USA > Oregon > The Oregon native son, Vol. I > Part 73
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Thomas was praying. A frantic desire to live made me desperate. I would not die within reach of my gun without fir- ing a shot. I sprang above the bank, siezed my gun and shot-pouch, and was again behind the breastworks. Cocking my gun I saw the cap was exploded. I knew it was intact when I had laid it down upon the blankets. An idea struck" me. I placed my mouth over the muzzle of the gun, when Thomas begged me not to leave him alone. I blew down the barrel. It was empty. I ran out and extinguished the fire, which had al- ready reached our blankets, and told Thomas to come out and be a man. He only prayed the louder. Then I told him that he had been fired upon by my own gun. He raised his head, hesitated. started to come, then stepped back and wanted to know who set the grass on fire. I said it must have been a flash of the powder.
When we had knelt down to pray the horses were feeding slowly away from where they had been turned loose. Old Bob had a long rope tied to his neck; he must have dragged it across the hammer of the gun in such a manner as to dis- charge it, and, as it was lying upon some blankets, with the muzzle near the dry grass, the flash kindled the fire which gave me the second alarm.
The reader may imagine our joy on thus being delivered from torture, for it was deliverance as true as any which ever came to a beleaguered city. The worst torture is that of the mind, and we had endured dreadful fears and most frightful fancies. It is strange what thoughts will pervade one's mind at such a time. While trying to keep my head below the bank to avoid a bullet, I ac- tually fancied my friends crying over the newspaper account of my horrible deathr.
I soon recovered my former spirits. Not so with Thomas. In fact I do not believe he ever fully forgot his dreadful scare. He seemed to only half believe that it was a false alarm, and kept cast- ing his eyes cautiously around as though expecting a murderous attack at any moment. His apprehensions were pain-
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1 to behold. He would never take an Den, direct route to any point he wished · go, if he could reach it by a circuitous · concealed one. The next morning he ent for the horses while I prepared :eakfast. He soon returned and de- ared that the horses had been stolen; : had followed them about a mile, until : was convinced that they were in the inds of the Indians-two squaws and a Ick. Believing that he mistook the gns, I started out to reconnoiter. I do ot wish it to be understood that I was ot afraid; on the contrary, I was alert , the slightest sound, a falling twig or t of a bird's wing made my heart stand ill and my hand nervously clutch my in. What if Thomas was correct! The dians might await my coming in some cluded spot, and then they would not low me the privilege of unconditional Irrender. I must fight.
Squaws do not carry guns. I wonder- if they were young and pretty, and ought if the buck was disposed of might capture them without bloodshed. concluded to shoot the old fellow just he was raising his tomahawk, and en strike an attitude just before his ughters. In this pleasant train of ought I raised my eyes from the ound to confront the maidens and w our stolen ponies. They were soon camp, and, packing up, we set out on r journey. We crossed the Deschutes ver some distance below the Prineville ad. After traveling several miles own stream we recrossed, and, follow- g a good trail, soon came to the Warm pring reservation.
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As usual with these curiosities of art. was beautifully situated and had the quisite number of government employ- s, spotted horses, Indians, etc. Why it that there is always a lot of Indians Sout a reservation? The blighting in- hence of their indolent lives and filthy bits is felt in every reservation in the nited States, and it is all wrong. They lould go away and give the agents an pportunity to cultivate their natural ste for ease. If the government must ave reservations, let it see that men
whose political services have entitled them to be placed on them are not an- noyed by a lot of dirty, thieving Indians. This is a fine field for reform. Let us purge these sanctuaries of innocence from the polluting hand of the Indian. Let the jabber of the squaw no more be heard about the suttler's store. This ac- complished, the agents might become a credit to their race, and in the lapse of time might be gathered together and settled in the Yellowstone Park. This would not prove expensive, and the na- tion would remunerate itself by exhibit- ing them as natural curiosities.
At this place, in addition to those al- ready mentioned, we found quite a num- ber of Webfeet, who had crossed the mountain before us, waiting for the Des- chutes to fall before attempting to cross. We soon organized by electing a captain and, on the second day after our arrival, procuring an Indian guide, we crossed the swollen river in canoes, swimming our horses, and started for the Malheur river, the place where tradition says tons of gold were found by some lost emi- grants in an early day, but who had reached the settlements half starved, and reported that one could easily pick up a bucketfull of gold in a few moments. Hence the name of Blue Bucket mines, which has been discussed in every min- er's cabin from California to the Rocky mountains, but never rediscovered.
