  clough  smoke,"  said  the  old  crone, 
shading  her  eyes  with  both  skinny  hands  and  looking 
toward  St.  Helen's. 

The  superstitious  Molallas  trembled  and  put  aside 
their  fishing.  Still  with  the  hollow  "  Woe,  woe,  woe  " 
upon  her  lips  Waskema  set  out  for  Fort  Vancouver. 

It  was  a  phenomenally  dark  and  heavy  day.  Not 
even  when  the  great  forest  fire  came  down  and  threat- 
ened the  fort  had  it  been  so  oppressive.  Dr.  McLough- 
lin went  out  to  observe  the  lurid  sky.  Candles  were 
lit  in  the  hall,  and  the  cattle  came  lowing  up  from  the 
marshes  at  midday.  The  air  was  full  of  fine,  light  ashes 
that  fell  over  a  radius  of  fifty  miles.  For  the  first  time 
in  the  memory  of  man  the  white  robes  of  St.  Helen's 
were  blackened  with  dust. 

Down  by  the  boat-house  Dr.  McLoughlin  saw  old 
Waskema,  landing  from  her  canoe.  With  the  kindness 
of  heart  that  would  not  slight  even  a  withered  old  squaw, 
he  advanced  and  took  her  hand,  "  Well,  what 's  the  good 
word,  grandmother?" 

The  decrepit  figure  tried  to  straighten  itself.  In 
spite  of  her  taciturnity  the  White-Headed  Eagle  had 


272  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

won  the  heart  of  old  Waskema.  A  smile,  that  was  a 
pathetic  contraction  of  leathern  muscles  long  unused  to 
laughter,  danced  over  her  face  and  was  gone.  In  a 
sepulchral  tone,  shaking  her  bony  finger,  she  pointed  to 
the  erupting  mountain. 

"  Lou  —  wala  —  clough  smoke  !  White-Headed  Eagle 
beware.  Um  too  much  Boston  !  Um  too  much  Boston  I 
Um  drive  King  George  man  out.  Um  drive  poor  Injun 
out." 

The  attitude,  the  tone,  the  darkness,  all  corresponded 
with  the  gloom  of  the  doctor's  spirit.  Only  too  well  he 
knew  that  with  this  influx  of  Americans  the  Hudson's 
Bay  regime  was  over.  A  wind  loaded  with  frost  blew 
down  from  Mt.  Hood. 

"  Ugh-ugh  !  Walla  Walla  wind  freeze,"  chattered  Was- 
kema, drawing  her  blanket  closer  and  crouching  beside 
old  Kesano's  camp-fire  by  the  gate.  Dr.  McLoughlin 
watched  the  pair,  withered  and  thin,  bent  and  gray, 
the  last  of  two  distinct  tribes  in  the  once  populous 
Willamette.  "  So  will  it  be  with  them  all,"  he  thought 
sadly.  "  The  beaver  and  the  Indian  will  perish 
together." 

St.  Helen's  poured  her  molten  lava  over  the  beautiful 
white  snow.  Moneycoon,  the  hunter,  was  up  in  the 
mountain  and  found  his  return  cut  off.  Taking  a  run, 
he  tried  to  leap  and  fell,  one  foot  in  the  glowing  torrent. 
The  moccasin  was  singed  from  his  foot,  and  the  flesh 
so  burned  that  he  came  near  being  a  cripple  for  life. 
Crawling  miraculously  back  to  Fort  Vancouver,  he  was 
put  in  the  hospital,  where  Dr.  Barclay  nursed  him  back 
to  health. 

"  Oh,  lovely  Oregon !  "  cried  the  immigrants  as  the 
green  pastures  appeared  along  the  Willamette.  Nothing 
surprised  the  new-comers  more  than  the  tropic  luxuriance 


WHITMAN   RETURNS  273 

of  vegetation.  Beyond  the  storm-swept  Cascades  a  new 
world  appeared.  The  moist  Chinook  nurtured  the  trees 
to  mammoths.  Shrubbery,  like  the  hazel,  grew  to  be 
trees.  The  maple  spread  its  leaves  like  palm  fans; 
dogwood  of  magnolian  beauty,  wild  cherry,  crab-apple, 
interlaced  with  Oregon  holly,  black-berries,  rose-bushes, 
vines  of  every  sort  and  description,  and  ferns,  ferns 
filled  the  canyons  like  the  jungles  of  the  Orinoco. 

"We  will  all  own  dukedoms  now,"  said  the  immi- 
grants, picking  out  the  fairest  tracts,  a  square  mile 
each  of  land,  that  might  have  been  the  pride  of  an 
English  manor.  Six  hundred  and  forty  acres  to  each 
family  was  the  bill  in  Congress. 

For  seeds,  wheat,  implements  —  they  all  applied  to 
Dr.  McLoughlin.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  will  loan  you  wheat  and 
implements,  and  you  can  pay  me  when  you  harvest," 
said  the  doctor.  "  Plant  all  you  can.  Another  such 
immigration  will  bring  a  famine." 

To  those  without  stock  he  loaned  cattle  for  a  term  of 
years.  To  those  without  provisions  he  loaned  a  supply 
for  the  winter,  and  then  loaned  the  boat  that  carried 
them  to  their  destination.  The  commissariat  was  kept 
busy  weighing  out  salmon,  the  clerks  kept  busy  measur- 
ing out  cloth.  "  I  can't  have  them  suffering  for  what  we 
can  supply,"  he  said.  "  The  best  thing  for  them  and  for 
us,  too,  is  to  forward  them  to  their  destination  and  get 
them  settled  and  self-supporting  as  soon  as  possible." 
About  the  same  time  Ermatinger  was  despatched  with  a 
cargo  of  goods,  to  open  a  Hudson's  Bay  store  at  the 
settlement  by  the  Falls. 

During  that  winter  of  1843  a  village  sprang  up  at 
the  Falls  of  the  Willamette  —  Oregon  City.  Out  of  the 
books  brought  over  the  plains  a  circulating  library 
was  formed,  a  lyceum  was  organized,  a  Methodist 

18 


274  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

church  was  built,  —  the  first  Protestant  church  west  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains. 

"  Scissors  !  Scissors  !  "  grumbled  Ogden,  taking  a  run 
up  the  river.  "  These  colonies  of  people  are  driving 
out  our  colonies  of  beaver.  I  think  I  '11  beg  a  leave  of 
absence  and  take  a  trip  to  England." 


XXXII 

McLOUGHLIN  AND  THE  IMMIGRANTS 
1844 

T3OTH  parties  watched  for  the  immigration  of  1844. 
-*— *  The  Americans  wanted  news  from  the  States. 
The  Hudson's  Bay  ship  brought  word  of  impending  war 
with  the  United  States.  With  an  incoming  army  of 
hostile  immigrants  what  might  not  happen  at  Fort  Van- 
couver? "  If  they  are  destitute  as  last  year,  they  will 
pillage  the  fort,"  said  Douglas. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  set  his  Canadians  to  building  an- 
other bastion,  and  strengthened  again  the  ever  decay- 
ing stockade.  "What  for  do  you  this?"  asked  a 
Canadian. 

"  To  guard  against  the  savages,"  Black  Douglas  an- 
swered with  a  frown.  The  Canadian  nodded  his  head. 
"  Sabages  prom  de  Rocky  Mountain  !  " 

"  They  are  afraid  of  us  over  at  Fort  Vancouver,"  was 
whispered  in  the  valley.  "  Nay,  indeed,  they  are  pre- 
paring to  make  war  on  us,"  answered  another.  Still, 
when  the  first  wagons  appeared,  far  up  the  Columbia 
came  McLoughlin's  word  — "  Do  not  let  the  poor 
people  suffer.  Help  them  along.  Teach  the  Indians 
to  do  so  also."  - 

The  men  of  1 844  started  with  extravagant  dreams  of 
the  velvet  prairies  by  the  sea.  That  blessed  country ! 
"  The  trees  forever  bend  with  fruit,"  they  said. 
"  Camas-bread  grows  in  the  ground."  "  Salmon  crowd 


276  McLOUGHLIN  AND   OLD   OREGON 

each  other  out  of  the  streams."  "  Money?  Why,  man 
alive,  money  grows  out  there."  "Yes,  and  feather-beds 
grow  on  the  bushes." 

With  gay  hearts  they  started  as  on  a  summer  holi- 
day, some  with  only  the  clothes  they  wore  and  a 
blanket  slung  over  the  shoulder.  The  spring  was  late. 
It  rained  and  rained,  and  the  camps  were  long  and  fre- 
quent along  the  swollen  Platte.  Provisions  melted 
away. 

"  Courage,"  they  said  to  one  another.  "  Did  not  our 
ancestors  come  in  six  weeks'  journeys  from  the  sea- 
board to  Ohio,  to  Kentucky,  to  Missouri?  Oregon  is 
but  another  journey  a  little  farther  west." 

But  it  stretched  away  and  away,  six  months  and 
more,  and  still  the  road  ran  on.  No  one  supposed 
that  Oregon  was  so  far,  no  one  realized  that  there  were 
no  hospices  through  all  that  fearful  stretch  of  travel. 
Buffalo  eluded  the  immigrant  trail.  Provisions  gave 
out.  Clothing  wore  out.  Some  were  sick.  Infants 
were  born  on  the  way.  Without  a  mentor  to  bid  them 
"  travel,  travel,  travel,"  winter  came  down  upon  them 
unprepared,  and  from  Burnt  River  to  the  Dalles  the 
caravan  became  a  panorama  of  destitution. 

Pioneer  printers,  pioneer  lumber-kings,  pioneer  mer- 
chants and  manufacturers,  poor  enough  then,  bare- 
footed broke  the  path  over  the  Blue  Mountains  through 
the  deep,  untrodden  snow.  Oregon  is  dotted  with  their 
granite  pillars ;  for  one  of  them  California  has  reared 
a  statue-crowned  shaft  on  the  spot  where  four  years 
later  he  found  the  gold  of  Eldorado.  Dr.  Whitman 
taught  his  Indians  to  go  far  out  and  build  their  bonfires 
on  the  hills  to  guide  them  in.  They  "  packed  "  pro- 
visions to  the  Grande  Ronde,  and  yet  the  end  of  Octo- 
ber came  with  five  hundred  people  still  beyond  the 


McLOUGHLIN   AND   THE   IMMIGRANTS      277 

mountains.  Whitman's  mission  became  a  great  inn 
thronged  with  the  passing  tide. 

"  The  crowd  and  confusion  almost  drive  me  crazy," 
wrote  Mrs.  Whitman  to  her  mother.  "The  doctor  is 
as  if  a  hundred  strings  were  tied  to  him,  all  pulling  in 
different  directions." 

With  almost  superhuman  effort  Dr.  Whitman  had 
extended  his  fields ;  to  lighten  his  labors  Mrs.  Whitman 
herself  had  gone  out  to  superintend  the  Indians  gather- 
ing the  garden  stores. 

"  Can  you  look  after  an  orphan  family  of  seven 
children?"  inquired  the  captain  of  a  company  at  the 
Whitman  door.  "  Father  and  mother  died  on  the  way, 
the  youngest  a  baby,  born  on  the  Platte." 

Dr.  Whitman  looked  at  his  wife.  Already  they  had 
adopted  four  children. 

"Where  are  they?"  he  inquired,  reaching  for  his 
hat. 

"  Back  on  the  Umatilla." 

"  Have  they  no  friends  ?  " 

"  Not  a  relative  in  the  world." 

"  Bring  them  on,"  said  the  doctor. 

Two  days  later  their  wagon  rolled  in,  —  two  little  boys 
weeping  bitterly,  four  little  girls  huddled  together, 
bareheaded,  barefooted,  a  wee  little  baby,  five  months 
old,  almost  dead.  For  weeks  the  compassionate  im- 
migrants had  cared  for  them  and  shared  with  them  the 
last  crust. 

"  We  can  get  along  with  all  but  the  baby.  I  don't 
see  how  we  can  take  her,"  said  Dr.  Whitman. 

"  If  we  take  any  I  must  have  the  baby,"  cried  the 
mother-heart  of  Mrs.  Whitman,  lifting  the  mite  of  hu- 
manity out  of  the  arms  of  a  tired  old  woman.  "  She 
will  be  a  charm  to  bind  the  rest  to  me." 


278  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Little  Helen  Mar  ran  out,  in  her  pretty  green  dress 
and  white  apron,  and  peeped  at  them,  timidly,  under 
her  sunbonnet.  "  Show  the  children  in,  Helen,"  said 
Mrs.  Whitman. 

"Have  you  no  children  of  your  own,  Madame?" 
inquired  the  captain. 

"  All  the  child  I  ever  had  sleeps  yonder,"  she  an- 
swered, dropping  a  tear  on  the  baby's  forehead. 

In  four  days  Dr.  Whitman  sent  word  to  the  captain : 
"  Take  no  more  concern  for  the  children.  We  adopt 
them  all." 

"  Who  ever  saw  such  herds  of  horses  !  Why,  there 
are  thousands !  "  exclaimed  the  immigrants  as  they 
passed  along  the  Walla  Walla.  "  And  see  the  cattle ! 
the  finest  kind  of  stock.  These  Indians  will  soon  be 
rich." 

Pio-pio-mox-mox,  Five  Crows,  and  Tauitau  rode  with 
the  Indian  herders  on  the  hills,  and  watched  the  im- 
migrants' lean  and  worn-out  cattle.  Every  head  they 
could,  they  bought.  This  annual  influx  of  stock  almost 
reconciled  them  to  the  immigrants  trampling  down 
their  pastures.  The  Indians  talked  of  nothing  but 
cattle  in  those  days. 

"  Let  us  go  down  to  California  and  buy  more  cattle," 
said  the  young  chief  Elijah  to  his  father.  "  The  white 
men  in  the  valley  go  down  to  Sutter's  fort  and  bring  up 
hundreds." 

Immigrants  camped  near  the  Walla  Walla  heard  the 
sweet  notes  of  a  chant  steal  out  upon  the  air  at  twilight. 
In  the  morning  the  Cayuses  rose  up  early  and  prepared 
for  worship. 

"  Quite  civilized  Indians,"  said  the  immigrants,  look- 
ing at  their  little  plantations.  "  They  make  their 
grounds  look  clean  and  mellow  as  a  garden." 


McLOUGHLIN   AND  THE   IMMIGRANTS      279 

"  Yes,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  "  Great  numbers  of  them 
cultivate,  and  with  but  a  single  horse  will  take  any 
plough  we  have,  however  large,  and  do  their  own 
ploughing.  They  have  a  great  desire  for  hogs  and 
hens  and  cattle." 

At  the  mission,  Dr.  Whitman  addressed  his  Indians 
upon  the  duty  of  peace  and  providence  for  the  future. 
Tiloukaikt,  "  court  crier,"  fickle  as  the  wind,  but  now 
loyal  again,  rehearsed  after  him  in  that  voice  like  a 
brazen  trumpet. 

"  Ugh-ugh,"  responded  the  Indians,  "  ugh-ugh,"  like 
Methodist  amens. 

The  choir  flipped  over  the  leaves  of  their  Nez  Perce 
hymn-books  and  struck  the  key  like  old-fashioned 
singing-masters. 

As  might  be  expected,  the  immigrants  of  1844  came 
prejudiced  against  the  British  and  itching  for  the  honor 
of  driving  them  out. 

"  We  dread  meeting  that  old  barbarian  in  his  den 
on  the  Columbia  worse  than  anything  else,"  said  the 
immigrants  at  the  Dalles. 

"  If  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  does  n't  conduct 
itself  properly  we'll  knock  their  old  stockade  about 
their  ears,"  said  Gilliam,  an  ex-captain  of  the  Seminole 
War. 

Again  winter  rains  were  beating  up  the  Cascades. 
Already  December  snows  were  whirling  around  Mt. 
Hood.  Snow-bound  cattle  were  famishing  on  the 
mountain  trails,  weary  mothers  were  dragging  their 
children  along  the  slippery  portages.  Emaciated,  dis- 
couraged, exhausted,  the  silent  tears  dropped  down 
their  hollow  cheeks  as  they  thought  of  the  comfort- 
able homes  they  had  left  in  the  States ;  but  as  a  rule 
the  women  were  brave,  braver  than  the  men.  The 


28o  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

dogs  were  killed  and  eaten,  the  last  spare  garment 
was  traded  for  a  sack  of  potatoes.  Wet  to  the  skin, 
shivering  around  their  green  camp-fires  while  the  damp 
flakes  fell  "  as  big  as  a  hat,"  they  even  envied  the  com- 
fort of  the  Indians,  lying  flat  on  the  clean  sand  under 
the  huge  projecting  rocks,  secure  from  the  storm,  with 
fires  in  the  foreground.  Mt.  Hood  and  St.  Helen's 
were  hid  in  fog  that  rolled  opaquely  to  the  sky.  Men 
in  the  prime  of  life  sat  with  bowed  heads  among  the 
rocks,  groaning  as  if  about  to  die.  "  Hello  !  "  There 
were  shadows  in  the  fog. 

"  Here,  gentlemen ;  you  were  so  late  in  getting  down 
Dr.  McLoughlin  was  afraid  you  might  be  in  trouble. 
He  has  sent  a  bateau  of  provisions,  also  some 
clothing." 

"But — "  hesitated  one,  thankful,  yet  abashed. 

"  Do  not  apologize,  sir,"  said  the  agent,  kindly;  "  take 
what  you  need.  Those  who  can  pay  may  do  so. 
Those  who  cannot  must  not  be  left  to  suffer.  Such  are 
the  doctor's  orders.  Boats  are  on  the  way  to  help  you 
down  to  Fort  Vancouver." 

Such  was  the  greeting  from  that  "  old  barbarian  "  in 
his  den  on  the  Columbia. 

Ragged  men,  tired  men,  grateful  men,  piled  their 
wives  and  children  and  their  household  goods  upon  the 
welcome  bateaux.  With  violent-beating  hearts  they 
struck  into  the  troubled  water.  The  wind  whipped 
the  blanket  sails,  eagles  screamed  and  circled,  storms 
swooped  and  dipped  the  spray,  on  frowning  heights 
the  owl  and  the  wolf  answered  each  other,  unaccus- 
tomed hands  were  toiling  at  the  oar,  but  miraculously, 
out  of  it  all,  they  landed  at  Fort  Vancouver. 

"  What  can  we  do?  "  they  asked. 

"  Go  to  the  fort.     The  old  doctor  never  turns  people 


McLOUGHLIN   AND   THE   IMMIGRANTS      281 

away  hungry,"  answered  the  boatmen.  Some  had  cut 
off  their  buckskin  pants  time  and  again  to  mend  their 
worn-out  foot-gear,  so  with  garments  scarce  covering 
their  knees,  with  ragged  blankets  tied  with  a  string 
about  their  necks,  "  tatterdemalions  worse  clad  than 
the  army  in  Flanders,"  they  knocked  at  the  gate. 

"Where  can  we  get  some  provisions?" 

"  Goo  to  Dooctor  Maglooglin,"  was  the  Scotch 
warder's  answer,  pointing  to  the  office. 

A  large  and  dignified  elderly  gentleman  with  magnifi- 
cent head  and  benevolent  countenance  came  immedi- 
ately forward  and  shook  one  after  another  by  the  hand. 
"  Are  there  many  left  behind  ?  "  he  inquired,  plucking 
some  grapes  and  handing  them  to  his  guests. 

"  Hundreds,  hundreds.  This  is  only  the  vanguard," 
was  the  answer. 

"So  many?"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  nervously. 
"  The  season  is  late.  I  fear  the  poor  people  will  suffer, 
but  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  prevent  it.  Come  in. 
Come  right  in."  Hurriedly  turning  into  the  office  he 
sat  down  at  a  small  table. 

"  Stand  in  a  line,"  he  said,  tapping  the  desk  with  a 
quill  pen.  The  men  stepped  into  place  —  the  line 
reached  nearly  around  the  room. 

"  Last  year,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  furnished  the  im- 
migrants with  food  and  clothing  here  at  the  fort, 
but  now  that  we  have  established  a  trading-house  at 
Oregon  City,  you  can  get  most  of  your  supplies  there. 
Provisions  for  immediate  necessity  you  can  obtain 
here." 

"But,  sir,"  broke  in  several,  "we  have  no  money. 
We  don't  know  when  or  how  we  can  pay  you." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  Never  mind  that.  You  can't  suffer," 
said  the  doctor.  Glancing  at  the  head  man,  — "  Sir, 


282  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

your  name,  if  you  please.  How  many  in  the  family? 
What  do  you  desire?"  and  so  of  each  the  questions 
were  asked  and  orders  made  out. 

"  Here,  gentlemen,  take  these  to  the  clerks ;  they 
will  supply  your  immediate  needs.  The  rest  you  can 
obtain  later.  All  can  be  paid  at  our  house  in  Oregon 
City  when  your  crops  come  in." 

Profoundly  moved,  one  by  one  they  bowed  them- 
selves out  from  the  presence  of  that  "  old  barbarian  in 
his  den  on  the  Columbia,"  whose  generosity  had 
rescued  them  and  their  families  from  suffering,  starva- 
tion, and  possibly  death. 

Standing  on  the  porch  of  his  residence,  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin  beckoned  to  a  group  of  young  men  waiting 
irresolute  below. 

"  Our  ship  sails  to-night,"  he  said.  "  If  any  of  you 
wish  to  write  home,  you  'd  better  do  so.  It 's  the  last 
chance  you  '11  get  for  six  months." 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  John  Minto ;  "  we  would  like 
to  write,  but  we  have  no  material." 

"  Go  over  there,"  said  the  doctor,  pointing  to  Bach- 
elors' Hall.  "  The  clerk  will  furnish  stationery."  Pull- 
ing out  his  gold  watch  — "  You  have  just  twenty 
minutes  before  dinner." 

In  Bachelors'  Hall  the  lads  indited  the  first  letters 
since  leaving  St.  Joe  in  May,  letters  to  apprise  the  dear 
ones  at  home  of  their  safe  arrival  at  Oregon-by-the-Sea. 
Scarcely  had  they  finished  when  a  servant  entered  with 
roast  beef  and  potatoes,  and  the  boys  dined  like  guests 
in  the  home  of  a  friend. 

Says  one  of  those  boys,  a  gray-haired  grandsire  now : 
"  Mr.  Douglas  was  urbane,  civil,  gentlemanly,  but  he 
could  not  disguise  his  chagrin  at  each  addition  to  the 
number  of  American  settlers." 


McLOUGHLIN   AND   THE   IMMIGRANTS      283 

In  after  years  James  Douglas  was  knighted  by  Queen 
Victoria,  "  but,"  adds  the  honorable  commentator, 
"John  McLoughlin  held  the  patent  for  his  honors 
immediately  from  Almighty  God." 

Dr.  McLoughlin  so  bestowed  favors  that  the  recipient 
felt  honored  by  the  contact.  The  warm  hand-grasp, 
the  personal  interest,  the  bonhomie  and  gayety,  made 
him  seem  a  good  fellow  among  them  as  he  went  out 
to  be  introduced  to  their  wives  and  children.  Dr. 
McLoughlin  never  forgot  those  pioneer  women.  Years 
after,  if  he  met  them  in  the  grassy  paths  of  Oregon 
City,  his  hat  was  off,  and  with  the  salute  of  a  courtier 
he  stepped  aside  and  waited  till  they  passed. 

The  immigrants  prepared  to  embark  for  the  Willa- 
mette. At  the  river-bank  Dr.  McLoughlin  was  storming 
at  a  boatman  —  "  Here,  you  scoundrel,  what  have  you 
loaded  that  bateau  with  wagons  for?  I  gave  strict 
orders  to  bring  down  nothing  but  people,  and  to  leave 
none  behind." 

Even  as  the  doctor  spoke  the  immigrants  piled  in,  on 
top  the  wagons,  under  the  wagons,  and  into  every  nook 
and  cranny,  till  all  was  full.  The  bateau  swung  into  the 
current ;  he  looked  to  see  it  sink,  but  no,  with  three 
cheers  from  the  boat-load  the  doctor  laughed  and 
waved  his  hand.  "  All  right !  all  right !  all  right !  sir," 
he  said. 

A  Missourian  slid  down  the  Cascades  in  a  canoe,  and 
arrived  in  time  to  see  the  annual  ship  about  to  sail  for 
London.  Without  ado,  he  clambered  on  board  and 
began  to  look  around.  By  and  by  he  blundered  into 
a  little  room  where  the  captain  sat,  busy  with  his  log- 
book. The  captain  looked  up,  and  eying  him  with  a 
calm  surprise  inquired,  "  Young  man,  who  are  you,  and 
what  do  you  want  here?" 


284  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Sir,  I  am  an  emigrant,  just  come  down  the  river. 
I  do  not  wish  to  intrude,  but  I  wanted  to  see  the  ship, 
as  I  never  saw  one  before  to  recollect." 

The  captain  wrote  a  moment  in  silence,  then  said, 
"  Where  do  you  come  from,  and  why  do  you  come 
here?" 

"  We've  come  from  Missouri"  answered  the  boy, 
"  we  've  come  from  Missouri  across  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
We've  come  to  settle  in  Oregon,  and  rule  this  country'' 

The  captain  scanned  his  unkempt  hair,  his  corduroy 
clothes  and  worn-out  shoes. 

"  Well,  young  man,  I  have  sailed  into  every  quarter 
of  this  globe,  and  have  seen  most  of  the  people  on  it, 
but  a  more  uncouth,  at  the  same  time  a  bolder  set  of 
men  than  you  Americans,  I  never  met  before." 

Just  in  time  to  meet  the  immigrants,  Captain  Couch 
re-entered  the  Willamette  with  another  cargo  of  mer- 
chandise. With  him  came  Lieutenant  Cushing,  the  son 
of  Caleb  Cushing,  to  investigate  the  Oregon  question 
and  report  to  his  father  in  Congress. 

Captain  Couch,  a  jolly  New  England  tar,  wedded  to 
the  most  beautiful  girl  in  Newburyport,  broke  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  rules  of  exclusive  trade  like  brittle  twigs, 
traded  with  Indians  and  Frenchmen,  and  bought  wheat 
and  skins  at  his  own  prices.  His  little  corner  grocery 
had  become  a  formidable  rival  to  the  square  trade- 
window  of  the  Indian  shop  at  Fort  Vancouver. 

The  watchful  Hudson's  Bay  Company  grew  uneasy 
as  it  saw  the  rich  territory  of  Oregon  sliding  from  its 
grasp.  Overland  from  Canada  there  came  Lieutenants 
Warre  and  Vavasour,  of  the  Royal  Engineers,  osten- 
sibly to  strengthen  the  defences  at  Fort  Vancouver. 
Into  their  ear  Sir  George  Simpson  had  whispered, 
"Watch  the  doctor." 


McLOUGHLIN   AND   THE   IMMIGRANTS      285 

They  saw  the  advent  of  the  immigrants  of  1844. 

The  great  spirit  that  could  not  see  suffering,  and 
that  sought  to  conciliate  and  ward  off  war,  was  beyond 
their  comprehension.  Unknown  to  Dr.  McLoughlin  a 
secret  report  was  sent  to  London. 


w 


XXXIII 

ELIJAH 
1844 

IE  want  cattle,  much  cattle,"  said  the  Walla 
Walla  chief  in  the  Indian  council.  They  all 
knew  the  gallant  Captain  Sutter;  he  passed  through 
their  country  when  he  came  to  Oregon.  And  now, 
when  he  heard  those  eastern  chiefs  were  in  need  of 
cattle,  he  sent  them  an  invitation  to  visit  his  fort 
on  the  Sacramento.  Pio-pio-mox-mox,  Tauitau,  and 
certain  chiefs  and  sub-chiefs  of  the  Nez  Perces  and 
Spokanes,  agreed  to  go  down  there  together,  to  make 
a  trade  with  skins  and  ponies.  This  Walla  Walla  ex- 
pedition constitutes  one  of  the  most  remarkable  com- 
mercial exploits  in  Indian  annals.  Conceived  and 
planned  and  manned  entirely  by  the  chiefs,  it  bade 
fair  to  be  a  great  success. 

