Chapter III: Part 3

Act of Parliament in appendix to Greenbow’s History of Oregon.

Footnote 2:

Matthew P. Deady.

Footnote 3:

Conversation with Dr. Wm. Geiger, pioneer of 1842.

Footnote 4:

Benton’s Thirty Years in the Senate.

Footnote 5:

Irving’s Astoria.

Footnote 6:

Annals of Congress and Congressional Debates are authorities used upon
discussions in the legislature.

Footnote 7:

Hon. Francis Baylies.

Footnote 8:

Hon. Francis Baylies.

Footnote 9:

The Correspondence and Journals of Capt. Nathaniel J. Wyeth, edited by
F. G. Young.

Footnote 10:

Thirty Years in the Senate.

Footnote 11:

Oregon Archives, by Grover, are the authority used on the provisional
government.

Footnote 12:

Oregon Archives.

Footnote 13:

J. Quinn Thornton.

Footnote 14:

Conversation with A. Hinman, pioneer of 1844.

Footnote 15:

Messages of the Presidents, by Richardson, is authority for statements
of Presidents.

Footnote 16:

Blaine’s Twenty Years in Congress.

Footnote 17:

Brief Treatise on Constitutional and Party Questions by S. A. Douglas.
Reported by J. M. Cutts.

Footnote 18:

Congressional Globe is authority used for remaining discussions in
congress.

Footnote 19:

Journal of the Constitutional Convention.

Footnote 20:

Reported in the Oregonian, 1857.

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THE PROCESS OF SELECTION IN OREGON PIONEER SETTLEMENT.

In the days of the early Oregon pioneers the narrative of Lewis and Clark’s explorations to the Pacific Coast had become little more than a tradition to the frontier people of the West. The wild stories of mountain trappers, told by camp fires, and colored by vivid recollections of real privations among mountain defiles—these formed the picture in the popular mind along the frontier of the difficulties to be overcome in a journey across the Rockies. As long as these reiterated stories took their measure of endurance from the wanderings of missionaries and mountain trappers, the problem of their influence might be a simple one; but when the question of taking women and children over the dreary wastes of wide deserts and pathless steeps of mountain cliffs was raised, other considerations were at once added; for how could these trusts be transported over bridgeless and fordless streams? How insured against hunger and thirst, and how kept out of reach of the danger of attack by hostile tribes of Indians?

The object of this brief paper is to outline a conviction of the writer that the difficulties in the way of a migration to Oregon—as these difficulties were seen by the people of the frontier states—formed a selecting test of the kind of people who alone could go to Oregon across the mountains in those days—a real and practical natural selection of a new people for a new community.

Without entering into the hackneyed question of the agency of Doctor Whitman in securing Oregon for the United States, we may say Doctor Whitman was no mythical character. He was a real man; a missionary of the American Board. In 1842 he found the Indians around him so dissatisfied, that he called a synodical meeting of the neighboring missions, and submitted to them the question “Shall we give up the mission of Waiilatpu?” The synod decided in the negative. The doctor then said to his co-laborers, “Then you must vote me leave of absence, for I must go home to confer with the board on the situation.” In fact Doctor Whitman seems to have had a mild kind of monomania on the subject of ox teams drawing plain Missouri wagons from Fort Independence to the Columbia at Wallula. Anyway, his brethren of that synod all knew that he carried that conviction with him to the states. They knew, too, that he wanted an opportunity to publish it along the frontiers to the restless multitude who were asking the question, “Was it safe to attempt to take a family to Oregon in an ox wagon?” Doctor Whitman said he knew this could be done; said he himself would guide a train of wagons to Wallula, on the Columbia, and reach there before the fall storms should hinder their progress.

