Whitman's ride through savage lands, with sketches of Indian life/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III
THE Indian oration at the St. Louis banquet was translated by a young man present, William Walker, who was an Indian chief, but a white man, and it was first published some months later in "The Christian Advocate" in New York, with a ringing editorial from its editor, Rev. Dr. Fiske, headed, "Who will Carry the Book of Life to the Indians of Oregon?"
The effect was electrical among religious people in the East. The Methodist Foreign Missionary Society were prompt to act, and the very next year sent two able-bodied, earnest Christian ministers, Jason and Daniel Lee, with one layman to aid them. They reached their field by the long, round-about waterway, via London and the Hawaiian Islands. For many years they did effective work, far up on the Willamette River. The American Board, then under the control of Congregational and Presbyterian churches, was more cautious. It was an unheard-of proposition to come from savage life so far away from civilization, and they wanted time to investigate. The Rev. Dr. Samuel Parker of Utica, New York, became restive under the delay, believing fully in the call of the Indians, and resolved to join some trading company to the Far West and go to Oregon. In 1834 he reached the border upon the Missouri, but the fur-traders had departed. He returned home and renewed his efforts to arouse the American Board to action. He found Marcus Whitman, M. D., as much of an enthusiast in the work as he, and the Board resolved to send the two men upon a voyage of discovery in 1835, and to have them return and report upon the possibility of establishing missions in that well-nigh unknown land. So in 1835, the minister and the young physician were on the western border in time to join a company of American fur-traders, bound for Green River, in what is now northern Utah. Upon reaching this point they met some two thousand Indians, representing various tribes living within five to seven hundred miles. There were large delegations of Oregon Indians to trade their furs for articles needed. When the object of the missionaries was explained to the Indians, they received the news with such enthusiasm as to dispel every doubt from the minds of the missionaries of the wisdom of their course and the Indians' sincerity in asking for Christian teachers. Upon consultation they agreed that it was wise to make no delay in reporting to the American Board. While Dr. Parker was to continue his journey to Oregon with the Indians, Dr. Whitman was to return with the convoy, make the report, and return the next year with reinforcements to begin mission work. The Indians showed such confidence in Dr. Whitman's promise to come to them after one more snow, that they selected two of their brightest, most intelligent, and muscular boys about eighteen years to accompany him, and help him on his way the coming year. Dr. Parker, with his Indian guides, reached Oregon, over which country he traveled extensively. He organized no mission, but studied the situation fully, so as to be able to make a wise report for the future guidance of the American Board.
Finding a ship sailing next year for the Hawaiian Islands he did not wait for Whitman and his company. Dr. Parker was a scholarly man and a keen observer, and upon his return wrote a book of great value. It was a true description of Indian life and conditions, the wealth of forest and the prospective finds of coal and minerals in the hills and mountains, the magnificence of rivers, the healthfulness and mildness of the climate. The book passed through six editions, and was interesting reading, but it was of a far-away land, and induced little or no immigration at that time.