The  morning  sun  poured  over  the  Blue  Mountains 
in  a  cataract  of  gold  when  the  chiefs  set  out  in  English 
costume,  magnificently  mounted,  to  visit  their  white 
friend,  Captain  Sutter.  Behind  them  followed  a  pack- 
train,  heavily  freighted  with  beaver,  deer,  and  elk  skins. 
A  bevy  of  beautiful  girls,  on  their  Cayuse  ponies, 
accompanied  the  expedition  a  few  miles  up  the  John 
Day  River.  Their  little  grass  caps  fitted  closely  over  the 
smooth-combed  hair.  Their  long,  black  braids  hung 
over  their  breasts,  and  the  chalk-whitened  deerskin 
dresses  glistened  in  the  sun.  Their  noses  were  fine 


ELIJAH  287 

and  straight,  and  the  skin  pure  copper,  like  the  statues 
in  some  old  Florentine  gallery.  At  Elijah's  side  rode 
Siskadee  on  her  white  Cayuse.  The  tiny,  glove-fitting 
moccasins  were  laced  high  up  the  ankle.  As  Elijah 
talked  the  expression  of  her  oval,  oriental  face  changed 
like  the  play  of  wind  on  a  meadow. 

"  When  we  come  with  the  cattle  I  will  build  you  a 
house  like  the  white  man's,"  he  was  saying.  "  Then  we 
shall  be  married  like  white  people.  I  spoke  to  Jason 
Lee  and  he  promised.  And  I  shall  never  let  you  carry 
burdens;  the  white  men  never  do.  You  shall  ride 
always  on  a  pony  and  be  my  klootchman  [wife]." 

"And  take  me  with  you  everywhere?"  asked  Siska- 
dee, "  as  Dr.  Whitman  does  his  klootchman?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Elijah. 

The  tall  rye  grass,  high  over  their  horses'  heads, 
sometimes  tangled  the  path,  and  Elijah  pressed  on 
ahead,  clearing  the  way  to  an  opening.  The  autumnal 
sun  was  past  midday  before  the  girls  turned  back. 

"  I  will  return  when  the  camas  blooms,"  said  Elijah, 
at  parting. 

With  Indian  calls,  and  farewells,  and  gypsy  laughter, 
the  maidens  galloped  home.  The  young  men  followed 
the  trail,  east  of  the  Cascades,  to  Spanish  California. 
The  dreaded  Klamaths,  the  warlike  Shastas,  were  passed 
in  safety.  Several  weeks  of  steady  travel  brought  them 
eight  hundred  miles  over  the  Sierras  to  Sutter's  fort  on 
the  Sacramento. 

Six  years  Elijah  had  been  to  school  at  the  Methodist 
mission.  He  could  read  and  write  and  speak  the  Eng- 
lish well,  better  even  than  Ellice,  the  accomplished 
head  chief  of  the  Nez  Percys. 

Siskadee,  daughter  of  Tiloukaikt,  was  a  typical 
maiden  of  the  upper  Columbia  fifty  years  ago,  closely 


288  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

covered,  chaste,  and  modest.  Tradition  says,  she  wore 
the  classic  dress  of  deerskin  down  to  the  ankles,  whit- 
ened and  beaded  and  fringed  and  soft  as  chamois, 
ornamented  with  long,  wide  sleeves  and  a  belt  of 
haiqua. 

Siskadee's  mother  was  a  cook  and  a  basket-maker, 
learned  in  the  camas-beds.  "  Observe,  my  child,"  she 
was  wont  to  say  as  she  shaped  the  biscuits  of  kouse 
for  the  winter  bouillon,  "  observe  how  neat  the  deer  and 
the  antelope,  how  industrious  the  beaver  and  the  bee, 
how  cleanly  the  plumage  of  the  bird.  The  dress  of  a 
Cayuse  maid  should  shine  like  snow." 

Siskadee  was  very  industrious  now.  She  had  a  mar- 
riage dress  beaded  to  the  value  of  a  Worth  gown. 
Every  day  she  sat  with  her  maids  embroidering  sheaths 
and  moccasins  and  cradle  wrappings.  There  was  a 
basket  of  beads  at  Siskadee's  side.  In  her  bosom  there 
were  coils  of  fine  dried  sinews  of  deer  that  she  pulled 
out  one  by  one.  She  was  embroidering  a  shot-pouch 
for  Elijah.  As  she  sat,  a  marriage  procession  passed, 
solemn  and  slow,  bearing  flambeaux  of  cedar  to  a  spot- 
less new  tent.  She  heard  them  sing  praises  of  the 
bridegroom's  valor  against  the  Blackfeet. 

She  thought,  "  So  it  will  be  when  Elijah  comes.'' 
She  heard  the  exhortation  to  the  bride,  — 
"  Be  chaste,  industrious,  obedient,  silent." 
Siskadee's  shapely  head  drooped  lower  at  her  work. 
The  copper  fingers  flew  over  the  beaded  shot-pouch. 
Poolalik,  the  little  gray  hare,  hid  under  the  sage.     The 
wild  hen  cackled  and  scratched  in  the  sand. 

Over  in  the  mission  fields  Dr.  Whitman,  in  slouch 
hat,  buckskin  trousers  and  moccasins,  was  wielding  the 
cradle. 

"  No  Indian  is  yet  able  to  use  the  cradle,"  said  Dr. 


ELIJAH  289 

Whitman.  "  I  must  do  that  myself,  except  as  a  white 
man  helps  me." 

The  Indians  followed  behind  him,  raking,  binding, 
and  bearing  the  shocks  to  the  threshing  yard.  Crowds 
of  Indians  were  trying  to  help.  He  could  not  keep  them 
from  working.  They  drove  their  ponies  into  the  rail- 
fenced  enclosure  to  trample  out  the  wheat.  They 
gathered  up  the  grain,  and  women  and  girls  with 
willow  fans  winnowed  away  the  chaff.  It  was  slow 
work,  but  Indians  have  infinite  patience.  A  smart 
breeze  comes  down  the  Columbia  after  dark.  All 
night  the  Indians  stood  there,  pouring  and  repouring 
the  yellow  grains,  winnowing  in  the  wind.  At  last  the 
wheat  was  in  the  granary.  Every  night  Dr.  Whit- 
man paid  them,  shirts,  ammunition,  fish-hooks.  The 
women  wanted  needles,  thimbles,  rings,  beads.  Some 
in  the  yard  were  sawing  and  splitting  wood,  —  pine 
and  cedar  logs  that  they  had  helped  the  doctor  raft 
down  from  the  mountains  when  the  river  was  high. 
The  women  carried  great  arm-loads  and  piled  them  in 
the  wood-house.  That  meant  more  needles  and  needles 
from  Dr.  Whitman. 

Then  came  the  corn-gathering. 

"  Hold  up  your  hands,"  said  Dr.  Whitman ;  "  count 
ten  fingers.  Now,  for  every  ten  bushels  you  husk  and 
bring  to  the  house  I  will  give  you  one." 

Then  the  corn-gathering  began.  It  was  done  in  one 
day.  It  would  have  been  one  day  had  there  been  ten 
times  as  much,  such  multitudes  of  men,  women,  and 
children  flocked  into  the  fields  to  pick  and  husk. 
Every  lodge-pole  along  the  Walla  Walla  was  hung  with 
ears  of  yellow  corn. 

Once  the  Walla  Walla-Cayuses  talked  only  of  war; 
now  they  talked  of  corn  and  cattle.  Once  the  squaws 

19 


2QO  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

dug  kouse  and  camas.  Now  they  began  to  neglect  the 
camas-beds  to  hoe  in  their  little  gardens  of  pumpkins 
and  potatoes  and  corn  and  carrots. 

"  Thank  the  Lord,  my  farm-work  is  done  for  this 
year,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  "  My  Indian  trade-goods 
are  about  used  up." 

"  I  wish  we  could  get  rid  of  this  soul-belittling,  piety- 
killing  farm-work  and  give  our  whole  time  to  teaching 
and  preaching,"  said  Spalding,  riding  over  the  hills 
from  Lapwai. 

u  Brother,  brother,"  said  the  doctor,  "  't  is  a  part  of 
our  work.  Agriculture  and  the  gospel  go  hand  in 
hand.  Christianize  an  Indian,  give  him  a  home  and  a 
farm,  and  he  has  too  much  at  stake  to  go  to  war  with 
the  whites." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes,"  said  Spalding.  "  You  have  said  that 
before.  They  must  have  hoes  and  homes.  We  cannot 
teach  them  on  the  wing.  I  passed  the  cabin  of  Five 
Crows  to-day.  He  has  it  complete,  with  floor  and  fire- 
place and  doors  and  windows,  but  he  can't  live  in  it. 
He  says  it  is  too  close,  and  has  set  up  his  old  lodge. 
There  they  stand,  the  cabin  and  teepee  side  by  side." 

"  That  Indian  desires  civilization  more  than  any 
other  I  ever  knew,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  "  He  is  insane 
now  on  the  subject  of  a  white  wife.  He  thinks  it  would 
help  him  to  become  like  white  men." 

"  I  know;  he  has  talked  with  Mrs.  Spalding  about  it. 
Three  winters  now  he  has  driven  his  herds  to  the  Clear- 
water  and  come  with  Chief  Joseph  to  school.  Both  of 
them  have  made  remarkable  progress;  they  read  and 
write  with  considerable  fluency.  Why  did  n't  Five 
Crows  accompany  Elijah  to  California?" 

"  Mrs.  Whitman  thinks  he  stayed  to  meet  the  immi- 
grants. Every  few  days  he  goes  out  to  meet  them,  and 


ELIJAH  291 

tries  to  buy  a  white  wife.  And  he  would  treat  her  well, 
too.  He  is  a  kind-hearted  and  wealthy  Indian,  the 
richest  Indian  in  this  country." 

"  Yes,  but  —  "  and  they  both  laughed  at  this  hallu- 
cination on  the  part  of  Five  Crows,  head  chief  of  the 
Cayuse  nation. 

"  How  are  your  congregations,  Doctor?  " 

"  Two  hundred  to  four  hundred  in  spring  and  fall, 
about  fifty  when  the  young  men  are  gone  to  hunt 
buffalo.  And  you?" 

"  Better  than  ever.  Not  less  than  two  thousand 
have  gathered  for  instruction  at  Lapwai.  Eighty  to 
one  hundred  families  have  planted  gardens.  The  out- 
ward forms  of  Christianity,  prayer  and  singing,  are 
observed  in  almost  every  lodge." 

"You  have  the  most  promising  field  in  Oregon, 
Brother  Spalding.  Your  Nez  Perec's  are  more  docile 
than  my  mettlesome  Cayuses.  These  are  like  spirited 
race-horses,  hard  on  the  bit,  sometimes.  But  I  know 
you  have  trials  as  well  as  I." 

"  Trials?  "  echoed  Mr.  Spalding.  "  I  think  so.  The 
Indian's  never-to-be-satisfied  desire  for  property  is  one. 
He  thinks  the  white  man's  stock  of  goods  is  inex- 
haustible. That  comes  of  this  pernicious  present 
system.  Give  an  Indian  an  egg  and  he  wants  an  ox. 
They  seem  to  feel  that  all  whites  are  in  debt  to  every 
Indian.  But  regular  pay  for  regular  work  will  develop 
self-reliance." 

"Yes;  we  must  throw  the  Indian  on  his  own  re- 
sources," said  the  doctor ;  "  make  a  white  man  of  him. 
That  will  cure  this  childish  habit  of  expecting  presents." 

"  But  even  after  I  have  given  them  presents  and 
presents,  they  expect  pay  for  every  little  thing  they 
do,"  said  Spalding.  "They  even  expect  pay  for  the 


292  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

water,  earth,  and  air.  They  even  wanted  pay  for  the 
stones  I  brought  down  the  mountain  for  my  mill." 

"  Very  likely.  Dr.  McLoughlin  once  told  me  of  a 
similar  case.  He  was  ballasting  the  barque  '  Columbia ' 
for  a  trip  to  the  Islands.  A  chief  stepped  up  and 
demanded  pay  for  the  stones  they  were  lading.  The 
tribe  looked  on.  With  quick  wit  the  old  doctor 
grabbed  up  a  stone  and  chucked  it  into  the  chiefs 
mouth.  *  Pay !  pay ! '  he  roared,  '  here,  eat  this.'  The 
chief  backed  out  amid  the  jeers  of  his  people.  Dr. 
McLoughlin  has  established  the  precedent  that  what 
they  cannot  eat  or  wear  he  does  not  propose  to  pay 
for.  Remember,  Brother  Spalding,  we  would  have 
trials  even  in  teaching  white  children ;  Indians  are  only 
children,  but  they  desire  civilization  and  we  cannot  let 
this  noble  disposition  expend  itself  in  fruitless  effort." 
Thus  comforting  and  encouraging  one  another  the 
missionaries  entered  the  house  where  Mrs.  Whitman 
sat  instructing  a  class  of  bright  little  Indian  girls,  and 
every  one  had  a  rag  dolly. 

"Ha!  ha!  "  laughed  the  gentlemen,  "  ha!  ha!  " 

"  Well/'  expostulated  Mrs.  Whitman,  "  I  was  tired  of 
seeing  them  carry  sticks  around  on  their  backs  for 
babies.  Would  n't  mother  wonder  what  looking  objects 
Narcissa  could  make?"  holding  one  up  with  a  laugh. 
"  No  matter  how  they  look.  So  long  as  it  is  a  piece  of 
cloth  rolled  up,  with  eyes,  nose,  and  mouth  marked  with 
a  pen,  it  answers  every  purpose.  They  caress  and 
carry  them  around  at  a  great  rate." 

Siskadee,  with  her  beads,  at  the  lodge  door,  saw  the 
missionaries  walking  across  the  plain,  but  she  only 
thought  of  Elijah ;  thought  of  him  when  as  a  child  he 
wagered  gravel-stones  that  he  could  shoot  the  little 
gray  hare ;  thought  of  that  day  when  he  played  he  was 


ELIJAH  293 

a  wolf  with  the  wolfs  hide  on  and  ears  erect;  thought 
of  that  day  when  he  sat  on  the  hillside  and  calmly 
watched  a  wounded  bear  tear  up  the  sod  around  him. 

"  No  young  brave  so  brave  as  Elijah/'  she  said  to 
herself.  ' 


XXXIV 

AT  SUTTEES  FORT 
1844 

"  r  I  ^HESE  are  my  friends,  the  chiefs  of  eastern 
A  Oregon,"  said  Captain  Sutter,  taking  the  hands 
of  his  red  guests.  "  I  have  invited  them  down  to  trade 
in  cattle." 

The  packhorses  were  driven  into  the  fort  and  the 
beautiful  peltries  unrolled.  The  spotted  Cayuse  racers 
tried  their  gait  on  the  green.  The  long-horned  Spanish 
cattle  were  inspected,  and  the  trade  consummated  to 
the  satisfaction  of  all  concerned.  Elijah,  the  head  and 
soul  of  the  whole  enterprise,  was  jubilant.  In  the  soft 
autumn  twilight  Sutter's  Indian  boys  bound  fillets  of 
leaves  about  their  heads,  and  danced  and  sang  in  the 
soft-flowing  vocals  of  the  South.  A  schooner  lay  in 
the  river,  ready  to  proceed  to  the  Columbia  for  a  cargo 
of  supplies.  The  moon  rose  over  the  Sierras,  and  red 
men  and  white  slept  in  peace  at  Sutter's  fort. 

California  was  still  in  its  primeval  beauty.  The  in- 
roads of  Spanish  civilization  scarce  scratched  her  vast 
savannas.  Whole  valleys  and  mountain  flanks  and 
forests  were  sacred  to  the  Indian,  the  beaver,  and  the 
elk.  "  Let  us  hunt  in  the  mountains  and  get  more  pel- 
tries," said  Elijah,  as  they  arose,  refreshed  from  slumber. 
The  woods  were  alive  with  game  that  the  lazy  Spaniards 
disdained  the  trouble  of  hunting.  Their  chase  was  with 
the  lasso  among  their  own  herds. 


AT   SUITER'S  FORT  295 

The  Oregon  Indians  rode  to  the  hunt.  Back  in  the 
mountain  fastnesses  they  fell  upon  a  band  of  Indian 
robbers,  renegades,  who  swooped  into  the  valleys,  cor- 
ralled herds  of  horses,  and,  under  cover  of  the  hills, 
retreated  to  some  hidden  pocket  of  streams  and  pas- 
tures. The  suspicious  banditti,  anticipating  pursuit 
from  their  recent  raid,  fired  upon  the  Walla  Walla- 
Cayuses.  A  sharp  skirmish  ensued,  in  which  the 
mountain  free-booters  were  worsted,  and  the  victori- 
ous Walla  Wallas  galloped  back  to  Sutter's  fort, 
driving  before  them  twenty-two  head  of  captured 
horses. 

"  Ah,  there  are  our  horses,"  said  the  men  at  Sutter's 
fort,  coming  out  to  claim  each  one  his  property. 

"No,  no,"  remonstrated  Elijah  at  this  peremptory 
proceeding.  "  We  took  these  horses  in  battle.  By  the 
laws  of  war  they  are  ours." 

"  No,"  cried  the  white  men,  "  they  were  stolen  from 
us.  You  must  give  them  up."  Yellow  Serpent  sat  on 
his  horse.  Elijah  had  dismounted. 

"  In  our  country,"  said  Elijah,  "  six  nations  are  on 
terms  of  friendship.  If  any  one  of  these  six  nations 
steals  a  horse,  the  tribe  is  responsible.  But  if  our  ene- 
mies, the  Crows  or  the  Blackfeet,  steal  a  horse,  it  is  lost 
beyond  recovery.  Now  at  the  risk  of  our  lives  we  have 
taken  these  horses  from  your  enemies.  By  the  laws  of 
war  they  belong  to  us." 

At  that  moment  an  American,  seeing  his  mule  in 
the  band,  sang  out,  "  There  is  my  mule,  and  I  shall 
have  it." 

"  Will  you  ?  "  said  Elijah,  glancing  at  a  tree  and  pass- 
ing into  the  lodge  pitched  close  at  hand.  He  came 
out  in  a  moment  with  a  loaded  rifle.  "  Go  now  and 
take  your  mule,"  he  said. 


296  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  kill  me,"  quavered  the 
American. 

"  You  ?  No.  I  am  going  to  shoot  the  eagle  perched 
on  yonder  oak." 

The  American  looked  at  the  bird,  and  the  unerring 
shot,  and  retired  to  the  fort. 

The  next  day  was  Sabbath.  Captain  Sutter  invited 
the  Indians  up  to  the  fort  to  church.  After  the  service, 
Elijah  and  his  uncle,  Tauitau,  were  invited  into  another 
apartment.  The  American  of  yesterday  began  to  be- 
rate them. 

"You  hounds,  you  dogs,  you  thieves  of  the  upper 
country !  I  heard  of  you  on  the  Willamette.  Yesterday 
you  were  going  to  kill  me.  Now  you  must  die." 
Drawing  his  pistol  he  aimed  at  Elijah. 

"  Let  me  pray  a  little  first,"  said  Elijah,  falling  on  his 
knees. 

"  Dare  you,  an  Indian,  presume  to  preach  to  me? 
Take  that  and  that."  With  a  quick  jerk  the  American 
shot  the  kneeling  boy  through  the  heart. 

A  look  of  horror  passed  from  face  to  face  as  the 
kneeling  form  fell  back  with  prayer  upon  its  lips. 
Blood  gushed  from  the  nose,  one  convulsive  sigh,  and 
the  lad  was  dead. 

Sudden  terror  seized  the  white  men,  lest  the  Indians 
should  attack  them.  The  death-wail  had  hardly 
sounded  when  the  Indians  turned  to  flee  before  the 
guns  of  the  frightened  inmates  of  the  fort.  One  wicked 
desperado  had  put  them  all  in  peril.  The  Indians 
leaped  to  their  horses.  One,  only,  lingered  a  moment, 
and  covered  the  face  of  the  dead  with  a  blanket. 

"  Boom !  boom !  "  went  the  cannon  of  Sutter's  fort 
tearing  away  the  tree-tops  above  the  heads  of  the  fugi- 
tive red  men.  Tents,  provisions,  and  the  purchased 


AT  SUITER'S   FORT  297 

cattle  were  left,  as  they  fled  before  the  pursuers  sent 
out  by  Captain  Sutter.  Six  weeks  later,  worn  and  torn 
and  bent  with  rage  and  grief,  Pio-pio-mox-mox  reached 
his  lodge  on  the  winding  banks  of  the  Walla  Walla. 
Riderless  beside  him  galloped  Elijah's  horse.  Siska- 
dee  came  out,  and  put  her  arms  around  the  good 
steed's  neck  and  whispered  in  his  yellow  mane.  The 
shot-pouch  was  done.  She  handed  it  to  Yellow  Serpent 
and  said  nothing.  But  the  warriors  heard  her  wail  on 
the  hills  at  sunset,  and  they  heard  the  wail  of  Elijah's 
mother,  sister  of  the  great  sachems  of  the  Cayuse  nation. 

A  raging  fire  burned  in  the  tribes  on  the  upper 
Columbia.  Never  the  death  of  an  Indian  had  created 
such  an  uproar;  the  six  allied  nations  had  lost  an 
idol.  Apprehensive  of  danger,  Chief  Trader  McKinley 
strengthened  Fort  Walla  Walla  and  loaded  his  cannon 
with  nails  and  grapeshot.  Dr.  Whitman  wrote  a  friendly 
letter  to  Ellice,  head  chief  of  the  Nez  Perec's,  and 
another  to  the  Willamette. 

"  Our  Indians  are  enraged  on  account  of  the  treacher- 
ous and  violent  death  of  their  educated  and  accom- 
plished young  chief  Elijah,  and  also  on  account  of  their 
own  great  hardships  and  losses.  Disaffected  scamps, 
late  from  the  Willamette  to  California,  calling  them  dogs 
and  thieves,  have  made  the  Indians  think  they  have 
been  slandered  by  your  settlements." 

The  six  nations,  the  Walla  Wallas,  Cayuses,  Nez 
Perces,  Spokanes,  Pend  d'Oreilles,  and  Snakes  met  to- 
gether in  council. 

Seven  hundred  Walla  Wallas  stood  ready  to  march 
on  the  Willamette,  but  were  stopped  by  Tauitau. 

"No,"  said  Tauitau,  going  before  their  horses  and 
waving  them  back.  "  The  Willamette  whites  were  our 
young  chief's  best  friends.  They  are  not  to  blame." 


298  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Let  us  raise  two  thousand  warriors,  invade  California, 
and  sweep  the  coast/'  said  Spokane  Garry. 

"  Let  us  send  Ellice  down  to  see  if  the  Oregon 
whites  will  interfere,"  said  the  Nez  Perce  Chief  Joseph. 

"The  Americans  are  responsible.  An  American 
killed  Elijah.  Let  us  cut  off  the  Americans,"  cried  the 
Snakes. 

"  Blood  for  blood.  A  chief  for  a  chief.  Let  us  take 
Dr.  Whitman,"  hissed  the  Cayuse  Tamahas. 

All  looked  toward  Yellow  Serpent.  Afar  off,  strange, 
and  mournful  sounded  the  old  chief's  words. 

"  Dr.  Whitman  is  our  friend.  Let  him  not  be  injured. 
My  voice  is  as  the  voice  of  a  pine-tree  full  of  snow.  I 
say  no  more." 

At  that  moment,  leaping  from  their  fleet  horses,  Dr. 
Whitman,  Mr.  Spalding,  and  Chief  Trader  McKinley 
walked  into  the  dimly  lighted  council  lodge.  For  a 
moment  there  was  tumult,  but  the  three  white  men 
stood  firm  and  fearless. 

"What  has  the  Great  Medicine  to  say?"  inquired 
Yellow  Serpent,  looking  at  Dr.  Whitman.  The  doctor 
stepped  forward  and  the  Indians  all  craned  their  necks 
to  listen. 

"  Chief,  you  have  lost  your  noble  son.  We  all  mourn 
with  you.  I  hear  you  want  me  to  go  away.  When  I 
came  among  you,  you  had  no  farms,  no  gardens.  I  have 
taught  you  to  read  and  to  work,  and  to  live  like  white 
folks.  Now  I  can  go.  I  am  getting  old.  You  must 
tell  me  at  once.  If  a  majority  wish  me  to  leave  I  will 
go  in  three  weeks'  time.  If  you  want  me  to  stay,  say 
so.  I  cannot  change  when  I  am  old." 

"  Go  !  go  !  "  cried  Tamahas. 

"  Go  !  go  !  "  brayed  Tiloukaikt,  in  that  voice  like  a  bra- 
zen trumpet.  But  the  other  chiefs  bade  them  be  silent. 


AT  SUITER'S  FORT  299 

Dr.  Whitman  arose  and  went  out  of  the  lodge, 
Chief  Trader  McKinley  talked  to  the  Indians.  Mr. 
Spalding  talked.  The  chiefs  talked.  The  auditors 
evinced  their  attention  by  now  and  then  a  pithy  and 
sympathizing,  "  Ugh-ugh !  "  like  their  Amen  after 
prayer.  Then  Yellow  Serpent  sent  for  Dr.  Whitman. 

A  strange  pallor,  blent  with  wonderful  resolution, 
seemed  fixed  upon  the  almost  haughty  face  that  re- 
entered  the  council  lodge.  So  we  might  imagine  John 
Knox  stood,  or  Luther  went  to  the  Diet  at  Worms. 
The  doctor  seemed  to  expect  a  sentence  of  banishment. 
To  his  surprise  old  Yellow  Serpent  himself  advanced  to 
meet  him  and  took  his  hand. 

"  My  brother,"  he  said  in  Nez  Perce",  "  we  have  de- 
cided that  you  must  stay.  When  you  came  we  had  no 
ploughs,  no  hoes,  no  axes,  not  anything  to  work  with. 
Now  we  have  all  these.  We  used  to  be  hungry  every 
winter.  We  used  to  have  only  the  camas.  Now  we 
have  cattle,  corn,  potatoes,  beans,  peas,  wheat.  Now 
we  are  no  more  hungry.  We  want  you  to  stay  and  live 
with  us  always." 

"  Stay,  stay,  stay,"  cried  the  fickle  Cayuses. 

"  Stay,  stay,"  echoed  the  Walla  Wallas. 

Tiloukaikt  brought  the  long-stemmed  pipe  of  peace. 
Yellow  Serpent  placed  a  live  coal  on  the  tobacco,  puffed 
it,  and  passed  it  to  Dr.  Whitman. 

"  I  admit  there  is  danger,"  said  Dr.  Whitman  to  his 
friends  that  night,  "  but  I  am  become  accustomed  to 
danger.  I  should  not  feel  to  stay  among  the  Indians  in 
itself  considered,  but  as  we  are  here  now  I  do  not  see  how 
we  can  leave  without  exposing  the  cause  of  religion  to 
reproach  and  repulse.  There  are  so  many  things 
involved  in  our  situation  in  this  country,  that  I  do  not 
see  that  we  should  be  discontented.  I  feel  that  vast 


300  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

results  have  followed  us.  To  leave  would  be  wrong 
indeed,  for  now,  we  must,  as  far  as  may  be,  see  the  end 
of  what  we  have  begun,  both  in  regard'  to  Indians  and 
whites." 

During  the  winter  Dr.  McLoughlin  summoned  the 
chiefs  to  Fort  Vancouver,  and  by  pacific  counsel 
shielded  the  Oregon  whites  from  any  consequences  of 
the  outrage. 


XXXV 

DEATH  OF  JASON  LEE 

1845 

TWELVE  miles  below  Oregon  City,  in  a  little  swale 
in  the  muffled,  silent  forest,  a  rival  town  was  laid. 
A  missionary  hauled  timber  to  build  a  church.  A 
wandering  printer  set  up  a  newspaper  that  he  called 
the  "  Oregonian." 

