USA > Oregon > The Oregon native son, Vol. I > Part 26
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"The first man I met among the fe- vered crowd was Oregon's poet-my old schoolmate-Joaquin Miller. His blue eyes sparkled with kindly greeting, and. as I took his hand. I knew by its quick- ening pulse and tightened clasp that he. too, was sharing in the excitement of the gold hunter. He was then in the first flush of manhood, with buoyant spirits, untiring energy, and among a race . of hardy pioneers: the bravest of
the brave. He possessed more than or dinary talent and looked forward with hope to the battle of life, expecting te reap his share of its honors and rewards For years he was foremost in every des perate enterprise-crossing snow-capped mountains, swollen rivers, and facing hostile Indians. When snow fell 15 feet deep on the Florence mountains, and hundreds were penned in camp without a word from wives, children and loved ones at home, he said: 'Boys, I will bring your letters from Lewiston.' Afoot and alone, without a trail, he crossed the mountain tops, the dangerous streams. the wintry desert of Camas prairie, fight- ing back the hungry mountain wolves. and returned bending beneath his load of loving messages from home. One day he was found in defense of the weak, facing the pistol or bowie-knife of the desperado; and the next day he was washing the clothes and smoothing the pillow of a sick comrade. We all loved him, but we were not men who wrote for the newspaper or magazine, and his acts of heroism and kindness were unchron- icled save in the hearts of those who knew him in those times, and under those trying circumstances. He is of earth's first blood. but has seen a life of sorrow and disappointment. He has struggled with poverty and unfavorable circumstances, vet through all he has been true to his own land. He has wooed his muse, and tuned his lyre across the great waters; but he sang of his boyhood scenes, of the Pacific coast. its great rivers, mountains and men, and has been true to them all. He poetized the grandeur of our land so nobly as to electrify all Europe. the swelling notes of his praise echoing and reechoing un- til they have reached our ears from across the Atlantic."
"Joaquin Miller's complete poetical works have been abridged and published
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THE MILLER FAMILY IN LITERATURE.
:! a very neat volume of 330 pages. The text of the Sierras has become his own censor, so that he might give to the world in one volume only the cream of all that he has written; and no critic could have been more judicious and se- vere than he. The preface is an auto- biography coupled with some of his "les- wons not found in books." This is Joaquin Miller's greatest book, for in it his gentleness of manner and simplicity of style leads the reader. to feel that the bard upon the Heights has, in che even- ing of life, tuned his harp in perfect ac- cord with the sweeter, soffer, gentler
strains of the bird song in the land of the Western sunset.
England insists on placing Joaquin Miller in the front rank of living Ameri- can poets. But Joaquin Miller's life and lines can never be fully understood and appreciated without some acquaintance with Minnie Myrtle Miller, his wife, who stood unrivaled for her peculiar versa- tility. She could carry a gun into the mountain fastness and slay a deer, an elk or a bear, on which to dine, or she could relapse into quietude and write a poem that showed undoubted genius, or she could appear in high social circles with a queenly grace and there entertain the rich and the princely.
MINNIE MYRTLE MILLER, POETESS OF THE COQUELLE.
Is there something about poetic talent that renders its possessor unhappy? Is the gift fatal to the fullest enjoyment of life? Does its fervid warmth destroy the shrine whereon its fires burn, or its smallest spark scar the breast which holds it? These are questions often asked, and the lives of our poets have furnished evidence contradictory in the extreme. Those who have become in- . timately acquainted with many of them, viten pause in reading their inspiring .trains to muse sadly over the wrecked hopes, and unhappy lives of those who have tuned to rhythm and set to mel- ody the hearts of all the peoples of earth.
We candidly confess our inability at this time to summon sufficient testimony to decide these questions, but would suggest that should their affirmative be established then must the world feel ad- ditional gratitude to its songsters. to those who have followed the bent of their genius in striving to elevate and ennoble mankind while destroying their own share of its happiness. Although it may be difficult to disprove the theory somewhat prevalent that poets are rest- less, irritable and unhappy in their so- cial relations with their fellows, yet it is
so adverse to the generally acknowl- edged beneficence of the laws of nature which must control the endowment ot mental powers and attributes as well as physical organization and development. that we incline to the belief that poetic talents no more than those which enrich the fields of science, literature and art, should contain an inherent tendency to render their possessor unhappy. All pioneers, in whatever line of thought or action their labors may lie, must feel at times a sense of loneliness and isolation. akin to that felt by one who has been se- lected for his peculiar fitness to go into a strange land to mark the way for the coming multitude. We cannot but im. agine that though his journey by day and his campfires by night do not bring him the pleasure of social companionship, he has abundant joy and the keenest de- light in the thought that ere long a joy- ous crowd shall come along his path. hailing with pleasure the landmarks he has made for guidance in their journey through a beautiful and virgin land. May not the bright blaze of his campfire re- veal a face beaming with pleasure and falling upon a breast swelling with pride as he reflects that he has marked a way
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OREGON NATIVE SON.