Dr. Whitman and his two Indian boys joined the fur company for escort on its return trip. While on the plains a scourge of cholera broke out, and the Doctor's skill and his untiring work to save the lives of the men, won all their hearts, and they united in giving him a cordial invitation to join them in the spring, upon their annual visit to Green River. This was gladly accepted, as such an escort was a necessity in that day. The Doctor and his two Indian aids reached Rushville, New York, late on a Saturday night in November, 1835. His return was unexpected, and his first appearance to his friends was when he marched up the aisle of the church with his Indian boys, as they sang the opening hymn. His good old mother was so astonished that she spoke right out in meeting, "If there ain't Mark Whitman!" It is easy to conceive that such an incident called out a wide interest and inquiry, which was just what the Doctor desired, enthused as he was himself in the importance of the work before him. The Doctor had taken great pains all summer to instruct his Indian boys in English, and they proved apt pupils. He put them at once in school, where they made rapid progress, and were general favorites. Never was the enthusiastic young Doctor more active than in the fall and winter months in making his preparations. The American Board had resolved to establish a mission in Oregon, and they notified him that they preferred to send married men into the missionary field. This was unexpected but welcome news to Whitman, and was in accordance with the last advice from Dr. Parker: "Bring with you a good wife." He had already in his own mind made his selection in the person of Miss Narcissa Prentice, a daughter of Judge Prentice, of Angelica, New York, but owing to the privations and perils of the journey, and the isolated life among savages, he had hesitated to ask her to make such sacrifice. One can easily imagine his happiness, when upon fully explaining all, he found her with a courage equal to his own, and an abounding enthusiasm for the prospective work. After a time the clear-headed men of the Board, doubtless guided by their clearer-headed wives, raised a point, and said, upon such an expedition, so full of care and responsibility and danger, it would not do to send a woman unless accompanied by another of her sex. Here was a new dilemma. Time was passing, and candidates for such perils were not plentiful. The day of the wedding was postponed, and Whitman endeavored to meet the requirements. He finally heard of 
The wedding day was again fixed. In this case there was more than usual interest in the bride, for her friends all knew of her destination. The late Mrs. H. P. Jackson, of Oberlin, Ohio, sister of the bride, has told me in letters, of the events of the pleasant occasion. The two Indian boys, dressed in their best, were guests of honor. Dr. Whitman introduced them to his wife, and says Mrs. Jackson, "When he told them she would go with them to their far-away home in Oregon, and teach them, they did not try to conceal their delight."
Narcissa Prentice was the eldest daughter of Judge Prentice, an influential, earnest Christian man, then residing in Angelica, New York. The daughter was well educated, loved for her womanly qualities and famed in all the country around for the sweetness of her voice. She was the leader of the church choir of the village, and the people crowded the building the evening before their departure to bid the little party a good by and give them a blessing. After a good social time, the minister, the Rev. Dr. Hull, called the meeting to order, and gave out the old familiar hymn:
"Yes, my native land, I love thee,
All thy scenes I love them well;
Friends, connections, happy country,
Can I bid you all farewell?" Etc.
The late Martha J. Lamb, editor of the "Magazine of American History," who wrote the report of the farewell gathering, says:
"The great audience joined in singing the opening stanzas, but soon they began to drop out by ones and scores, and sobs were heard all over the audience. The last stanza was sung by one voice alone in a clear, sweet soprano, and not a faulty note; it was the voice of Narcissa Whitman."
It was the last time her old friends heard the sweet voice, for daylight found them braving the winter storm on their way to Oregon.
The late Eli G. Coe, of Illinois, then a young man, drove them in his sleigh to the mountains, en route to Pittsburg, where they were to take boat for St. Louis. He has given me a delightful sketch of the journey, upon which he marks Whitman "The Silent Man, ever thoughtful of all his guests," and Mrs. Whitman, "The lovely little woman who was the life of the company, who often dispelled gloom, and made all forget the winter cold, by a song of cheer."
Their route was from Pittsburg down the Ohio River to the Mississippi up to St. Louis, thence up the Missouri River to near where Fort Leavenworth now stands. The journey had no mishaps until they reached "The Big Muddy," as the Missouri has long been called. Those who navigated it half and three-quarters of a century ago, will never forget the journey. It was sand bars on sand bars, forever shifting with each freshet, and snags galore! The engineer stood constantly at his lever, to answer the bell, a leadsman stood in the bow casting a lead and calling in loud, singsong the depth of water, until suddenly, like an electric shock, came the sharp, "five feet scant," and the bell rang, and the wheels reversed with a suddenness that aroused every one, until he got used to it. They were hung on snags, "hard aground" on sand bars, and as a consequence were four or five days behind the time at Leavenworth.