We paid our guide $150 for liis ser- vices and he rode at the head of our col- umn of sixty men with all the pride of a soldier for two days, when a change seemed to come over the spirit of his dream, and, seeing only days of fatigue in front and days of ease and comfort behind, he, on the third morning out, turned his horse and rode swiftly to- wards the agency. We saw his game in- stantly, and gave pursuit, but our horses were jaded with crossing the mountain, and he had no doubt selected the best horse on the reservation, and we were unable to catch him. Several shots were fired at his noble form, but he only went the faster, and after a great amount of swearing we realized that we had lost an
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Indian and felt correspondingly sad. He had reason, too, for he was paid in ad- vance. "Lo, the poor Indian," there is some good in him, "He sees God in the clouds," and he scalped Meacham and Dr. Thomas, but did any one ever know him to fulfill a trust when it was not his selfish interest to do so?
Being thus left alone we concluded to abandon the route to the Blue Bucket diggings and go to Oro Fino. Turning to the left, after a day's travel we came to an old emigrant road, near the cross- ing of the John Day. From there we traveled over plains and low, rolling hills, whose rich soil furnished every- where the most luxuriant grass, and has since burdened the waters of the mighty Columbia with its grain-laden vessels, and is today demanding in thunder tones the more perfect opening of its outlet to the sea. We were traveling up this grand river whose bosom bore only the Indian canoe, with its worthless freight, through an empire where a sod was nev- er turned and solitude held sway, brok- en only by the howl of the coyote or the neigh of the worthless Indian pony. Who can view the changes which have since taken place in the Columbia basin and sigh for the days that are gone? Then I could have carried its exports in my saddle bags. Now, corporations, with millions invested, are wrestling with each other for the carrying of its mighty. products. Industry invades the realms of idleness, the lazy Indian leaves the land where, for centuries, he has been a beast, and marches on. Its weap- ons were moulded by reason and experi- ence, and its discipline is Nature's laws. The iron horse announces its advance, and ocean palaces bear its equipments. Forests, trembling, fall to the ground and come to the mountain tops to build its barracks, and the soil, upturned by its magic touch, furnishies bread to the world. Who can doubt it must con- quor the universe?
We traveled along the old emigrant road to the Umatilla river. Here we found another one of those curses of civ- ilization, an Indian reservation. Here
again the government had gathered the neighboring tribes on the finest agricul- tural land in the region, and was aiding them in their resolve to die rather than work. Heroic Indian! I saw him lying in the shade of the thorn bush (the onh fruit of his home), while his wife tended his horse, dug potatoes, or carried wood to cook his scanty meal. He knew us to be the picket guard of the army that would destroy him, and was not annoy ed. He saw our superior food, clothing. horses and equipments, and was no: stimulated to action. He despised to purchase them, for their price was labor. If a horse excited his admiration, vision- of himself crawling on a dark night to steal it, floated through his lazy brain If he wanted our gun, he meditated a midnight approach and a murderous blow. But our army surrounds him and he must go. He has too long cumbered the earth, to the exclusion of labor and science. His body contains element . that should go back to the soil to fur- nish food for civilized man. He will only live in history, and, it is hoped, will not seriously burden that.
Thirty miles from Umatilla we came to Walla Walla fort and town. At the fort the intellects of a few companies of soldiers were being dwarfed and the men rendered unfit for any noble battle in life, for the purpose of preventing a few squaws from trading dried salmon for whiskey. This traffic intercepted, oi- fers to the soldier better facilities for get- ting drunk than he could find in any other department of life.
The town, a small village, showed the spirit of American enterprise, and al- though most of the buildings were "! logs, yet we found several stores well supplied with the necessaries of life and their owners anxiously awaiting the set- tlement of the country. After a day's rest, with our horses picketed on the ou !- skirts of town, we set forward over low. rolling hills, which separated Dry creek. Touchet, Tucanon, Pataha, Alpowa and Snake rivers. Two day's travel brought us to Lewiston, situated on the Snake river, at the mouth of the Clearwater. I
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was surprised to find a little town com- posed entirely of canvas tents. On in- quiry I learned it was on another reser- vation, and the Indians opposed the erection of more permanent houses.