Let us now turn to the restless people of the frontier who wanted to go to Oregon, and inquire what their mental picture of the great barriers of the journey was. At this time, 1842, these restless people might be found from Eastern Tennessee to Western Missouri. In their view the Rocky Mountain barrier was not a single line of mountains, but a complex system of ranges, like the one that separated Eastern Virginia and the Carolinas from the valley of the Ohio, with whose character they were familiar. They clearly apprehended the difficulties of such mountain travel, without roads or bridges, without shops for repairs, or towns for repurchase of supplies run short. They saw plainly the necessity of starting with wagons loaded for the whole journey, and of getting through before winter. They knew, too, that having passed the Rocky Mountain barrier, a vast desert plain hundreds of miles across extended from the western slope of the Rockies, only to bring them to another mountain barrier—the Cascade Range, which, if not higher, was at least steeper in its approaches. And, inasmuch as this second barrier would be reached late in the season, oxen and horses would be so weak and worn by their long journey as to add fearfully to dangers which they of all people knew how to appreciate. Let it be remembered, too, that all this fearful risk was to be borne by women and children. We have called the routes of travel bridgeless (and often fordless), look as to how much this implies: Suppose our train to have reached what was at their route a fordless stream. The ferry was soon prepared by selecting one of the best of their wagon boxes, caulking its chinks and joints as best they could, and using this as a boat. A rope fastened to it was passed over the river, and this extemporized ferry was ready for its work.

In naming over the principal forms of danger that went to make up the outlook of the road to Oregon in the early forties, one must be named—one more dreaded than all the rest—the continued exposure to Indian attack. For, if after a long toilsome climbing over rocky declivities a pleasanter part of the way is reached, and the weary toilers are led to hope for easier travel, just here, at any turn in the road, the dreadful savage might suddenly make his appearance. Such was the dark picture the journey overland to Oregon presented to the men and women of the frontier, who yet restlessly waited for their own chance to try it. Now, in spite of all these dangers of the way, the wagon trains were organized; were loaded with their precious burden of life and hope; did cross these mountain ranges and the long stretches of desert between them; did reach and people Oregon. There remains the inquiry: What manner of people were they who dared to do this? For surely it was the coming of the women and children of these pioneer wagon trains that won Oregon for the Stars and Stripes.

First of all, then, these pioneers were all frontier people. In 1842 the only people who cared about the question of a migration to Oregon were frontier people of these Western States; people already familiar with the modes and the dangers of travel beyond the safeguards of civilization. And this fact gives us our first test in the classification of our pioneers—they were all frontier people. This limitation was not intended, was not the result of any choice or purpose of those concerned. As an applied test it developed itself from the very nature of the case; for nobody but frontiersmen thought of going, or cared to go.

Another important limitation developed itself in well-defined outlines from the beginning of the movement and lasted throughout the real pioneer period. It was the practical exclusion of capital from the forces that originated its companies, purchased their supplies, or paid for the help they needed on the journey. No people knew better than the border Americans the power of money; but here again its absence was not planned, was not desired. Its absence resulted from the nature of the case; and the forces that moved those trains of farm wagons moved without the stimulus of sustaining capital. The simple fact was that capital saw in the migration of these pioneers no return of any appreciable per centum of the funds to be expended. And thus it came to pass that the wealthy were effectually excluded from the ranks of our Oregon pioneers.

Frontier life has in it ordinarily less of poverty than any other condition of society; a fact, doubtless due to the continual effort necessary there to keep at all abreast of the incessant struggle against the savagery of its surroundings. The long frontier line west of the Mississippi in the early forties was aglow with a restless people pressing westward, and but recently come there. The usual causes of extreme poverty had not settled there; and so it came that few indeed along this border line could be classed as dependent poor. And, perhaps, none too poor to own a team and a good serviceable farm wagon, with means sufficient to provision it with good wholesome food and clothing for a journey to Oregon. But, if such there happened to be, we can easily imagine the dismay it must have caused to have the name of such a man proposed as a member of one of these companies. The fact, doubtless, was that the unfitness of such a proposal prevented its occurrence.

The poor—the dependent poor—were not in the movement to Oregon. These organized wagon companies, however well meaning, however generous they might be as individuals, had no place in their organizations for the dependent poor man. Yet one more of these causes of unfitness for such a journey as the one we have been trying to picture, was that of chronic feeble health. To start on such a difficult and dangerous expedition as this unquestionably was during the proper pioneer family movement, from 1842 to 1852, would have seemed to all concerned too much like suicide of the sick or the chronically feeble.

The expedition to Oregon, as they looked upon it, called for a power of endurance that might be found only in the soundest. So by common consent poor health ruled its possessor from the ranks of the pioneers. One can readily see what must have been the result of this exclusion upon the health condition of Oregon during the early period of its history, if not through more remote chapters of its development.