The reader will recollect that the fur-traders had given Dr. Whitman a cordial invitation to join them in the spring, and he was impatient but helpless in the delay. To the great discomfiture of the missionaries upon reaching the landing, they learned that the fur company had left four days before. What added to Whitman's trouble was, that at St. Louis he had been told he could get all the provisions he lacked at the fort, and upon inquiry, found nearly everything sold, and that he would have to start in poorly equipped with provisions, without a hope of being able to add to his stock, except by chance and courtesy of the traders.
This was the first great test of the courage of Dr. Whitman. Dr. Spalding was outspoken, "We must turn back and never think of such madness as to brave a journey among savages without an escort." Whitman said little, but rapidly made his preparation, simply declaring, "We will go on." Mrs. Spalding nobly seconded Whitman, and said, "I have started for Oregon, and to Oregon I will go or leave my body upon the plains." Mrs. Whitman was alike cheerful. So soon as harness could be adjusted, the loads packed, and the cattle rounded up, the man of courage gave the order, and the little train began to move through the deep mud of the Missouri River bottoms. We learned after that the fur company waited one day over the stipulated time. But they had in some way learned at St. Louis that the Doctor was going to bring with him some American women for the journey, something never heard of before, and as they were expecting to have to fight their way at times, they did not care for such encumbrances, anxious as they were to have the services of the good Doctor. Thus it was a gloomy start for the brave little company. Dr. Whitman had made ample preparation for the comfort of the women in a spring-wagon, "the brides' wagon," fitted up with various little comforts and a protection in every storm. But it is doubtful whether two cultivated American brides before, or since, ever made so memorable a wedding journey. The party consisted of the two brides and their husbands, Dr. W. H. Gray, two teamsters, and the two Indian boys. We may add that somewhere in the Sioux country the boys picked up three other Nez Perces friends; one of them, Samuel, was added permanently to the company. Mrs. Whitman writes, "When the boys get together they make a great chattering."
They were in an Indian country from the first day's start, and met great numbers of savages, out on their hunts, many moving to new camps, and some on the war-path. At no time were the missionaries molested, but on the contrary, were treated with great courtesy, and as Mrs. Whitman wrote, "They seemed greatly surprised to see white women in the party." The Indian boys were soon in their element, and of inestimable value; they could swim the rivers like ducks, and took all the care of the loose stock, and were wise in the ways of plains' life. They could explain to any suspicious Indians the coming of "the great medicine men" they were taking to their people, and in a hundred ways were helpers to the little company. Mrs. Whitman, from the outset, rode on horseback with her husband, only occasionally resting in the wagon, and for company to Mrs. Spalding, who was yet an invalid.
We make no pretense of writing a continued narrative of the journey, but just enough to catch its spirit. We have seen in it a dreary and discouraged start, and none but a hero with heroines to encourage him would have entered upon it. They had now been a whole month on the way making forced marches, the trail of the fur-traders getting fresher every day, until finally hearing they were in camp on Loupe Fork, the wagons pushed on and joined them. The Doctor and Mrs. Whitman were behind helping to hurry forward the loose stock. Finally, late at night, the Indian boys begged the Doctor and his wife to ride on to camp and leave them to drive the stock in at daylight. But they refused to leave them. Picketing their horses out to graze, then with their saddles for pillows, they lay upon the warm ground looking up at the stars and slept. At daylight they rode into camp and were courteously received and praised as "a plucky set."
The two American women, who had so alarmed the old plainsmen as a burden and an encumbrance, by their tact and kindness soon won them as friends, and nothing was left undone that the rough old fellows could do for their comfort. They had succeeded so admirably in passing safely for a month alone through the Indian country, that they began to have confidence in themselves. But they learned that they had not yet reached the point of real danger, and were glad to be protected by such a stalwart troop. The Indians had a great respect for these pioneer traders, who were veterans of the plains and splendidly armed. The greatest anxiety was for the safety of their stock at night, when picketed out to graze. The Indians especially coveted the oxen and cows, which required careful guarding to prevent stampeding. Cattle when frightened at night lose all sense, breaking away and running as long as they can stand, becoming easy prey for the savages, while horses and mules almost invariably break for the tents and wagons, and the company of men.