Over hills and low mountains again for two days, and we came to Oro Fino. Who can describe a mining camp, with its motley crowd and nondescript improve- ments; its wealth and its poverty; its sobriety and its recklessness; its poets, philosophers and statesmen; its saloons and desperate men; its bacon and beans; its rich gulches and poverty flats; and above all, its wild excitement? To stand on ground mixed with gold will craze men's souls and render them the very embodiment of the intensified good and evil of the world. All the natural hatred men feel for the delays of courts and sophistry of lawyers; for the niggardly reward of merit and tardy hand of jus- tice, here find scope for action. A king would be hung for any minor offense, but a beggar would be defended in a right by every drop of blood in the camp.
The first man I met among this fever- ed 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- ened pulse and tightened clasp that he too, was sharing in the excitement of the gold hunter. He was then in the first blush of manhood, with bouyant spirits, untiring energy, and, among a race of hardy pioneers, the bravest of the brave. He was accorded more than ordinary tal- ent and looked forward with hope to the battle of life, expecting to reap his share of its honors and rewards. For years he was foremost in every desperate enter- prise; crossing snow-capped mountains, swollen rivers, and against hostile Indi- ans. When snow fell fifteen feet deep on the Florence mountain and hundreds were penned in camp without word from wives, children and loved ones from
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 came back bending beneath the weight of loving messages from home. He was found today, in defense of the weak, facing the pistol or bowie knife of the desperado, and tomorrow washing the clothes and smoothing the pillow of a sick comrade. We all loved him, but we were not men who wrote for the newspapers and magazines, 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 had a constant struggle with poverty and unfavorable circumstances, yet, 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 sung of his boyhood scenes, of the Pacific coast, its rivers, mountains and men, and has been true to all. He poetized the grand- eur of our land so nobly as to electrify all Europe ,the swelling notes of his praise reaching our ears from across the Atlantic.
With blushing brow, I ask, how have we treated him? The day has been when the press of Oregon and California was ready to burst forth in denunciation of his name whenever mentioned. He was for years exiled from the scenes he lov- ed by the ingratitude of those whose homes he has immortalized. Why should this be? Why should gifted sons of this coast be exiled by the vitupera- tion of the press? Why should Califor- nia speak well of nothing but San Fran- cisco and Mt. Shasta, and Oregon love nothing but Portland and Mt. Hood?
GEO. A. WAGGONER.
(To be Continued.
LO-A-WATHA.
Several years ago an eastern paper contained a lengthy poem, by Shortfel- low, with the above title. Space will not permit the reprinting of the whole, but the closing lines are given below, enough to disenchant one with "Minneha- ha-Minnehaha, Laughing Water."
'Mid the curling smoke of wigwams, 'Mid the fish scales and the offal, Lo, the maidens there are squatting, Seeking "animated something;" Finding them among their tresses, Raven tresses, tangled tresses, Thick as blackbirds in the cornfields,
Thick as locusts in their season,
Thick as vultures 'round a carcass- Hark! the cracking now commences! (Not of rifles.) Game is plenty- Quite too plenty, I should fancy. Here we see your "Minnehaha, Minnehaha-laughing water," As she is and true to nature -- Oh, behold her! She needs water.
Yonder see them making sugar, Maple sugar in the forest, Packing it in birchen baskets,
Sweeter than the sweetest nectar- Sweet as lips of Minnehaha
When she kissed her Hiawatha !- Sweet! oh, sweet beyond expression!
But I'd like to see them make it, See them boil it, see them stir it,
Well, behold them, they are at it:
Now they spread their Indian blanket- Dirty, greasy, full of vermin! See them strain their syrup throught it!
Here's your nectar, poet, sip it-
Made for you by "Minnehaha," She, the arrow-maker's daughter, "In the land of the Dakotas, In the land of Okabena, In the land of Hiawatha," Makes her nectar for the poets Sweet enough for gods to feed on.
Take it, poets, if you want it ;- I'd prefer a different strainer; I'd prefer it rather cleaner.
Thus the red man, stripped of romance, Are dirty as the swine that wallows. This I've seen in Minnesota, "In the land of the Ojibways, In the land of Hiawatha, In the land of Minnehaha, ..
Minnehaha-laughing water."
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NESIKA WA-WA.
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The January number contained por- traits of the Methodist missionaries, the February number the Presbyterian and Congregational. In the present one ap- pear those of the pioneer Catholic fath- ers, andin the April number will be found those of the pioneer Episcopal mission- aries. In the subsequent numbers, in the order of their arrival, will be found the portraits of the pioneers of other de- nominations. Thus we will carry out one idea of giving the foundations of the religious and educational structures to which Oregon owes so much.