We have thus forced upon us the conviction that the pioneer migration across the plains to Oregon consisted almost wholly of frontier people. That from their organized trains the rich excluded themselves; the dependent poor were kept aloof, and those subject to chronic sickness or feeble health at once accepted their inevitable exclusion. Now, with these ineligible groups cancelled, we may well ask: Who were left to go to Oregon.

Well, the proposed migration thus shorn of elements that did not fit the heart of the movement, there remained scattered along the frontier several thousands of the very material for pioneering. Men in the prime of life with small families who were themselves accustomed to the management of teams; were familiar with the dangers of desert travel and mountain climbing; were accustomed to Indian alarms, many of them to Indian fighting; and all of them accustomed from childhood to the use of the rifle—these were restlessly waiting the time for movement. Doctor Whitman was informed of this. And it was to take the message of readiness to these that he decided on a winter journey. He may have done other important things. He may have failed to do some things over zealously ascribed to him. This herald work he did. He announced to his synod in Oregon that he regarded this service as the work needing to be done. He did this work, and the Missouri ox-wagons followed. For the restless waiters on destiny along the frontier saw that their time had come.

THOMAS CONDON.

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NATHANIEL J. WYETH.

His Adventures in the far West recalled in association with the family
home near Boston. “In Historic Mansions and Highways Around Boston,”
by Samuel Adams Drake, published by Little, Brown & Co., there is a
sketch of the family home of Nathaniel J. Wyeth, the early explorer
of Oregon. “Emerging from Mount Auburn,” the author writes, “we take
counsel of the swinging sign pointing to the lane leading to Fresh
Pond, which is found to be the natural source of numerous
underground streams, which are found wherever the earth is
penetrated to any depth between it and Charleston.” The writer
continues:

Time out of mind the shores of the pond belonged to the Wyeths, and one of this family deserves our notice in passing. Nathaniel J. Wyeth was bred and born near at hand. Of an enterprising and courageous disposition, he conceived the idea of organizing a party with which to cross the continent and engage in trade with the Indian tribes of Oregon. He enlisted one and twenty adventurous spirits, who made him their leader, and with whom he set out from Boston on the first of March, 1832, first encamping his party on one of the harbor islands, in order to inure them to field life. The organizers provided themselves with a novel means of transportation—no other than a number of boats, built at the village smithy, and mounted on wheels. With these boats they expected to pass the rivers they might encounter, while at other times they were to serve as wagons. The idea was not without ingenuity, but was founded on a false estimate of the character of the streams, and of the mountain roads they were sure to meet with.

Wyeth and his followers pursued their route via Baltimore and the railway, which then left them at the base of the Alleghanies, onward to Pittsburg, at which point they took steamboat to Saint Louis, arriving there on the eighteenth of April. Hitherto they had met with only a few disagreeable adventures. They were now to face the real difficulties of their undertaking. They soon discovered that their complicated wagons were useless, and they were forced to part with them. The warlike tribes, whose hunting-grounds they were to traverse, began to give them uneasiness; and, to crown their misfortunes, they now ascertained how ignorantly they had calculated upon the trade with the savages.

Saint Louis was then the great depot of the Indian traders, who made their annual expeditions across the plains, prepared to fight or barter, as the temper of the Indians might dictate. The old trappers who had made their abode in the mountain regions met the traders at a given rendezvous, receiving powder, lead, tobacco, and a few accessories in exchange for their furs. To one of these parties Wyeth attached himself, and it was well that he did so.

Before reaching the Platte, five of Wyeth’s men deserted their companions, either from dissatisfaction with their leader, or because they had just begun to realize the hazard of the enterprise. Nat Wyeth, however, was of that stuff we so expressly name clear grit. There was no flinching about him, the Pacific was his objective, and he determined to arrive at his destination even if he marched alone. William Sublette’s party, which Wyeth had joined, encountered the vicissitudes common to a trip across the plains in that day; the only difference being that the New England men now faced these difficulties for the first time, whereas Sublette’s party was largely composed of experienced plainsmen. They followed the course of the Platte, seeing great herds of buffalo roaming at large, while they experienced the gnawings of hunger for want of fuel to cook the delicious humps, sirloins and joints, constantly paraded like the fruit of Tantalus before their greedy eyes. They found the streams turbulent and swift; the Black Hills, which the iron horse now so easily ascends, were infested with bears and rattlesnakes. Many of the party fell ill from the effects of drinking the brackish water of the Platte, Dr. Jacob Wyeth, brother of the captain and surgeon of the party, being unluckily of this number.

