"And those who came your heart to cheer?"
"Were young wives, with their husbands bound
To Oregon, on a frontier
Beyond our West, and only found
By months of toilsome travel, spent
In cold and heat, in rain and sun,
By day on horse, by night in tent,
A journey each day new begun—
For they must keep fast by the train
Escorting them across the plain."
"The train?" "Ah, yes. St. Louis, then,
Was but a post on the frontier;
Recruiting camp for mountain men;
French in its aspect, quaint and queer,
Of long, low houses, white and neat,
With corridors on every side;
The people sitting in the street,
Beneath the shadows cool and wide,
While hunters, in half Indian dress,
Made picturesque the quietness:
"A traders' depot and exchange,
Where fleets of bateaux, from Orleans,
Brought hunting outfits, and the strange,
Barbaric gauds in which the queens
Of mountain wigwams took delight:
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