Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, the plains and the rovers of the sea, men inured to dangers and trials from boyhood to manhood, and ranged behind them missionaries of the cross, who, like the great Puritan, could "trust God and keep the powder dry." And surrounding all, the sullen red man, swathed in his fiery blanket, silently beholding the strange scene in wondering awe as to which of these must be his future master. To portray the scene demands the genius of a Michael Angelo, and when it is done true to history, the canvas will immortalize the painter.
We get a glimpse of the contending forces as they rally in coonskin caps and buckskin trousers on the banks of the Willamette May 3, 1843, to try out the momentous issue. The leaders of the rival forces are rallying every man for the fray, enthusing them, with the patriotic maintenance of their principles, and with courage to maintain their rights. The fateful hour has come; the chairman calls for order; the committee reports a plan of organization; the ayes and noes are called for and against a government; the Americans vote scatteringly, hesitatingly and ineffectually. Then comes the vote against a government, and the Hudson Bay Company men trained for the occasion, fire a solid shot, voting loudly and as one man, and—everything seems lost for the Americans. A few brave spirits refuse to be beaten, will not admit defeat, and call for a division and polling the men. The division is ordered by the chairman and pandemonium breaks loose. The Hudson bay men and Catholic Canadians rapidly mingle with the Americans to prevent division and bitterly remonstrate against any government organization. Neighborhood friendships, peace of the community, every consideration is recalled to prevent any action; when suddenly, as if leaping out of the earth, springs forth the stalwart form of Joseph L. Meek, and shouts above the din of contending voices:
"Divide! Divide! Who's for a divide!
All in favor of the American flag, follow me!"
Instantly, the commotion is silenced. The Americans line up after the natural born leader of men, and as the lines lead out to the banks of the beautiful river, the decision hangs in the balance. The secretaries go down the lines of determined men, resolutely facing each other with that grim courage which betokens the real heroes of a great cause, and it looks fearfully like a drawn battle. Suddenly a Frenchman—(the Frenchman has always helped Americans out when they most needed him)—a Frenchman steps out from the ranks of those of his native land, conquers the greatest trial of his life, and Francis Xavier Matthieu slowly crosses over to the American side and takes rank with his fellow-countryman, Etienne Lucier—and Oregon is saved to the nation—fifty-two votes for organizing the provisional government of Oregon, and fifty votes against.
Now it will not be claimed that Colonel Joe Meek was a great man. It is not necessary to set up for him any claim to great talent or statesmanship. It was not an occasion that required that. A decision had to be snatched from doubt and indecision. Men had to be rallied to the greatest event not only of their lives, but in the life of a great national movement, and the founding of a new state. The actors in the dramatic scene could scarcely have comprehended the tremendous consequences of their acts, and of the unfolding scheme big with vast results to two great nations. But this chief actor, at the vital moment, had the inborn imagination, the bumptious dare-devil courage and dramatic talent, to seize the only point left him for effect, and make an appeal for the flag. He had heard in old Virginia, as every American boy has heard, the slogan of every battle cry—"Rally around the flag boys." Meek saw the chance; it might have been an inspiration from boyhood days; but he caught it instantly, used it most effectively; won the victory and secured organization, union and combination, and by that means enrolled his name among the savers of Oregon.