over the sunniest slope and the greenest meadows, and left hints where the multi- tudes when weary may rest and refresh themselves in the most enchanting vales beside rippling streams? But it may be readily understood it is a source of un- · happiness for one to feel the possession
MINNIE MYRTLE MILLER, Poetess of the Coquelle.
of talents whose cultivation is calculated to benefit mankind and leave an endur- ing name, and yet to be so environed by circumstances as to render such cul- tivation impossible. The cry of the poor caged starling, "I can't get out," 19 echoed by many a talented mind when its possessor is surrounded by poverty and other circumstances unfavorable to mental development.
We know of no one whose life's his- tory more forcibly illustrates this restless longing for larger and higher sphere of action than the subject of this sketch, Minnie Myrtle Miller. Thirty-six years ago, when the war cloud lowered heavy and dark over our land, when there were heard criminations and recriminations everywhere, when the deliberations of our congress assumed the form of angry debate, when the startling cry of "trait- or" was heard echoing through the halls
dedicated to liberty, when father and son held bitter converse, and brothers pre- pared to array themselves as enemies in deadly combat, when every home in the land was shocked by the clash of arms and the tramp of mustering steeds-she first was known through the public press and beyond the immediate neighborhood of her home. Even there, though fur- thest removed from the seat of war on the extreme western verge of civiliza- tion, she heard among her few associ- ates angry words spoken by youthful tongues and read fiery sentences penned by aged hands. Hers was a nature too gentle, too kind, too sweet to sound or even echo the notes of war. When all the land was a Babel of angry voices. hers was clear and sweet. She wrote of her home, her friends, of the sunlit waves of the Pacific which smoothed the sands · for her feet, and told the beautiful stories whispered by the tall pines as she wan- dered through the groves.
Her name was Theresa Dyer; with the quick ear for the musical, which charac- terized all her writings, she adopted the nom de plume of "Minnie Myrtle," and sent her productions-both prose and verse-to the neighboring weekly pa- pers. Her future husband, Cincinnatus Heine Miller, since known as "Joaquin Miller," was at that time writing for the same papers, wild, weird and sometimes blood-thirsty stories, signed "Giles Gas- ton." In one of these, in which he thrillingly depicted a battle on the border with the Indians, he expressed a desire to become acquainted with the sweet singer of the Coquelle, whoever she might be. Although but a youth. he knew none but a sweet young girl. filled with all the pleasing fancies and fallacies of life, could write as she did. In Min- nie's next story was given her address: and the correspondence, which a few months later resulted in her marriage to
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THE MILLER FAMILY IN LITERATURE.
the poet, began by his mailing her an appreciative letter inclosing a tin-type ¡ Iture of himself. He was tall, strong ad not graceless in a woman's eye. He ;und her gentle. handsome and sweet. in the first flush of young womanhood. Their first meeting sealed their fate. Let the poet tell the story, for he knows it best: "Tall, dark and striking in every respect, this first Saxon woman I had wver addressed. had it all her own way at once. She knew nothing at all of my hic, except that I was an expressman and country editor. I knew nothing at all of her, but I found her with her kind, good parents, surrounded by brothers and sisters, and the pet and spoiled child "i the mining and lumber camp. In her woody little world there by the sea she was worshiped by the rough miners and lumbermen, and the heart of the bright and merry girl was brimming full of romance. hope and happiness. I arrived on Thursday. On Sunday next we were married! Procuring a horse for her. we set out at once to return to my post. far away over the mountains. These mountains were then, as now and ever will be, I reckon, crossed only In a dim. broken trail. with houses 20 +r 30 miles apart for the few travelers.