"  The  head  of  ship  navigation,  the  outlet  of  a  fertile 
valley,  must  become  a  metropolis,"  said  the  far-seeing 
Pettygrove,  a  Yankee  merchant  who  had  brought  a 
cargo  around  the  Horn  from  Portland,  Maine.  "  And 
what  shall  we  call  our  metropolis  ? "  said  Pettygrove 
to  Lovejoy,  the  lawyer,  as  they  laid  out  lots  in  the 
timber. 

"  Call  it  Boston,"  answered  Lovejoy,  the  Bostonian. 

"  No,  Portland,"  said  the  man  from  Maine,  and  the 
two  wandering  Yankees  tossed  up  a  penny  for  "  heads 
or  tails,"  and  "  Portland  "  won. 

"  Hah,  Doctor,  Hi  did  not  suppose  Hi  should  be  hable 
to  find  you  hout  hof  bed,"  cried  Ermatinger,  gayly  land- 
ing at  Fort  Vancouver  a  few  days  later, 

"  Why  so?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"'Aven't  you  'eard?  Dumbarton  of  Big  Pigeon  'as 
made  the  speech  hof  the  epoch,  ha  great  big-tree  talk, 
ha  real  Hamerican  stumper,  you  know." 

"  What  was  the  subject?  " 


302  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"You.  Hit  was  in  regard  to  that  contested  mill-site 
at  the  Falls.  Listen,"  —  Ermatinger  rose,  blew  a  blast 
on  his  bandana,  and  swelling  with  pomposity  gave  a 
mock  recital  of  a  spread-eagle  speech  he  had  heard 
the  day  before. 

"  Friends,  neighbors,  hand  Hamerican  citizens  [through 
his  nose],  han  hopportunity  his  now  given  through 
this  hinsignificant  controversy  to  settle  the  title  hof  the 
whole  country  hand  to  hexpel  the  governmental  tres- 
passers from  every  point  and  position  hof  its  dominions. 
This  will  bring  war  between  the  Hunited  States  and 
Great  Britain,  Hireland  will  revolt,  Canada  will  secede, 
the  monarchs  hof  the  Hindies  will  throw  hoff  their  slavish 
yoke,  Russia  will  snap  hup  Turkey,  hand,  hin  short,  the 
whole  world  will  be  revolutionized,  hand  the  balance 
hof  power  haltered  by  the  controversy  hin  relation  to 
this  little  strip  hof  land." 

Ermatinger  paused  from  his  elocutionary  effort.  To 
his  surprise  the  doctor  did  not  laugh;  he  did  not 
even  smile,  but  arose  in  a  nervous  way  and  left  the 
room.  Some  time  after,  one  of  his  clerks  ran  upon 
him,  kneeling  in  his  office. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Ermatinger,  humbly,  that 
evening;  "  I  did  not  suppose  you  took  the  matter  so  to 
heart,  Doctor." 

"The  possibility  of  a  war  is  what  distresses  me," 
said  the  doctor. 

The  Provisional  Government,  born  at  Champoeg  and 
cradled  in  the  primitive  State  House  at  Oregon  City, 
developed  with  the  colony.  Somebody  was  known  to 
be  in  Washington  working  for  a  steamboat  route  across 
the  Panama. 

"  Hah,"  said  Ermatinger  through  his  nose,  "  we  shall 
soon  be  sighing  for  the  Hindian  days,  the  squaws  hand 


DEATH   OF  JASON   LEE  303 

skins  hand  savages.  But  there,  now,  Hi  ham  ha  good 
Hamerican,  you  know,"  he  added  with  a  wink,  —  so 
good,  indeed,  that  he  was  made  Colonial  Treasurer  at 
the  next  election. 

George  Abernethy,  the  steward  of  the  Methodist 
mission,  an  upright  man,  of  smooth  face  and  agree- 
able manner,  became  Oregon's  colonial  governor.  On 
a  green  point  overlooking  the  Willamette  and  within 
sound  of  the  Falls,  he  built  his  modest  mansion,  with 
gable  roof,  French  windows,  wide  porch,  double  par- 
lors, and  fireplaces,  and  the  American  flag  floating 
above.  The  streets  in  Oregon  City  were  only  trails, 
and  the  new  governor  whitewashed  the  stumps  that 
he  might  find  his  way  home  on  dark  nights  through 
the  timber.  Here  his  apple-cheeked  wife  gave  parties 
in  the  hospitable  days  of  early  Oregon. 

The  governor's  house  was  on  the  very  spot  where 
old  Canemah  once  shaped  his  arrow-points.  One 
night  Waskema  came  back.  There  stood  the  govern- 
or's residence,  with  its  pillared  porch  and  windows  of 
glass.  She  went  around  to  a  favorite  Balm-of-Gilead 
that  clapped  its  silver  leaves  in  the  summer  night. 
The  white  chief  had  dug  him  a  well,  throwing  out  the 
sand  on  countless  clippings  and  fragments  of  imperfect 
arrow-heads.  Like  a  lover  who  looks  for  a  lock  of  his 
mistress's  hair  where  he  dropped  it  long  ago,  so  old 
Waskema  had  been  wont  to  return  to  gather  broken 
chips  from  the  arrow-maker's  shop ;  but  now  they  were 
covered,  mixed  with  the  sands,  and  the  brick-walled 
well  seemed  not  deeper  than  the  grave  in  her  heart. 
She  clutched  her  hands  and  looked  up  at  the  windows. 
There  were  lights  in  the  governor's  windows  —  she  drew 
near  and  saw  the  ruddy  glow  of  the  fire  lighting  up  the 
fair  faces  of  white  boys  and  girls.  Even  so  in  the  long 


304  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

ago  the  red  men's  children  met  in  social  converse  on 
the  selfsame  spot.  She  pressed  her  withered  face  too 
near  the  glass. 

"  Ugh,"  shuddered  the  flaxen-haired  daughter  of  the 
host,  "  there 's  a  horrible  old  Indian  woman  peeking  in 
at  the  window." 

Frightened  glances  turned  that  way,  but  the  face  was 
gone. 

"  She  was  here,  just  this  minute.  I  saw  her,"  said 
the  girl,  going  out  on  the  porch  to  look,  followed  by 
her  companions;  but  nothing  could  be  seen. 

"Never  mind.  Twas  only  an  old  squaw.  Let's 
play  that  game  again,"  cried  the  merry-hearts. 

Old  Waskema  had  retreated  to  a  rock  in  the  gov- 
ernor's garden.  By  dint  of  some  digging  and  some 
pushing  she  turned  it  over.  Beneath,  in  a  little  cache, 
lay  a  bunch  of  obsidian  knives,  some  strings  of  copper 
beads,  and  a  handful  of  haiqua  shells.  Gathering  up  the 
rusting  treasures,  Waskema  stole  away.  The  next  day 
Governor  Abernethy  wondered  who  had  been  digging 
at  the  stone  in  his  garden. 

The  Methodist  mission  had  not  prospered.  In  fact, 
while  Jason  Lee  was  lecturing  in  the  States,  unforeseen 
influences  had  been  at  work  in  the  valley.  The  most 
casual  observer  had  noted  the  frightful  growth  of  the 
mission  graveyard.  It  may  have  been  scrofulous  in- 
heritance, it  may  have  been  the  sudden  caging  of  these 
wild  birds — the  Indian  children  perished  like  leaves 
of  the  forest.  Jason  Lee  in  distress  had  taken  some 
favorite  pupils  to  Fort  Vancouver  for  treatment  —  in 
vain.  At  this  juncture  some  ran  away;  the  rest  were 
withdrawn  by  their  superstitious  parents.  The  history 
of  Indian  schools  at  Dartmouth  and  Hamilton  repeated 


DEATH   OF  JASON   LEE  305 

itself  here  —  the  Indian  mission  on  the  Willamette,  the 
centre  of  so  many  hopes  and  prayers,  became  the  seat 
of  an  embryo  university  re-dedicated  to  the  numerous 
children  of  incoming  whites. 

In  the  midst  of  this  toil  and  endeavor  Jason  Lee 
stood  again  at  the  threshold  of  his  bridal  chamber;  a 
second  wife  lay  dead,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms  —  but 
the  infant  lived. 

"  '  Though  he  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  him/  "  said 
the  anguished  missionary  as  he  looked  on  the  cold, 
white  lips  of  his  second  love. 

He  crossed  to  the  Sandwich  Islands  with  the  precious, 
flickering  little  life  so  strangely  left  in  his  hands ;  then 
came  another  blow, — he  had  been  superseded  in  the 
superintendency  of  the  Oregon  missions. 

The  waxen  face  of  his  child  was  flushed  now  with 
health.  Turning,  he  laid  the  daintily  draped  morsel  of 
pink  and  white  in  the  arms  of  one  who  had  received  her 
from  the  bed  of  death. 

"  Take  her  back  to  Oregon,"  he  said,  "  and  keep  her 
till  I  return."  Then  he  sailed  for  Mazatlan,  and  struck 
across  Mexico  for  the  United  States. 

They  knew  he  was  collecting  funds  for  the  projected 
university  that  lay  so  near  his  heart,  they  knew  that 
consumption  had  fixed  its  fangs  upon  his  giant  frame; 
still  he  wrote  from  his  old  home  of  the  gray  gables  at 
Stanstead :  — 

"  Wait,  brethren,  and  watch,  —  some  day  you  may  see 
me  threading  my  way  up  the  Willamette  in  a  canoe,  as  I 
used  to  do ;  "  but  the  hand  that  penned  it  fell  nerveless, 
the  noble  eyes  closed  in  death.  With  the  winged  sail 
came  the  parting  prayer  for  the  little  Lucy  Anna,  — 

"  Brethren,  under  God  I  must  hold  you  responsible 
to  train  that  child  for  heaven." 

20 


3o6  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

Jason  Lee's  body  rests  where  he  played  when  a  boy 
on  the  shores  of  one  of  the  beautiful  lakes  of  Lower 
Canada,  and  in  coming  years  that  motherless  waif,  the 
little  Lucy  Anna,  became  the  first  preceptress  of  Willa- 
mette University.  Love,  life,  hope,  youth,  —  all  were 
given  to  Oregon.  Who  shall  say  the  light  has  failed  ? 


XXXVI 

THE  BEAR  FLAG  AT  SONOMA 
1846 

LIFE  glided  smoothly  with  the  hospitable,  light- 
hearted  Spaniards  of  California,  but  not  so 
smoothly  at  the  Hudson's  Bay  trading-house  at  Yerba 
Buena.  There  were  pleasant  guests ;  Vallejo  came  often, 
and  Don  Salvador.  The  fierce,  fat  little  commandant 
came  up  from  his  ruinous  Presidio ;  the  Alcalde  came, 
and  the  padres,  who  wandered  now  like  vagrants  in 
the  land  they  used  to  rule.  Yerba  Buena  was  a 
great  resort  for  trappers  and  Englishmen  for  trade  and 
supplies.  La  Framboise  camped  near  in  winter,  and 
the  servants  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  constituted 
almost  the  entire  population  of  the  place. 

From  the  very  beginning  there  was  trouble  with  the 
Yankee  ships  from  New  York  and  Boston.  Some  of 
the  unavailing  anguish  of  Wyeth  on  the  Columbia  came 
to  Rae  as  he  saw  the  Yankee  clippers  sailing  from  port 
to  port,  vending  their  wares  and  carrying  off  great 
cargoes  of  hides  and  wheat  and  tallow.  Sometimes 
weeks  would  elapse  without  a  single  fanega  of  wheat 
or  arroba  of  tallow  at  the  Hudson's  Bay  house.  It 
made  Rae  desperate.  Once  he  said  to  a  Yankee  cap- 
tain that  spread  his  wares  on  the  very  threshold  of 
Yerba  Buena:  "It  has  cost  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany ^"75,000  to  drive  the  Americans  from  the  North- 
west trade  in  furs,  and  they  will  drive  you  Yankees 
from  California  if  it  costs  a  million." 


3o8  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

The  Yankee  only  laughed,  and  put  up  his  calico  to  ten 
dollars  a  yard  and  hauled  in  the  wheat. and  tallow. 

And  the  careless  Spaniards  went  on  singing  and 
dancing,  horse-racing  and  gambling  —  everybody  gam- 
bled in  Spanish  California. 

There  was  a  new  governor  in  California.  A  new 
governor  in  a  Spanish- American  State  generally  means 
a  revolution. 

"  This  new  governor,  Micheltorena,  is  partial  to  the 
Americans,"  said  the  Spanish  Californians. 

"  His  course  is  a  menace  to  English  interests,"  said 
Rae. 

The  Spaniards  hated  the  Americans  as  much  as  Rae 
did.  They  often  gathered  at  Yerba  Buena  to  talk  the 
matter  over. 

"  We  must  depose  him,"  said  the  Spaniards. 

"We  must  fight  them  to  the  death,"  said  Rae. 

So  the  insurgents  came  to  Yerba  Buena  for  arms 
and  ammunition.  But  the  insurgents  lost,  and  Rae 
lost. 

"  Curse  it  all !  why  did  I  let  them  have  the  arms 
and  ammunition  without  a  cent  to  show?"  cried  Rae, 
despairing.  "  And  how  shall  I  answer  for  mixing  in 
this  Spanish  trouble?" 

The  proud  chief  trader  groaned.  He  had  done  the 
best  he  could  for  his  company,  but  the  best  he  could 
would  not  avail.  Already  Sir  George  had  sent  recom- 
mends to  shut  up  the  house  at  Yerba  Buena  as  a 
profitless  venture.  But  Dr.  McLoughlin  held  firm. 
And  to  disappoint  the  doctor  now  — 

"  What  if  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  is  driven  out 
of  California?  Am  I  to  blame,  with  all  these  rival 
Yankees  like  the  swarming  rats  of  Hamelin  nibbling  on 
every  side?  "  The  servants  heard  a  shot  in  Rae's  room. 


THE  BEAR   FLAG   AT   SONOMA  309 

Eloise  saw  her  husband  fall  with  the  smoking  weapon 
in  his  hand,  then  she  fainted. 

When  Eloise  opened  her  eyes  again  she  lay  on  a 
couch  in  a  darkened  room.  Through  the  lattice  she 
saw  Don  Salvador  leap  to  his  saddle,  cutting  his  horse 
with  the  long  and  rusty  rowels  of  his  spurs.  She  heard 
the  hurried  voices  of  Spaniards,  forgetting  somewhat  the 
customary  stately  and  measured  tone.  She  heard  the 
voices  of  women  skipping  from  consonant  to  consonant. 
She  knew  La  Framboise  had  come  over  from  the  camp* 
Then  all  was  dark  again. 

Again  it  seemed  like  morning.  Through  the  lattice 
Eloise  saw  the  Spanish  dames  go  by  to  mass,  with  their 
high  combs,  necklaces,  and  earrings  hidden  under  the 
"beautiful  and  mysterious  mantilla."  There  was  a 
sound  of  marching,  and  she  knew  it  was  the  funeral. 

La  Framboise's  brigade  bore  sad  tidings  up  the 
Willamette  to  Fort  Vancouver.  David  and  Dugald 
McTavish  came  down  in  the  little  "  Cadboro'."  The 
business  was  closed,  and  the  Hudson's  Bay  house  was 
sold  for  a  song. 

Eloise  took  a  last  look  at  the  Spanish  land.  The 
Alcalde  was  chasing  his  herds.  The  senoras  were  sew- 
ing and  singing  in  their  verandas.  The  Indians  were 
ploughing  the  Spanish  gardens,  after  the  fashion  of  old 
Mexico  in  the  days  of  Cortez. 

The  fierce,  fat  little  commandant  peeped  out  of  the 
tile-roofed  Presidio  as  the  schooner  sailed  through  the 
Golden  Gate. 

With  the  fading  of  Mendocino,  the  fandangoes,  bole- 
ros, and  barcaroles  of  old  Spain  faded  from  the  life  of 
Eloise  McLoughlin,  but  not  the  face  of  him  who  was 
buried  in  the  little  graveyard  at  Yerba  Buena,  —  it  lived 
again  in  her  infant  child. 


3io          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Already  immigrants  on  the  overland  route  had  ren- 
dezvoused at  Sutter's  fort.  Strange  rumors  were  cur- 
rent there  — 

"  The  Mexicans  are  negotiating  with  England  for  the 
sale  of  California." 

"  General  Castro  intends  to  expel  us  from  the  Sacra- 
mento. He  is  already  on  the  march." 

They  whispered  with  Fremont. 

Scarcely  had  the  little  "  Cadboro'  "  disappeared 
through  the  Golden  Gate  that  day  in  June  of  1846, 
when  General  Vallejo  was  captured  at  daylight  in  his 
house  at  Sonoma,  along  with  nine  brass  cannon,  two 
hundred  stands  of  arms,  and  tons  of  copper  shot. 

"  Fly !  "  cried  the  Senora,  sitting  up  in  bed  in  her 
night-robe. 

It  was  too  late  to  fly. 

The  Americans  ran  up  the  Bear  Flag,  and  with 
Fremont's  cognizance  took  General  Vallejo  and  Don 
Salvador  prisoners  to  Sutter's  fort  on  the  Sacramento. 
Vallejo  did  not  resist.  Long  since  he  had  seen  that  a 
change  must  come,  and  he  favored  the  United  States. 
He  quietly  gave  up  the  keys,  and  in  succeeding  actions 
a  thousand  of  Vallejo's  best  horses  went  under  the  sad- 
dles of  American  riflemen. 

For  twenty  days  California  was  a  republic,  then 
Captain  Montgomery,  by  order  of  Commodore  Sloat, 
raised  the  stars  and  stripes  on  the  plaza  at  Yerba 
Buena.  A  flag  was  sent  to  Fremont,  camping  on  the 
Sacramento,  and  was  raised  over  Sutter's  fort. 

Hark !  Who  is  this  winding  along  the  trail  to  Cali- 
fornia? It  is  Pio-pio-mox-mox,  going  to  avenge  the 
murder  of  Elijah.  Warlike  Walla  Wallas  and  dark 
frowning  Cayuses  on  their  swift  steeds  bending  to  avoid 
the  boughs  of  semi-tropic  forests  are  following  the  old 


THE   BEAR   FLAG   AT   SONOMA  311 

trail  to  the  South.  Delaware  Tom  is  there,  dressed 
like  the  rest  in  a  robe  of  skins,  going  to  avenge  the 
death  of  the  accomplished  young  chief  of  the  Walla 
Wallas. 

There  are  only  forty  men,  but  a  courier  flies  to  Sut- 
ter's  fort.  Breathless  he  passes  the  Indian  guards  — 

"  A  thousand  Walla  Wallas  are  marching  from 
Oregon  to  avenge  the  death  of  their  young  chief." 

The  guests  leap  from  their  wine-bowls.  Artillery  is 
primed  and  mounted.  Runners  gallop  to  Sonoma  for 
reinforcements.  Word  even  reaches  Monterey.  Com- 
modore Stockton  hastens  to  San  Francisco,  and  prepara- 
tions for  defence  are  hurried  to  the  North. 

Meanwhile,  Pio-pio-mox-mox,  whose  numbers  have 
been  so  greatly  exaggerated,  is  defiling  down  the  can- 
yon with  vengeance  in  his  heart.  But  his  eyes  are 
open.  He  hears  for  the  first  time  that  the  old  regime 
is  over,  that  Sutter  is  out  of  power,  and  the  Americans 
rule  on  the  Sacramento. 

"  Then  if  the  Bostons  rule,  to  the  Bostons  will  I  pre- 
sent my  claim  for  justice,"  said  the  indomitable  old 
chief  of  the  Walla  Wallas. 

Colonel  Fremont  met  him  in  council,  and  promised 
redress.  Under  this  persuasion  the  Walla  Walla  chief 
and  his  followers  enlisted  under  Fremont's  banner,  and 
Delaware  Tom,  valued  for  his  fluent  use  of  English, 
became  a  trusted  bearer  of  despatches  and  a  member 
of  Fremont's  body-guard. 

General  Castro  retreated  to  the  South.  Fremont  fol- 
lowed on  his  trail  and  marched  into  Monterey. 

The  anxious  Spaniards  beheld  a  cloud  of  dust  roll 
up  beyond  the  city.  From  behind  their  grated  win- 
dows the  timid  women  beheld  the  long  line  of  mounted 
Americans  advancing  up  the  street  with  Fremont  at 


312  McLOUGHLIN    AND   OLD   OREGON 

their  head,  shaking  the  ground  with  the  tread  of  con- 
quest. Nothing  escaped  the  fierce  eye  of  that  wiry 
leader  in  blouse  and  leggings  and  Spanish  sombrero. 
Around  him  closed  his  Delaware  guard.  Nothing  es- 
caped the  eye  of  his  wild  followers,  two  and  two  abreast, 
with  rifles  cocked  on  the  pommel  of  their  saddles. 

The  Spaniards  love  a  spectacle.  Here  was  power. 
As  they  watched  the  stern-featured  horsemen  with 
sinewy  limbs  and  untrimmed  locks  flowing  under  their 
foraging  caps,  as  they  caught  the  gleam  of  pistols  and 
the  glitter  of  knives,  a  thrill  shook  the  throng,  then 
arose  a  faint,  "  Viva  !  —  vivan  los  Americanos  !  " 

The  latest  governor,  Don  Pio  Pico,  fled  by  night 
from  his  capital  at  Los  Angeles  and  escaped  to  Mexico 
with  his  secretary.  Tradition  says  they  carried  away 
and  buried  the  government  archives. 

The  next  January  the  Alcalde  sent  forth  his  pro- 
nunciamento  changing  the  name  of  Yerba  Buena  to 
San  Francisco. 

Had  Rae  but  lived  he  might  have  ruled  the  richest 
post  under  Hudson's  Bay  control.  As  it  was,  he  was 
forgotten  by  all  but  the  Spanish  nobles. 


XXXVII 

"FIFTY-FOUR  FORTY  OR  FIGHT" 
(1845-46) 

THREE  years  had  passed  since  Dr.  McLoughlin 
wrote  that  letter  for  protection,  and  now  word 
arrived  from  the  Hudson's  Bay  house  in  London :  "  In 
the  present  state  of  affairs  the  company  cannot  obtain 
protection  from  the  government.  You  must  protect 
yourselves  in  the  best  way  you  can." 

Many  difficulties  perplexed  Dr.  McLoughlin  as  well 
as  the  Provisional  Government.  Outlaws  from  the 
States  found  their  way  to  Oregon.  One,  Chapman, 
boasted,  "  I  came  all  the  way  from  the  States  for  the 
purpose  of  burning  Fort  Vancouver." 

"  Such  a  step  would  precipitate  war  in  Oregon,"  said 
the  settlers.  Applegate  was  sent  privately  to  Dr. 
McLoughlin. 

"We  are  troubled,"  said  Applegate  to  the  doctor. 
"  We  want  to  protect  you,  but  we  cannot  unless  the 
company  agrees  to  the  articles  of  compact.  To  do 
that  you  must  pay  taxes  and  comply  with  the  laws  of 
the  Provisional  Government,  which  promises  protection 
only  to  its  adherents.  Otherwise  you  will  stand  alone. 
Restless  spirits  from  the  States  will  consider  you  law- 
ful prey.  You  need  to  join  us.  It  is  for  your  own 
interest." 

"But  how  can  I?"  insisted  the  doctor.  "  I  am  a 
British  subject,  and  this  is  British  property." 


3i4  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  We  have  altered  the  form  of  oath  to  meet  that  very 
point,"  said  Applegate.  "  Now  the  compact  reads  '  to 
support  the  Provisional  Government  so  far  as  is  con- 
sistent with  our  duties  as  citizens  of  the  United  States 
or  subjects  of  Great  Britain.'  That  lets  you  in,  you  see, 
without  interfering  with  your  allegiance." 

The  doctor  sat  with  his  head  on  his  hand,  thinking. 
Now  and  then  he  tossed  back  the  white  locks  that  fell 
around  his  face. 

Applegate  went  on :  "  You  see,  Dr.  McLoughlin,  it 
will  secure  the  property  of  the  company.  And  it  will 
conduce  to  the  maintenance  of  peace  and  order  to  have 
it  known  to  the  American  people  that  the  two  nationali- 
ties are  united  in  Oregon.  There  will  be  a  large  immi- 
gration again  this  fall,  and  you  may  depend  upon  it 
there  will  be  many  to  annoy  you." 

"  I  realize  that,  I  realize  that,"  said  the  doctor, 
despairingly.  "Let  me  call  in  Douglas.  He  has  a 
level  head." 

Douglas  came  in,  tall,  dark,  and  formal.  He  did  not 
get  on  so  easily  with  people  as  the  doctor  did,  and  espe- 
cially these  Americans  he  held  at  arm's  length.  But  if 
he  unbent  to  anybody  it  was  to  the  cultured  Applegate, 
the  "  Sage  of  Yoncalla."  Again  the  whole  subject  was 
canvassed. 

"  Our  taxes,  if  assessed  at  their  real  value,  would  out- 
weigh all  your  colony,"  said  Douglas. 

"  Of  course  you  would  tax  only  our  sales  to  your 
settlers  ?  "  suggested  the  doctor. 

"  That  is  fair,"  said  Applegate. 

"  Very  well,  then,  we  will  join  you,"  said  the  doctor 
and  Douglas  after  some  consideration. 

Mr.  Applegate  returned  to  Oregon  City  and  put  the 
measure  through  with  a  rush.  Dr.  McLoughlin  and 


"FIFTY-FOUR   FORTY   OR   FIGHT"          315 

James  Douglas  signed  the  articles  and  became  members 
of  Oregon's  Provisional  Government. 

"  I  don't  see  that  we  could  do  anything  else,"  said 
the  doctor,  snuff-box  in  hand,  a  few  days  later.  "  I  am 
glad  the  suspense  is  over,  James.  If  we  must  live  with 
these  Americans  we  must  live  in  peace." 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Douglas.  "  The  property  is  safe  now. 
The  fact  that  England  paid  no  attention  to  your  appeal 
for  protection  justifies  the  step  we  have  taken." 

"  I  am  glad  they  elected  you  Judge  of  this  Vancouver 
district,"  added  the  doctor.  "  That  was  handsomely 
done." 

Just  then  the  gate-keeper  stuck  his  head  in  at  the 
door. 

"  Eh,  what,  Bruce  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  rising.  "  Ogden 
back  from  England,  and  strangers,  did  you  say?  " 

Dr.  McLoughlin  turned  and  met  face  to  face  the 
scarlet  coats  and  gold  lace  of  two  English  officers 
advancing  up  the  steps. 

"  Lieutenant  William  Peel,  son  of  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
Prime  Minister  of  England,"  said  Peter  Skeen  Ogden, 
advancing  and  introducing  the  taller  one,  a  fine  young 
fellow,  well  bronzed,  who  advanced  to  meet  the  doctor. 

With  quite  colorless  face  Dr.  McLoughlin  shook 
hands  with  the  Premier's  proxy  so  suddenly  set  down 
on  the  Columbia. 

"  Captain  Parke  of  the  Royal  Marines,"  turning  to 
the  other. 

Captain  Parke  handed  Dr.  McLoughlin  a  pack  of 
credentials. 

The  doctor's  color  rose  as  he  broke  the  royal  seal 
and  read. 

"What!  What!  What!  Brother  of  the  Earl  of 
Aberdeen  here  with  a  fleet  to  protect  us?" 


316  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Douglas  gave  an  involuntary  start.  "  Protection ! 
Now !  " 

"  Gentlemen,  where  are  your  ships  ?  "  inquired  the 
doctor. 

"  Anchored  in  Puget  Sound.  There  are  fifteen 
warships  on  the  coast,  carrying  four  hundred  guns," 
answered  Lieutenant  Peel. 

Dr.  McLoughlin's  face  was  a  study. 