Sublette, a French creole, and one of the pioneers that have preceded pony-express, telegraph, stagecoach and locomotive, in their onward march, had no fears of the rivalry of the New England men, and readily took them under his protection. Besides, they swelled his numbers by the addition of a score of good rifles, no inconsiderable acquisition when his valuable caravan entered the country of the treacherous Blackfeet, the thieving Crows, or warlike Nez Perces. The united bands arrived at Pierre’s Hole, the trading rendezvous, in July, where they embraced the first opportunity for repose since leaving the white settlements.

At this place there was a further secession from Wyeth’s company, by which he was left with only eleven men, the remainder preferring to return home with Sublette. Petty grievances, a somewhat too arrogant demeanor on the part of the leader, and the conviction that the trip would prove a failure, caused these men to desert their companions when only a few hundred miles distant from the mouth of the Columbia. Before a final separation occurred, a severe battle took place between the whites and their Indian allies and the Blackfeet, by which Sublette lost seven of his own men killed and thirteen wounded. None of Wyeth’s men were injured in this fight, but a little later one of those who had separated from him was ambushed and killed by Blackfeet.

Wyeth now joined Milton Sublette, the brother of William, under whose guidance he proceeded towards Salmon River. The Bostons, as the Northwest Coast Indians formerly styled all white men, arrived at Vancouver on the twenty-ninth of October, having occupied seven months in a journey which may now be made in as many days. The expedition was a failure, indeed, so far as gain was concerned, and Wyeth’s men all left him at the Hudson’s Bay Company’s Fort. The captain, nothing daunted, and determined to make use of his dearly bought experience, returned to the States the ensuing season. His adventures may be followed by the curious in the pleasant pages of Irving’s Captain Bonneville. Arriving at the headwaters of the Missouri, he built what is known as a bull-boat, made of buffalo skins stitched together and stretched over a slight frame, in which, with two or three half-breeds, he consigned himself to the treacherous currents and quicksands of the Big Horn. Down this stream he floated to its confluence with the Yellowstone. At Fort Union he exchanged his leather bark for a dug-out, with which he sailed, floated, or paddled down the turbid Missouri to Camp (now Fort) Leavenworth. He returned to Boston, and, having secured the means, again repaired to St. Louis, where he enlisted a second company of sixty men, with which he once more sought the old Oregon trail.

This was sixty years ago. Since then the Great American Desert, as it was called, has undergone a magical transformation. Cities of twenty thousand inhabitants exist today where Wyeth found only a dreary wilderness; from the Big Muddy to the Pacific you are scarcely ever out of sight of the smoke of the settler’s cabin. In looking at the dangers and trials to which Wyeth found himself opposed, it must be admitted that he exhibited rare traits of courage and perseverance, allied with the natural capacity of a leader. His misfortunes arose through ignorance, and, perhaps to no small extent also, from that vanity which inclines your full-blooded Yankee to believe himself capable of everything, because the word “impossible” is expunged from his vocabulary.

NOTES.

[These notes were intended to be material for the closing pages of the Quarterly, but were misplaced by the printer in the make-up.]

By the death of Elliott Coues last Christmas the history of exploration of the region west of the Mississippi lost a most active and wonderfully proficient worker. After nearly a lifetime spent in prodigious activity in scientific lines he turned his energies to collecting, annotating and editing the original records of explorers and traders of the northwest and southwest. When Doctor Coues first took up the work of editing the narratives of explorers he had attained great eminence as a writer in ornithology. His reputation for thorough scholarship in the whole field of biology was such that he was assigned the subjects of general zoology, comparative anatomy and biology in the preparation of the Century Dictionary. “His scientific writings number about one thousand titles.”