Camp at night is always made by driving the wagons in a circle, with tents pitched inside. The wagons make a protection from an enemy, and all their contents are in easy reach.
The year 1836 was a peaceable year among the Indians, and the buffalo and other game was so plentiful as to make small temptation for Indian depredation upon the white man's stock during this portion of the journey, but we may add they cast longing eyes at all times upon every good horse the white man rode.
In the Buffalo Country
The company had now reached the buffalo country, and soon began to see great herds containing thousands, and even tens of thousands. Every spring the buffalo journeyed northward to the valleys and plains to feed on the rich grasses. It is a feast occasion, one of the greatest the Indian enjoys. Tribes travel four and five hundred miles from their homes to meet the buffalo, and lay in a supply of dried meat, calf skins, and robes, and never forgetting to feast for a month while laying up winter stores. It is a novel and exhilarating sight to view the annual Indian migration to meet these noble wild cattle of the plains—the whole tribe, old and young, dogs and loose horses, with all their movable worldly goods brought with them packed on poles drawn by ponies. They settle down in the little valleys near springs, or along running waters, and arrange for work in advance with as much system as the farmer in the spring plows and sows. The buffalo country has generally, by mutual consent, been regarded as "peace grounds," but the desire for revenge has many times made it the scene of bloody contests and massacres. Hunting buffalo in those days, either by the Indians or white men, was not sport, but butchery. They were in such immense herds that, when running from their enemies, those in the rear could not get out of the way, and were an easy prey to any kind of weapon of death. The buffalo bull is the most gallant and noble among animals. On the march he leads, brings up the rear, and marches on the flanks, while all the cows and calves are kept in the center of the herd and protected from the bands of wolves, mountain-lions, and bears which linger around ready to devour the straying members of the herd. By a wonderful provision of nature, the buffalo calves are practically all of the same age, so that a herd in the long summer outing is not much detained upon its way, for the little one trots gayly beside its mother in a few hours. But while the little fellows are thus comparatively helpless, those who have witnessed the scene, bear testimony to the courage of the great, strong-necked, sharp-horned bulls who will attack a grizzly or a whole pack of wolves, or a mountain-lion regardless of his own danger. At such times he is even at night a sleepless, faithful picket ever on duty. He walks backward and forward along his picketed line like a trained soldier, and when the ground is wet, he treads a deep path in the sod, and the picket line of a sleeping herd can easily be traced long afterward, and often is referred to as "Indian trails." One would suppose that such nobility would command respect. But it never did. Even such explorers and writers as Parkman and his men never seem to have enjoyed the day unless, in addition to the calves they killed for food, they were able to tell of the slaughter of many "savage old bulls." At the time of which I write buffalo were seen by the million. Fourteen years later, when the writer visited the same region, they could be seen in single herds covering a thousand acres. When frightened and running, they were turned from their course with the greatest difficulty.
A train on the trail they were crossing was only safe in halting and allowing it to pass. The pressure from the rear was so great that the front could not halt. Some of the old plainsmen told of "a tenderfoot's" experience, who was going to have some "rare sport, and his pick of an entire bunch." He observed a large herd quietly grazing and saw by making a detour, up a dry ravine, where he would be hidden from view, he could get immediately in their front. He succeeded, and tying his mule behind him, concealed himself in the edge of some bushes upon the bank of the creek. He did not have long to wait, something in the rear frightened the herd and it began to come directly toward him. As soon as in reach, he began to fire and kill. It would break the ranks for an instant only, and he at once saw death impending, as there was not a tree large enough to climb. He had shot until his gun was hot, but all in vain. Just then his old mule tied in the bushes opened up his musical "honk, honk," such as only a thoroughly frightened mule can utter, and the whole herd opened right and left, and the man was saved.