"  Where  is  your  ship?     How  did  you  get  here?  " 

"  Overland  by  way  of  the  Cowlitz.  The  '  Modeste  ' 
is  entering  the  Columbia  with  twenty  guns.  Do  you 
think  that  will  be  sufficient?  She  will  soon  be  here." 

"Sufficient?  I  should  think  so!"  ejaculated  the 
doctor. 

With  the  intuitive  grasp  of  situation  for  which  he  was 
noted,  Dr.  McLoughlin  provided  for  his  distinguished 
guests,  thinking  mightily  all  the  time. 

"  The  devil 's  to  pay  now,"  he  whispered  aside  to 
Douglas.  "What  have  they  come  for?  If  they  had 
only  arrived  six  weeks  sooner  I  should  n't  have  signed 
the  compact.  Now  we  have  recognized  the  Provisional 
Government  the  ships  are  not  needed.  Indeed,  they 
are  likely  to  stir  up  a  d — 1  of  a  row  by  rousing  the 
suspicions  of  the  Americans." 

"'Tis  well  to  have  them  here  till  we  try  the  temper 
of  the  next  immigration,"  said  Douglas,  to  soothe  the 
spirits  of  his  chief. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  can  bring  troops  overland  from 
Canada?"  inquired  one  of  the  officers,  as  Dr.  McLough- 
lin re-entered  the  room.  "  If  it  comes  to  blows  we  will 
hit  these  Americans  a  good  deal  harder  than  we  would 
other  people." 

"  Oh,  Captain  Parke !  Oh,  Captain  Parke !  "  ejaculated 
the  distressed  doctor.  "  The  country  is  not  worth  a  war." 


"FIFTY-FOUR   FORTY   OR   FIGHT"          317 

"Then  what  are  the  Americans  coming  here  for? 
Just  speak  the  word  and  we  '11  give  them  a  hint  that  '11 
take  the  carts  all  off  the  wheels  from  here  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains." 

"  That  would  be  savage  !  "  said  the  doctor. 

Peel  set  his  lips.  "  The  United  States  is  not  going 
to  euchre  us  out  of  Oregon.  My  father  has  said  in 
Parliament,  '  England  knows  her  rights  and  dares  main- 
tain them/  and  she  will." 

"  The  claim  of  the  United  States  to  this  coast  is 
absurd,"  said  Lieutenant  Peel.  "Captain  Gray  was 
only  a  private  speculating  trader,  dodging  along  this 
coast  bartering  for  furs.  He  only  went  twelve  miles 
up  the  river,  he  did  not  explore  it;  and  as  for  taking 
possession  —  the  poor  coaster  never  thought  of  such 
a  thing.  Vancouver  explored  a  hundred  miles.  We 
have  as  good  a  right  to  this  river  as  to  the  Thames  or 
the  Humber." 

"  Why,  of  course,"  laughed  Parke.  "  The  Columbia 
has  always  belonged  to  us.  This  American  talk  is  mere 
bravado,  like  the  so-called  *  Patriot  War '  of  Canada  — 
some  noise  and  a  good  deal  of  smoke." 

A  sip  of  wine  had  warmed  the  guests,  and  all  laughed 
merrily. 

That  Patriot  War  of  Canada  (1838)  touched  a  tender 
spot  in  McLoughlin's  heart. 

"  The  effort  of  an  oppressed  people  to  free  themselves 
is  not  a  proper  subject  for  merriment,"  he  said. 

"  Whatever  comes  to  pass,"  remarked  Douglas,  "  these 
whittling  Yankees  talking  politics  are  here,  and  more  are 
coming.  I  hear  that  one  of  them  is  in  Washington  now, 
trying  to  get  a  steamboat  route  by  the  way  of  Panama." 

"So?  Next  they'll  be  talking  of  a  railroad  right 
over  the  top  of  the  Rocky  Mountains  !  " 


3i8  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

At  this  another  "  ha !  ha  !  "  went  round  the  table. 

"  Enemies  need  bayonets,"  said  Captain  Parke,  as  they 
rose  from  their  wine- cups. 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  these  are  not  enemies,"  insisted 
Dr.  McLoughlin.  "  They  are  simply  settlers,  quiet, 
peaceable,  industrious." 

"And  like  their  fellow-countrymen  always  smoking 
and  chewing  and  spitting,  eh,  doctor?  I  'd  rather  meet 
a  grizzly  than  a  settler." 

That  night  Dr.  McLoughlin  wrote  a  letter  to  some 
one  high  in  British  authority,  pleading  against  war. 
Somewhere,  still,  that  letter  may  lie  in  English  archives. 

At  the  instance  of  the  officers  additional  guns  were 
mounted.  The  night-watch  was  doubled.  The  hourly 
"  All  is  well "  sounded  like  a  cry  of  danger. 

For  eighteen  months  Her  Majesty's  warship 
"  Modeste "  lay  like  a  policeman  in  the  river.  Five 
hundred  men,  sailors  and  marines,  performed  their 
daily  evolutions  on  the  green  esplanade  in  front  of  the 
fort.  A  barrel  of  silver  dollars  dealt  out  for  their  pay 
was  the  first  money  ever  seen  in  Oregon.  Before  that, 
barter  ruled  in  skins  and  wheat. 

The  red-coats,  running  over  the  country  with  their 
glittering  arms,  might  have  made  trouble  had  not  Dr. 
McLoughlin  kept  up  a  constant  counsel  of  peace. 

"  Whatever  we  do  here  will  make  no  difference  with 
the  final  outcome  of  the  question,"  he  kept  saying. 
"  It  is  better  for  us  to  keep  on  good  terms  with  the 
settlers.  These  inoffensive,  peaceable  people  are  not 
the  ones  to  fight." 

Nevertheless  the  colonists  had  their  fears. 

"  They  '11  turn  the  Indians  loose  upon  us  yet.  I  Ve 
seen  their  blacksmiths  working  all  winter.  They  say 
they  're  making  axes  for  the  trappers.  No  such  thing; 


"FIFTY-FOUR   FORTY   OR   FIGHT"          319 

they  're  tomahawks,  and  you  '11  see  'em  arming  Indians, 
as  they  did  in  1812.  Down  at  Astoria,  Birnie  digs  day 
after  day  —  don't  tell  me  it 's  a  garden.  I  know  better. 
There 's  cannon  buried  down  there  at  Tongue  Point,  and 
one  of  these  days  you  '11  hear  'em  booming." 

Douglas  went  over  to  Nisqually  and  found  the  war- 
ships burnishing  their  guns  in  Puget  Sound. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  officers,  as  Douglas  dined  on  shipboard. 
"  If  we  could  only  be  sent  to  the  Columbia  we  'd  take 
the  whole  country  in  twenty-four  hours." 

That  Oregon  question  had  become  the  battle-cry  of  a 
presidential  contest 

"  Fifty-four  forty  or  fight." 

"  All  of  Oregon  up  to  Alaska  or  war." 

America  listened  for  the  drum-beat. 

"  A  '  small  meal '  will  be  made  of  the  troops  of  the 
'  free  and  enlightened,' "  said  an  editor  on  the  St. 
Lawrence. 

"  The  crows  will  soon  be  picking  out  their  eyes,"  said 
an  Indian  chief  on  the  northern  border. 

With  clear  vision  Dr.  McLoughlin  saw  the  inflamed 
public  of  both  countries.  More  than  once  he  was  dis- 
covered on  his  knees,  praying  that  he  might  keep  the 
people  quiet  in  the  disputed  territory. 

"I  saw  blood  flow  in  1812,"  he  said  to  the  son  of 
England's  premier,  "  I  stanched  the  wounds  of  com- 
rades at  Sault  Ste.  Marie.  As  one  born  on  the  conti- 
nent of  America  I  feel  that  no  foreign  power  has  the 
right  to  fling  her  peoples  into  conflict.  Suppose  you 
take  a  ride  up  the  valley  and  get  acquainted  with  the 
people." 

Well  mounted  on  the  best  Vancouver  horses,  Parke 
and  Peel  went  dashing  up  the  Willamette. 

It    was    harvest-time.      Men    dressed    in    buckskin 


320  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

trousers,  "  hickory  "  shirts,  and  moccasins,  were  cutting 
wheat  with  the  reap-hook.  Settlers  jogged  along  in 
rude  carts  ironed  with  rawhide,  hauling  their  deerskin 
sacks  full  of  grain  to  the  river,  where  it  was  heaped  on 
great  bateaux,  big  as  the  hull  of  a  steamer,  and  paddled 
down  to  Fort  Vancouver,  to  exchange  for  "  black  strap  " 
molasses,  dirty  Hawaiian  sugar,  and  ready-made  cloth- 
ing. That  clothing  was  all  of  one  size,  made  in  England ; 
said  to  have  been  cut  to  the  measure  of  Dr.  Mc- 
Loughlin.  The  thrifty  immigrant  wives  clipped  off  the 
hickory  shirts  that  came  down  to  the  feet  and  over  the 
hands  and  were  thankful  for  the  patches.  There  were 
no  old  chests  from  which  to  resurrect  cloaks  and 
dresses ;  the  American  stock  was  soon  exhausted,  and 
the  Hudson's  Bay  store,  not  contemplating  such  expan- 
sion, had  none  to  sell.  Old  coats  were  threadbare,  old 
tent  covers  worn  out.  Members  of  the  legislature 
canvassed  their  brethren  for  a  coat  to  wear  in  public. 
The  singing-master  met  his  classes  in  a  suit  of  buck- 
skin. 

"  You  must  get  looms,"  said  Dr.  McLoughlin.  Two 
immigrants  set  out  for  the  States  for  flocks  of  sheep. 

Everywhere  Parke  and  Peel  were  met  with  rude  but 
unstinted  hospitality.  Men  who  had  marked  the  trail 
to  Oregon  with  their  blood,  slaughtered  for  them  the 
fatted  bullock  and  sat  down  to  dine  in  their  shirt-sleeves. 
Women  ground  the  grain  for  cakes  in  the  coffee-mill 
and  baked  it  in  a  Dutch  oven  set  among  the  coals. 
Brisk  housewives  brushed  up  their  hearths  with  hazel 
brooms,  set  the  table  with  tin  cups  and  plates,  and 
seated  the  guests  in  the  best  old-fashioned  cane-bot- 
tomed hickory  rocker  that  had  banged  its  way  across 
the  plains. 

Every   picturesque  feature  of  New  England,    Ohio, 


"FIFTY-FOUR  FORTY  OR  FIGHT"         321 

Missouri  pioneering  was  repeated  here.  To  Parke  and 
Peel  it  was  a  revelation.  Never  before  had  they  seen 
a  people  whose  handbook  of  history  was  the  migrations 
of  their  ancestors,  whose  ideal  statesman  was  George 
Washington,  whose  model  parent  was  Uncle  Sam,  Daniel 
Boone  the  chief  hero,  and  the  American  eagle  the 
favorite  bird.  With  great  good  humor  they  heard  the 
tales  around  the  fires  and  slept  at  night  in  the  cabin 
lofts. 

"  Tell  me  how  you  crossed  the  plains,"  said  Peel  at 
the  house  of  Applegate.  He  told  the  story  of  1843. 

"  Such  men  would  make  the  finest  soldiers  in  the 
world,"  said  Peel  and  Parke  as  they  went  riding  on. 

"How  do  you  like  the  country?"  asked  a  horny- 
handed  pioneer. 

"It  is  certainly  the  most  beautiful  country  in  the 
natural  state  that  I  ever  saw,"  said  Peel. 

"  Will  England  try  to  hold  it?  " 

"  Not  against  the  wishes  of  its  people,"  answered  the 
nobleman. 

Before  Parke  and  Peel  returned  from  their  trip  up  the 
valley  the  autumn  immigration  came  pouring  in  with 
"  54°  40'  or  fight "  blazed  on  their  wagon  covers.  To 
eager  inquiries,  "Yes,  that  is  the  party  cry,  and  Polk  is 
elected." 

Parke  and  Peel  looked  on  amazed  as  three  thousand 
dust-begrimed  pilgrims  came  toiling  in  to  stake  out 
their  claims  on  the  Indian  lands.  Never  before  had 
they  seen  the  building  of  a  State.  "  Hopelessly  Ameri- 
canized !  hopelessly  Americanized ! "  was  their  fre- 
quent comment  as  the  long  line  of  occupation  took  up 
the  country.  "  Ploughs  are  better  than  traps  to  hold 
a  country,  and  farms  are  better  than  forts." 

The  story  of  1845  has  never  been  told,  never  can  be 

21 


322  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

told.  In  the  face  of  Parke  and  Peel  and  all  the  British 
warships  Dr.  McLoughlin  sent  succor  to  the  famishing 
immigrants.  Far  up  Des  Chutes  they  met  his  messen- 
gers of  mercy  with  shouts  and  hallelujahs.  The  settlers 
bestirred  themselves,  and  hurried  forward  pack-trains  of 
food  and  horses  to  rescue  their  brethren  in  the  moun- 
tains. There  were  not  boats  enough  in  the  country  to 
meet  the  needs  of  transportation,  and  when  at  Christ- 
mas all  were  in,  the  population  of  Oregon  had  been 
doubled. 

And  yet  the  boundary  was  not  settled.  A  rumor  was 
current  at  Havana  that  the  whole  British  armament  was 
sailing  for  the  Columbia.  Commodores  Sloat  and 
Stockton  off  the  coast  of  California  cast  many  a  long- 
ing eye  toward  Oregon,  but  the  Mexican  War  demanded 
their  presence  South.  The  Provisional  Government 
sent  the  Applegates  to  cut  a  road  for  United  States 
troops  to  enter  southern  Oregon. 

Senator  Benton  said  in  Congress,  "  Let  the  emigrants 
go  on  and  carry  their  rifles." 

But  Rufus  Choate  made  that  clarion  answer :  "  In 
my  judgment  this  notion  of  a  national  enmity  of  feel- 
ing towards  Great  Britain  belongs  to  a  past  age  of 
our  history.  We  are  born  to  happier  feelings.  We 
look  on  England  as  we  do  on  France.  We  look  on 
them  from  our  new  world,  not  unrenowned,  yet  a  new 
world  still,  and  the  blood  mounts  to  our  cheeks ;  our 
eyes  swim ;  our  voices  are  stifled  with  emulousness  of 
so  much  glory;  their  trophies  will  not  let  us  sleep, 
but  there  is  no  hatred  at  all,  no  hatred ;  all  for  honor, 
nothing  for  hate.  If  you  will  answer  for  the  politicians 
I  think  I  will  venture  to  answer  for  the  people." 

Webster,  too,  made  a  great  peace  speech  that  was 
heard  on  two  continents. 


"FIFTY-FOUR   FORTY   OR   FIGHT"          323 

The  brother  of  the  Earl  of  Aberdeen  fretted  on 
his  warship  in  Puget  Sound:  "McLoughlin  is  right. 
'Tis  a  beastly  country,  not  worth  a  war.  Nisqually 
plains  are  a  bed  of  gravel.  Curse  the  deer !  They  will 
not  wait  for  me  to  shoot  them.  Curse  the  salmon! 
They  will  not  bite  with  the  very  best  flies  and  a  patent 
English  angling  rod.  I  would  n't  give  tuppence  for 
the  whole  country ;  "  and  he  sailed  away. 

Lieutenant  Peel  took  the  shortest  cut  to  London. 
What  he  poured  into  the  ears  of  his  father,  Sir  Robert, 
has  never  been  known. 

Lieutenant  Cushing,  also,  reported  to  his  father  at 
Washington.  All  at  once  Congress  adopted  concilia- 
tory resolutions. 

Said  Lord  Aberdeen,  "I  did  not  delay  a  moment, 
but  putting  aside  all  ideas  of  diplomatic  etiquette  I 
made  a  proposition  of  settlement  that  was  immediately 
accepted  by  Congress." 

With  joyful  countenance  Sir  Robert  Peel  announced 
to  the  House  of  Commons,  "The  governments  of  two 
great  nations  have  by  moderation,  by  mutual  com- 
promise, averted  the  dreadful  calamity  of  war." 

Word  reached  Vancouver  in  the  autumn  of  1846  by 
way  of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  Douglas  immediately 
sent  the  news  to  Governor  Abernethy.  The  settlers 
fired  their  anvils,  the  bluffs  flung  back  the  jubilee. 
Canadians  and  Americans  rejoiced  together.  "Now 
Congress  will  take  us  under  her  wing,"  was  the  joyful 
cry.  "  Now  we  shall  have  territorial  rights.  Now  they 
will  recognize  the  acts  of  our  Provisional  Government. 
Until  then  how  can  we  be  sure  that  we  own  a  farm  or 
that  any  transaction  that  we  have  made  will  stand  in 
law?" 

Then  for  the  first  time  the  United  States  began  to 


324  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

look  out  of  her  western  window  to  the  sea.  But  no  one 
thought  of  the  Indian.  With  news  of  the  boundary 
settlement  came  news  of  the  Mexican  War  and  the 
occupation  of  California.  The  front  of  the  world  had 
changed. 

But  when  the  Oregonians  learned  that  the  line  was 
49°  instead  of  54°  40'  there  was  an  outcry  —  "  A  third  of 
Oregon  gone?  Polk  has  betrayed  us.  Oregon  reached 
Alaska." 

And  the  Hudson's  Bay  barque  sailed  as  usual,  with  a 
million  dollars'  worth  of  furs. 

As  colonial  treasurer  Ermatinger  gained  so  good  an 
insight  into  the  strength  or  weakness  of  the  little  colony 
—  for  no  one  knows  on  which  side  Ermatinger  was 
working  —  that  just  after  the  departure  of  Parke  and 
Peel  he  suddenly  handed  in  his  resignation  and  left 
with  the  March  express  for  England,  committing  his 
young  wife  to  the  care  of  Dr.  McLoughlin.  There  may 
have  been  a  political  motive  for  the  flight  at  that  time. 
If  so,  it  failed,  for  before  he  could  sight  the  hills  of 
Cornwall  the  treaty  had  been  proclaimed,  June  15, 
1846. 

Ermatinger  visited  the  scenes  of  his  English  youth. 
Of  his  old  friends  few  were  left,  some  were  dead,  some 
were  gone,  and  all  were  changed.  Homesick,  he  set  out 
for  his  old  post  on  the  Columbia.  At  Montreal  he  met 
Sir  George  Simpson  —  "  You  will  hereafter  be  stationed 
at  Athabasca,"  said  the  autocrat  of  the  fur  trade. 

"  Athabasca !  "  gasped  Ermatinger.  "  Good  God, 
can't  I  go  to  Fort  Vancouver  for  my  wife  ?  " 

"  You  understand  the  terms  of  this  service,  sir."  Sir 
George  passed  on  as  though  he  had  brushed  a  cater- 
pillar from  his  sleeve. 


"FIFTY-FOUR   FORTY  OR   FIGHT"          325 

Ermatinger,  the  jolly  Ermatinger,  staggered  from  the 
door,  white  as  a  man  in  ague.  Too  well  he  understood 
"  the  terms  of  our  service,  sir."  He  felt  it  was  a  cold- 
blooded act  to  separate  him  from  his  wife  because  of 
some  pique  at  McLoughlin.  Too  well  he  knew  the 
military  system  that  bound  any  man  that  accepted  a 
commission  to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  starve  in 
Labrador  or  freeze  at  the  north  pole.  But  this  — 

"  Curse  it !  Why  did  I  not  take  Catharine  with  me 
and  dig  like  a  dog  in  England?  There,  at  least,  the 
laborer  has  his  home." 

Well  he  knew  the  heart-break  of  that  disappointed 
wife,  well  he  knew  the  weary  distance  and  the  danger 
should  she  try  to  reach  him.  She  could  not  even  learn 
of  the  change  until  the  November  mail  packet.  Then 
the  waiting  till  the  next  brigade  in  March,  the  moun- 
tains, the  rapids,  and  a  babe  in  arms  —  in  anguish 
as  never  before  Ermatinger  felt  the  iron  of  the  great 
monopoly. 

"Perhaps  Sir  George  has  no  personal  feeling  in 
the  matter,"  thought  Ermatinger ;  "  it  is  the  factor's 
duty  to  obey,  but "  —  like  a  sheath-cut  came  the  con- 
clusion— "  neither  I  nor  any  one  at  Vancouver  can 
ever  believe  it  is  anything  less  than  premeditated  cus- 
sedness." 

Some  of  his  comrades  tried  to  rally  him.  "  Don't 
give  up  the  beaver  so,  Erma." 

"  Now  you  can  amuse  yourself  talking  Chinook  with 
the  Chippeways." 

"  Or  joking  with  the  Assiniboins." 

But  none  of  these  sallies  could  rouse  the  sad  spirit 
of  the  prostrate  Ermatinger. 

"Men!"  exclaimed  Ermatinger,  bitterly.  "Men  are 
of  trifling  value  provided  he  gets  furs.  Wives !  Wives 


326  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

are  encumbrances ;  men  are  not  expected  to  have  them ; 
they  interfere  with  the  company's  interests,  no  arrange- 
ment can  be  made  for  them.  The  employes  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company,  gentlemen,  are  tools,  mere 
implements,  machines,  under  Sir  George." 


XXXVIII 

DR.  McLOUGHLIN  RESIGNS 
1846 

THE  spies'  report  of  Dr.  McLoughlin  irritated  the 
London  Board.  "  What  right  has  a  chief  factor 
in  our  employ  to  meet  those  immigrants  with  boat- 
loads of  supplies,  to  nurse  their  sick  in  our  hospital, 
and  to  loan  them  seed  and  agricultural  implements  to 
open  up  farms  on  the  Willamette?"  Across  the  sea 
there  came  a  call  to  halt,  and  an  account  was  demanded 
of  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

Strong  in  the  consciousness  of  his  own  integrity  the 
doctor  answered :  "  Gentlemen,  as  a  man  of  common 
humanity  I  could  not  do  otherwise  than  to  give  those 
naked  and  starving  people  to  eat  and  to  wear  of  our 
stores.  I  foresaw  clearly  that  it  aided  in  the  American 
settlement  of  the  country,  but  this  I  cannot  help.  It  is 
not  for  me,  but  for  God,  to  look  after  and  take  care  of 
the  consequences.  The  Bible  tells  me,  '  If  thine 
enemy  hunger,  feed  him;  if  he  be  naked,  clothe  him.' 
These  settlers  are  not  even  enemies.  If  the  directors 
find  fault  with  me  they  quarrel  with  heaven.  I  have 
simply  done  what  any  one  truly  worthy  the  name  of 
a  man  could  not  hesitate  to  do.  I  ask  you  not  to  bear 
these  debts ;  let  them  be  my  own.  Let  me  retain  the 
profits  upon  these  supplies  and  advances  made  to  set- 
tlers, and  I  will  cheerfully  assume  all  payments  to  the 
company.  All  that  I  can  do  honorably  for  my  com- 
pany shall  be  done.  Beyond  that  I  have  no  pledges. 


328  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Shall  I  leave  these  Americans  to  starve,  or  drive  them 
from  the  country?  Gentlemen,  if  such  be  your  orders, 
I  can  serve  you  no  longer." 

And  so,  on  account  of  assisting  the  immigrants,  Dr. 
McLoughlin  resigned  his  position  at  the  head  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  west  of  the  Rocky  Mountains, 
and  thereby  sacrificed  a  personal  income  of  $12,000  per 
annum. 

As  sad-faced  Eloise  sailed  home  into  the  Columbia 
she  saw  a  great  concourse  at  Fort  Vancouver.  A  beau- 
tiful young  lady,  escorted  by  British  officers,  was  chris- 
tening a  new  sloop  for  the  infant  Prince  of  Wales. 

"Can  that  be  little  Cecelia?"  said  Eloise.  "How 
quickly  she  has  grown  !  How  quickly  I  have  aged  !  " 

In  widow's  weeds,  with  an  infant  in  her  arms,  the 
Lady  of  the  Pacific  Coast  had  returned  to  Fort  Van- 
couver, to  find  her  father  dethroned  and  Douglas  reign- 
ing in  his  stead. 

Dr.  McLoughlin  brought  to  Oregon  City  the  same 
spirit  of  enterprise  that  had  made  Fort  Vancouver  the 
metropolis  of  the  fur-forts.  He  gave  employment  to 
immigrants,  built  the  best  house,  built  saw  and  grist 
mills,  and  his  loud  voice  might  be  heard  in  the  streets 
directing  his  Indian  servants  as  they  grubbed  up  the 
stumps.  Many  yet  living  remember  the  white-headed 
man  in  swallow-tailed  coat  and  brass  buttons  waving 
his  cane  like  a  truncheon  at  the  head  of  the  Falls  — 
"  A  canal  can  be  cut  from  this  basin  to  the  gulch 
beyond  the  bluff,  and  this  whole  canyon  can  smoke 
with  factories." 

A  certain  element,  however,  could  never  forget  that 
Dr.  McLoughlin  had  been  at  the  head  of  a  foreign 
monopoly,  and  pointed  the  finger  with  the  whispered, 
"  Aristocrat !  Aristocrat !  " 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN   RESIGNS  329 

He  applied  for  a  ferry  right  across  the  Willamette, 
but  was  denied.  He  applied  for  a  canal  right ;  as  this 
great  public  improvement  would  cost  the  public  noth- 
ing, the  petition  was  granted,  and  McLoughlin's  men 
cut  the  first  race-way  in  the  gray  rock  around  the  Falls. 
He  wanted  to  build  locks  at  his  own  expense  —  and 
again  was  checked.  "  Give  him  too  much  power,"  they 
said. 

Late  one  autumn  evening  an  immigrant  unyoked  his 
oxen  under  the  bluff  beside  the  Falls.  As  they  were 
getting  supper  a  venerable  old  gentleman  came  to  their 
camp-fire.  Seated  in  the  only  chair  they  had,  he  made 
some  friendly  inquiries. 

"  Doctor,"  said  the  immigrant,  "  I  heard  before  I  left 
the  States  that  you  were  intending  to  put  locks  at  the 
Falls,  but  I  see  nothing  has  been  done." 

"  Tut,  tut,  tut !  "  said  the  doctor,  "  too  much  jealousy 
of  me,  too  much  rivalry ;  cannot  do  anything." 

The  doctor  further  endeavored  to  push  development 
by  giving  more  than  three  hundred  lots  for  public  and 
private  uses,  lots  for  squares  and  parks,  lots  for  churches 
and  parsonages,  to  Methodists  and  Baptists,  to  Presby- 
terians and  Catholics  and  Congregationalists,  eight  lots 
for  a  Catholic  School,  and  eight  for  a  Protestant  Female 
Seminary  now  used  by  the  Oregon  City  High  School. 

In  a  certain  sense  Dr.  McLoughlin  was  a  genius,  with 
the  irritabilities  of  genius.  He  saw  clearly  what  should 
be  done  and  could  brook  no  delay  in  execution.  A 
busy  man  himself,  he  wanted  all  busy  about  him. 
Across  the  river  an  American  held  a  claim.  "Now 
there 's  X  in  his  Robin's  Nest  up  there !  "  the  old 
doctor  would  exclaim.  "  Why  don't  he  do  some- 
thing? No,  there  he  lies,  and  lets  the  skunks  gnaw 
his  toes  while  he  waits  for  the  country  to  develop." 


330  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Eminently  sociable,  full  of  talk,  full  of  detail  and  in- 
cident, the  ex-chief  factor  could  never  be  happy  with- 
out a  crowd  around  him.  Despite  his  detractors,  he 
made  friends  with  all  the  new-comers,  stopped  to  talk 
with  the  men  that  strode  the  streets  in  moccasins  and 
leather  pantaloons  whipping  up  their  black  oxen,  and, 
indeed,  the  old  gentleman  was  quite  a  gallant  in  brush- 
ing up  his  beaver  and  starting  out,  cane  in  hand,  to  call 
on  the  ladies.  His  stately  form  might  be  seen  in  any 
door,  always  joking,  running  his  ringers  through  his 
hair,  and  inquiring  after  the  children. 