He had spent some sixteen years either as a surgeon at different army posts in the west, as far apart as Arizona and North Dakota, or as naturalist connected with different surveys. Thus he brought a unique preparation to the crowning work of his life in history. His annotations, elucidating points of geography, zoology, and ethnology, are copious and minute to a degree that quite bewilders the average reader. The first fruits of his labors in the field of history were the four volumes of his edition of Lewis and Clark in 1893, Zebulon Pike’s Expeditions followed in 1895; Henry and Thompson’s Journals in 1897; and Fowler’s Journal and Larpenteur’s Narratives—distinct works—have appeared since. He was engaged on the Diary of Francisco Garces, when he broke down last September, in Santa Fe, at the age of fifty-seven. The issue of the New York _Times_ of March 3, speaks of the recent great increase in value of all these works. The first two are particularly scarce, and have commanded treble their original value.

Through Mrs. Frances Fuller Victor it is learned that he had expressed a warm interest in the work of the Oregon Historical Society. He would have been pleased with an honorary membership in the Society. To acknowledge in some fitting way the great service he has done the history of the Northwest would do the Society graceful credit.

A two-volume life of Gen. Isaac Ingalls Stevens by his son, Gen. Hazard Stevens, is announced to appear in May. The history of the Pacific Northwest during the eight eventful years from 1853 to 1861, cannot be understood without a knowledge of the striking personality of General Stevens. As Governor of Washington Territory, in command of the exploration and survey of the northern route for the Pacific Railroad, in authority during the terrible Yakima war, 1855-56, and as author and executor of the summary proceedings for the settlement of the difficulties arising out of that war, Governor Stevens had a most conspicuous part in making that history. Gen. Hazard Stevens has been at work on this life since 1877, and during the last two years has given almost his whole time to it. He says that he found his father’s reports in the Indian Department, and others in Washington very full and complete, especially those relating to his Indian councils and treaties. “The proceedings at the Walla Walla council,” he remarks, “are especially interesting, particularly the speeches of the Indian chiefs.” He believes that the life will have especial historical value in setting the origin of the Indian war of 1855-56, the policy pursued towards the Indians, and the prosecution of the Indian war in a correct light. General Stevens recognizes that the Oregon Historical Society is the rightful heir to the rich collection of historical material from which this part of this work was written.

The Oregon Historical Society, as a perusal of the reports of its activities during the first year of its existence reveals, has entered upon its work under most favorable auspices. The legislature appreciated the importance of the functions undertaken, and the expense attending a successful fulfillment of them. The membership roll indicates a hearty and strong response to the idea that Oregon shall be true to her makers. The Society had at the date of the first annual report of the Secretary seventy-six life members and two hundred and ninety-four annual members.

The primal mission of the Society is to bring together in the most complete measure possible the data for the history of the commonwealth, and to stimulate the widest and highest use of them. Every member should avail himself of his first opportunity to visit the rooms of the Society in the City Hall at Portland. The Directors believe that he will be assured that there has been commendable zeal in the prosecution of the Society’s work. They are concerned, however, that every member shall realize that the trust devolving upon the Society is such that it cannot be adequately or gloriously fulfilled unless each is alert in discovering material, and concerned that it shall reach the collections of the Society. In this line of our commonwealth’s interests everything as to serviceability and value depends upon the concentration of the material.

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REMINISCENCES OF F. X. MATTHIEU.

By H. S. LYMAN.

Francis Xavier Matthieu, a pioneer of French Prairie, near the old town of Champoeg, of the year 1842, and a participant in the movement for the Oregon provisional government of May, 1843, was a French-Canadian by birth. His native town was Terrebonne, twelve miles from Montreal, and his father and mother were of pure French descent—the father’s family being from Normandy, and the mother’s from Brittany; and both branches were very early immigrants to Canada. They belonged to the working class, and the parents of F. X. were only in the moderate circumstances of the independent farmer. Owing to this circumstance, young Matthieu was obliged at an early age to begin life on his own account. He went to Montreal when quite young, and engaged as a clerk in a mercantile house. There was, however, still earlier, while he was yet a schoolboy in his native town, a very powerful formative influence that moulded all his ideas, and though somewhat blindly as it first seemed, finally, with wonderful selective affinity, turned his course westward, and made him almost the deciding factor of free government in Oregon.