"The first day out. toward evening we came upon a great band of elk. I drew s revolver, and with wild delight we Hashed upon the frightened beasts, and following them quite a distance we lost our way. And so we had to spend our art night together, tired. hungry, thirsty "tting under the pines on a hillside hold- 'ny on to our impatient horses. We Frached our home all right, however. " length. after a week's ride, but only 'o, find that my paper had been sup- ::- ed by the government, and we re- vilved to seek our fortunes in San Fran- But we found neither fortune nor riends in the great new city, and so re- 'arning to Oregon, I bought a band of
cattle, and we set out with our baby and a party of friends to reach the new min- ing camp, Canyon City, in Eastern Ore- gon.
"And what a journey was this of ours over the Oregon sierras, driving the bel- lowing cattle in the narrow trail through the dense woods, up the steep, snowy mountains, down through the roaring canyon! It was wild, glorious, fresh, full of hazard and adventure! Minnie had a willow basket and swung it to her saddle horn, with the crowing and good- natured baby inside, looking up at her, laughing, as she leaped her horse over the fallen logs or made a full hand with whip and lasso, riding after the cattle. But when we descended the wooded mountains to the open plain on the east- ern side of the sierras, the Indians were ready to receive us, and we almost lit- erally had to fight our way for the next week's journey, every night and day. And this woman was one of the bravest souls that ever saw battle. I think she never, even in the hour of death, knew what fear was. She was not only a wonderful horsewoman, but very adroit in the use of arms. She was a much bet- ter shot, indeed, than myself. "In our first little skirmish on this occasion I had taken position on a hill with a few men, while the cattle and pack animals were corralled by the others in a bight in the foothills below to prevent a stain- pede. And thus intrenched we waited the attack from the Indians, who held the farther point of the ridge on which I had stationed my men. Suddenly Minnie, baby in arms, stood at my side and began to calmly discuss the situa- tion, and to pass merry remarks about the queer noises the bullets mnade as they flattened on the rocks about us and glanced over our heads. I finally got her to go down, or, rather, promise to go down to camp, for the better safety
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· OREGON NATIVE SON.
of the baby. But in a moment she was · back. She had hidden the laughing lit- tle baby in the rocks, and now, gun in hand, kept at my side till the brush was over and the Indians beaten off.
,"Here is one leaf from her journal, of rather, I think, her recollections of the journey, which she left me along with her other papers, when she died: ‘One night of that journey I shall not soon forget. There had been some fighting ahead of us, and we knew the foe was lurking in ambush. They made a kind of fort of the freight, and while we lay down in the canyon, baby and I, way up on the high, sharp butte, Joaquin stood sentinel. And I say this tonight in his behalf and in his praise that he did bravely, and saved his loved ones from peril that night. That he stood on that dreary summit, a target for the foe, and no one but me to take note of his valor -stood till the morning shone radiant, stood till the night was passed. There was no world looking on to praise his courage and echo it over the land; only the frozen stars in mystic groups far away, and the slender moon, like a sword drawn to hold him at bay.'"
After seven years of married life they were separated, Joaquin going to Eu- rope, while the saddened mother, with her three children, returned to her fath- er's home. The cause of their separa- tion is still a mystery; whether some rude shock broke the bonds which love had tied, or ardent love was slowly crushed to death by the attrition of dis- similar natures was never known. Cer- tain it is that neither was happy after their separation. The life of each was saddened before it had well begun. AAt the early age of 37, when the poor, tired mother laid down her burden, she was soothed by the tender words and sus-
tained by the strong arm of the pro lover who had won her maiden heart in the springtime of life. She died in Nen York, surrounded with friends, leaving unfinished several poems and a sketel: of her life, which she labored hard to complete before her summons came. I: has never been published. The mant- script, although undoubtedly worthy oi preservation, became misplaced and can- not now be found. Her friends deeply regret this, but it may be best that it was lost. While it would surely have found a ready sale, it could not but have brought to its readers more tears than smiles. A key to much of this lost story of her life appears to be given in these lines of her poem, "At the Land's End."
"I am consc ipt-hurried to battle With fates-yet I fain would be Vanquished and silenced forever And driven back to my sea. Oh! to leave this strife, this turmoil. . Leave all undone and skim With the clouds that flee to the hilltops And rest forever with Him."
Something of the love she inspired in those who knew her best can be gath- ered from the following extract from a faded letter lying before us, written by a lady in New York, with whom the poetess spent the last few months of her life: it was addressed to the eldest sis- ter of Minnie Myrtle, Mrs. Hilborn. oi Marshfield, Or., and bears date of May 24, 1882: "Minnie was a wonderful wom- an, and many a heroine has been made great in history by the possession of a small share of her heroic endurance, dar- ing courage, calm self-possession, and loyal heart and creative brain. We could not appreciate her, much as we loved her; grand and sweet she was; and all the clouds that lowered about her house could not shake her poise of character."