McLoughlin  noted  the  shabby  hats  of  the  early  leg- 
islators. In  his  own  genial  manner  he  presented  each 
with  a  tall  white  hat,  "  bell-crowned  and  peculiar."  "  I 
would  see  every  honorable  gentleman  well  roofed  in," 
he  said.  Then  he  handed  to  each  a  long-stemmed  pipe 
with  ornamented  bowl.  "  And  "  (says  a  survivor), 
"the  majestic  law-makers  meandered  along  the  river- 
side whiffing  the  calumet  of  peace,  while  jealous  Amer- 
icans scowled  and  said,  *  See  corporate  influence/  and 
hated  McLoughlin  worse  than  ever." 

To  the  end  he  never  lost  his  love  of  dress  and  danc- 
ing ;  decked  in  white  kids  and  white  vest,  like  a  gentle- 
man of  the  old  school,  he  adorned  the  parlor  of  many 
a  gay  assembly.  One  night  he  knocked  at  an  immigrant 
neighbor's  door  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand.  "  I  am 
going  to  the  party,"  he  said.  "  I  want  you  to  see  me." 
Laughingly  he  held  up  the  lantern  from  point  to  point, 
exhibiting  his  ruffles  and  carefully  combed  locks,  his 
narrow-tailed  coat  and  satin  vest.  "Will  I  do?" 

"  Ah,  yes,  you  will  do,"  said  the  laughing  pioneer 
mother  as  the  good  old  doctor  trudged  away  with  his 
lantern  and  a  new  pair  of  dancing-pumps  under  his 
arm. 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN   RESIGNS  331 

"  He  used  to  wear  a  long  blue  cloak  thrown  around 
him.  To  see  him  walking  to  church  Sunday  morning, 
it  was  really  a  sight,"  said  ex-Governor  Chadwick 
twenty-five  years  after,  so  out  of  keeping  seemed  the 
patriarchal  figure  with  the  modern  world  that  was 
pushing  in. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  characteristics  of  the  now 
famous  doctor  was  his  life-long  devotion  to  Margaret,  his 
wife  of  the  old  fur-hunting  days.  "  He  treated  her  like 
a  princess,"  says  a  missionary  of  that  day.  "  In  public 
and  in  private  he  was  as  loyal  to  her  as  if  she  had  been 
a  daughter  of  Victoria.  His  gallantry  to  her  knew  no 
bounds." 

It  was  well  understood  that  a  slight  to  the  Madame 
was  a  slight  to  the  doctor.  When  the  "  Modeste  "  was 
at  Vancouver  the  people  of  the  fort  gave  the  officers  a 
picnic.  On  their  return  the  doctor  perceived  his  wife 
walking  alone,  carrying  a  heavy  basket.  Turning  to  an 
officer,  —  "  Tut,  tut,  tut !  What  do  you  mean  by  letting 
a  lady  walk  alone  and  carry  a  burden  like  that?"  he 
cried,  as  he  hastened  to  her  assistance.  If  a  servant 
entered  her  presence  with  his  hat  on  —  "  Your  manners, 
sir,  your  manners,  before  ladies ! "  was  the  punctilious 
reprimand.  Old  Oregonians  remember  the  two,  sitting 
in  their  porch  like  the  Dutch  burghers  of  Amsterdam, 
greeting  the  passers-by.  The  Madame  took  the  live- 
liest interest  in  the  doctor's  benevolences,  going  about 
hunting  up  sick  immigrants  and  putting  herself  to  no 
end  of  trouble  to  help  them.  Many  a  time  she  sent 
petitioners  home  with  a  great  Indian  basket  full  of 
provisions,  and  out  of  her  own  stores  supplied  needed 
clothing.  "  It  is  a  duty  put  upon  us  by  our 
Heavenly  Father,"  the  Madame  was  wont  to  say. 

Across  the  hall  from  the  Madame's  room  was  the 


332  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

reception-room.  "  Two  sofas  were  there,"  says  a  lady 
of  1846,  "  and  I  seldom  found  them  empty.  Always 
the  new-comer  in  want  and  in  trouble  was  directed  to 
the  house  of  Dr.  McLoughlin.  Always  the  front  door 
of  McLoughlin's  house  stood  open.  'We  must  never 
leave  the  house  alone,  mother/  he  would  say.  '  Some 
immigrant  might  come  that  needed  our  help/" 

Dr.  McLoughlin  had  a  fondness  for  lawyers.  "  Doc- 
tor," said  the  first  chief  justice  of  the  Supreme  Court 
of  Oregon,  as  they  sat  one  day  in  his  office,  "  Doctor, 
they  say  that  when  you  were  governor  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  at  Vancouver  those  who  approached 
you  were  expected  to  do  so  with  their  heads  uncov- 
ered. How  is  that?" 

Reddening  and  running  his  fingers  through  his  hair 
the  doctor  stammered,  "  The  French !  the  French !  A 
very  polite  people,  a  very  polite  people !  " 

"  Of  course,  Doctor,"  said  the  judge,  "  but  —  " 

"  The  French  !  very  polite,  very  polite,"  said  the  still 
confused  doctor.  Then,  casting  aside  his  embarrass- 
ment,—"Well,  I  will  tell  you.  I  was  at  the  head  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  in  this  country.  When  I 
came  there  were  many  Indians  here.  The  success  of 
the  company  depended  on  the  way  the  Indians  were 
treated  and  controlled.  The  lives  of  all  the  servants 
and  employes,  and  the  property  of  the  company,  were 
in  my  keeping.  I  knew  enough  of  Indian  character  to 
know  that,  if  those  around  me  respected  and  deferred 
to  me,  the  Indians  would  do  the  same." 

Whenever  the  doctor,  lively,  impulsive,  sympathetic, 
heard  of  a  wrong  his  eye  would  flash ;  he  was  likely  to 
blurt  out  a  sudden  oath,  then  blush  —  "  The  Lord  for- 
give me,  the  Lord  forgive  me,"  crossing  himself  with 
tears.  The  play  of  pain  and  pleasure  on  the  hand- 


DR.   McLOUGHLIN   RESIGNS  333 

some,  fair,  flushed  face  that  seemed  to  never  grow  old 
was  a  constant  study  to  his  friends.  The  transparent, 
baby-like  skin  revealed  every  heart-throb  as  the  hot 
blood  ran  up  to  the  roots  of  his  snowy  hair.  Like  all 
generous  natures,  the  doctor  was  quick-tempered — 
none  regretted  it  more  than  he.  "  No,  no,  no,"  might 
be  the  irritable  answer  to  some  unlucky  petitioner. 
Then,  in  a  moment  the  doctor  would  turn  and  beckon, 
"Here,  here;  what  do  you  want?"  and  grant  the 
request. 

He  could  not  hear  a  tale  of  woe  without  lending 
assistance;  the  multitude  of  such  stories  would  fill  a 
volume. 

"  He  was,  indeed,  the  Father  of  Oregon,"  says  an 
aged  American.  "  He  came  into  our  colony  and  led 
the  procession  the  next  Fourth  of  July.  Every  New 
Year's  Day  he  used  to  go  up  one  street  and  down 
another  and  call  at  every  house.  If  any  one  was  in 
trouble  he  saw  that  necessary  aid  was  despatched  at 
once  —  he  did  not  trust  it  to  others,  he  saw  to  it  him- 
self. We  would  have  died  when  we  came  had  it  not 
been  for  Dr.  McLoughlin.  He  gave  us  seed  and  cloth- 
ing and  the  very  bread  we  ate." 

Such  was  the  doctor's  humility  that  although  weighed 
down  with  the  responsibility  of  the  unpaid  debts  of  the 
immigrants,  he  never  alluded  to  any  particular  act  of 
charity,  neither  would  he  accept  interest  on  any  debt 
when  it  was  paid. 


XXXIX 

THE    WHITMAN  MASSACRE 
1847 

STILL  the  procession  was  on  the  plains.  Still 
echoed  the  crack  of  the  ox-whip  and  the  cap- 
tain's call  —  "  Close  up  !  close  up  !  Why  don't  you 
keep  close  together?  The  Indians  could  kill  all  in  the 
forward  wagons  before  you  'd  know  it,  and  then  come 
back  and  scalp  the  last  one  of  you  fellows  here  behind." 

In  the  morning  they  milked  the  cows  and  put  the 
milk  in  the  churns.  Up  hill  and  down  dale  they  went, 
jiggety-jog,  all  day  long,  until  at  night  the  butter  was 
come. 

And  the  Indians  on  the  plains  ?  At  first  they  watched 
the  invading  whites.  Still  there  were  buffalo,  still  they 
were  rich.  But  scant  and  scanter  grew  the  pastures 
under  the  tread  of  immigrant  cattle.  Farther  and  far- 
ther retreated  the  buffalo.  The  timber  by  the  streams 
disappeared.  Bare  and  more  barren  grew  the  land. 
Unrest,  distrust,  collisions  came.  The  Indians  on  the 
plains  began  to  scalp  the  invading  whites.  More  and 
more  the  march  from  the  Black  Hills  to  the  Dalles 
became  a  rout,  a  retreat,  a  flight  from  pursuing  famine. 
The  measureless  plains  stretched  under  the  brazen  sun. 
The  stony  mountains,  the  grandest  and  most  desolate 
on  the  continent,  rimmed  in  the  distant  sky.  The  sand 
scorched,  the  dust  suffocated,  the  wagons  went  to  pieces. 
Furniture  was  thrown  overboard;  claw-footed  tables 


THE   WHITMAN   MASSACRE  335 

and  carved  oak  bureaus,  the  relics  of  an  ancestral  time, 
were  left  to  warp  in  the  prairie  sun.  Sentinel  wolves 
lay  in  wait  to  devour  the  lagging  cattle ;  Indians  hov- 
ered in  front  and  rear  and  ambuscade.  Killed  by 
Pawnees,  plundered  by  Dacotahs,  scalped  by  Sioux, 
compelled  by  Cheyennes  to  pay  tribute  for  passing 
through  their  country,  corralled  by  Blackfeet,  crossing 
the  battle-ground  of  hostile  Snakes,  still  on  the  immi- 
grant pressed  with  the  same  restless  spirit  that  inun- 
dated Europe  and  broke  up  the  Roman  Empire.  The 
migration  of  races  ebbs  and  flows  like  the  waves  of  the 
sea.  What  if  men's  hearts  died  and  women  wept  by 
the  roadside? — the  tide  swept  on.  Fever  and  cholera 
and  Indian  arrows  decimated  their  ranks.  The  road  to 
Oregon  was  strewn  with  graves.  Some  buried  their 
loved  ones  at  dead  of  night  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
that  no  red  man  might  discover  and  desecrate  the 
tomb. 

Guided  at  last  into  the  Grande  Ronde  by  Whitman's 
beacon,  "  the  fiery  banner  of  friendship,"  "  the  pillar 
of  smoke  by  day  and  the  pillar  of  fire  by  night,"  the 
weary  immigrants  for  the  first  time  in  months  fell 
asleep  without  a  guard,  leaving  their  cattle  to  feed  at 
will. 

Five  Crows  camped  close  beside  the  trail.  Here  and 
there  he  peered  into  the  wagons,  offering,  offering 
everywhere  horses  and  robes  and  blankets  to  buy  a 
white  wife.  And  others  besides  Five  Crows  were  look- 
ing for  wives.  Spruce  young  settlers  dressed  in  their 
best,  gray-beard  widowers,  and  grizzly  hunters  all  went 
out  to  look  for  wives. 

Immigration  broke  up  the  peaceful  life  at  Whitman's 
mission.  The  Indians  grew  excited  and  distrustful. 
"  I  have  been  over  to  the  Willamette  valley,"  said  an  old 


336  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

chief.  "  The  Bostons  are  as  many  as  the  sands  of  the 
beach.  If  something  is  not  done  they  will  overwhelm 
the  whole  country." 

Past  the  open  prairies  of  Illinois,  past  Iowa  in  her 
primeval  verdure,  past  the  American  desert  that  since 
has  blossomed  like  the  rose,  five  thousand  people  came 
in  the  autumn  of  1847.  Happily  the  granaries  of  Ore- 
gon were  packed  with  wheat,  —  thousands  of  bushels 
without  a  market.  The  lands  of  the  Cayuses  lay 
directly  in  the  path  of  immigration.  They  realized  as 
others  could  not  the  impending  danger  of  annihilation. 

Mrs.  Whitman  wrote  to  her  mother :  "  The  poor 
Indians  are  amazed  at  the  overwhelming  numbers  of 
Americans  coming  into  the  country.  They  seem  not 
to  know  what  to  make  of  it.  Husband  is  wearing  out 
fast ;  his  heart  and  hands  are  so  full  all  the  time  that 
his  brethren  feel  solicitous  about  him.  His  benev- 
olence is  unbounded,  and  he  often  goes  to  the  extent 
of  his  ability  and  beyond  in  doing  good  to  Indians  and 
white  men." 

Over  in  the  valley  the  Willamette  Indians  shrank 
back  and  back  as  the  settlers  staked  their  ancestral 
pastures  into  farms.  Their  faces  assumed  an  habitual 
look  of  grief  and  sorrow.  There  were  some  collisions. 

"  Pay  me  for  my  land,"  cried  a  Willamette  chieftain. 

The  settlers  went  on  and  built  their  cabins,  giving 
slight  heed  to  "  those  rascally  Injuns." 

"  Pay  me    for    my   land,"   demanded   the    chieftain. 

He  kept  up  such  a  disturbance  that  the  people  sent 
for  Governor  Abernethy. 

"  Just  wait  a  little,"  said  the  governor,  soothingly. 
"  A  chief  will  come  out  from  Washington  to  pay  you 
for  your  land." 

"When?"  demanded  the  Indian  chief. 


THE   WHITMAN   MASSACRE  337 

"  With  the  immigrants  some  time  this  fall,"  answered 
the  governor. 

"  So  you  said  before,"  retorted  the  chief,  crushing 
the  grass  with  his  haughty  stride.  "  Wait,  wait,  wait. 
This  fall,  this  fall,  and  this  fall.  We  are  dying.  We 
shall  soon  be  gone.  Our  game  is  gone,  our  camas 
gone.  You  take  our  land,  but  we  get  no  pay,  no  food, 
no  blankets." 

There  was  friction  from  the  Willamette  to  the  Walla 
Walla.  In  fact,  from  St.  Joe  to  the  Pacific  the  Indians 
began  to  look  upon  the  immigrant  as  lawful  prey. 

"Why  don't  government  protect  us?"  cried  the 
immigrants. 

"  Why  don't  they  build  that  line  of  posts  to  guard 
these  citizens  of  our  country?"  groaned  Whitman. 

"  Oh,  they  are  fiddling  still  at  the  nigger  strings," 
sang  a  careless  happy-go-lucky.  "  Only  slave  States 
are  favored  now." 

So  one  great  national  question  eclipsed  another. 

There  was  a  fracas  when  the  first  wagons  reached 
the  Dalles.  One  immigrant  was  killed  and  two  wounded. 
A  chief  and  several  followers  fell.  Governor  Aber- 
nethy  hurried  up  there. 

"  The  Indians  steal  our  horses,"  said  the  immigrants. 
"  They  insult  and  annoy  us  in  every  way." 

"  The  white  men  destroy  our  pastures,"  answered  the 
Indians.  "  They  have  driven  all  the  game  from  this 
part  of  the  country." 

The  governor  settled  the  matter.  He  had  scarcely 
reached  home  when  news  of  a  second  outrage  reached 
his  ears. 

"  Why  don't  the  government  come  to  our  aid  ? " 
cried  all  the  distressed  people.  "  An  Indian  war  may 
break  upon  us." 

22 


338  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Up  in  the  mountains  Dr.  Whitman  had  a  saw-mill. 
The  Cayuses  did  not  love  toil,  they  were  a  haughty 
race  of  herders ;  yet  even  the  Cayuses  had  kept  to  work 
until  they  had  fenced  their  little  farms.  But  now  they 
frowned  and  threw  down  their  tools. 

There  was  sickness  in  the  immigration  of  1847,  t*16 
sickness  of  moving  bodies  subject  to  privation  and 
exposure,  mountain  fever,  dysentery,  and  measles. 

The  measles  is  an  aggravating  disease  even  to  the 
whites  in  their  cool  homes  in  the  East,  very  aggra- 
vating indeed  to  immigrants;  but  to  Indians  —  it  is 
death.  They  tried  the  traditional  sweat-bath  and  a 
jump  into  the  river.  Day  and  night  Dr.  Whitman 
visited  their  lodges,  warning  and  watching,  but  the 
moment  he  turned  his  back,  moaning  and  groaning  in 
the  height  of  fever,  they  jumped  into  the  cold  Walla 
Walla,  to  pop  up  —  dead. 

"  The  tew-ats !  the  tew-ats  / "  cried  the  old  men. 
"  The  Great  Spirit  is  angry  because  we  have  discarded 
the  tew-ats."  The  tew-ats  came,  but  the  sick  ones 
died. 

"Docf  Whit'n,"  said  Tamsucky,  "  Indian  say  kill 
all  medicine  men.  They  say  take  big  one  first,  take 
you." 

Dr.  Whitman  went  over  to  the  Willamette  valley  to 
consult  with  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

"  Leave  at  once,"  entreated  the  doctor.  "  A  Cayuse 
chieftain  never  jests." 

"But  I  cannot  leave,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  "My 
house  is  full  of  sick  immigrants.  I  cannot  leave.  Be- 
sides, '  the  hireling  fleeth  because  he  is  an  hireling.' " 

All  the  way  back  Dr.  Whitman  met  the  plundered 
immigrants.  They  noted  his  careworn,  anxious  look. 
War  hung  in  the  air. 


THE   WHITMAN   MASSACRE  339 

Tom  McKay  and  his  Canadians  were  driving  cattle 
up  the  river  to  Fort  Colvile  when  the  measles  overtook 
him  at  Fort  Walla  Walla.  He  sent  for  Dr.  Whitman. 

"  I  am  worried  about  you,  Doctor,"  said  Tom.  "  The 
Indians  think  you  are  the  cause  of  their  sickness. 
And  now  since  the  Catholic  priests  are  come  the 
Indians  want  you  to  move  away  and  let  the  Black 
Gowns  open  a  mission." 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  Dr.  Whitman,  groaning  in 
spirit.  "  My  poor  Cayuses  are  distracted  by  their 
troubles.  And  the  large  number  of  whites  stopping 
at  the  mission  increases  their  suspicion.  But  what 
can  I  do?  I  cannot  turn  the  poor  immigrants  sick 
and  impoverished  away.  Can  you  not  come  and  spend 
the  winter  with  me,  Tom?" 

"  I  cannot,  Doctor,"  answered  the  sick  man.  "  But 
you  must  leave  the  Cayuses." 

Pio-pio-mox-mox  came  up  from  California  in  Octo- 
ber with  heart  still  sore.  Elijah  was  still  unavenged. 
But  what  is  this?  His  warriors  fall  sick  around  him. 
Death,  plague,  contagion  lurks  on  every  passing  breeze. 
In  every  lodge  the  wail  is  heard,  and  yet  —  the  immi- 
grants are  pouring  over  the  mountains. 

The  immigrants  had  warning.  Far  out  on  the  foot- 
hills there  came  a  letter  from  Dr.  Whitman,  —  "  Make 
haste,  the  Indians  are  rising.  Keep  close  together  and 
under  arms."  So  into  the  Oregon  country  came  the 
worn-out  immigrants  of  1847. 

"  Be  careful,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  "  I  fear  there  will 
be  trouble.  Do  not  provoke  the  savages."  So  with 
bated  breath  they  endured  every  insult  and  pushed  on 
into  the  valley. 

"  Shall  we  arm?"  asked  Mrs.  Whitman. 


340  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  I  have  not  a  charge  of  powder  in  the  house,"  an- 
swered the  doctor. 

Tom  Hill  was  not  there ;  he  remained  with  Fremont 
in  California ;  Dorion  was  not  there,  but  the  seed  of  their 
sedition  was  growing  in  the  hearts  of  the  frightened 
Cayuses.  "  Let  us  go  to  war,"  said  Chief  Tiloukaikt  in 
the  Indian  council. 

"  War  not,"  said  Pio-pio-mox-mox.  "  The  Ameri- 
cans fight  like  eagles.  I  have  seen  them  in  California. 
You  will  all  be  killed." 

"  Dr.  Whitman  does  this,"  said  Jo  Lewis,  a  half-breed 
renegade,  who  came  that  autumn  sick  and  starving  with 
the  immigrants.  Dr.  Whitman  took  him  in,  doctored, 
fed,  and  clothed  him,  and  gave  him  work.  He  heard 
the  whisper  of  discontent ;  his  evil  nature  delighted  to 
swell  and  spread  it.  It  puffed  his  pride  to  see  the 
eager  Indians  hanging  on  his  word. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jo  Lewis,  in  the  Indian  council.  "  Dr. 
Whitman  has  been  writing  for  two  years  to  his  friends 
in  the  East  for  poison  to  kill  off  the  Cayuses.  It  has 
just  come.  When  I  was  lying  sick  in  the  doctor's 
room  I  heard  them  talking." 

"  That  must  be  so,"  chimed  in  Nick  Finley,  another 
half-breed.  "One  hundred  and  ninety-seven  Indians 
have  died  already." 

"  He  wants  to  get  your  beautiful  spotted  horses," 
added  Jo  Stanfield,  a  third  half-breed. 

In  a  lodge  on  the  Umatilla  the  conspirators 
whispered  —  not  with  Tauitau,  Five  Crows,  and  Pio- 
pio-mox-mox.  "  They  would  betray  us,"  said  the  half- 
breeds. 

"  I  am  a  Cherokee,"  said  Jo  Lewis.  "  A  few  mis- 
sionaries came,  then  thousands  of  Americans  came,  and 
drove  us  away  from  our  country." 


THE  WHITMAN    MASSACRE  341 

"  That  is  what  the  Delaware  said,"  chorused  the 
Indians. 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes ;  so  they  do  always,"  added  Jo  Lewis. 
"  Dr.  Whitman  writes  to  the  Americans  that  this  is  a 
vast  country,  with  healthy  climate,  rich  soil,  and  bands 
of  horses.  Now,  see  how  they  come  and  bring  the 
poison.  Did  not  Jason  Lee  kill  off  the  Willamettes? 
Who  gave  the  smallpox  to  the  Blackfeet?" 

Tamahas  snatched  his  battle-axe.  "  If  this  be  true  —  " 
said  Tiloukaikt. 

"  Of  course  it  is  true.  The  priest  said  so,"  said  Jo 
Lewis,  as  ready  to  lie  about  the  priest  as  about  Dr. 
Whitman. 

"  My  wife  is  sick,"  said  Tamsucky.  "  Let  him  give 
her  medicine,  and  if  she  dies  — "  the  death-wail  in  a 
neighboring  lodge  ended  the  conclave. 

Over  at  Lapwai  Mr.  Spalding's  little  daughter  was 
ten  years  old. 

"  Eliza  talks  Nez  Perce"  like  an  Indian,"  said  Mrs. 
Spalding.  "  Let  us  send  her  to  Waiilatpu,  where  there 
are  more  people." 

Eliza,  mounted  before  her  father,  rode  over  the  trails 
that  terraced  the  hillsides.  Behind  them  followed  a 
dozen  packhorses  laden  with  grain  to  be  ground  at  the 
doctor's  new  grist-mill.  Half-way  between  Fort  Walla 
Walla  and  the  mission  lay  the  camp  of  Pio-pio-mox- 
mox.  Mr.  Spalding  stopped  to  rest  with  the  friendly 
chief.  As  he  sat  on  the  buffalo-rug  a  Cayuse  lifted  the 
door-curtain.  "  Is  Dr.  Whitman  killed? "  he  asked. 

That  night  the  niece  of  Pio-pio-mox-mox  died.  They 
buried  her  at  Fort  Walla  Walla  in  the  morning. 

"  My  heart  shall  ever  be  with  the  Americans,"  said 
Pio-pio-mox-mox,  grasping  Spalding's  hand  as  he  set 
out  after  the  funeral. 


342  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Seventy-five  souls  were  sheltered  under  the  roof  of 
Whitman's  mission,  —  orphans,  and  sick  immigrants, 
who  had  found  here  an  asylum  for  the  winter.  Day  and 
night,  like  an  angel  of  mercy,  Mrs.  Whitman  passed 
from  couch  to  couch.  Her  face  was  thin  and  her 
cheeks  white  with  long  and  incessant  watchings  and 
labors  with  the  sick. 

"Doctor,  I  have  my  doubts,"  said  Spalding,  "about 
your  turning  your  house  into  a  hospital." 

"  I  have  no  doubts  about  it,"  answered  the  doctor, 
"  Looking  after  the  immigrants  is  a  part  of  my  mission. 
That 's  what  I  'm  here  for." 

"  I  hear  that  the  priests  are  going  to  open  a  mission 
near  you,"  said  Spalding. 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  the  irritated  doctor.  "  They 
want  to  buy  this  mission." 

Just  then  a  messenger  reined  up  at  the  gate.  "  There 
is  sickness  at  the  lodges  of  Five  Crows  and  Tauitau," 
he  said.  "  They  want  you." 

"  I  will  come,"  said  Dr.  Whitman.  It  was  thirty 
miles  to  the  Umatilla. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Spalding. 

They  set  off  about  sundown,  and  rode  all  night  in  a 
heavy  rain.  The  Indian  cocks  were  crowing  when, 
drenched  and  chill,  they  reached  the  lodge  of  Sticcas 
in  a  low  ravine.  Sticcas  spread  fresh  blankets  and  piled 
fuel  on  the  lodge-fire.  The  missionaries  lay  down  and 
slept  till  dawn. 

The  morning  hymn  of  worship  broke  their  slumbers. 
There  was  an  appetizing  breakfast  of  potatoes,  squash, 
fresh  beef,  and  wheat-bread  baked  by  Sticcas'  wife, 
taught  by  Mrs.  Whitman.  There  was  deathly  silence 
in  the  lodge  and  in  the  village.  After  breakfast  Dr. 
Whitman  went  over  the  Umatilla  to  the  lodges  of  Five 


THE  WHITMAN   MASSACRE  343 

Crows  and  Tauitau.  As  he  rode  the  red  men  peeped 
and  whispered  — 

"  Bad  Medicine." 

"  Kills  our  people." 

"  Takes  our  lands." 

"  We  ought  to  avenge  Elijah." 

"  Black  Gowns  better  teachers." 

Mr.  Spalding  preached  to  the  Indians  at  the  lodge  of 
Sticcas.  At  four  o'clock  Dr.  Whitman  returned,  pale 
and  weary.  "  I  met  the  Bishop  and  two  priests  at 
Tauitau's  house,"  he  said.  "  They  invited  me  to  tea, 
but  I  had  not  the  heart  to  partake.  They  want  to  buy 
my  mission."  He  dropped  his  head  in  thought.  It 
was  very  hard  for  Dr.  Whitman  to  give  up  his  beloved 
mission,  and  particularly  to  rivals.  "  I  told  them  to 
come  over  Tuesday,"  he  resumed  absently.  "  Now  I 
must  go." 

"  Not  to-night,"  said  Sticcas. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  there  are  many  sick,  and  I  am  needed." 
So  at  sundown  the  good  horse  of  Dr.  Whitman  bore 
him  over  the  hills  homeward.  He  was  weary  and  dis- 
heartened. How  still  it  was !  How  dismal  the  village 
dirges  on  the  November  night  wind !  Tamsucky's  wife 
was  dead. 

As  the  horse's  hoofs  died  away  Sticcas  sat  on  the 
buffalo-rug  before  the  fire  and  shook  his  head.  Days 
before  he  had  said  to  Dr.  Whitman,  "  My  people  have 
decreed  against  you."  The  doctor  made  no  reply. 
To-night  he  said  to  Spalding,  "  My  people  have  de- 
creed against  the  whites,"  but  not  another  word  would 
the  old  man  say. 

