The Californian/Volume 2/How Dr. Whitman Saved Oregon
HOW DR. WHITMAN SAVED OREGON.
The name of Dr. Marcus Whitman is not found in the American Cyclopaedia, strange to say, and yet it is one that should be inscribed upon the roll of the nation's patriots. It has made its mark in history, and saved the United States a rich empire on the North Pacific that was on the verge of being lost to us from want of knowledge and interest on the part of those in authority at Washington. Only for his patriotic efforts and personal sacrifices, the Ashburton treaty would most likely have disposed of the great region of the Columbia as of trifling importance, and, knowing his services and recognizing his patriotic devotion, his name will be ever held in tender regard by the people and States of the great Columbian valley.
I remember well, a third of a century ago, reading of the "Whitman massacre," not thinking that shortly after my own life would be located on the far western shore, and the history of Whitman be a household word with me and mine. But so it is; and while my pen often indites sketches of the history of the Western Coast, there is no theme it can find more interesting than to trace the causes of early settlement, and the careers of those adventurous souls who were first in threading the pathless wilds of the middle continent, and were sometimes martyrs to both faith and patriotism. The romance of history lies in these opening chapters that offer views of the future, where man and nature are in wildness, and civilization itself comes in half savage garb to conquer barbarism.
It may be interesting to cultured minds to look back through almost half a century, and see what changes time and man have wrought on the North Pacific—to glance down the vistas, from the era of savagery to the present time, and study the romance of history, as well as the grand results of civilization. There is no romance to compare with the adventures, and often with the sorrows, of those who have led the march of empire westward, and that it flowed hither as it did in 1843 was due chiefly to Dr. Marcus Whitman; and thenceforward it has swept, as in a resistless tide, that to-day makes the Columbian region great in its present and imperial in the promise of its future.
Half a century ago this vast region was in its aboriginal condition, occupied by native tribes and undisturbed by the hand of man, except that the Hudson's Bay Company had its stations and its hunters, agents, and trappers everywhere, doing their best to make money out of traffic with the natives, and carefully avoiding interference with their life and habits. Their spring brigade from Red River worked its way across the mountains, to come sailing down the Columbia in fleets of bateaux manned by Canadian voyageurs, whose advent was accompanied by semi-barbaric features, and constituted the grand event of the year. Once or twice a year, some trading vessel belonging to the Company came around the world by way of the Sandwich Islands, entered the Columbia, and battled its way against the currents to Vancouver.
About this time some Indians of the Flathead tribe, whose home was on the headwaters of the Columbia (in north-western Montana, whence it makes a grand circuit northward and west ward to avoid the Bitter Root Mountains, bending southward in a wide detour to reach the confluence with Snake River), heard from some wandering trapper and hunter a story of the Christian's belief in God, and, impelled by their desire for information, four of the tribe made their way, in 1832, eastward to St. Louis. There they met Catlin, the celebrated naturalist and artist, and through him the religious world was made aware of the spiritual famine of the far western tribes, and it resulted in sending missions to Oregon by both the Methodist and Presbyterian Churches.
The American Board organized an expedition in 1835 to prospect Oregon, and locate a mission, if desirable. Of this expedition was Dr. Marcus Whitman, a physician, described as a person of easy-going ways, somewhat uncertain in forming opinions, but steadfast in them when formed—bold in carrying out his plans when matured, either in business of the mission or in his medical practice, and in the latter generally successful. He and Rev. Mr. Parker made their way, on this errand, to the great American rendezvous, on Green River, this side of the Rocky Mountains. There they met with a party of Nez Perces, who offered to pilot them to the Columbia River. They then manifested the friendliness that has always characterized the majority of the tribe, and offered inducements for the establishment of a mission among them. This resulted in Mr. Parker going on to survey the land and look for a suitable location, while Dr. Whitman retraced his steps to make favor able report to the Home Board.
In 1836, Dr. Marcus Whitman and Rev. H. H. Spaulding, and their wives, made an adventurous journey across the continent with wagons as far as Boise, reaching the Columbia, and receiving assistance from the Indians to build a station on the Walla Walla River, where Dr. Whitman settled as missionary to the Cayuses and Umatillas, while Mr. Spaulding went eastward to make his home with the Nez Perces.
The missionaries and their wives went at first down the Columbia, and were handsomely received and entertained by Dr. McLoughlin, Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, who, considering the circumstances and the jealously felt concerning American influence, was liberal in offering hospitality and supplies. W. H. Gray came with the company as financial agent, and has written a history of Oregon that is valuable, as it contains- many important details, and I rely much on it for facts and dates. In his book he gives a charmingly wild and picturesque view of the great American rendezvous at Green River, and, as this aims to be a panoramic sketch, we must not overlook this vision, characteristic of the plains at that early time.
The missionaries traveled with a caravan, and word had gone on ahead concerning them; and two days before they reached the rendez-vous they were met by a party of Indians and White Men, who rode out to give them greeting, and a wild, barbaric greeting it was, savage yells and a fusillade that sent rifle bullets scream ing above their heads, and a charge into camp that would have terrified them, only some of the party understood and explained the rude etiquette of the desert to the rest.
