USA > Oregon > Pioneer days of Oregon history, Vol. II > Part 10
Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25
CHAPTER XLVIII
ON THE PLAINS IN 1844
IN early days the author lived for years neighbor to Mrs. Catherine S. Pringle, one of the survivors of the Whitman massacre. When he was writing the story of "Pioneer Days," in 1886, he remembered this and secured from her the accounts that follow, regarding the pains and perils of crossing the plains in 1844 ; the arrival at Whitman station, where she was an adopted daughter, and the fearful story of the massacre. This was all so pleasantly and graphically told that no excuse is needed for incorporating it in a work that strives to picture the early time and be a narrative of its striking events. I cannot hope to tell it better than this talented lady has done.
Mrs. C. S. Pringle's journal says :
My father was one of the restless ones who are not content to remain in one place long at a time. Late in the fall of 1838 we emi- grated from Ohio to Missouri. Our first halting place was on Green River, but the next year we took a farm in Platte County. He engaged in farming and blacksmithing, and had a wide reputation for ingenuity. Anything they needed, made or mended, sought his shop. In 1843, Dr. Whitman came to Missouri. The healthful climate induced my mother to favor moving to Oregon. Immigration was the theme all winter, and we decided to start for Oregon. Late in 1843 father sold his property and moved near St. Joseph, and in April, 1844, we started across the plains. The first encampments were a great pleasure to us children. We were five girls and two boys, ranging from the girl baby to be born on the way to the oldest boy, hardly old enough to be any help.
504
Pioneer Days of Oregon History
STARTING ON THE PLAINS
We waited several days at the Missouri River. Many friends came that far to see the emigrants start on their long journey, and there was much sadness at the parting, and a sorrowful company crossed the Missouri that bright spring morning. The motion of the wagon made us all sick, and it was weeks before we got used to the seasick motion. Rain came down and required us to tie down the wagon covers, and so increased our sickness by confining the air we breathed.
Our cattle recrossed in the night and went back to their winter quarters. This caused delay in recovering them and a weary, forced march to rejoin the train. This was divided into companies, and we were in that commanded by William Shaw. Soon after starting Indians raided our camp one night and drove off a number of cattle. They were pursued, but never recovered.
Soon everything went smooth and our train made steady headway. The weather was fine and we enjoyed the journey pleasantly. There were several musical instruments among the emigrants, and these sounded clearly on the evening air when camp was made and merry talk and laughter resounded from almost every camp-fire.
INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL
We had one wagon, two steady yoke of old cattle, and several of young and not well-broken ones. Father was no ox driver, and had trouble with these until one day he called on Captain Shaw for assistance. It was furnished by the good captain pelting the refrac- tory steers with stones until they were glad to come to terms.
Reaching the buffalo country, our father would get some one to drive his team and start on the hunt, for he was enthusiastic in his love of such sport. He not only killed the great bison, but often brought home on his shoulder the timid antelope that had fallen at his unerring aim, and that are not often shot by ordinary marksmen. Soon after crossing South Platte the unwieldy oxen ran on a bank and overturned the wagon, greatly injuring our mother. She lay long insensible in the tent put up for the occasion.
August 1st we nooned in a beautiful grove on the north side of the Platte. We had by this time got used to climbing in and out of the wagon when in motion. When performing this feat that afternoon
505
On the Plains in 1844
my dress caught on an axle helve and I was thrown under the wagon wheel, which passed over and badly crushed my limb before father could stop the team. He picked me up and saw the extent of the injury when the injured limb hung dangling in the air.
THE FATHER DYING ON THE PLAINS
In a broken voice he exclaimed: "My dear child, your leg is broken all to pieces!" The news soon spread along the train and a halt was called. A surgeon was found and the limb set; then we pushed on the same night to Laramie, where we arrived soon after dark. This accident confined me to the wagon the remainder of the long journey.