Throwing  himself  upon  his  couch  of  skins,  the  mis- 
sionary could  not  sleep.  He  felt  apprehensive  for  that 
lone  rider  in  the  night.  On  either  side  of  him  an  In- 


344          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

dian  woman  rocked  to  and  fro  and  chanted  the  death- 
song.  "  For  whom  do  you  mourn,  good  woman?"  he 
asked.  But  they  made  no  answer.  Only  the  depres- 
sing death-wail  broke  the  silence. 

Two  days  later  Mr.  Spalding  turned  to  Waiilatpu. 
An  old  Indian  woman  put  her  hand  on  his  horse's  mane 
and  whispered  :  "  Go  not  to  Waiilatpu.  Look  out  for 
the  people  there.  They  are  bad  people." 

"  But  I  must  go,  good  mother ;    my  child  is  there." 

Fear  made  him  fleet.  The  very  air  whispered. 
Across  the  Walla  Walla  he  met  a  horseman  coming  to 
meet  him.  It  was  the  priest  who  was  to  visit  that  day 
at  Waiilatpu.  Riding  ahead  of  the  interpreter  and  the 
son  of  Tiloukaikt,  who  were  lighting  their  pipes,  he 
motioned  to  Mr.  Spalding. 

Apprehensive  of  evil,  "  What  is  the  news?  "  he  asked. 

"  Dr.  Whitman  is  dead,"  answered  the  priest. 

"Mrs.  Whitman?" 

"  Dead  also.     Killed  by  the  Indians." 

"And  my  child?" 

"  Is  safe  with  the  captives.  Escape  !  escape  !  "  as  he 
saw  the  interpreter  and  the  son  of  Tiloukaikt  approach- 
ing. "  Here  is  my  wallet  —  there  is  bread  in  it.  Go  !  " 

" But  where  shall  I  go?"  was  Spalding's  despairing 
cry. 

"  I  know  not.  You  know  the  country  better  than  I. 
All  that  I  know  is  that  the  Indians  say  the  order  to  kill 
Americans  has  been  sent  in  all  directions."  Dazed, 
stunned,  the  missionary  took  the  bread  and  turned  into 
a  bank  of  fog,  just  as  the  interpreter  and  the  son  of 
Tiloukaikt  approached  Father  Brouillet. 

Over  the  sugar-loaf  barren  hills  a  messenger  came 
riding  post  to  Lapwai.  He  dashed  through  the  mission 


THE   WHITMAN   MASSACRE  345 

flower-beds,  crushing  the  bachelor's  buttons  with  his 
moccasins  as  he  passed.  An  Indian  never  knocks.  He 
sets  his  gun  outside,  lifts  the  latch,  enters  edgewise, 
shakes  hands,  and  sits  upon  the  floor.  This  messenger 
did  not  shake  hands,  did  not  sit  down ;  he  sidled  along 
the  wall  of  the  schoolroom  to  the  fireplace.  Mrs. 
Spalding  was  teaching  a  class.  Resting  his  elbow  on 
the  mantel  he  clutched  his  fingers  in  his  tangled  locks 
and  looked  at  her.  There  was  excitement  and  glitter 
in  his  eye.  Mrs.  Spalding  felt  nervous.  She  sent  the 
children  out  of  the  room.  "What  news?"  she  asked 
in  the  Nez  Perce  tongue. 

"Doct1  Whit'n  killed.  All  killed.  Injun  coming. 
Hurry."  The  runner  sidled  out  of  the  room,  strode 
over  the  flowers,  dashed  over  the  sugar-loaf  barren  hills, 
and  out  of  sight. 

Although  naturally  nervous  Mrs.  Spalding  was  very 
wise,  very  quiet,  and  in  an  emergency  calm.  She 
turned  to  her  assistant  —  "What  shall  we  do?" 

"  Escape  as  quickly  as  possible,"  he  answered. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Spalding.  "  We  will  throw  our- 
selves upon  the  sympathy  and  protection  of  our  In- 
dians. Call  Jacob  and  Eagle." 

The  two  friendly  chiefs  were  close  by.  They  took 
Mrs.  Spalding  and  her  children  to  their  camp.  Scarcely 
had  they  gone  when  a  troop  came  tearing  over  the 
hills,  led  by  their  own  Chief  Joseph,  the  Nez  Perce. 
The  house  was  ransacked,  beds  and  bedding  were 
stripped  and  taken  away.  Every  drawer  was  opened, 
and  the  precious  little  keepsakes,  brought  from  home, 
were  taken  and  divided  among  the  pillagers. 

"  Chief  Joseph !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Spalding  in  amaze. 
"  I  cannot  think  it.  We  trusted  him  more  than  any 
other.  His  conduct  has  been  most  exemplary.  Alas, 


346  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

indeed,  I  am  confused !     The  more  we  know  our  In- 
dians the  less  we  know  them." 

Half  crazed,  worn  and  torn,  on  foot  up  the  river  Tou- 
chet  (Toosha),  in  six  days  Mr.  Spalding  reached  Chief 
Timothy's  camp.  He  listened.  His  Nez  Perces  were 
calling  his  name  in  prayer.  It  gave  him  hope.  He  en- 
tered. His  Indians  leaped  with  joy,  and  bore  him  to 
his  wife,  safe  in  the  care  of  Jacob  and  Eagle.  But  his 
daughter?  — 

There  were  dead  people  lying  all  around  at  Waiilatpu. 
Narcissa  Whitman's  fair  hair  floated  in  blood.  A  few 
escaped;  the  women  and  children  were  captives;  the 
rest,  thirteen  or  more,  were  dead.  There  was  a  smell  of 
blood  and  powder  in  the  air,  the  windows  were  broken, 
the  mission  plundered. 

"Mamma !  mamma !  "  cried  the  parched  lips  of  little 
Helen  Mar  Meek,  sick  with  the  measles.  But  mamma 
could  come  no  more,  and  the  sweet  child  died  of  neglect. 

Narcissa,  the  snowy  Joan,  led  all  the  host  of  women 
to  the  conquest  of  the  West,  an  innumerable  train  that 
is  following  yet  to  this  day.  The  snowy  Joan  led  her 
hosts ;  and,  at  last,  like  Joan  of  old,  she  ascended  to 
God  with  the  crown  of  a  martyr. 

Pio-pio-mox-mox  sat  in  his  lodge.  Again  the  Cayuse 
lifted  the  door-curtain.  "Docf  Whit'n  is  killed." 

Pio-pio-mox-mox  sat  very  quiet  while  the  voluble 
young  man  ran  over  that  day  of  horrors. 

"What  part  had  you  in  it?"  inquired  the  chief,  fix- 
ing his  Egyptian  eye  upon  the  herald.  Proud  of  his 
exploits,  intent  only  on  making  them  great  as  possible, 
the  runner  said,  "Me?  I  wounded  one,  I  struck  one, 
and  I  killed  one." 


THE  WHITMAN    MASSACRE  347 

"  Take  that  young  man  and  hang  him  to  the  nearest 
tree,"  cried  Pio-pio-mox-mox,  in  a  tone  of  thunder. 

The  attendants  seized  the  boaster,  and  before  he 
realized  it  was  not  a  jest,  the  noose  tightened  about  his 
neck.  In  a  few  moments  a  corpse  dangled  from  the 
boughs  of  a  rugged  old  cottonwood. 

Five  Crows  heard  the  awful  tale.  Then  he  rode  over 
to  the  mission.  There  was  a  beautiful  girl  there,  a 
young  school-teacher,  with  eyes  like  Mrs.  Whitman's. 
She  was  just  from  the  East,  and  sick  with  a  fever.  Her 
rose-and-lily  beauty  captured  the  heart  of  the  savage 
who  had  tried  so  long  to  buy  a  white  wife.  They 
dragged  her  shrieking  to  his  lodge.  The  rest  were  dis- 
tributed among  the  Indians. 

McKinley  had  removed  to  another  post.  The  new 
man  in  charge  at  Fort  Walla  Walla  seemed  afraid  to 
assist  the  Americans  in  this  time  of  trouble.  He 
turned  away  the  few  fleeing  fugitives  that  struggled  to 
his  door.  He  did,  however,  despatch  a  messenger  to 
Fort  Vancouver. 

The  thunderbolt  had  fallen.  Douglas  at  once  sent 
word  to  Governor  Abernethy  at  Oregon  City.  Chief 
Factor  Ogden  set  out  the  same  day  with  sixteen  armed 
Canadians,  in  December  snow  and  rain,  up  the  inclement 
Columbia  to  ransom  the  captives. 

The  colonial  legislature  was  in  session  when  the 
panting  messenger  from  Fort  Vancouver  landed  at  the 
Falls.  All  that  morning  they  had  been  listening  to 
the  governor's  annual  message,  treating  chiefly  of  the 
embarrassments  of  the  Indian  question.  When  at  two 
o'clock  Governor  Abernethy  communicated  the  fact  of 
an  actual  massacre,  the  excitement  knew  no  bounds. 
Nesmith  leaped  to  his  feet  with  a  resolution  to  despatch 
fifty  riflemen  to  protect  the  mission  at  the  Dalles.  The 


348  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

session  adjourned  to  call  a  mass  meeting  of  citizens 
that  night.  Several  members  went  over  immediately  to 
consult  with  Dr.  McLoughlin. 

"  Dead  ?  Oh,  those  treacherous  Cayuses  !  I  warned 
him,  I  warned  him,"  cried  the  old  doctor,  pounding 
the  floor  with  his  cane.  "Why  did  he  not  heed?" 
Presently  recovering  himself,  "  Yes,  yes,  if  there  is  to 
be  an  Indian  war  the  Dalles  is  your  Gibraltar.  Hold 
the  Dalles." 

In  fifteen  hours  from  the  time  they  enrolled  their 
names,  the  Spartan  band  of  fifty  were  on  their  way  to 
the  upper  country. 

The  governor  issued  a  call  for  five  hundred  men  to 
rendezvous  at  Oregon  City  on  Christmas  day.  Those 
whom  Whitman  had  befriended  leaped  to  avenge  his 
death;  heroes  who  had  toiled  at  his  side  in  1843,  and 
immigrants  of  succeeding  years  who  had  hailed  his 
mission  as  the  first  civilized  landmark  beyond  the 
Rockies. 

Applegate,  Lovejoy,  and  Abernethy  on  their  personal 
credit  secured  a  loan  at  Fort  Vancouver.  The  women 
of  Oregon  City  baked  and  sewed  and  tore  up  their  last 
sheets  for  shirts,  and  out  of  bits  of  bunting  made  a  flag. 
Trembling  fingers  sewed  the  stripes  and  stitched  on 
the  stars.  Farmers  on  horseback  came  packing  through 
the  woods  old  buffalo-guns  and  flint-locks,  beans  and 
bacon,  and  lead  and  blankets  —  whatever  could  be  spared 
from  their  scanty  stores.  Joe  Meek,  the  trapper,  re- 
signed his  seat  in  the  legislature  to  go  overland  as  a 
delegate  to  Washington  with  despatches  for  aid. 

The  Indians  regarded  the  settlers  at  Champoeg  as 
their  own  people. 

"Will  they  desert  us?  Will  they  join  their  Indian 
kindred  ?  "  queried  the  anxious  settlers. 


THE   WHITMAN    MASSACRE  349 

Happily  Tom  McKay  solved  that.  Like  a  centaur  he 
rode  up  and  down  the  prairie.  In  French,  in  English, 
in  Chinook  he  gathered  them  in:  "Pierre,  Francois, 
Antoine,  come,  come  to  the  war !  " 

The  snow  proved  too  deep  to  get  word  over  the 
Sierras  to  California.  Shut  in,  Oregon  must  fight  her 
way  alone. 


XL 

THE   CAYUSE    WAR 
1848 

A  T  the  peril  of  his  life  Ogden  went  into  the  Indian 
•^*-  country  and  despatched  couriers  calling  for  a 
council.  The  chiefs  came  to  Fort  Walla  Walla  to  treat 
with  their  old  friend,  the  fur-trader,  and  if  possible  to 
ward  off  the  retribution  they  feared  from  the  angry 
Bostons.  The  great  fire  of  driftwood  from  the  Spokane 
forests  roared  in  the  chimney.  The  chiefs  spread  their 
palms  to  the  blaze  and  waited.  Ogden  noted  a  troubled 
look  in  certain  faces,  but  he  was  not  there  to  secure  the 
murderers.  He  only  hoped  to  secure  the  unhappy  cap- 
tives before  news  came  up  from  the  lower  country. 
His  short,  fat  figure,  in  marked  contrast  with  their  tall 
ones,  appeared  still  more  rotund  from  his  bulging, 
ample  cloak.  His  otter-skin  cap  lay  on  the  floor.  With 
the  grizzly  locks  trailing  over  his  shoulders  and  his  keen 
eye  fixed  on  theirs,  the  trader  began : 

"  Friends  and  relations,  I  regret  to  see  that  all  the 
chiefs  are  not  here.  Repeat  to  them  what  I  say.  We 
have  been  among  you  for  thirty  years  without  shedding 
blood.  We  are  traders,  and  of  a  different  nation  from 
the  Americans.  But  recollect,  we  do  not  supply  you 
with  ammunition  to  kill  the  Americans.  They  are  the 
same  color  as  ourselves,  speak  the  same  language,  are 
children  of  the  same  God.  Their  cruel  fate  causes  our 
hearts  to  bleed.  Besides  this  wholesale  butchery,  have 
you  not  robbed  the  Americans  passing  peacefully 


THE   CAYUSE   WAR  351 

through  your  country  and  insulted  their  women?  You 
tell  me  your  young  men  did  this  without  your  knowl- 
edge. Why  do  we  make  you  chiefs,  if  you  have  no 
control  over  your  young  men?  You  are  unworthy 
the  name  of  chief.  You,  hot-headed  young  men,  you 
pride  yourselves  on  your  bravery.  You  think  no  one 
can  match  you.  Do  not  deceive  yourselves. 

"  If  the  Americans  begin  war,  war  will  not  end  until 
every  one  of  you  is  cut  off  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
Your  people  have  died.  So  have  others.  Dr.  Whit- 
man did  not  poison  them.  God  commanded  they 
should  die.  We  are  weak  mortals.  We  must  submit. 
It  is  merely  advice  that  I  give  you.  I  promise  you 
nothing.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  quarrels. 
On  my  return,  if  you  wish  it,  I  will  see  what  can  be  done 
for  you.  I  do  not  promise  to  prevent  war.  Deliver 
me  the  captives.  I  will  pay  a  ransom.  That  is  all." 

Silence  followed  for  a  space  of  ten  minutes.  Then 
Tauitau  rose  up  slowly  and  spoke  with  deliberation :  — 

"  The  —  fur-traders  —  are  —  married  —  to  —  Indian 
—  women.  They  —  are  —  our  —  brothers.  I  —  can- 
not —  refuse  —  my  —  brother's  —  request." 

Another  silence ;  then  Tiloukaikt  rose,  tall  and  dark, 
dignified  and  savage :  — 

"  They  are  our  brothers.  They  bury  their  dead  along 
with  ours.  Chief,  your  words  are  weighty,  your  hairs 
are  gray.  We  have  known  you  a  long  time.  You  have 
had  an  unpleasant  journey  to  this  place.  I  cannot  keep 
the  families  back.  I  make  them  over  to  you,  which  I 
would  not  do  to  another  younger  than  yourself." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  said  Pio-pio-mox-mox.  "  I 
know  the  Americans  are  changeable.  Still,  I  agree  with 
my  brother.  The  whites  are  our  best  friends ;  we  follow 
your  advice.  The  captives  shall  be  given  up." 


352  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

All  day  the  council  lasted,  and  at  night  they  still 
talked  by  the  flickering  light  of  the  driftwood  fire. 
Outside,  the  snow  beat  up  against  the  windows. 

Blankets,  shirts,  guns,  ammunition,  to  the  value  of 
$500,  lay  on  the  council  floor. 

"  There,"  said  Ogden,  as  an  attendant  displayed  the 
tempting  array,  "these  are  for  you.  Hasten,  now; 
bring  me  the  captives  and  receive  the  ransom." 

On  Christmas  Eve  the  messengers  were  speeding 
over  the  new-fallen  snow  to  Lapwai,  to  the  Umatilla, 
to  every  lodge  where  a  prisoner  lay  waiting  her  un- 
certain doom. 

What  joy  to  the  poor  captives,  terrified  by  old  women 
fierce  as  Waskema,  who  came  round  flourishing  their 
dull  tomahawks,  only  too  eager  to  put  them  to  death ; 
girls  who  had  seen  their  fathers  slain,  women  who  had 
been  snatched  from  their  husbands  and  brothers,  all  to 
be  dragged  to  lonely  lodges,  a  prey  to  savage  passion. 

It  was  yet  early  morning  when  the  chiefs  came  to  the 
lodge  of  Five  Crows.  On  a  couch  of  costly  skins  lay 
the  beautiful  white  girl.  For  a  savage  Five  Crows  had 
been  kind  to  his  white  wife. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  pleaded.  "  All  horses,"  he  waved 
his  hand  toward  the  herds  on  the  hills,  "  all  cattle," 
feeding  in  the  lower  meadows,  "  all  skins,"  they  were 
heaped  in  the  lodge  of  this  rich  Indian,  "  all  slaves," 
there  were  dozens  at  his  command,  "  all  house,"  close 
by  stood  Five  Crows'  log  house  with  glass  windows, 
"  all  land,"  with  a  gesture  toward  the  young  woman  — 
"  yours." 

She  only  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  let  me  go  with  you,  live  with  white  people," 
begged  the  Indian  suitor. 

Still  she  shook  her  head. 


THE  CAYUSE  WAR  353 

He  waved  the  staring  domestics  back.  With  his  own 
hands  the  Cayuse  chief  broiled  her  venison,  and  brought 
her  tea,  and  knelt  before  her  couch  of  skins.  Tradition 
says  he  was  a  handsome  Indian,  taller  than  his  half- 
brother,  Chief  Joseph,  and  fairly  educated.  But  the 
white  girl  dreaded  his  eagle  plumes  and  raven  hair ;  she 
shrank  from  the  touch  of  his  moccasined  toe,  the  brush 
of  his  painted  robe.  She  did  not  hate,  she  feared  him. 

The  impatient  chiefs  outside  kept  calling  and  spat- 
ting their  hands,  "  Oh,  Five  Crows  !  Five  Crows  !  Five 
Crows !  " 

Those  voices  seemed  her  deliverance.  Still  flushed 
with  fever,  she  tottered  toward  the  door.  Five  Crows 
sprang  to  her  assistance,  pleading  at  every  step.  He 
spread  a  new  blanket  and  a  tanned  robe  on  the  saddle 
of  her  horse  —  and  still  he  would  detain  her.  His  was 
a  lover's  parting,  reluctant,  seeking  every  pretext  for 
delay.  The  chiefs  interfered  and  ended  the  scene. 
Supported  by  her  savage  escort,  the  poor  girl  reached 
the  fort. 

Mr.  Ogden  came  out.  The  tender-hearted  trader 
lifted  her  in  his  arms  as  a  father  would. 

"  Thank  God ;  I  have  got  you  safe  at  last !  I  had 
to  pay  the  Indians  more  for  you  than  for  all  the  other 
captives,  and  I  feared  they  would  never  give  you  up." 

Scarcely  were  the  captives  in  his  hands  when  a  rumor 
reached  the  fort — "  The  Americans  are  coming  up  the 
Columbia." 

"  Tell  it  not  to  the  Indians.  T  will  be  our  death," 
said  Ogden. 

It  turned  his  hair  white  to  think  of  the  situation  with 
all  those  suspicious  Indians  camped  around  the  ill- 
defended  fort.  The  Spaldings  had  not  arrived.  Dare 
he  wait?  They  might  be  cut  off.  Two  days  and  two 

23 


354  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

nights  Ogden  paced  the  fort  and  listened  ;  he  dared  not 
sleep.  Then  came  the  Spaldings,  escorted  by  their 
Nez  Perec's  from  Lapwai.  Ogden  paid  their  ransom 
and  hurried  them  into  the  ready  boats. 

It  was  the  morning  of  New  Year's  Day  of  1848. 

"  The  wind  is  cold ;  cover,  cover,"  said  old  Sticcas, 
taking  off  his  cap  for  one  of  the  rescued  ones.  "  Cover 
ears,"  he  said,  compassionately  tying  his  handkerchief 
over  the  head  of  another. 

"  How  fiercely  yon  Indian  rides  !  "  exclaimed  Spald- 
ing,  as  the  boats  shoved  off  with  their  shivering  pas- 
sengers. 

A  howling  horseman  came  into  sight,  lashing 
his  pony,  white  with  foam,  with  the  cruel  double- 
thonged  whip  tied  to  his  wrist.  Another  came,  and 
another,  fifty  infuriated  Cayuses  dashed  down  to  the 
water  and  followed  along  the  river's  edge  with  angry 
shouts.  They  had  caught  the  rumor,  "  The  Bostons 
are  coming."  The  trader  and  his  ransomed  had  but 
escaped. 

Ogden  prudently  kept  his  boats  on  the  farther  side, 
and  his  Canadians  rowed  for  life.  It  was  an  exciting 
moment. 

"  Sing,"  cried  Ogden,  in  tense  agitation. 

The  Canadians  struck  up  the  spirited  — 

"  Sur  la  feuille  ron  —  don  don  don"  to  steady  their 
strokes  as  they  shot  away. 

Outwitted,  sold,  the  wrathful  Indians  jerked  up  their 
steeds  by  the  cruel  horsehair  bits.  Blood  dripped  with 
the  foam.  The  usual  Indian  adieu  is  a  gay  yell.  This 
was  a  taunting,  scornful,  satanic  laugh,  as  they  waved 
their  tomahawks  and  watched  them,  singing,  glide  be- 
yond their  grasp.  Then  they  turned  to  the  lodge  of 
Pio-pio-mox-mox  and  threatened  his  life,  because  he 


THE  CAYUSE   WAR  355 

and  his  Walla  Wallas  would  not  arm  to  meet  "  the 
Bostons." 

Even  Tauitau  said :  "  If  the  Bostons  come  to  fight  us 
I  will  not  raise  my  gun.  I  will  sit  in  my  house.  If 
they  will,  they  may  kill  me.  I  shall  not  resist." 

The  Nez  Perec's  refused  to  join  them.  Only  Five 
Crows  and  the  murderers  were  left  to  lead  the  hostiles. 

Swiftly  gliding  down  the  Columbia  the  rescued  ones 
met  the  fifty  riflemen  landing  at  the  Dalles.  Ogden  was 
amazed  at  the  daring  of  this  handful. 

"  Go  back  with  us,  go  back,"  he  urged.  "  You  can 
do  nothing.  All  the  tribes  will  unite  against  you.  The 
idea  of  sending  a  party  up  there  this  winter  is  the 
wildest  notion  I  ever  heard  of.  You  had  better  burn 
the  mission  buildings  here  and  go  back  to  the  valley." 

But  the  Americans  firmly  answered,  "  No,"  and  pro- 
ceeded to  fortify  the  mission  at  the  Dalles. 

Worried,  troubled,  nervous  from  loss  of  sleep,  Peter 
Skeen  Ogden  went  on  to  Fort  Vancouver.  Douglas 
immediately  despatched  a  letter  to  the  anxious  settle- 
ment at  the  Falls. 

It  was  Sunday  morning  when  the  courier  arrived  and 
found  the  governor  and  his  people  at  church.  The 
welcome  message  was  read  from  the  pulpit :  — 

Mr.  Ogden  has  this  moment  arrived  with  three  boats  from 
Walla  Walla,  and  I  rejoice  to  say  he  has  brought  down  all  the 
women  and  children  from  Waiilatpu  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spald- 
ing.  .  .  .  Mr.  Ogden  will  visit  the  Falls  on  Monday.  .  .  . 

In  haste,  yours  respectfully, 

JAMES  DOUGLAS. 

Portland  was  but  a  village  in  the  woods,  but  it  fired  a 
salute  as  the  boats  went  by ;  again  the  salute  rang  out 
as  the  gray-haired  old  hero  landed  his  burden  of  sixty- 


356  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

two  souls  at  the  city  by  the  Falls.  Governor  Abernethy 
received  the  rescued  ones,  and  in  the  name  of  humanity 
thanked  the  courageous  chief  factor  for  his  inestimable 
service. 

Many  of  the  women  were  nervous  wrecks.  Dr. 
McLoughlin  received  some ;  Governor  Abernethy  some ; 
the  doors  of  every  home  were  open,  as  borne  on  beds 
they  were  distributed  among  the  settlers. 

Fired  at  the  sight,  scarcely  better  equipped  than  the 
patriots  at  Valley  Forge,  the  little  army  of  five  hundred 
pressed  into  the  Indian  country.  Fort  Vancouver 
looked  on  amazed  as  the  daring  boats  went  by. 

"  Wildest  attempt  I  ever  heard  of,"  muttered  Ogden, 
who  had  returned  to  the  fort.  "  All  the  Indians  of  the 
country  will  be  upon  us.  The  Cayuses,  the  Walla 
Wallas,  and  the  Nez  Perec's  are  so  intermarried  they  will 
fight  as  one." 

The  old  chief  factor's  hands  trembled.  More  than 
anything  else  the  company  dreaded  an  Indian  war. 
It  meant  the  ruin  and  rout  of  their  business,  the  break- 
ing up  of  fur  brigades,  and  the  end  of  big  returns  to 
London. 

"I  hear  that  they  have  prohibited  the  sale  of  ammu- 
nition to  the  Indians,"  continued  Ogden,  shaking  his 
disapproving  locks.  "  They  even  found  fault  with  me 
because  I  paid  them  a  few  handfuls  for  portage  at  the 
Dalles." 

"  Prohibited  the  sale  of  ammunition !  "  exclaimed 
Douglas.  "  That  is  a  dangerous  measure.  It  will  only 
excite  them  more  and  more.  They  will  starve  without 
ammunition,  and  distress  may  drive  them  to  dangerous 
courses.  They  will  prey  upon  the  settlements  and 
slaughter  cattle  when  they  can  no  longer  hunt  the 
deer." 


THE   CAYUSE   WAR  357 

"  Just  so,  just  so,"  assented  Ogden  from  his  lookout 
on  the  porch.  "  If  they  tumble  the  nations  down  on 
their  heads  we  are  not  to  blame.  There  goes  another 
boat-load." 

With  the  whoops  of  the  old  voyageurs  McKay's  men 
dragged  the  only  piece  of  artillery,  a  rusty  nine-pounder, 
around  the  Cascades  in  a  driving  snow. 

The  painted  Cayuses  were  out  on  their  painted  horses, 
galloping  on  the  hills.  It  was  a  thrilling  sight.  Every 
eminence  was  filled  with  Indian  men  and  women,  as  on 
a  grand  review,  to  witness  the  defeat  of  the  Bostons. 
They  looked  with  contempt  on  these  immigrants.  Had 
they  not  borne  with  meekness  and  patience  the  insults 
and  robberies  of  the  preceding  autumn,  and  autumns 
and  autumns  before? 

"  Ho-ha-ha-ha-ha — a  !  "  laughed  the  demoniac  chorus 
on  the  hills.  "  The  Bostons  are  women.  We  will  kill 
them  with  clubs.  We  will  go  to  the  valley  and  steal 
their  women.  Never  shall  the  Americans  drink  of  the 
waters  of  the  Umatilla." 