We do not incline to eulogize; but by
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THE MILLER FAMILY IN LITERATURE.
reading the few poems Minnie Myrtle published we are led to the conviction that had her environments been less se- vere and her life prolonged to a ripe age, she would have been known and recog- nized as one of the sweetest songsters of the West. Her sweet disposition, as well as her poetic talent, was contagious. She produced a marked change in the character and writings of her husband. That delicate and refined love for the truly beautiful in nature, and the breadth and warmth of sympathy for the erring and unfortunate which characterizes his writings must be admitted to date from his marriage day. We have seen what is called a composite picture, composed of the best features of two or more in- dividuals. Many of Joaquin Miller's poems may be considered composites, combining the keen perception and fiery dash of the young pioneer, as his early writings display him, with the kindly thought, the gentle touch and delicate coloring inseparable from all that was said and done by his lost wife. She was
the vision that ever beckoned him on and up to sublime heights. Oh, how beautiful seems gentleness and purity and sympathy and truth! They tell us what the soul should be, when time and God's resources have wrought their work upon man. And they are to be cherished as the mariner cherishes the guiding star that stands upon the hor- izon. They are to be cherished as some traveler lost in a dark, close forest cher- ishes the moment when the sun breaks through a rift in the clouds and he takes his bearings out of the wilderness to- ward his home. Visions are God with- in the soul. This, Joaquin Miller fully realized, and has said, "That which is best in my works was inspired by her." Though their separation was long a sor- row to both, and the flowers have blos- somned for many years over the grave of the poetess, yet in object, aim and de- sire, they are one today; and the soul of the beautiful bride which the poet wooed and won in the wilds of the Coquelle so long ago, still shines in all his lines and brightens all his pages.
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AN INTERESTING UNPUBLISHED LETTER.
Headquarters Army of the Potomac, Office of the Chief Quartermaster,
Camp Near Falmouth, Jan. 16, 1863. Dear Nesmith :
If you want to see us try to cross the Rap- pahannock again, come down here on Tues- day eve, particularly if the weather be at all good. I am told Latham would like to come, too. Burnside says he is willing you both shall come. He will be glad to see you, only do not mention the matter to any one else, nor let it be known that we are about to have another fight. Of course the rebels will know all. They always do. The cabinet cannot keep a secret. You need not bring anything but warm clothes. I have beds,
horses, etc. If you conclude to come you had both better leave quietly and go to Alexan- dria. I shall instruct Captain Ferguson to give you a special boat to Aquia, where cars will await you. It were better to leave Alex- andria at 2 P. M. on Sunday. I think we shall succeed this time, though some of our generals are lukewarm. If they had a field marshal's baton in sight and reach, they would go over the rebel works very quick. Be your own judge as to coming; we shall be glad to see you. Yours, INGALLS.
On arrival at Aquia call on Mr. Wright, the railroad superintendent, or Captain Hall, the Q. M. Both have instructions. Show no pass unless called upon. No one will question you. R. I.
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THE CHINOOK JARGON.
To Oregon belongs the unique dis- tinction of having originated an interna- tional language. It is not the old gut- teral of the Chinook Indian, but a poly- glot of many tongues, that had its begin- ning among the Yankee skippers, and the Indian tribes of the coast. Today all traders to the Northwest use it. The Hudson's Bay man dickers with it in furs and blankets. . The gold hunter picks it up in the Klondike country. The explorer hears it at Point Barrow on the borders of the Arctic. Like the Lingua Franca of the Mediterranean, and the Pigeon English of China, it has taken its place among the languages of the world.
In the long ago. . every tribe of the Northwest had a different language. Five tongues were spoken from Willamette to the sea. Even neighboring tribes could understand each other with difficulty. Strangers could use nothing but signs. This led to misunderstandings, and end- less war and trouble.
Beginning with Gray and Kendrick and their sailors, a few first words were interchanged. The Chinooks at the mouth of the Columbia and the Nootkas at what is now Vancouver's island, be- came most expert. When Lewis and Clark arrived, they were amazed to hear English phrases and even sentences on' the lips of savages.