After Laramie we entered the great American desert, which was hard on the teams. Sickness became common. Father and the boys were all sick, and we were dependent for a driver on the Dutch doctor who set my leg. He offered his services and was employed, but though an excellent surgeon, he knew little about driving oxen. Some of them often had to rise from their sick beds to wade streams and get the oxen safely across. One day four buffalo ran between our wagon and the one behind. Though feeble, father seized his gun and gave chase to them. This imprudent act prostrated him again, and it soon became apparent that his days were numbered. He was fully conscious of the fact, but could not be reconciled to the thought of leaving his large and helpless family in such precarious circumstances. The evening before his death we crossed Green River and camped on the bank. Looking where I lay helpless, he said: "Poor child! What will become of you?" Captain Shaw found him weeping bit- terly. He said his last hour had come, and his heart was filled with anguish for his family. His wife was ill, the children small, and one likely to be a cripple. They had no relatives near, and a long journey lay before them. In piteous tones he begged the Captain to take charge of them and see them through. This he stoutly promised. Father was buried the next day on the banks of Green River. His coffin was made of two troughs dug out of the body of a tree, but next year emigrants found his bleaching bones, as the Indians had disinterred the remains.
We hired a young man to drive, as mother was afraid to trust the doctor, but the kind-hearted German would not leave her, and de- clared his intention to see her safe in the Willamette. At Fort Bridger the stream was full of fish, and we made nets of wagon sheets
506
Pioneer Days of Oregon History
to catch them. That evening the new driver told mother he would hunt for game if she would let him use the gun. He took it, and we never saw him again. He made for the train in advance, where he had a sweetheart. We found the gun waiting our arrival at Whitman's. Then we got along as best we could with the doctor's help.
Mother planned to get to Whitman's and winter there, but she was rapidly failing under her sorrows. The nights and mornings were very cold, and she took cold from the exposure unavoidably. With camp fever and a sore mouth, she fought bravely against fate for the sake of her children, but she was taken delirious soon after reaching Fort Bridger, and was bed-fast. Travelling in this condition over a road clouded with dust, she suffered intensely. She talked of her husband, addressing him as though present, beseeching him in piteous tones to relieve her sufferings, until at last she became unconscious. Her babe was cared for by the women of the train. Those kind-hearted women would also come in at night and wash the dust from the mother's face and otherwise make her comfortable. We travelled a rough road the day she died, and she moaned fearfully all the time. At night one of the women came in as usual, but she made no reply to questions, so she thought her asleep, and washed her face, then took her hand and discovered the pulse was nearly gone. She lived but a few moments, and hier last words were, "Oh, Henry! If you only knew how we have . suffered." The tent was set up, the corpse laid out, and next morning we took the last look at our mother's face. The grave was near the road; willow brush was laid in the bottom and covered the body, the earth filled in-then the train moved on.
Her name was cut on a head-board, and that was all that could be done. So in twenty-six days we became orphans. Seven children of us, the oldest fourteen and the youngest a babe. A few days before her death, finding herself in possession of her faculties and fully aware of the coming end, she had taken an affectionate farewell of her children and charged the doctor to take care of us. She made the same request of Captain Shaw. The baby was taken by a woman in the train, and all were literally adopted by the company. No one there but was ready to do us any possible favor. This was especially true of Captain Shaw and his wife. Their kindness will ever be cherished in grateful remembrance by us all. Our parents could not have been more solicitous or careful. When our flour gave out they gave us bread as long as they had any, actually dividing their
507
On the Plains in 1844
last loaf. To this day Uncle Billy and Aunt Sally, as we call them, regard us with the affection of parents. Blessings on his. hoary head !
At Snake River they lay by to make our wagon into a cart, as our team was wearing out. Into this was loaded what was necessary. Some things were sold and some left on the plains. The last of Sep- tember we arrived at Grande Ronde, where one of my sister's clothes caught fire, and she would have burned to death only that the German doctor, at the cost of burning his hands, saved her. One night the captain heard a child crying, and found my little sister had got out of the wagon and was perishing in the freezing air, for the nights' were very cold. We had been out of flour and living on meat alone, so a few were sent in advance to get supplies from Dr. Whitman and return to us. Having so light a load we could travel faster than the other teams, and went on with Captain Shaw and the advance. Through the Blue Mountains cattle were giving out and left lying in the road. We made but a few miles a day. We were in the country of "Dr. Whitman's Indians," as they called themselves. They were. returning from buffalo hunting and frequented our camps. They were loud in praise of the missionaries and anxious to assist us. Often they would drive up some beast that had been left behind as given out and return it to its owner.