"  Ho-ho-ho-ho — o !  "  screamed  War  Eagle,  chief  of 
the  dreamer-drummers,  prancing  out  in  face  of  the  foe. 
"  I  am  a  great  tew- at.  I  bear  a  charmed  life.  I  can  swal- 
low molten  lead  ;  powder  and  shot  cannot  harm  me  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  let  him  swallow  this,"  said  Tom  McKay, 
raising  his  silver-mounted  rifle.  One  click —  the  boaster 
headlong  bit  the  dust.  A  shot  from  another  shattered 
the  arm  of  Five  Crows.  He  dropped  his  gun  —  like 
smoke  the  Indian  cavalry  disappeared,  demoralized  by 
the  sudden  and  unexpected  loss  of  their  leaders  whom 
they  had  supposed  invulnerable.  In  Homeric  song  the 
leaders  fought  the  battles ;  so  here  in  this  Pacific  Iliad. 
The  spectators  melted  from  the  hills. 


358  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"That  is  the  Indian  of  it;  they  fight  and  flee," 
exclaimed  the  impetuous  American,  Colonel  Gilliam. 
"  They  did  it  in  the  Black  Hawk  War,  they  did  it  in 
the  Seminole." 

Where  hundreds  had  lately  stood,  now  a  barren  and 
apparently  unoccupied  country  stretched  out  in  silence. 
But  every  rock  and  ravine  and  hillock  and  sand-hollow 
along  the  old  immigrant  road  sheltered  a  foe.  All  day 
until  sunset  they  sprang  from  their  ambuscades  in  the 
masterly  attacks  and  retreats  of  Indian  warfare.  All 
day  the  Indian  fusees  picked  off  the  volunteers  in  their 
march  to  the  upper  country.  At  night  for  miles  ahead 
the  Cayuse  signal-fires  burned  like  sleepless  red  eyes 
on  the  hilltops.  Without  water,  almost  without  food, 
without  tents,  and  half  clad,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  the 
little  army  hurried  on  toward  Waiilatpu.  Exhausted, 
famished,  chilled,  the  Americans  reached  the  camp  of 
Pio-pio-mox-mox.  The  old  chief  came  out  to  meet 
them.  At  his  belt  hung  Siskadee's  shot-pouch. 

"  We  are  not  one  with  the  Cayuses,"  he  said.  "  We 
have  no  part  in  the  war." 

"  We  are  glad  to  hear  it,"  answered  Colonel  Gilliam. 
"  We  hear  that  you  fought  with  Lieutenant  Fremont  in 
California  and  that  you  acted  bravely.  Your  conduct 
convinces  us  that  you  are  an  honorable  Indian.  Have 
you  beef  to  sell?" 

Pio-pio-mox-mox  drove  up  his  herds.  In  an  hour 
the  savory  odor  of  kouse  and  bouillon  filled  the  camp. 
The  old  chief  remained  to  watch  proceedings,  and 
smoked  his  pipe  in  a  long  and  friendly  talk.  Over 
toward  Waiilatpu  a  few  thin  lodge-fires  rose  against 
the  sky. 

"  That  is  the  spot,"  said  the  old  chief,  pointing.  "  My 
people  were  not  there." 


THE   CAYUSE  WAR  359 

The  volunteers  found  only  a  heap  of  burned  adobes 
on  the  site  of  the  Whitman  mission.  Torn  letters,  shat- 
tered glass  and  china  lay  among  the  trampled  poppies. 
Even  the  orchard  was  tomahawked  away.  Wolves  had 
uncovered  the  shallow  graves,  and  the  remains  of  the 
martyr-missionary  and  his  household  lay  scattered  on 
the  wintry  plain.  Tresses  of  tangled  gold  identified  the 
disfigured  brow  of  the  queenly  Joan  of  the  West. 

The  bodies  were  gathered  up  and  reinterred,  and 
above  the  mound  of  his  little  Helen  Mar  the  old  trap- 
per, Joe  Meek,  swore  vengeance  as  he  hastened  on  to 
Washington.  Six  weeks  later  he  met  his  old  comrade, 
Captain  Bridger,  in  a  mountain  pass. 

"And  my  little  Mary  Ann?"  he  asked. 

"  She,  too,  is  dead,"  said  the  trapper  by  the  camp-fire. 

Poor  old  Sticcas !  evading  the  gibes  and  threats  of 
his  countrymen,  he  hunted  up  the  doctor's  cattle,  and 
collecting  what  he  could  of  the  stolen  property,  deliv- 
ered them  to  the  volunteers,  —  money,  watches,  books, 
—  and  then  with  Tauitau  left  for  the  mountains  to  wait 
till  the  war  was  over. 

"  Stay  a  moment,"  cried  the  colonel.  "  Before  you 
go,  tell  me,  where  are  the  murderers?  " 

With  a  frightened  look  to  see  that  he  was  unobserved 
by  his  people,  old  Sticcas  waved  his  hand  and  whispered, 
"  Fleeing  up  the  Tucanon." 

Colonel  Gilliam  had  thrown  up  a  fort  out  of  the 
burned  adobes.  Leaving  his  wounded  there,  he  con- 
tinued the  pursuit.  On  the  fifth  day,  after  an  all-night 
march,  he  surprised  a  camp  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Tucanon.  An  old  man  came  out  with  one  hand  on 
his  head  and  one  on  his  heart. 

"  We  are  the  people  of  Pio-pio-mox-mox,"  he  said 
in  bad  Chinook;  "we  are  friends." 


360          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  He  lies.  It  is  a  cloak,"  muttered  the  impatient 
volunteers. 

The  camp  was  full  of  painted  warriors,  apparently  just 
making  their  toilet  for  battle. 

Still  the  old  man  reiterated,  "  We  are  Pio-pio-mox- 
mox  tilicum  [people]." 

The  volunteers  had  their  fingers  on  their  triggers. 

"  Don't  shoot,"  commanded  the  colonel.  "  Where 
are  the  murderers?  " 

"  Fled  to  the  land  of  Red  Wolf,"  pantomimed  the 
Indian. 

"  Fleeing,  fleeing,  fleeing,"  muttered  the  disappointed 
colonel.  "  Who  can  catch  an  Indian  in  his  native 
hills?" 

"  This  is  their  stock  —  take  it,"  said  the  old  man, 
waving  his  hand  around  toward  the  cattle  —  Tiloukaikt's 
cattle. 

The  hills  were  covered  with  herds.  Riding  up  the 
precipitous  highlands,  the  little  army  looked  down  on 
the  winding  Snake.  It  was  full  of  horses  and  cattle 
swimming  over  by  thousands  and  ascending  the  oppo- 
site bank. 

"  Collect  the  stock,"  commanded  the  colonel.  Dark 
faces  peeped  and  whispered  in  the  shadow  of  the  camp. 

The  volunteers  set  out  to  drive  five  hundred  head 
before  them  to  Fort  Walla  Walla. 

A  flash,  a  whoop ;  the  land  was  alive  with  Indians  in 
all  the  fury  of  savage  warfare.  The  painted  camp  was 
out,  the  Palouses  sprang  from  the  very  earth,  the  herds 
were  lost  in  the  fierce-running  battle  of  the  Tucanon. 

For  thirty  hours  the  firing  never  ceased.  At  last  the 
struggling,  fighting,  fleeing  remnants  of  the  almost 
entrapped  Americans  escaped  beyond  the  Touchet. 
After  the  hand-to-hand  struggle  at  the  ford  the  con- 


THE   CAYUSE  WAR  361 

fusion  of  battle  gave  way  to  the  death-wail  on  the  far- 
ther shore.  Nothing  but  the  superior  arms  and  ammu- 
nition of  the  Americans  saved  them  from  utter  rout. 

"  Something  must  be  done,  and  done  at  once,"  ran 
the  report  sent  to  Governor  Abernethy,  "  or  we  shall 
have  the  Indians  in  the  valley  in  a  month.  There  are 
one  hundred  and  fifty  of  our  boys  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  enemy's  country  almost  without  ammunition  and 
wholly  without  bread." 

Just  then  the  United  States  transport  "  Anita "  en- 
tered the  Columbia,  seeking  recruits  for  the  Mexican 
War  raging  below.  The  captain  whistled  when  he  dis- 
covered Oregon  herself  in  arms. 

"  Our  settlers  are  scattered  throughout  the  valleys," 
said  Governor  Abernethy,  "  many  of  them  isolated  and 
lying  in  such  a  position  that  they  could  be  swept  off  in 
a  night,  and  the  Indians  be  in  the  mountains  out  of 
reach  next  morning.  Our  policy  is  to  keep  the  Indians 
busy  in  their  own  country,  and  by  this  means  keep  them 
out  of  the  valley,  but  we  have  no  money,  no  munitions 
of  war.  Our  patriotic  volunteers  are  destitute  of  cloth- 
ing, tents,  and  provisions,  even  while  in  the  field.  Our 
powder  is  gathered  up  in  half-pounds  and  parcels  as 
the  settlers  have  brought  more  or  less  in  for  their  own 
use.  This  will  soon  give  out." 

The  transport  left  the  Columbia  and  returned  to 
Monterey,  promising  to  get  word  to  the  United  States 
as  soon  as  possible.  Then  more  than  ever  isolated, 
Oregon  felt  itself  at  the  end  of  the  world.  How  long 
would  it  take  for  an  envoy  to  reach  the  capital?  How 
long  for  a  ship  to  double  Cape  Horn? 

The  measles  had  followed  the  track  of  the  immigrants 
and  found  a  nesting  place  in  the  Willamette  valley. 


362  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

Whole  Indian  villages  lay  prostrate.  Old  Waskema  in 
distress  flitted  from  camp  to  camp;  she  squatted  by 
every  fire.  With  her  knotted  cane  in  hand  she  stood 
on  the  edge  of  the  forest  and  pointed  toward  the  settle- 
ments —  "  Skookum  turn-turn  gone.  Squaw  man  stay. 
Quick  in  the  night,  quick,  cut  down  the  Boston 
people,"  hoarsely  she  whispered  to  Koosta,  chief  of 
the  Molallas. 

In  old  time  Waskema  told  the  fortunes  of  chase  and 
of  battle.  Could  she  still  divine?  Koosta  sat  in  his 
smoky  hut  and  watched  her  with  the  luminous  eyes  of 
a  hunted  deer.  But  he  made  no  move.  The  moans 
of  his  children  filled  the  hut.  Waskema  flew  wild, 
stamping  her  feet  and  tearing  her  hair.  "  Shame ! 
shame  !  shame  !  "  she  cried.  "  Sick,  all  die.  No  medi- 
cine, no  food,  no  powder.  Boston  take  land,  take 
game,  poison  us,  starve  us."  Her  frenzy  was  fearful  to 
look  upon.  A  sick  baby  stretched  its  thin  hand  for 
a  wee  little  muskrat  toasting  on  the  coals.  A  skinny 
old  man  came  in  with  a  sack  of  bread,  begged  at 
Champoeg. 

Old  Waskema's  tamanowas  (spirit)  had  a  strange 
charm  for  the  young  men.  Down  in  the  damp  marsh 
grew  the  Oregon  yew ;  they  were  shaping  it  into  arrows. 
She  sanctioned  what  they  desired  —  bloodshed  and 
plunder. 

Eighty  Klamaths  came  over  the  southern  mountains, 
and  camped  at  the  head  of  Abiqua  creek,  a  branch  of 
the  Willamette,  near  Koosta's  camp.  Another  force 
camped  in  the  passes  of  the  Callapooias  —  waiting.  The 
Warm  Spring  Indians  hung  like  a  cloud  at  the  foot  of 
Mt.  Jefferson.  The  Klickitats  were  riding  down  the 
zigzag  mountain  passes  ready  to  join  them. 

It  was  March,  raw  and  windy  and  squally  with  snow, 


THE   CAYUSE  WAR  363 

when  the  howling  Klamaths  sounded  the  whoop  on  the 
hills.  They  began  shooting  cattle,  raiding  cabins,  and 
closing  round  the  house  of  the  hyas  tyee,  the  principal 
white  man,  into  whose  log  house  the  frightened  settlers 
fled.  A  postman  came  in  sight;  he  put  spurs  to  his 
steed  and  gave  the  alarm  up  the  valley.  Before  sun- 
set sixty  men  and  boys  had  chased  the  Klamaths  to 
their  rock-walled,  brush-covered  camp  on  the  Abiqua 
bottom.  From  a  rocky  ledge  at  early  dawn  there  came 
a  flight  of  arrows.  The  American  rifles  blazed.  In  the 
cold  and  drizzling  rain  lay  the  dead.  Among  the  fallen 
warriors  was  an  Indian  woman,  withered  and  shrunken, 
with  a  drawn  bow  in  her  dying  grasp.  It  was  old 
Waskema. 

The  Klamaths  fled  over  the  southern  mountains. 
The  rising  in  the  valley  was  quelled,  but  the  measles 
went  on  silently,  surely,  depopulating  the  camps  of  the 
red  men. 

Governor  Abernethy  issued  a  third  call  for  men. 
With  dismay  the  Indians  beheld  a  second  army  advanc- 
ing into  the  upper  country.  Already  their  herds  were 
ruined,  ammunition  gone,  their  families  scattered.  The 
Cayuses  as  a  people  had  no  heart  in  the  war.  Every 
day  at  sunset  the  mothers  lamented  the  act  that 
had  brought  this  trouble  upon  them.  The  opposition 
narrowed  to  the  few  who  had  participated  in  the  mas- 
sacre, and  some  sympathizers  who  had  assisted  their 
escape.  In  April  the  army  summed  up  the  situation : 

"  Where  are  the  murderers?  " 

"  Fled  beyond  the  Rockies." 

"  Will  you,  Pio-pio-mox-mox  and  Tauitau,  deliver 
them  up  on  their  return?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  will  give  us  peace." 

"Where  is  Jo  Lewis?" 


364          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  Escaped  to  the  Mormons." 

"  Who  are  the  Mormons?  " 

"  Dwellers  in  a  magic  city  that  has  risen  on  Salt 
Lake." 

"  Where  is  Five  Crows?  " 

"  Dying  at  the  camp  of  Chief  Joseph." 

"Where  is  Chief  Joseph?  " 

"  Quiet  in  his  own  valley.  He  has  taken  no  part  in 
the  war." 

"And  Chief  Ellice?" 

"  Dead.  He  and  sixty  of  his  men  went  to  hunt  elk 
in  the  mountains  and  all  died  of  the  measles." 

Declaring  the  Cayuse  lands  forfeited  to  the  United 
States,  and  leaving  a  garrison  at  the  Whitman  Fort  to 
watch  for  the  murderers  and  meet  the  autumn  immi- 
grants, the  volunteers  gave  up  the  chase  and  returned  to 
their  homes.  But  Colonel  Gilliam  came  not  back  —  he, 
too,  was  numbered  with  the  dead. 

An  autumn  immigration  of  a  thousand  people  entered 
the  country  unmolested  —  but  yet  no  word  from  Wash- 
ington. Unaided  the  little  colony  had  fought  it  out 
alone. 


XLI 

THE  BARQUE   "JANET" 
1847 

T)ASSING  to  and  fro,  Dr.  McLoughlin  noted  the 
-L  growth  of  the  brisk  young  settlement  of  Portland. 
He  decided  to  establish  David  there,  and  with  a  small 
fortune  in  gold  McLoughlin's  son  became  the  junior 
partner  in  the  rising  firm  of  Pettygrove  &  Crosby. 

The  finest  ship  that  traded  on  the  coast  in  those 
days  was  the  teakwood  East  India  built  barque  "  Janet," 
owned  and  run  by  Captain  Dring,  an  Englishman.  The 
captain  was  a  tar  of  furious  temper  and  iron  will. 
His  meek  little  wife  sailed  with  him,  and  his  lovely 
blond  daughter,  Trottie,  the  Queen  of  the  Sea. 

The  "Janet"  entered  the  Willamette  for  a  load  of 
wheat.  The  firm  of  Pettygrove,  Crosby  &  McLoughlin 
despatched  their  junior  partner  to  the  ship.  There 
David  McLoughlin's  eye  fell  on  the  captain's  laugh- 
ing daughter  with  her  brown  curls  flying  in  the  wind. 
Trottie,  too,  saw  the  young  merchant  with  black  locks 
waving  on  his  velvet  collar.  The  captain  saw  no  flush, 
no  blush  of  pleasure;  the  two  had  met  and  passed 
before,  in  rocking  ships  in  an  English  harbor. 

Gala  evenings  followed,  as  the  teakwood  ship  lay  in 
the  Willamette.  Whale-oil  lamps  flickered  and  lanterns 
were  hung  aloft  when  the  deck  was  cleared  for  dancing. 
Grave  elders  sat  around  on  tea-chests  and  bales  of 
merchandise,  beating  time  with  their  toes  to  the  piping 
sailor's  band.  And  under  the  Oregon  stars  Trottie 


366          McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

danced  with  David.  Trottie' s  mother  smiled  upon  the 
young  American,  —  he  had  travelled,  he  had  read,  he 
could  sing,  his  dress  was  faultless,  his  manners  Parisian. 
In  the  jig,  the  reel,  and  the  Highland  fling  he  out- 
stepped them  all,  and  his  contagious  laughter  was  a 
tonic.  People  said,  "  David  the  heir  will  marry  the 
captain's  daughter." 

Just  then  the  Whitman  massacre  upheaved  the  Oregon 
world.  All  the  men  were  hurrying  away  to  the  war.  But 
David  stayed  and  stood  with  Trottie  before  the  captain. 

"Good  God,  Trottie!  What  are  you  thinking  of, — 
to  tie  yourself  up  in  this  unheard-of  corner  of  the 
world,  where  Indians  come  in  and  massacre  settlers 
without  warning !  I  'd  rather  bury  you  at  sea.  And 
is  n't  that  Frenchman  waiting  for  you  up  there  at  the 
Islands?  What  will  he  say  when  I  get  back  to  Hono- 
lulu ?  "  Trottie  turned  white. 

David  was  thunderstruck,  but  Trottie  clung  to  his 
arm,  and  the  bluff  captain  dared  not  send  him  from  the 
ship.  The  cargo  was  not  complete ;  David  could  hold 
him  a  little.  He  must  go  to  the  Champoeg  warehouse 
that  day ;  he  felt  sure  the  captain  would  relent  on  his 
return.  So  David  went  tearing  up  the  Willamette, 
revolving  a  thousand  plans  for  winning  his  Queen  of 
the  Sea. 

How  impatient  the  young  man  was  !  How  snail-like 
the  Indian  packers  carried  the  wheat  on  their  backs  from 
the  storehouse  to  the  bateau  !  How  slow  the  swift-glanc- 
ing paddles  beat  the  foam  !  "  Faster,  faster,"  he  cried. 

"  He  is  mad,"  said  the  Indians,  as  they  tore  back  down 
the  Willamette.  All  was  hushed  save  the  rapping  row- 
locks and  the  rough  breathing  of  the  heavy  working 
rowers.  Some  one  hailed  him  at  the  Falls.  He  heard 
not.  His  father  watched  him  with  regret. 


THE   BARQUE   "JANET"  367 

"  Halt !  Carry !  "  By  main  strength  and  awkward- 
ness, under  the  Chinook  moon  the  Indians  transferred 
the  wheat  to  the  barge  below  the  Falls.  All  night  he 
flew ;  obstacles  vanished ;  new  hope  filled  his  heart  as 
he  neared  the  old  familiar  dock.  He  laughed.  He 
will  greet  her  in  a  moment.  He  was  opposite  the 
shingle  camp  called  Portland,  where  the  store  of  Petty- 
grove,  Crosby  &  McLoughlin  was  most  conspicuous 
on  the  shore. 

"The  ship  !  where  is  the  ship?  "  he  cried. 

"  Gone,"  said  an  idler  on  the  shore.  "  Sailed  yester- 
day. Carried  news  of  the  Whitman  massacre  to  the 
Islands." 

A  few  empty  canoes  rocked  idly  on  the  sea-green 
water.  He  stepped  into  one ;  two  fishing  Indians  took 
the  paddles.  Without  rest,  without  food,  he  gave  the 
word,  "  Vancouver." 

But  the  wharf  at  Vancouver  was  vacant  and  deserted. 

"  Send  out  the  '  Cadboro' ; '  chase  her.  I  must  catch 
the  'Janet/  "  he  cried  to  Douglas.  But  the  " Cadboro' " 
had  gone  the  day  before.  He  called  to  the  voyageurs, 
"  Fifty  beaver  skins  to  the  crew  that  makes  the  '  Janet* 
to-day." 

David's  barque  flew  down  the  Columbia.  He  leaned 
forward,  glass  in  hand,  to  catch  the  gleam  of  a  sail. 
Oak  Point,  Coffin  Rock,  Pillar  Rock,  Astoria,  a  day, 
a  night,  at  last  there,  beyond  the  bar,  with  sails  set, 
the  " Janet"  stood  leagues  away  at  sea.  And  the  crew 
sang  on  — 

"  Thy  heart  was  made  for  laughter, 

My  heart 's  in  tears  to-day  ; 
Tears  for  a  fickle  mistress, 
Flown  from  its  love  away. 

I  've  loved  thee  long  and  dearly, 
1 11  love  thee,  sweet,  for  aye  !  " 


368  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD    OREGON 

Crouched  in  a  berth,  her  long,  overhanging  curls 
swaying  with  that  sea-rocked  ship,  lay  Trottie  Dring, 
her  eyes  hot  and  tearless,  and  her  heart  numb.  Away 
into  the  great  Pacific  she  went,  never  again  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  Oregon  coast.  The  surf-beaten  rocks 
on  the  shore  seemed  not  harder  than  the  flinty  heart 
that  divided  herself  and  her  lover. 

From  that  day  the  veneering  of  civilization  fell  ofif 
from  David  like  an  egg-shell.  He  lost  all  interest  in 
the  store.  Indian  impatience  of  restraint,  Indian  in- 
stincts and  inherited  tendencies  triumphed  over  the 
Scotch  in  his  veins.  He  roved  continually.  He  gave 
himself  up  to  dissipation,  and  was  happy  only  with  his 
red  friends  in  the  forest.  He  wedded  the  daughter  of  a 
chief. 


T 


XLII 

THE  DISCOVERY  OF  GOLD 
1848 

HE  volunteers  came  home  to  their  wives  and 
sweethearts  —  the  Indian  scare  was  over.  The 
old  idyllic  life  went  on,  more  united,  more  ideal  after 
the  tempest.  Up  and  down  the  tributary  valleys  of 
the  Willamette  many  a  young  couple  staked  out  their 
square  mile.  Like  shadows  the  Indians  drew  back  into 
the  forest,  dumb,  patient,  vanishing.  The  volunteers 
put  aside  their  buffalo-guns.  The  war-horse  captured 
in  battle  was  hitched  to  the  plough.  Harvest  was  at  its 
height  when  a  schooner  from  Yerba  Buena  came  into 
the  Willamette.  Almost  before  his  barque  was  moored 
the  Yankee  trader  began  to  buy  knives,  spades,  picks, 
pans,  flour. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  sort  of  cargo, 
Cap'n?"  inquired  the  settlers,  handing  over  their  un- 
used picks  and  spades. 

"  Oh,  hardware  for  the  Spaniards,"  was  the  non- 
chalant reply  as  he  stacked  them  away  in  the  schooner. 
With  lading  complete  and  sails  trimmed,  the  Yankee 
captain,  by  way  of  good-bye,  held  up  a  sack  of  gold- 
dust.  "The  hills  of  California  are  made  of  that,"  he 
said.  An  incredulous  burst  of  laughter  followed  the 
retreating  ship. 

The  brig  from  Newburyport  came  rushing  in  for 
picks  and  pans  and  flour.  Douglas  entered  the  Colum- 
bia from  the  Islands  at  the  same  time.  "  Pooh-pooh ! 

24 


370  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

't  is  all  a  fake,"  he  said,  but  certain  letters  dispelled  all 
doubt.  Marshall,  one  of  those  enthusiasts  of  1844,  had 
really  reached  the  land  where  money  grew. 

The  quietude  of  that  summer  was  broken.  The 
Cayuse  pony  and  the  Chinook  canoe  carried  the  news 
to  the  remotest  settlement.  The  farmer  left  his  plough 
in  the  furrow,  his  sickle  in  the  wheat,  crops  remained 
unharvested.  Women  and  boys  took  charge  of  the 
shops  and  stores  in  Oregon  City,  men  left  their  wives 
to  hold  their  claims,  milk  the  cows,  and  keep  the  chil- 
dren. The  editor  ran  off  and  left  the  paper,  the  black- 
smith quit  his  anvil,  the  carpenter  his  plane  and  saw, 
the  legislature  adjourned  for  want  of  a  quorum.  Judge 
Burnett,  the  chief  justice  of  Oregon,  left  the  bench  and 
said  to  Dr.  McLoughlin :  — 

"What  shall  we  do?  Can  we  make  the  trip  with  a 
wagon?" 

"  Yes/'  said  the  doctor.  "  Get  Tom  McKay  for  a 
pilot.  He  has  been  back  and  forth  with  pack-trains 
for  twenty  years.  He  knows  the  road  better  than  any 
one  but  La  Framboise." 

In  eight  days  Burnett's  "  ragged  regiment "  held  a 
barbecue  feast,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  and 
fifty  wagons  rolled  out  on  the  California  road,  with 
provisions  for  six  months  and  planks  for  gold  rockers 
in  the  bottom  of  their  wagons. 

Pettygrove  sold  the  site  of  the  city  of  Portland  for  a 
pack  of  leather  and  left  for  the  mines.  In  a  few  weeks 
the  trappers'  heavy  trail  became  a  broad  and  beaten 
highway,  thronged  every  hour  with  men  and  boys  on 
foot,  in  wagons  and  on  horseback.  The  soldiers,  fresh 
from  the  Cayuse  war,  rich  in  tales  of  adventure,  passed 
their  evening  in  song  and  dance  around  the  camp-fires  in 
the  valleys,  while  the  signal  fires  of  Shastas,  Rogues,  and 


THE   DISCOVERY   OF   GOLD  371 

Klamaths  glowed  on  neighboring  heights.  The  Indians, 
who  had  never  seen  such  invading  armies  of  palefaces, 
fled  to  their  mountain  fastnesses  in  consternation,  or  now 
and  then,  from  behind  some  shelving  rock,  discharged 
a  shower  of  bright  reed  arrows  pointed  with  volcanic 
glass.  One  evening,  as  the  sun  sent  his  last  lingering 
rays  against  the  lofty  range  of  the  Sierras,  the  Oregon- 
ians  camped  in  the  shining  valleys  of  gold.  These 
sons  of  adventure,  who  had  blazed  the  way  to  Oregon 
and  had  trounced  the  savage,  now  gayly  raced  the  hills 
in  search  of  the  gilded  treasure. 

"What  if  the  Indians  should  come?"  said  the  women 
left  in  Oregon  City. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  laughed  the  fatherly  Dr.  McLough- 
lin.  "  I  set  a  watch  on  the  bluff  every  night  to  look 
after  the  settlement." 

Panthers  howled  on  the  bluff.  Indians  pitched  their 
teepees  in  the  dark  wood,  and  once,  some  years  before, 
they  shot  their  arrows  down  into  the  village. 

The  lately  silent  river  became  noisy  with  commerce. 
From  a  village  in  the  woods,  Portland  leaped  to  a  city, 
with  twenty  vessels  waiting  for  cargoes  at  a  time,  all 
paying  in  bags  of  gold-dust,  and  all  heading  for  Cali- 
fornia. Provision  stores  opened  everywhere,  prices 
went  up  among  the  stars ;  four  bushels  of  apples  from 
the  Willamette  brought  five  hundred  dollars  in  San 
Francisco.  Tons  of  Oregon  eggs  sold  for  a  dollar 
apiece  on  the  Sacramento. 

One  hundred  and  fifty  Canadians  deserted  Fort  Van- 
couver in  a  body.  Douglas  and  Ogden  hired  Indians 
to  supply  their  places. 

The  rush  from  Oregon  began  in  1848,  almost  a  year 
before  the  rest  of  the  world  heard  of  the  find  at  Sutter's 
mill.  After  six  weeks  on  the  Yuba  the  Oregonians 


372  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

were  ready  to  return  with  their  sacks  full  of  gold-dust, 
—  but  how?  The  harbor  was  full  of  ships  rotting  at  the 
wharves.  As  in  Homer's  lotus-land,  every  sailor  that 
touched  the  golden  shore  straightway  forgot  home  and 
friends  and  native  land  and  longed  ever  to  remain 
eating  the  golden  poppy. 