As announced in cur February num- ber, we begin this month the publication of an interesting series of letters from the pen of John J. Valentine, president of Wells-Fargo & Co. They were pre- pared for the edification of personal friends of the writer, and are all ad- dressed to Mr. Aaron Stein, of San Francisco. Mr. Valentine's old-time friend and business associate. These letters describe most charmingly inter- esting features of a tour beginning in Canada last August and by gradual stages proceeding through Norway, Russia, Poland, Germany and Austria- Hungary. The trip is not yet complet- ed, hence we cannot estimate to a cer- tainty, the period through which these budgets will appear. We predict, how- ever, and certainly hope, we will not ex- haust our copy during the present year. We feel that we have occasion to con- gratulate ourselves as well as our read- ers, upon having secured Mr. Valen- tine's very gracious permission to pub- lish these entertaining travel-sketches.
After the manuscript for the March issue had been linotyped, a letter from Eugene Shelby, apprising us of the death of Mr. Aaron Stein, at his resi- dence in San Francisco, was received. With a heavy heart we write these lines, for his death is another one of the mile- posts, which we seem now passing swift- er than the flight of time-mile-posts
which mark the "Last of the Barons"- the old pioneers-the Argonauts of the Pacific coast.
To us, native sons and daughters of this and sister Pacific coast states, who stand between the old generation and the new, there is nothing more pathetic than the passing away of one of those, who, for half a century or more, have been identified with the best interests of our home land-one of the old, princely gentlemen whose hearts overflow with the milk of human kindness, who hold. the scepters but rule the world with love.
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We're not ashamed to stop and shed a tear, While the bustling world rolls on,
That this noble spirit, from troubled sphere, To the great Beyond has gone.
Mr. Shelby writes as follows: "Portland, Or., Mar. 16, 1900. "Oregon Native Son:
"I have just received a telegram an- nouncing the death of Mr. Aaron Stein in San Francisco this morning; and, since you are now beginning the publi- cation of a series of letters written to Mr. Stein by Mr. John J. Valentine, Presi- dent of Wells, Fargo & Company, de- scriptive of a tour the latter is making, I feel it is incumbent on me to transmit to you the painful intelligence. Mr. Stein's death was totally unexpected- his illness being of a single week's dura- tion-and the tidings come like a shock to his host of friends all over the Pacific slope. He has hield positions of promi- nence with Wells, Fargo & Company since 1865, and at the time of his death was secretary, and assistant to the presi- dent. He was a man of fine attainments and charming personality; and he pos- sessed the rare faculty of commanding and retaining the respect of everyone with whom he came in contact. He was a gem amongst mortals-a man among men-and his death is a calamity to the
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company he served so long and faithful- ly, as well as to the officers and employes individually. But on his associates of pioneer days-those who labored in the harness by his side during a period cov- ering thirty years-the blow falls with crushing force. Besides the grief a com- rade's death bequeaths, it forcibly re-
minds them that the old regime is pass- ing away and that the beginning of the end confronts them. Mr. Stein's was a noble character-generous, charitable. tender and true, and with such men
"dying is but going home."
"EUGENE SHELBY."
PURPLE AND GOLD.
Rozelle Putnam's Cabin No. 15, Na- tive Daughters, was instituted at Yon- cala on the evening of January II, 1900. Rozelle Putnam, in whose honor the cabin was named, was the eldest child of the old pioneer, Jesse Applegate. She came to Oregon in 1843, was married in Polk county in 1848 to Charles F. Put- nam, and died in 1861, leaving a family of little children, the youngest of whom is an officer in this cabin. The officers are as follows: Past president, Mrs. Ellen Wilson Burt; president, Mrs. Sal- lie Applegate Long; first vice-president, Mrs. Mary Lemon Starr; second vice- president, Mrs. Ada Putnam Mires; third vice-president, Mrs. Lucy Burt Samler; secretary, Miss Madge Wilson; financial secretary, Miss Minnie Wilson; treasurer, Mrs. Ada Day Yett; marshal, Miss Susanna I. Burt; trustees, Mrs. Mary Bean Hasard, Mrs. Susan Wilson Cowan, Mrs. Mary Mulvaney Perkins; inside sentinel, Miss Minerva Westen- hiser; outside sentinel, Miss Martha Letsom; historian, Mrs. Mary Goodell Burt.