The date of his birth, 1818, brought his early life and schoolboy days into the very critical time of the patriot movement in Canada. With that disregard of political obligations for which the British government was formerly noted, such as had caused the rupture with her greatest American colonies, the royal authority had failed to keep the promises made to the Canadian provinces; and, now restive under a rule that seemed both tyrannous and faithless, the leaders of those Canadians were demanding their covenanted rights as they understood them. Louis J. Papineau, an orator of the character of Laurier of the present day, was leading the movement. He had drawn up the famous memorial, or bill of grievances, to the British crown. Though not a successful military leader, and, indeed, discountenancing the use of force, he was a thrilling orator, and had fired the heart of the French-Canadians with the hope of equal rights; and created the determination to acquire these, if not by agitation, then by revolution.

It happened that in the town of Terrebonne, where the little F. X. Matthieu was living, there was a highly educated civil officer, a notary public—the office of notary then being a profession that required special legal, and classical education. The name of this notary was Velade; and, besides his official duties, he was schoolmaster, receiving a small stipend from the government, and nominal fees from his pupils. Velade was a student of government, and a great admirer of the United States. American liberty and law as developed in this country, he taught in his school almost to the entire neglect of the Canadian system. This he not only taught, but actually instituted. Every term his school held an election after the American plan. Some of the boys also regularly celebrated the Fourth of July, carrying American flags. This was in connection with some young men from the United States who had come to Terrebonne, and started a nail factory. With this extreme Americanism, however, the townspeople were not altogether pleased, and sometimes broke up their demonstrations.

While still a mere boy, Matthieu went to Montreal, where he was engaged in clerking, and there acquired a certain impress and manner that distinguishes him even yet from the farmer. Being already imbued with ideas of free government, it was easy for him to find and join the Sons of Liberty—a secret organization auxiliary to the party called “Democrats,” who opposed the “Bureaucrats.”

The Sons of Liberty, or patriots, carried their movement to the point of armed resistance. They drilled regularly in secret, using sticks for guns; and at night met in secluded places to make cartridges and mould bullets. Mr. Matthieu has preserved to this day his old bullet mould, used at that time, which he has now presented to the Oregon Historical Society. He was himself a very useful member of the Sons of Liberty, since, being a store clerk, he could procure lead and powder more easily than some others. One of the services of this company was to guard the house of Papineau, whose appeals he heard in public, and whose boldness was bringing on the threatened crisis.

As is well known, however, the movement collapsed. Before a blow was struck, many of the Sons of Liberty were placed under arrest and executed. Mr. Matthieu recalls the hanging of sixteen patriots in one market place, tied in pairs, back to back. Though then a youth of not twenty years old, he was himself in danger of the same fate and sought safety at Terrebonne. While here, almost in hiding, he was approached by a certain Doctor Frasier, a Scotchman, holding some government position, and who, as it happened, was an uncle of Dr. John McLoughlin, then Hudson’s Bay chief factor at Fort Vancouver, Oregon Territory. Matthieu was asked why he did not leave Canada.

“I have no pass,” he replied.

“I will give you one,” said the old doctor; and immediately provided the necessary paper.

With this passport, Matthieu at once started for the American border. He would become citizen of the United States. At the line, however, where it was necessary to present his pass, the officer looked at him sharply; “You do not correspond with the description;” he said, “this calls for black eyes, yours are blue”—this inadvertence probably being due to the fact that his eyes were of that changeable color that turns dark under excitement.

“Can’t help the description,” replied the young refugee, “that is not my fault.”

The officer then eyed his red and black diamond squared plaid, which was the patriot uniform, and which Matthieu had not thought of as unsafe while he had his passport. But instead of detaining him, the officer said, “Well, get along with you; the sooner the country is rid of you fellows, the better”—probably little dreaming that the blue-eyed patriot was to turn up a few years later in Oregon to confront the British authority and help that important section of North America over to liberty as defined in the American Constitution.