That night they camped on the summit of the continent, Mr. Gray says, a high land about thirty miles south of Wind River Mountain, from which vicinity waters flow by the channels of the Columbia, Colorado, Missouri, and Saskatchawan to the four quarters of the continent. That is alone a picture that stamps itself upon the memory with great force and vividness.
Crossing the mountains, they wended their way down the canons to the beautiful valley of Green River, where Bridger's trading fort was long located, a charming oasis set in this wilderness of desert plains and inhospitable ranges, verdant and blooming, and just then alive with the presence of fifteen hundred Indians, traders, trappers, and representatives of every kind of civilization. It happened that the nomadic tribes were just then at peace, and they had met here as the neutral ground of that wide, wild region. Here were log huts or houses for traders, there rude shelters for hunters, there were tents of travelers, like our missionaries and their wives, and hither had also wandered an English baronet, who found it convenient to absent himself from civilization and its attend ant extravagance while his estate was being nursed back to a paying basis. Here were hunters, trappers, and traders, with their Indian wives; men who had strayed off from civilization, and were astonished to be brought face to face, so many thousand miles from home, with men and women of culture, who were carrying the older civilization across the continent. Here were the camps, store, and equipments of the American Fur Company, and beyond them, for six miles up the stream, were the camp-fires and lodges of Bannacks, Nez Perces, and Flatheads, the homes of the last named a month's journey to the northward. Everything indicated that it was an armed truce; every tribe and company maintained strict guard, and was prepared at any moment to arm in self-defense. The different tribes united to give the strangers a view of savage display by turning out in all their paint and feathers, armed with all sorts of weapons, and ornamented with every kind of barbarous finery, mounted on their horses, marching in procession five hundred strong, and indulging in the whoops and yells that suit ed the wilderness. Such was the wild scene our travelers came upon as they journeyed to ward the setting sun, and we may believe that they wondered to find themselves so far from all their kind, and so removed from all culture and social arts.
But we must pass over in haste the final settlement of the missionaries, the jealousy of the Catholic priesthood, the generous conduct of Governor Ogden and Dr. McLoughlin, of the Hudson's Bay Company—the latter of whom especially deserves well of all Americans, for the kindness shown the early comers; that, too, when reproached by the Company for favors shown them, and held responsible therefor. We have to do with a period six years later, during which time the missions appeared to do much good, and conferred great benefit on the Indians.
It was in the fall of 1842 that rumors reached Whitman that the Columbia River region was about to be abandoned to Great Britain. Such was the boast of the Catholic priests, and such the cautious acknowledgment of the officers of the Hudson's Bay Company, and such was the actual fact. Whitman was at his mission of Wailatpu, near the present site of Walla Walla. He held in high esteem the country we now occupy, though he had no adequate conception of its worth; he did not know the value of the land around him, where to-day the waving wheat fields and exuberant crops speak of the richest fertility; but he knew that this wide domain was priceless in its value to coming generations. All the patriotism in his nature was stirred at the thought that the ignorance of the Government might lead to its abandonment, and he and others find themselves residents on foreign soil. It was winter, but men of his class care nothing for seasons; snow covered the middle continent, but he was determined to save the Pacific north-west to his country, and there fore adventured this midwinter journey across a frozen world, daring all that Nature could do to bar the. way, desperate in his determination that the Oregon should flow toward the sea only past shores protected by his country's flag. That was the ruling motive, and the man who planned and executed this expedition, and clutched this grand region, by so doing, from the grasp of Britain, deserves an honorable name in that connection as long as his country has a history.
Dr. Whitman's companion on this terrible winter journey was General A. L. Lovejoy, one of the oldest residents of Oregon, who furnishes Mr. Gray an account of this memorable journey. He says: "I often had conversations with the doctor, touching the prospects of this coast. He was alive to its interests, and manifested a warm desire to have this country properly rep resented at Washington, and, after some arrangements, we left Wailatpu October 3, 1842 overland for the Eastern States. We reached Fort Hall in eleven days, made some purchases, took a guide, and left for Fort Wintee, changing from a direct route to one more southern, through the Spanish country, via Taos and Santa Fe" On their way to Wintee they met terribly severe weather, and heavy snows retarded progress. Thence they proceeded to the waters of Grand River, in Spanish territory, procured supplies, and took a guide for Taos, New Mexico, and, vainly baffling with terrific snow storms on table lands, found refuge in a deep ravine. After vain efforts to proceed, Whitman returned, and procured a better guide, who knew the country, when they fought their way, at a snail's pace, to Grand River. This stream was frozen on each side, had a rapid current, and was crossed by leading their animals to the brink of the ice, pushing them into the stream, and leaping in after them. Battling across to the farther side, they scrambled upon the ice, dragging the animals out as they could; after which perilous feat their frozen garments and half frozen limbs were thawed and warmed by a comfortable fire. It was thus they worked their way southward and east ward through New Mexico, to the headwaters of the Arkansas River, at Bent's Fort, where they arrived in January, 1843. Great physical strength and iron constitutions carried them through it all.