When Astor's people came, more new words were added. With the passing of the Astors, Canadian voyageurs of the Northwest and Hudson's Bay Compa- nies peppered in the French. They in- termarried with the tribes. Trappers addressed their squaws in Chinook. Chil- dren heard nothing else: so it came to tongue a system of shorthand, enabling be their mother-tongue. Indians to learn to read in a few days.
In time, Fort Vancouver became til seat and center of the new learning. I was, in fact, a primitive university, with voyaging professors carrying a semi-civ ilized speech along the coasts and streams to far-off tribes. -
In the trappers' and traders' tongue the Hudson's Bay Company carried on extensive commerce. Part Indian, para English, part French, it became the handmaid of scientific exploration. Our old Oregon treaties were negotiated in its peace-making jargon. Through it General Canby talked with the Modocs and General O. O. Howard, with Chie Joseph. Missionaries preached in it taught in it, sang in it. It became the magic password of the traveler. Little handbooks of its vocabulary were in use among the immigrants. But for the ever increasing flood of English-speaking whites, and the rapid diminution of the Indians, it might, in time, have become fixed as any language in its native heath !.
As the Chinook jargon was crowded out of Oregon, it reappeared with added vocabulary at Puget sound, British Co- lumbia, Alaska. It took on dignity in its travels, until now the old Oregon Chinook jargon is the lingual currency among fifty tribes of the Northwest.
Old Oregonians spoke the Chinook to Indians at their door, but now, for the inost part, it has retreated to the moun- tain defile and the reservation. In the North it is a living tongue. At Kam- loops, British Columbia there is a livel little paper printed in the jargon, "The Kamloops Wawa," and, best of all, the editor has adapted to this primitive
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THE CHINOOK JARGON.
Already the Chinook jargon has the "winning of a literature. Books have 'wen printed in it, primers and hymn- wks by Protestants and. Catholics. Many of these "sermons in song" are sung at Indian schools today.
Some plaintive little songs are sung in it by Indian mothers. Here is one:
Annawillee's Lament.
Ash mika klatawa?
kah mika klatawa?
Where hast thou gone? Where hast thou gone? Every day
Somaway sun
Hyu kely Greatly mourns Innawillee. Annawillee.
wh. nika tenas!
!! yas klahowyam!
Oh, my little one! Very wretched! Greatly mourns,
tyu kely,
Konaway sun, Every day.
Nika tenas.
My little one.
Konaway halo All gone is Our food:
Venica muckamuck;
Make-siah mimaloose Nika tenas.
Soon will die My little one.
The spelling of this jargon is purely phonetic. In this Chinook-Nootka-En- „lish-French-Flathead tongue there are words from many tribes, and words that only represent a sound. onomata-po- rtic. Some very pretty examples of these wund words are lip-lip, to boil. from the «end of boiling water; lin-lin, a bell or musical instrument: zin. a humming- Wird: caw-caw, a crow; poo, the report i a gun; tik-tik, a watch: tum-tum, the Ivart-tliat is, its beating: a waterfall is tum-m and tumwater.
From the beginning, all Americans were called Bostons, and all Englishmen hinchotch or King George men. Once a man by the name of Peiton became -ane at old Fort Astoria: the Indians watched his movements, and ever after anything foolish was "pelton." Mim-a- "whe means dead, or to die, and ill-a- 'e. country; hence Mim-a-loose ill-a- ... the country of the dead. a name s'en to all their burial places up and howwn the Columbia. Some of these sa- 'ted spots. the Westminsters of the In- han, have become historic. To one at w !! poetic, there is a certain sad beauty the melancholy "mim-a-loose ill-a- l'e" of the Indian.
Til-a-kum is people; Boston tilakum, Boston people, and kultus tilakum, very bad people. Tenas is small; tenas man, a boy or child; moos-moos. buffalo, or cattle; tenas moos, a calf; cole, cold; tenas cole, chilly; cole-sick, ague; a hut is a tenas house; rope is lope; tenas lope, a little rope or thread; wheel or cart is chick-chick, from the sound of the wheels rattling over the rocks; chuck, water or stream; salt chuck, the sea; skookum, strong: skookum chuck, a rapid current; hyas means great; cat is puss-puss; hyas puss-puss, the panther; Christmas day is hyas Sunday; shot is shot, lead; and huckleberries are shot- olilies; with tum-tum, the heart, sick tum-tum is grief or sorrow, and skook- um tum-tum is the strong heart, the brave.
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