Josephine Leland Cabin No. 16, Na- tive Daughters of Oregon, was organiz- ed on January 15. 1900. The officers . elected were: President, Lillias Bristow Perkins; first vice-president, Effie Green Harmon: second vice-president, Allie Thornton ; third vice-president, Etta Pollock : past president, Ella Wiley Meade : secretary, Minnie Ireland; finan- cial secretary, Florence Thomas Cornell ; treasurer, Mae Fain Smith: marshal. Lillie Hall Frater; inside sentinel. Mae Gardner Evans; outside sentinel, Daisy Taylor: trustees, Lizzie Fliffin Smith.
Clara Alexander Coffman, Frankie Mul- key Wertz.
Amelia Fisher's Cabin, No. 17, Native Daughters, was instituted at Albany. January -, 1900. Following are the officers: Past president, Anette Cottle Weatherford; president, Annie Settle- mier Curl; first vice-president, Lida B. Hayes Van Winkle; second vice-pres- ident, Olga Hewitt; third vice-president, Mamie Montgomery; recording secre- tary, Ada Morris; financial secretary, Virginia Gordon; treasurer, Mary Keen- ey McHargue; inside sentinel, Willie Hughes Farley; outside sentinel, Ella Wheeler Morgan; trustees, Mamie Al- len, Carrie Saltmarsh and Nellie M Whitney.
Enoch Holt's Cabin No. 20, Native Sons, was instituted at Harrisburg. Thursday night, January 18, 1900. The officers elected were: Past president. J. G. Kelsey; president, C. R. Holt; first vice-president, Barney May; second vice-president, W. S. Meeken; third vice-president, J. G. Douglas; recording secretar y, Damon Smith; financial sec- retary, T. J. Rogers; treasurer, O. P. Hyde; marshal, S. M. Bramwell. The charter of the new cabin will remain open thirty days. The organization starts out with a good membership, and all are enthusiastic in the work.
Thomas H. Benton's Cabin No. 21. Native Sons, was organized on January 30, 1900, at Corvallis. The installation of its officers did not, however, take place until the 8th of February. They are as follows: Ed. Buxton, past presi- dent; W. S. Linnville, president; S. L. Hays, first vice-president; G. E. Lilly,
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second vice-president; C. I. Johnson, third vice-president; E. E. Wilson, re- cording secretary; F. E. Edwards, financial secretary; W. T. Wiles, treas- urer; B. F. Burnett, marshal; C. Read H. Withycombe and Frank Groves, trustees; A. J. Locke, outside sentinel, and C. G. Porter, inside sentinel. The name selected was one of the best. Sen- ator Benton, though not a pioneer, was a life-long friend and champion of Ore- gon in congress and to his efforts more than any other man was due the fact that this state became a part of the Union. In selecting such name, the membership of Benton's cabin honor the memory of a man well worthy, reflect credit upon themselves and in doing so do not, in any wise, rob the pioneers of any honors due them.
Allen Davie's Cabin No. 22, Native Sons of Oregon, was instituted Febru- ary I, at Stayton. The following officers were elected: Past president, J. P. Davie; president, L. Hobson; first vice-president, W. O. Cooper; second vice-president, L. A. Thomas: third vice-president, W. Richardson; trustees, E. T. Matthieu, C. P. Darst. W. A. Riggs; recording secretary, W. Crab- tree; treasurer, F. Hobson; marshal. J. A. Lake; inside sentinel, F. Frank; out- side sentinel, B. Lake.
Jack Morrow's Cabin No. 24 was or- ganized at Heppner on March 10. 1900, with the following officers: Frank Gil- liam, past president: E. S. Freeland, president; M. B. Galoway, first vice- president; Eli Keeney, second vice- president: J. Matlock, third vice-presi- dent: J. B. Beal, recording secretary : J. W. Shipley, financial secretary: Geo. Conser, treasurer; J. J. Wells, marshal : A. B. Thomson. Walter Crawford and F. Sloan, trustees.
Clinton's Cabin, No. 23, Native Sons, was organized in Portland (east side), on February 27, 1900. The following officers were elected and installed. F. W. Hanson, past president; R. F. Rob- inson, president; A. W. Lambert, first
vice-president; Willard A. Roberts, sec- ond vice-president; W. O. Stanard, third vice-president; Fred R. Bishop, mar- shal; U. K. Hall, financial secretary; William Niedermark, recording secre- tary; V. C. Dunning, treasurer; J. W. Oberander, H. M. Lambert and George L. Boynton, trustees; B. Frank Dowell, inner sentinel; W. Payne Crandall, outer sentinel.
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