In  February  a  hundred  Oregonians  were  waiting  for 
passage  from  San  Francisco.  Finally  the  captain  of 
the  old  East  India  ship,  "Janet/  'accepted  $10,000  to 
make  a  flying  trip  to  Oregon.  So  the  Argonauts  came 
home,  bringing  the  Golden  Fleece,  bags  full,  tea  can- 
isters full,  pockets  full  of  the  beautiful  shining  dust. 
It  was  weighed  like  wheat  or  bran  at  $16  an  ounce  in 
trade.  Men  carried  gold-dust  in  pails  through  the 
streets,  women  stored  it  away  in  coffee-pots  and  pickle- 
jars.  Milk-pans  full  of  it  sat  on  the  shelves.  Home- 
comers  on  horseback  threw  sacks  of  it  over  the 
fence  into  the  tall  grass  to  lie  over-night,  or  until  they 
took  a  bite  of  supper.  So  great  waste  resulted  from 
continual  measurements  that  the  colonial  legislature 
concluded  to  mint  it  into  dollars,  and  a  missionary 
mechanic  hammered  the  dies  out  of  wagon  tires.  Thus, 
the  Oregon  colony  exercised  all  the  prerogatives  of  an 
independent  power,  organized  government,  levied  taxes, 
coined  money,  raised  armies,  and  carried  on  war. 

Clerk  Allen  of  Fort  Vancouver  was  on  that  ship  with 
gold  from  Captain  Sutter  in  payment  of  his  almost  out- 
lawed debts  at  Fort  Vancouver.  As  he  came  up  the 
Columbia  the  quick  eye  of  Allen  caught  sight  of  Chief 
Factor  James  Douglas  and  his  family  and  servants  in  a 
brigade  of  canoes  just  entering  the  Cowlitz. 

A  hurried  colloquy  ensued. 

"I  am  removing  to  Fort  Victoria,"  said  Douglas. 
"You  will  find  Mr.  Ogden  at  the  fort." 


THE   DISCOVERY  OF  GOLD  373 

The  haughty  Douglas  stood  in  his  canoe  and  watched 
the  Argonauts  go  by.  Nelia,  his  wife,  never  looked 
more  matronly  than  on  that  spring  morning  of  1849 
when  sitting  there,  with  her  rosebud  family  around  her, 
she  looked  her  last  on  Oregon.  Allen  dropped  off  at 
Fort  Vancouver,  and  with  him  some  of  the  Canadian 
servants  with  their  piles  of  $30,000  and  $40,000  apiece. 
Ogden  sat  with  his  head  on  his  hand;  the  fort  was 
desolate,  trade  abandoned. 

"  Yes,  Douglas  is  gone,"  he  said  sadly.  "  He  saw 
how  matters  were  going.  He  could  n't  stand  it,  he  left; 
he  was  too  strict  a  disciplinarian  to  stay  and  see  the 
rack  and  disorder." 

Allen  had  a  conference  with  Ogden  in  the  office,  then 
he  took  $150,000  in  silver  coin,  nailed  it  in  little  boxes, 
loaded  it  into  a  canoe,  and  followed  Douglas  up  to 
Puget  Sound.  They  reached  Fort  Victoria  on  Van- 
couver's Island  in  safety.  Three  years  later  James 
Douglas  became  the  first  governor  of  British  Columbia, 
and  his  first  official  act  was  to  summon  all  the  Indians 
around  Victoria  and  pay  them  in  full  for  their  lands. 
Sir  James,  knighted  by  the  queen,  ruled  long  and 
wisely.  Settlers  came  from  England  and  built  their 
ivied  halls  and  wayside  inns,  and  for  many  a  year  Lady 
Douglas  led  the  noble  dames  of  British  Columbia  in 
graces  of  person,  mind,  and  heart. 

There  were  other  passengers  in  that  ship  from  San 
Francisco. 

After  infinite  trials,  Joe  Meek,  the  trapper,  had  made 
his  way  to  Washington,  to  find  his  own  Virginian 
cousin  the  charming  Lady  of  the  White  House. 

He  says :  "  When  I  heard  the  silks  rustling  in  the 
passage  I  felt  more  frightened  than  if  a  hundred  Black- 
feet  had  whooped  in  my  ear.  A  mist  came  over  my 


374  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

eyes,  and  when  Mrs.  Polk  spoke  to  me  I  could  n't 
think  of  anything  to  say  in  return."  . 

The  White  House  was  full  of  his  relatives,  from 
cousins  and  nephews  down  to  the  mulatto  servant  he 
played  with  when  a  boy.  In  short  order  the  barber 
and  the  tailor  transformed  the  unkempt,  buckskin-clad 
Oregon  trapper  into  a  fashionable  "  Envoy  Extraor- 
dinary and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  from  the  Republic 
of  Oregon  to  the  Court  of  the  United  States  !  " 

The  handsome  trapper,  no  longer  "  old,"  returned  to 
Oregon  with  the  star  of  a  United  States  Marshal  on 
his  breast.  With  him  came  General  Joe  Lane,  the 
"  Marion  of  the  Mexican  War,"  with  the  sword  of 
Santa  Anna  at  his  belt,  appointed  by  President  Polk 
to  be  the  first  United  States  Governor  of  Oregon 
Territory. 

That  same  month  a  company  of  United  States  troops 
were  stationed  at  Fort  Vancouver.  At  last  the  little 
colony  had  been  heard,  but  it  was  only  after  Whitman 
was  dead  and  homes  had  been  desolated  by  an  Indian 
war.  The  Whitman  massacre  awakened  and  united 
the  settlers  of  the  sparsely  peopled  valleys,  it  roused 
Congress  from  her  dreams,  and  brought  recognition  to 
the  first  American  settlement  on  the  Pacific. 

Congress  admitted  Oregon  to  territorial  rights,  and 
ratified  the  laws  and  acts  of  the  Provisional  Govern- 
ment the  very  day  that  schooner  brought  in  the  news 
of  gold  from  Yerba  Buena.  Before  the  trapper-mar- 
shal could  get  back  —  presto  !  change  !  Gold  brought 
in  the  world ! 

The  Acadian  days  were  ended.  Governor  Aber- 
nethy  handed  over  the  gavel  to  Governor  Lane,  and 
the  technically  illegal,  yet  efficient,  Provisional  Gov- 
ernment was  no  more. 


THE   DISCOVERY  OF  GOLD  375 

But  the  gold  brigade  went  on.  Even  sleepy  old 
Champoeg  was  roused ;  unquiet  crept  in  as  the  serpent 
crept  into  Eden.  In  1849  Canadians  and  half-breeds 
went  to  the  mines.  A  strange  epidemic  swept  among 
them,  so  that  out  of  six  hundred  only  one  hundred  and 
fifty  returned  alive.  A  dozen  years  later  Champoeg 
itself  was  carried  off  in  a  flood. 

The  farms  on  French  Prairie  were  sold  to  Americans. 
Little  tow-headed  Missourians  sported  in  the  barns  and 
rifled  the  flower-gardens.  Yankee  boys  and  girls  won- 
dered what  meant  so  many  huts  all  in  a  row  back  of 
each  Canadian  manor  house,  —  huts  of  the  Indian 
slaves  of  the  old  Champoeg  days. 

One  of  the  first  acts  of  the  new  governor  of  Oregon 
Territory  was  to  call  in  $50,000  of  gold  coin  in  five  and 
ten  dollar  pieces  minted  at  Oregon  City.  Every  coin 
bore  the  stamp  of  a  beaver  —  a  reminiscence  of  the 
Hudson's  Bay  regime  when  the  beaver-skin  was  legal 
tender.  When  the  money  was  melted  at  the  U.  S. 
mint  at  San  Francisco  every  piece  was  found  to  con- 
tain ten  per  cent  more  gold  than  government  money. 
Oregon  was  honest  as  well  as  brave. 

The  last  act  of  that  same  administration  occurred 
one  still  and  smoky  day  when  Tiloukaikt  and  four 
accomplices  of  the  Whitman  massacre  were  hung  in 
great  solemnity  at  Oregon  City.  The  United  States 
marshal  at  the  gallows  was  Joe  Meek,  the  trapper. 


XLIII 

THE  DEATH  OF  DR.   McLOUGHLItf 
1849-57 

OREGON  politics  took  on  a  vivid  hue  in  1849. 
A  young  fire-eater  from  the  States,  of  surpassing 
oratory,  espoused  the  anti-Hudson's  Bay  cause  and 
rode  on  the  popular  wave  to  Congress.  Congress,  that 
had  looked  for  some  lean  and  bearded  trapper  from  the 
far-away  West,  was  startled  by  the  youth,  the  beauty, 
the  boldness,  and  the  eloquence  of  Oregon's  first  dele- 
gate, a  boy  from  Maine,  scarce  two  years  out.  They 
leaned  to  catch  the  fiery  invective  of  this  brilliant  but 
misinformed  young  man,  who  pictured  Dr.  McLoughlin, 
the  "  old  monopolist,"  holding  the  savages  in  leash 
upon  the  trembling  immigrants  of  Oregon. 

Naturally  prejudiced,  it  took  but  little  to  carry  the 
tide.  Every  other  settler  in  Oregon  was  confirmed  in 
his  title  to  land,  but  Dr.  McLoughlin's  was  taken  away. 
The  old  philanthropist,  who  had  filed  his  papers  for 
American  citizenship,  and  had  been  the  Father  of 
Oregon,  was  left  without  a  foot  of  land  in  all  that  terri- 
tory that  he  had  opened  up  to  trade.  When  the  news 
reached  the  Pacific,  the  Oregonians  themselves  were 
astonished  —  few  had  known  of  this  conspiracy,  and 
fewer  still  approved. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  great  conflagration  was  kindled 
in  England.  Fitzgerald's  "  Hudson's  Bay  Company " 
was  published  to  prove  that  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany, and  especially  Dr.  McLoughlin,  had  been  inimical 


THE   DEATH  OF  DR.   McLOUGHLIN         377 

to  British  interests  in  America.  All  the  old  charges 
against  Dr.  McLoughlin  as  assisting  Americans  were 
re-cited  here.  A  parliamentary  investigation  of  Dr. 
John  McLoughlin's  conduct  was  demanded,  and  the  fact 
that  he  was  called  "  The  Father  of  Oregon  "  was  cited 
against  him  in  the  House  of  Commons.  So  in  Con- 
gress and  in  Parliament  the  conflagration  raged  around 
one  devoted  old  man,  who  had  tried  to  keep  the  peace, 
and  to  do  his  duty  to  God  and  humanity. 

In  those  days  Dr.  McLoughlin  gave  his  heart  to  good 
deeds  and  to  prayer.  Only  now  and  then  did  his 
quick  temper  emit  a  volcanic  flash.  Distrusted  by 
England  because  he  had  befriended  Americans,  dis- 
trusted by  Americans  because  he  had  been  an  English- 
man, he  exclaimed  bitterly :  — 

"  In  my  old  age  I  find  myself  a  man  without  a  country. 
Having  renounced  my  allegiance  to  Great  Britain,  now 
I  am  rejected  by  the  United  States." 

The  Klickitats  came  down  from  the  mountains  to 
trade  for  the  last  time.  To  their  surprise  they  saw  the 
" Bostons"  picketed  in  the  sacred  enclosure  at  Fort 
Vancouver.  They  shook  their  heads  and  galloped 
away,  riding  like  mad  up  the  hillsides.  Beaver  had 
dropped  to  nothing. 

"  Furs?  "  said  Chief  Factor  Ogden  to  a  visitor.  "  Lord 
bless  you,  man,  we  lived  in  furs,  dressed  in  furs,  slept  in 
furs.  We  purchased  furs  and  piled  up  furs,  until  the 
presses  were  packed  from  sill  to  rafter.  Five  years  ago 
beaver  brought  eight  dollars  a  skin  —  now,  since  some 
pestilent  fellow  has  invented  silk  nap  for  hats,  it  does 
not  pay  to  transport  the  skins  to  London.  It 's  all  one, 
now,  the  game  is  up,  the  Americans  hold  the  country. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  man,  I  was  the  first  white  trapper 
on  the  lava  plains  of  the  Snake.  Many  a  time  have  I 


378  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

entered  a  mountain  pocket  where  never  foot  of  white 
man  trod  before,  and  trapped  my  fifteen  beaver  in  a 
night.  Along  the  Missouri,  twenty  years  ago,  a  good 
hunter  could  trap  a  hundred  in  a  month.  Many  an 
industrious  Flathead  laid  up  six  hundred  in  a  season. 
It 's  a  great  business,  a  great  business,"  continued  Ogden, 
lighting  up  with  his  old  pride.  "  The  loss  of  Oregon  is 
a  paltry  matter  —  all  the  North  is  ours.  Our  boats  will 
carry  British  manufactures  to  the  remotest  wilds,  and 
bring  back  furs,  furs,  furs.  Wherever  the  smoke  of  a 
wigwam  curls  you  will  find  our  gay  ribbons,  and  beads 
and  bells  and  scarlet  cloth." 

Peter  Skeen  Ogden  sat  with  hand  clutched  in  his 
grizzly  locks,  while  Bonneville,  hero  of  Irving's  tale,  the 
very  Bonneville  driven  back  in  1834,  came  in,  and  right 
under  his  nose  laid  off  a  United  States  military  reserve 
on  the  old  Hudson's  Bay  ground. 

At  last  the  day  came  to  give  up  the  keys.  The  trap- 
ping clans  gathered  for  their  last  banquet.  Dugald 
McTavish  came  down  from  Victoria,  and  Donald 
Manson  who  had  built  the  fort  in  1824.  Birnie  came 
up  from  Cathlamet,  McKinley  from  his  farm  in  the 
Willamette,  and  Gagnier,  who  one  time  ruled  the  Ump- 
qua.  The  old  hall  rang  to  the  last  bout  and  wassail. 
General  Harney  was  guest  where  on  the  morrow  he 
would  be  master.  All  night  the  puncheon  floor 
sprang  to  the  steps  of  dancers.  When  the  fiddle-strings 
snapped  and  the  candles  flared,  McTavish  opened 
the  window.  The  red  sun  rolled  up  like  a  wheel 
of  fire  beside  Mt.  Hood,  gilding  the  dawn  of  United 
States  possession  of  Fort  Vancouver.  By  order  from 
Washington,  General  Harney  demolished  the  old  fort, 
and  to-day  the  prettiest  military  post  in  the  United 
States  covers  the  grassy  greensward  on  the  north  bank 


THE   DEATH   OF   DR.   McLOUGHLIN          379 

of  the  Columbia,  —  six  miles  from  the  city  of  Port- 
land. 

Ogden  died  and  was  buried  —  under  the  stars  and 
stripes. 

Soon  after,  Dr.  McLoughlin  took  to  his  bed.  The 
chill  of  nearly  fifty  years  before,  in  the  icy  Lake 
Superior,  had  never  left  his  bones.  Dr.  Barclay  had 
followed  Dr.  McLoughlin  to  Oregon  City,  and  was  his 
constant  attendant.  Mrs.  Barclay,  beautiful  in  person 
and  character,  ran  over  frequently  from  the  cares  of  her 
young  and  growing  family.  Eloise  was  a  true  daughter 
in  directing  the  servants,  in  consoling  her  mother,  in 
watchings  many  at  the  bedside  of  her  father. 

"  Comment  allez-vous  ?"  asked  the  good  old  wife,  as 
his  end  drew  near.  With  an  upward  glance  and  smile 
he  answered,  "  A  Dieu"  It  was  his  last  word.  In  the 
still  nights  now  and  then  a  groan  was  heard.  The 
long,  white  locks  curled  on  the  pillow,  and  silent  tears 
rolled  from  the  closed  eyelids.  So  he  died.  The 
Father  of  Oregon  sleeps  on  the  banks  of  the  Willamette 
within  sound  of  the  Falls  he  loved  so  well.  Peace  be 
with  him. 

The  familiar  form  that  had  passed  up  and  down  the 
streets,  thinking  of  others  and  never  of  self,  had  been 
laid  to  rest.  Carlyle  says  the  sceptic  does  not  know  a 
hero  when  he  sees  him !  Five  years  before  McLough- 
lin's  death  the  Oregon  legislature  had  pigeon-holed  a 
resolution  thanking  him  for  his  generous  conduct  toward 
the  early  settlers.  How  could  they  thank  him  while  they 
withheld  his  land?  In  the  mean  time  there  had  been  a 
great  talking  and  thinking  among  the  people.  Men 
paused  when  they  heard  his  funeral  knell,  and  women 
wept.  The  scales  of  party  strife  fell  from  their  eyes. 

"  This  was  a  good  man,"  they  said. 


380  McLOUGHLIN   AND   OLD   OREGON 

"  He  saved  our  lives." 

"  He  gave  us  seed." 

"  He  gave  us  food." 

"  His  good  deeds  cannot  be  told." 

"  He  has  been  foully  dealt  with." 

"We  have  brought  his  gray  hairs  in  sorrow  to  the 
grave." 

The  murmur  for  restitution  grew  high  and  higher, 
until,  five  years  after  his  death,  the  State  Legislature  by 
special  act  restored  the  land  claim  to  his  heirs,  —  too 
late,  alas !  to  gladden  the  philanthropic  heart. 

The  peculiar  circumstances  under  which  he  was  sit- 
uated, make  McLoughlin's  benefactions  unique  in  his- 
tory. It  is  a  trite  saying  on  the  Columbia,  that  had 
any  other  than  a  John  McLoughlin  been  at  the  head  of 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company's  affairs  in  Oregon,  Ameri- 
can settlements  might  have  been  crushed  in  their  incep- 
tion. With  all  the  savages  at  his  command,  a  single 
hint  could  have  hurled  the  adventurous  immigrants 
back  across  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and  the  United 
States  would  never  have  carried  a  war  of  invasion  so 
far  from  her  frontier.  The  conduct  of  McLoughlin,  his 
humanity  and  magnanimity,  lift  him  above  the  range  of 
common  heroes  into  the  sublimated  realm  of  Christian 
ideals,  where  he  and  Whitman  walk  together,  the 
Father  and  the  Martyr  of  the  Pacific  Northwest. 

Not  in  vain  did  Nathaniel  Wyeth,  the  first  American, 
knock  at  the  gates  of  Fort  Vancouver,  not  in  vain  did 
he  sink  $100,000  in  his  Oregon  enterprise,  not  in  vain 
did  Whitman  fall  or  the  immigrants  toil  across  the 
Rockies.  Out  of  McLoughlin's  semi-barbaric  empire 
has  risen  the  better  empire  of  to-day.  From  the  ceded 
territory  Oregon  had  been  cut,  a  part  of  Montana, 
Washington  with  her  Mediterranean,  and  Idaho  with 


THE   DEATH   OF   DR.   McLOUGHLIN          381 

her  wealth  of  mines.  Now  the  summer  tourist  flies 
across  the  continent  in  a  week.  From  his  palace  win- 
dow he  catches  glimpses  of  the  old  immigrant  road, 
winding  through  alkali-sand  and  dust,  a  road  that  was 
lined  with  graves  and  wet  with  blood  and  tears. 

"  The  Americans  are  mad  !  "  cried  Sir  George  Simp- 
son, but  it  is  the  madness  that  has  strung  our  cities 
from  Plymouth  Rock  to  the  Philippines. 

The  moccasin  age  is  past.  The  evanescent  fur  trade 
is  over.  Cavalcades  of  merry  trappers  wind  over  the 
hills  and  glide  on  the  streams  no  more.  Those  daring 
men,  more  worthy  than  many  fictitious  heroes  of  ro- 
mance, have  passed  with  the  passing  of  the  red  man. 
Where  the  little  "  Cadboro '  "  and  occasional  ships  from 
London  fluttered  the  triangular  pennon  sixty  years  ago, 
the  fleets  of  all  nations  come  in,  bearing  away,  like  busy 
ants,  their  burdens  of  lumber,  fish,  and  grain. 

An  interesting  scene  was  enacted  in  Oregon's  State 
House  the  other  day,  when  the  pioneers  gathered  to 
dedicate  a  portrait  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  governor  who 
befriended  them  on  their  first  arrival  across  the  plains. 
There  was  a  hush,  and  few  dry  eyes,  as  they  heard 
again  the  story  of  his  virtues.  "  And  now,"  said 
Oregon's  foremost  judge,  pointing  to  the  face  that 
smiled  benignly  from  the  canvas,  "  it  is  to  be  hung  in 
the  State  Capitol,  where  you  may  look  at  it,  and  show 
it  to  your  children,  and  they  to  their  children,  and  say: 
4  This  is  the  old  doctor,  the  good  doctor,  Dr.  John 
McLoughlin.'  " 


THE  BRIDGE  of  the  GODS 

A    ROMANCE    OF   INDIAN    OREGON 


BY    F.    H.    BALCH 

New  Seventeenth  Edition,  enlarged  size.     With  eight  full-page 

illustrations  by  Laurens  Maynard  Dixon.      tamo. 

280  pages.     Gilt  top.    Net  $1.00 


T7  NCOURAGED  by  the  steady  demand  for  Mr.  Balch's  fine  romance, 
JQ,  the  publishers  issued  an  attractive  new  edition  (the  eighth),  embel- 
lished with  notable  drawings  by  Mr.  Laurens  Maynard  Dixon.  This  tale 
of  Oregon  in  the  seventeenth  century  has  fairly  earned  its  lasting  pop- 
ularity, not  only  by  the  intense  interest  of  the  story,  but  by  its  faithful 
delineation  of  Indian  character. 

From  the  legends  of  the  Columbia  River  the  author  has  derived  a 
truthful  and  realistic  picture  of  the  powerful  tribes  that  inhabited  the 
Oregon  country  two  centuries  ago.  The  tragic  fate  of  the  young  min- 
ister who  came  from  New  England  to  convert  the  Indians  is  the  climax 
of  a  story  of  exceptional  strength,  in  which  savage  superstitions  and 
Christian  courage  struggle  for  mastery. 

Mr.  Dixon's  work  on  the  illustrations  is  remarkable  for  its  strength 
and  realism,  and  for  his  perfect  understanding  of  the  type  he  portrays. 
Although  comparatively  young,  he  is  rapidly  becoming  recognized  as 
one  of  the  best  men  in  his  particular  field. 

"  The  Bridge  of  the  Gods  "  falls  very  little  short  of  being  a  great  book  in  its  way. 
If  it  falls  at  all  short  of  that  goal,  it  is  because  great  books  of  any  kind  are  very  rare  in- 
deed ;  but  if  judged  by  the  standard  of  the  present  day,  then  we  must  emphatically  call 
"  The  Bridge  of  the  Gods  "  a  great  romance.  —  Syracuse  Herald. 

It  is  a  work  of  unusual  strength  and  interest,  and  well  deserves  the  success  denoted  by 
the  attractive  illustrated  edition.  —  The  Dial. 

The  new  edition  of  the  book  is  illustrated  with  pictures  by  L.  Maynard  Dixon,  who  has 
studied  his  subject  among  the  survivors  of  the  tribes.  The  book  in  its  new  edition  de- 
serves the  attention  of  the  serious,  because  it  summarizes  knowledge  not  to  be  found  in 
any  single  volume  outside  the  Bancroft  library.  —  Boston  Journal. 

The  powerful  Oregon  tribes,  as  they  were  two  centuries  ago,  are  powerfully  depicted 
and  well  used.  Savage  superstitions  and  Christian  courage  appear  in  its  pages.  The  il- 
lustrations by  L.  Maynard  Dixon  are  especially  to  be  recommended.  —  Louisville  Courier- 
Journal. 

The  book  lives  in  a  new  dress,  with  new  illustrations,  but  with  the  original  fire  and 
pathos.  —  Denver  Times. 

"  The  Bridge  of  the  Gods  "  is  strong  in  its  description  of  aboriginal  life,  customs,  and 
manners.  .  .  .  There  is  a  charm  in  the  telling  of  the  tale  that  lingers  long  after  its  pe- 
rusal. —  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

To  those  who  have  traversed  the  ground,  and  know  something  of  Indian  character  and 
the  wild,  free  life  of  pioneer  days,  the  story  will  be  charming.  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

It  is  a  truthful  and  realistic  picture  of  the  powerful  Indian  tribes  that  inhabited  the 
Oregon  country  two  centuries  ago.  ...  It  is  a  book  that  will  be  of  value  as  an  historical 
story  of  interest  and  charm  there  are  few  novels  that  can  rival  it. 


—  Boston  Traveller. 


A.    C.    McCLURG    &    CO.,    Publishers 


THE     CONQUEST 

By  EVA    EMERY    DYE 

BEING  THE  TRUE  STORT  OF  LEWIS  AND   CLARK 

SIXTH   EDITION 

i2mo.     Gilt  top.     504  pages.     $1.50 


NO  book  published  in  recent  years  has  more  of  tremendous  import 
between  its  covers,  and  certainly  no  recent  novel  has  in  it  more  of 
the  elements  of  a  permanent  success.  An  historical  romance  which  tells 
with  accuracy  and  inspiring  style  of  the  bravery  of  the  pioneers  in  win- 
ning the  western  continent  should  have  a  lasting  place  in  the  esteem  of 
every  American. 

Stirring  deeds,  stirringly  recorded.  —  New  York  Sun. 

Mrs.  Dye  has  covered  the  field.  —  New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

Every  American  should  read  it  to  understand  the  beginnings  of  his  country.  —  N.  Y. 
Commercial  Advertiser. 

Mrs.  Dye  achieves  what  we  conceive  to  be  the  true  aim  of  the  historical  novelist  —  the 
catching  and  fixing  the  reflex  from  individual  lives  of  the  greater  happenings  that  belong 
to  history  proper.  —  The  Churchman,  New  York. 

Brilliant  to  the  point  of  inspiration.  It  is  written  with  a  rush  and  vigor  which  repro- 
duces the  breathless  race  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  over  the  land.  —  The  Interior,  Chicago. 

The  author's  style  is  strong  and  graphic,  the  grasp  of  her  subject  so  firm  that  it  inspires 
confidence  and,  despite  its  wealth  of  historic  lore,  has  not  one  dull  page.  —  Detroit  News. 

Mrs.  Dye  has  produced  a  book  of  extraordinary  strength  and  power,  setting  forth  in 
splendid  style  one  of  the  greatest  episodes  of  American  history.  —  Los  Angeles  Express. 

None  of  the  popular  historical  novels  of  the  last  two  or  three  years  can  compare  with 
this  in  value,  or  will  be  apt  to  keep  pace  with  it  in  popularity.  —  San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

There  is  in  this  book  the  best  picture  in  fiction  of  George  Rogers  Clark  and  of  his 
brother  William.  Never  before  has  been  packed  between  covers  such  a  wealth  of  enter- 
prising material.  —  Louisville  Courier-Journal. 

The  style  is  brilliant,  dramatic,  and  enthusing.  The  reader  is  carried  on  from  one  ex- 
citing episode  to  another,  and  a  series  of  vivid  pictures  is  rapidly  presented,  keeping  the 
interest  alive  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  —  Cleveland  Plain  Dealer. 

Ought  to  popularize  the  wonderful  story  of  the  subduing  of  the  American  wilderness. 
.  .  .  Destined  to  be  one  of  the  popular  books  of  the  New  Year.  —  Chicago  Record- 
Herald. 

The  virility  of  the  book  is  fairly  amazing.  It  does  not  seem  at  all  like  a  woman's 
work,  and  indeed,  would  be  worthy  of  the  pen  of  any  of  the  foremost  American  writers. 
—  Troy  Daily  Times. 

A.    C.    McCLURG    fef    CO.,    Publishers 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


100m-8,'65(F6282s8)2373 


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PS1566.D98M3  1913