One day when we were making a fire of wet wood Francis thought to help the matter by holding his powder-horn over a small blaze. Of course the powder-horn exploded, and the wonder was he was left alive. He ran to a creek near by and bathed his hands and face, and. came back destitute of winkers and eyebrows, and his face was black- ened beyond recognition. Such were the incidents and dangerous and humorous features of the journey.
We reached Umatilla October 15th, and lay by while Captain Shaw went on to Whitman's station to see if the doctor would take care of us, if only until he could become located in the Willamette. We purchased of the Indians the first potatoes we had eaten since we' started on our long and sad journey. October 17th we started for our destination, leaving the baby very sick, with doubts of its recovery .. Mrs. Shaw took an affectionate leave of ns all, and stood looking after us as long as we were in sight. Speaking of it in later years, she said she never saw a more pitiful sight than that cartful of orphans going to find a home among strangers.
We reached the station in the forenoon. For weeks this place had
508
Pioneer Days of Oregon History
been a subject for our talk by day and formed our dreams at night. We expected to see log houses, occupied by Indians and such people as we had seen about the forts. Instead we saw a large white house surrounded with palisades. A short distance from the doctor's dwell- ing was another large adobe house, built by Mr. Gray, but now used by immigrants in the winter, and for a granary in the summer. It was situated near the mill pond, and the grist mill was not far from it.
Between the two bouses were the blacksmith shop and the corral, enclosed with slabs set up endways. The garden lay between the mill and the house, and a large field was on the opposite side. A good-sized ditch passed in front of the house, connecting with the mill pond, intersecting other ditches all around the farm, for the purpose of irrigating the land.
We drove up and halted near this ditch. Captain Shaw was in the house conversing with Mrs. Whitman. Glancing through the window, he saw us, and turning to her said: "Your children have come; will you go out and see them?" He then came out and told the boys to "Help the girls out and get their bonnets." Alas! it was easy to talk of bonnets, but not to find them! But one or two were finally discovered by the time Mrs. Whitman had come out. Here was a scene for an artist to describe! Foremost stood the little cart, with the tired oxen that had been unyoked lying near it. Sitting in the front end of the cart was John, weeping bitterly; on the opposite side stood Francis, his arms on the wheel and his head resting on his arms, sobbing aloud; on the near side the little girls were huddled together, bareheaded and barefooted, looking at the boys and then at the house, dreading we knew not what. By the oxen stood the good German doctor, with his whip in his hand, regarding the scene with suppressed emotion.
Thus Mrs. Whitman found us. She was a large, well-formed woman, fair complexioned, with beautiful auburn hair, nose rather large, and large gray eyes. She had on a dark calico dress and ging- ham sunbonnet. We thought as we shyly looked at her that she was the prettiest woman we had ever seen. She spoke kindly to us as she came up, but like frightened things we ran behind the cart, peep- ing shyly around at her. She then addressed the boys, asking why they wept, adding: "Poor boys, no wonder you weep!" She then began to arrange things as we threw them out, at the same time con- versing with an Indian woman sitting on the ground near by.
509
On the Plains in 1844
A little girl about seven years old soon came and stood regarding us with a timid look. This was little Helen Mar Meek, and though a half- breed, she looked very pretty to us in her green dress and white apron and neat sunbonnet.
Having arranged everything in compact form, Mrs. Whitman directed the doctor and the boys where to carry them, and told Helen to show the little girls the way to the house. Seeing my lameness, she kindly took me by the hand and my little sister by the other hand, and thus led us in. As we reached the steps, Captain Shaw asked if she had children of her own. Pointing to a grave at the foot of the hill, not far off, she said: "All the child I ever had sleeps yonder." She added that it was a great pleasure to her that she could see the grave from the door. The doctor and boys having deposited the things as directed, went over to the mansion. As we entered the house we saw a girl about nine years old washing dishes. Mrs. Whitman spoke cheerfully to her and said: "Well, Mary Ann, how do you think you will like all these sisters?" Seated in her arm-chair, she placed the youngest on her lap, and calling us round her, asked our names, about our parents, and the baby, often exclaiming as we told our artless story, "Poor children !"