Tyler was President and Webster was Secretary of State. The Ashburton treaty was in progress, and not much interest was felt in the north-western boundary. Little was known of hat distant region, and from English sources the assurances were positively made that the country was comparatively worthless, more valuable for hunting and trapping than for all civilized uses. This was the condition of affairs when Whitman reached the capital. It was all but conceded that privileges on the north-east coast, in respect to fisheries, should offset the surrender of the Columbia River region to Great Britain. Governor Simpson, of the Hudson's Bay Company, had reached Washington, had interviewed Webster, and managed to leave this impression on his mind. There was no living man to plead for Oregon and tell the truth fearlessly, until, "in the dead of winter, an awkward, tall, spare-visaged, vigorous, offhand sort of a man appeared at the Department in his mountain traveling garb, consisting of a dark-colored blanket coat and buckskin pants, showing that to keep himself from freezing he had been compelled to lie down close to his camp-fire while in the mountains, and on his way to Washington he had not stopped for a moment, but pushed on with a vigor and energy peculiarly his own." This man had been tauntingly told that it was impossible for his Government to be informed so as to prevent the surrender of Oregon, but he had surmounted impossibilities and was there in person to make known the facts.
Entirely unmindful of his rude garb and weather-beaten looks, Whitman sought an interview with the Secretary of State, gave his object, and stated the plans and purposes of the British Government. He had hardly made his object known when Webster interrupted him: "But, doctor, you are too late; we have just about traded Oregon off for a cod fishery." His first interview failed to make any strong impression. Webster had made up his mind that there was actual value in the fisheries, while he knew nothing about the Columbia River region, and at best there never had been any benefit apparent from the claim to ownership. But Whitman had not crossed a continent through winter snow and ice to be balked in a single interview. He sought the presence of the President, and, wild man as he appeared, dressed in blanket coat and skins, he interested John Tyler in his cause, and procured a hearing for himself and for Oregon. It is true that John Tyler is considered the least among the Presidents, and his name is not fragrant with great and good deeds, but we owe him this much consideration—to recognize that only for his influence the Ashburton treaty would have gone as already planned, and the national domain have lost the great wealth and glory of the galaxy of States to be formed from the Pacific north-west.
Only for the perils encountered by Dr. Marcus Whitman the result would have been entirely different; the British flag would still wave over Fort Vancouver, and over many a broad league of land besides that now shelters under the American flag. We do not need to particularize his efforts to win this great success; but he did win, and we reap the benefits as a nation to-day. After his cause was won he presented himself to the American Board, to be censured for leaving his station and causing such expense; but, since then, the successors in that Board claim the glory of his act and sanction the deed. He sold his little property and went westward, preaching on the frontiers the nature of the far distant west, and enlisting about eight hundred and fifty sturdy frontiersmen and their families to accept his pilotage across the continent of wildernesses, to make homes on the western shore. That was the commencement of emigration in force to Oregon. Thousands followed where they led, and Dr. Whitman perhaps at last fell a victim to his patriotism, for a later emigration carried disease into the country, that spread among the Indians, and so poisoned their minds that, with their native superstition, they one day massacred his family, to find that they had thus destroyed their bright est hopes and murdered their steadfast friend. This happened after eleven years of devotion to his work and their interests, and to-day we hear occasionally that among early pioneers contribution is being made to raise to his memory a monument on the spot where he lived, labored, and died. It grows so slowly that we may doubt if it will ever suffice to record the acts that grace his memory.
Over the region where Whitman wandered, searching for a fertile location, and half doubtful if any spot would answer, stretch the most fruitful grain fields of the continent. Every acre of upland and bottom is fertile, and railroads are pushing their way there to relieve the toiling river steamers of work they cannot do. The years have been revealing the resources of this grand region slowly and reluctantly, but they have not fully done their work of revelation yet, for the ranges that look down on Walla Walla blossom with precious ores, the hills near by are lined with coal deposits, and, far and near, the valleys and the uplands invite coming population and offer untold wealth. The herder retires before the agriculturist; but flocks upon a thousand hills respond to the labor of the farmer, to yield millions. The work of development has just commenced. It is to be regretted that Dr. Whitman could not have lived to see this day, and receive from a grateful country the plaudits he so well earned as a patriotic American. It is mournful to remember his fate; but it is better to have so labored and accomplished, even if to meet so terrible a death, than to have expended a lifetime among the world's older civilization, toiling in monotonous ways of peace and profit, without having done any deed to rival the heroes of all time or left any remembrance of great endeavor.
Mr. Gray, who was with Whitman in 1836, tells how they surmounted every obstacle, and stood at last upon the western acclivity of the Blue Mountains. There they overlooked the great region of the Columbia, spread beneath and before them, and took in the grand coup d'oeil of hills and uplands, valleys and distant mountains, including the sierras of the Cascade Range, that were lifted in the west, crowned with panoplied snows of Hood, Adams, Saint Helen's, and Rainier—an unsurpassed and glorious view; but the pioneer missionary of 1836 could not dream that the settler of 1880 would find all modern conveniences and civilized usages at command, and possess the means, by telegraph, to communicate with the uttermost parts of the earth.