Some have expressed a wonder that these noble animals, in such myriads, should so soon have disappeared. It is easily seen, in the fact of the improved firearms used by the Indians, and that they killed, for food, skins for clothing, and robes for the market, only the cows and calves. They selected only the choice cuts of the meat, and left the great bodies for the wolves and other varments. They could tan only the skins of cows and calves for clothing and for tepee covers. It was a sickening sight to pass over the place of slaughter, and thus see hundreds of bodies, with only tongues and choice cuts and skins taken. American hunters were equally sacrificial. Half a century later the writer rode over the same land and saw Indians, all across the region, with carts and pack ponies gathering up bones of the buffalo. Passing stations along the Great Northern and Northern Pacific railroads, one passes ricks of bones half a mile long on each side, and as high as the tops of the cars, waiting for shipment East as fertilizers, and horn handles for knives and other uses in the arts. Only two living wild herds of buffalo are now reported, one small one in Texas, and one carefully protected by the government in Yellowstone Park. It would have been wise and humane had they been protected sooner by the strong arm of the law.
But it was the great good fortune to our missionaries to meet the buffalo herds. They started out poorly provided, and would soon have been in distress, for they had added three Nez Perces Indian boys to their company, and the pure air and exercise upon the plains provokes great appetites. It was equally good for the fur-traders, who had calculated upon the event. So the whole train stopped and began to kill and "jerk" meat. The Indian boys were in their element and veterans in the business, and laid in bountiful supplies. While it is fresh and juicy few animals furnish more nutritious food. A buffalo porterhouse steak, cooked over coals at the end of a forked stick, when the thermometer of appetite is up to "one hundred degrees in the shade," is a royal feast to be remembered. If however kept up long enough, the good old-fashioned pig with lean and fat strips on his ribs, is quite a relief. But the dried meat was the staple food of the little company from that time on. Mrs. Whitman cheerfully and jokingly writes in her diary, "We have dried buffalo meat and tea for breakfast, and tea and jerked buffalo for supper, but the Doctor has a different way of cooking each piece to give variety to the entertainment."
Mrs. Whitman kept carefully a daily diary of events of travel, which was luckily preserved, and passed into the hands of her sister, Mrs. Jackson, of Oberlin, Ohio, which I have been permitted to read and from which have copious selections in my larger work, "How Marcus Whitman Saved Oregon," after which it was passed on to the Whitman College Library, where it is preserved as a precious treasure. The notable feature of this diary is its self-sacrificing spirit and good cheer. The scorching sun, the clouds of alkaline dust that stung the eyes and throat, the impure water they were compelled to use, the myriads of mosquitoes and buffalo gnats, all of which the author so well remembers as the dreariest things encountered in a long life, did not daunt the spirit of this delicate little woman. Not a word of complaint can be found in that daily diary, which was never written for the public eye, or for effect. The nearest to it was once, after being without flour or bread for weeks, she writes, "O for a few crusts of mother's bread; girls, don't waste the bread in the old home!" Men and women are all human, and I have no desire to picture my characters as perfect beings. They doubtless had their faults, but none who have not experienced some of the difficulties of that pioneer band, who, tired and worn with travel, sought sleep while hungry (after shaking out their blankets to be sure no snakes were within them), can censure. I repeat, it takes such experience to fully appreciate the heroism and unselfishness of such consecrated lives.
The old pioneers were wise geographers and surveyors. There were two things necessary for life upon the plains, viz., water and grass. They studied their maps and saw the Platte, North and South Forks, reaching northward and westward. So they made their trails along the banks, cutting off bends, avoiding impossible sloughs and hills, but keeping an eye upon the river in the distance, and ever working nearer to it when a detour had been made. The two Plattes thus furnish supplies for from five to six hundred miles. Travellers struck across the divide for the Sweetwater and its tributaries, until the foot of the Rockies is reached.