Dr. Whitman came in from the mill and stood in the door, looking as though surprised at the large addition so suddenly made to the family. We were a sight calculated to excite surprise, dirty and sunburned until we looked more like Indians than white children. Added to this, John had cropped our hair so that it hung in uneven locks and added to our uncouth appearance. Seeing her husband standing there, Mrs. Whitman said, with a laugh: "Come in, doctor, and see your children." He sat down and tried to take little Louisa in his arms, but she ran screaming to me, much to the discomfiture of the doctor and amusement of his wife. She then related to him what we had told her in reference to the baby, and expressed her fears lest it should die, saying it was the baby she wanted most of all.
Our mother had asked that we might not be separated, so Captain Shaw now urged the doctor to take charge of us all. He feared the Board might object, as he was sent a missionary to the Indians. The captain argued that a missionary's duty was to do good, and we certainly were objects worthy of missionary charity. He was finally persuaded to keep us all until spring. His wife did not readily consent, but he told her he wanted boys as well as she girls. Finding the boys willing to stay, he made a written agreement with Captain Shaw that
510
Pioneer Days of Oregon History
he would take charge of them. Before Captain Shaw reached the valley, Dr. Whitman overtook him and told him he was pleased with the children and he need give himself no further care concerning them. The baby was brought over in a few days. It was very sick, but under Mrs. Whitman's judicious care was soon restored to health.
CHAPTER XLIX
INDIAN TROUBLES-1845-48
WHAT we have seen in the official career of Elijah White, sub-Indian agent, shows that the glamour soon wore off from Indian life, for as soon as the missionaries were located the cupidity of the natives became chronic; few of them were capable of true religious sentiment, much less of true religious life. It was useless to expect that savages could become Christianized at once, or that they could soon adopt civilized usages and become prosperous farmers. Some of them did make advance, but the majority remained in brutal savagery. Whitman and Spaulding strove hard and con- tinually to teach them religious truths, to practise civilized life, and to introduce agriculture. Indeed, there were some who made advancement, grew crops and commenced to have home comforts, but the savage instinct predominated whenever there was failure to meet their claims and accord them undeserved favors. Time and again trouble with the Cayuses and Nez Percés was tided over. When Whitman came they made him a present of some horses, of which they had thousands, and waited year after year for him to make them presents in return, but he never understood the tradi- tional value of an Indian gift. In some crisis that oc- curred, about 1842, he learned-much to his surprise- that they considered him in their debt since 1836, and then gave them a cow for every horse he had received. Cheerful by nature, free in his ways and kindly, earnest in his desire
512
Pioneer Days of Oregon History
to benefit this people, he devoted his life to them in vain; built mills, introduced cattle and was their physician, as well as religious teacher and fast friend. Yet they were never able to appreciate the sacrifice he made in their behalf.
Mr. Spaulding was earnest enough and had zeal to all intent, but it was zeal without discretion, and he owed much to the superior qualities of his wife, who commanded their respect far more than he was able. The Nez Percés were not so savage as the Cayuses, and were capable of far more appreciation, yet they made trouble and gave cause for fear, for there was an element among them not easy to control. When Whitman went East, in October, 1842, all things semed to be peaceful; he left in his place Dr. Geiger, who was a man to command confidence and respect, but jealousy arose because of the immigration that came the same year with Dr. Elijah White, and the fear that more would come and drive them from their homes. What communication they had with the Iroquois, and Indians who had returned from the East, after attending school, taught them that every- where the whites came they encroached on the Indians, took away their lands, and that the natives invariably died off at the approach of the white man. Probably, the best boon the mission brought was the flouring mill, but evil-minded ones burned down the mill and threatened worse. Mrs. Whitman was insulted and her life endangered, so that she left Waiilatpu and went to The Dalles, as did Dr. Geiger and Mr. Littlejohn, so the mission was left until the Indian agent came and with others made peaceful arrangements with Cayuses and Nez Percés. One of the most savage of the chiefs broke into the house at night and would have vio- lated Mrs. Whitman, only that a white man slept near by,
513
Indian Troubles-1845-48
who appeared on the scene, armed, to protect her. It is just to say that his act was so despicable in the sight of his peo- ple that he was held in disgrace and left the vicinity, never to return. Thus, one contingency after another came and was met, the good offices of Dr. McLoughlin aiding peace, and the active efforts of Agent Mckinlay, at Fort Walla Walla, being always at command. Many incidents occurred to warn them ; Dr. McLoughlin told Whitman he was over a smouldering volcano that might at any time become de- structive-but he could not believe there was actual danger.
Peu Peu Mox Mox was a great chief of the Walla Wallas, and seems to have been a man of character. His son Elijah was a mission convert and much appreciated, but he was not altogether reliable or entirely honest. The old chief and his son went with a party of Spokanes, Cayuses and Walla Wallas, who took their furs and a band of horses to Cali- fornia to trade for cattle. It was a long journey, almost a thousand miles, and promised to be successful, but some- where, when they were hunting elk in the mountains, they came across Indian robbers who were driving away stolen horses. They had a fight and captured twenty-two of the stolen animals. When they drove these to California the original owners claimed them. This caused trouble and was not according to Indian logic or custom. An American claiming a mule that was in this band, Elijah loaded his rifle and then told him significantly to take the mule if he wanted to. The next Sunday some of the Indians attended church at Sutter's Fort, and after service, when in the house there, the man who claimed the mule, and others, abused the Indians awhile, calling them dogs, thieves, etc .; the owner of the mule told Elijah: "You were going to kill me yester-
514
Pioneer Days of Oregon History
day ; now you must die !" As he levelled his pistol, Elijah, dropping on his knees, said: "Let me pray first !" and in that attitude was shot dead. The Indians claimed that they had captured the animals at the risk of their lives from the deadly enemies of the people there, and therefore had rights above the mere question of law. The Spaniards vainly offered ten cows, then fifteen, to redeem the horses. They told Agent White that the rest escaped with their lives and left all the herds they had bought and paid for behind them ; that the man who killed Elijah was an American and they thought they ought to take revenge on all Americans. Ellis, the chief, came to the Willamette to confer with White, tell- ing him that all the tribes allied talked of raising 2,000 men and going to California to make a general slaughter.
Bancroft's history says that the truth of the story, as told in California, was, that Elijah was quarrelsome, "and met his death in a quarrel he himself provoked." Elijah being a convert, it was possible that the Indians made up a story based on his standing with the mission, and put their own phase on the matter. The effect was unfortunate, for Whitman was afraid they would murder the whites. Ellis made a great story to White, who resorted to a policy of friendliness ; showed Ellis all the attention possible and got others to do the same; then he made abundant promises as to what he would do if the Indians would remain at peace ; promises that were extravagant, and sent Ellis off home to make peace ; but the promises were never kept ; the same fall Agent White was on his way to the States, overland, and that was the last of his official action in Oregon.
Peu Peu Mox Mox did go to California in 1846, with forty warriors, to demand satisfaction for the killing of his
515
Indian Troubles-1845-48
son ; his arrival there caused some excitement, so that mili- tary were sent to protect settlers. At that time Commodore Stockton was in command and Fremont was there. In the end the chief forgot his revenge and offered their services to Fremont to fight Mexicans in California. The Americans were in possession and he adapted himself to circumstances. He was said to have formed a high opinion of American valor from his association with them there, and told his peo- ple on his return that Americans were not all cowardly, as those in Oregon.
When Gray was at Whitman's he struck an Indian lad for some offence. The lad's uncle was Tiloukaikt, an ill- tempered chief. For this act of Gray's this chief struck Whitman, knocked his hat off and pulled his nose; all of which was borne in meekness, because he taught such meek- ness and believed that by patience and forbearance he could overcome their savage natures. Another time, he remon- strated because they let their horses into his field and dam- aged his growing grain. Then they covered him with mud, offered him personal insults, snapped a gun at him, and threatened to pull down his house; even struck at him with an axe, that he avoided. Two missionaries who were coming from the Sandwich Islands were fortunately deterred when they heard of this, for they supposed the mission would be abandoned, but Whitman-strong and brave and with iron will to do and to suffer-believed he was doing God's work and continued it. McLoughlin was his true friend, and knowing Indian character well, he advised him to leave the mission and abandon the unkind Cayuses ; assuring him they would soon realize what he was worth to them, repent of their ill-usage, and beg him to return. But he bore all with
Need help finding more records? Try our genealogical records directory which has more than 1 million sources to help you more easily locate the available records.