As the eyes of our travelers had rested for a month upon the snow-covered peaks of the great stony mountains, one can imagine it was a day of rejoicing when they began the ascent. The trail up "the South Pass" was so easy a grade that the horses and cattle scarcely felt the strain. One looking at it would surmise that this break in the great mountain was not an accident, but it was left for a great highway between the oceans, to make one family, and a United Nation. Striking mountains, after the long dreary summer upon the alkaline plains, hard as mountain-climbing is, was yet a change to be appreciated. I recollect distinctly, it turned our little company of sturdy men (a few years later) into rollicking boys who whooped and sang to get the echoes, and rolled great stones, until their arms ached, crushing down the mountain-side.
A Notable Celebration
Here on the top of the Rockies, or just beyond the summit, is a spring appropriately named "The Pacific Spring," for its pure, ice-cold water bubbles up and in a silvery stream winds its way westward. It is a beauty spot as the author well remembers. A little valley upon the mountains, covered with grass and wild flowers, with grand views of valleys and mountains reaching farther away than the eye can follow. Here the missionaries halted and allowed the fur-traders to pass on. It was the Fourth Day of July, a day ever memorable in the mind of every patriotic American. True they were but missionaries, and far from home and friends, but they were home-lovers and patriots. So spreading their blankets upon the bunch grass, they brought out the American flag, unfurled it, and with prayer and song dedicated the fair land thence to the Pacific, to God and the Union. It was a prayer and song which after history proved a prophecy; and one in which the actors in this little celebration took so brave a part as to deserve their names enrolled among the nation's royal benefactors. God rules the world, and all history shows that he oftenest leaves the great and strong, and takes the weak and humble to accomplish his grand purposes. Eternity will reveal whether that dedication was one of the agencies which brought the after grand results. Certain it was, that it was the agency of Dr. Whitman and his heroism in carrying out that vow years after, and stirred up a spirit never before experienced, and aroused the nation to action.
No stage could have been grander for such a celebration. Behind were the long stretches of the great plains, and still beyond the civilization of the continent, the hope of the Christian world; while before was the wilderness in all its wildness, reaching to the Pacific.
The Rockies towered about them, glittering in the sunshine! The craggy peaks of the Wind River mountains loomed up in the north, with the Coast Range visible, like floating clouds in the far west. The luxurious grass, the towering pines, and flowers that perfumed the air, made the spot beautiful, while the history of the event is a fit theme for a grand national epic or painting. There have been many historic celebrations of the nation's birth, some upon battle-fields where victory perched upon the "the banner of beauty and glory," but none more impressive than when upon that mountain top, in 1836, Mrs. Whitman's musical voice echoed from the rocks and trees,
"The star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave."
They had now entered upon the scenic stage of their journey, and it was a delightful change from the dead levels of the plains. They luxuriated in the pure ice-cold water, and magnificent scenery, but it was well for them that they knew none of the weary climbs ahead. We will not pause to note events from thence to Green River.
There they met with exciting and interesting savage life in all its realities. They found at "the rendezvous" two thousand Indians in camp, waiting for the coming of the traders. A thousand or more were from the Oregon country, and among them friends and relatives of the Indian boys, who had come the long distance to meet and welcome them, as well as to trade. They gave the boys a royal greeting, as they regarded them as heroes and great travelers. They were proud of their accomplishments in speaking like the "Bostons," and when the missionaries vouched for their earnest, faithful services, the Indians were proud of their boys. Here they stayed for nearly two weeks waiting for the completion of the trading. The Indians regarded the missionaries as their guests, and taxed themselves to the utmost to amuse them by wild games and feats of horsemanship and mimic battles. They scoured the hills and woods for game, brought fish from the river, and seemed to think even that not doing enough. They at all times treated "the white squaws" with the greatest courtesy. Mrs. Whitman marks this in her diary. She says:
"One of the chiefs brought his wife to our tent, and taking off his cap and bowing gracefully, introduced her as politely as any civilized man. Such encourages me to believe that much can be done for these poor people, and I long to be at work."