Coming to Albany, New York, (1838), he soon found employment as clerk in a store. To him, his patron was honorable; but not altogether so to his creditors, as he left the city suddenly and secretly. Matthieu was entrusted with the care of his family, and was instructed to bring them to the new scene of operations, being Milwaukee, Wisconsin. This, in course of time, led the young man to that then far western land (May, 1839). From Milwaukee he went to St. Louis, being attracted toward that old French city (August, 1839). There he found service very soon with the American Fur Company—then officered almost exclusively by Frenchmen. His first outing was to Fort Pierre (October, 1839), on the Missouri River, among the Sioux and Dakotas—the Sioux Indians being the finest wild men that he has ever seen, whom he describes as “a great nation, fine, noble fellows.” During this period he encountered many hardships, and also much to interest a light-hearted Gallic youth. He remembers one expedition on which provisions became reduced, the daily allowance being two biscuits to the man and two ounces of dried Buffalo beef to two comrades. This lean fare was eked out, as they marched, by eating the frosted rosebuds of the Missouri meadows. As an incident of a trader’s life among the Sioux, he recalls with much _gusto_ the solemn feasts of the chiefs, which it would have been the height of impropriety not to attend, and which must be observed with all _punctillio_, or spoil all the bargaining. These were dog feasts, and consisted principally in eating a plateful of soup of tender dog meat boiled to a paste, into which red buffalo berries were sprinkled. To leave any of this delicacy uneaten would be a breach of etiquette too serious to allow; and the higher the trader was held in estimation, the more liberal the share placed upon his plate. Not only to a refined palate was the dog paste rather objectionable, but it often included much of the hair of the dog as well as other portions. The sharp French trader, however, avoided the difficulty. He hired an Indian chief of unquestioned appetite to clean up his plate. Thus the feast had been eaten; and etiquette was fully satisfied.

A limited amount of alcohol was also used by the traders in connection with driving bargains, and Mr. Matthieu recalls one instance in which one gallon of the article judiciously diluted procured ten buffalo robes, worth $10 each—besides other trumpery. However, the better class of the traders seldom indulged the Indians beyond moderation, or only at long intervals. So great was their fondness for the stuff that even the smell of liquor often seemed to set them wild.

After a year’s service in the country of the Sioux, the return to Saint Louis was made, and at that point he outfitted as a free trapper, going out on to the Arkansas to Bent’s Fort (1840). George Bent, the notable trapper-captain, whom he met there, he describes as “a little bit of a man, but sharp as lightning.” On this jaunt he also met Kit Carson, who is almost as well known in the annals of the frontier as Daniel Boone of Kentucky. Carson he describes as “a terror”—not as a desperado, however, but as a hunter. He was an unerring shot, and dropped many a buffalo. He was stocky and nervy in build, and had something of the Southwestern bluster of manner, yet not so offensively so as many others.

Mr. Matthieu recalls serious hardships on this expedition, passing one stretch of five days without food. But such experiences were little thought of, the trapper always relying upon his rifle without fear. In those days the Indians were very friendly.

Returning eastward the next season, he spent the winter and spring trapping in the Black Hills (1841). However, it seems that this life of a trapper, nomadic and free, and dependent only upon the unlimited bounty of nature, and the friendly offices of the generally tractable Indians, although amusing in many ways to a light-hearted Frenchman, did not wholly satisfy young Matthieu. The desire for settled society, and progressive individual life and home frequently took possession of him; and the opportunity to gratify this was apparently fortuitously afforded at Fort Laramie, early in the summer of 1842.

With his party of trappers he found there the Oregon immigrants of that season. This was the first regular immigration to Oregon across the plains, and aside from the ladies of the mission parties that had crossed in 1836-38, it was the first appearance of white women in the Rocky Mountains.

This was the party of Captain Hastings, in which was Dr. Elijah White, who had first come to Oregon with the large mission party on the bark Lausanne, in 1839-40; but had returned east, and was now coming to Oregon again, crossing the plains, holding the appointment to the position of sub-Indian agent for Oregon, and was accompanied by a party of over one hundred immigrants. Doctor White is recalled by Mr. Matthieu as “a sleek looking gentleman,” and “a quick talker.”

A well-known member of the party was Amos L. Lovejoy, described as very light sandy-complexioned, and “more quick tempered than any man I ever knew;” Captain Hastings was of heavy build and swarthy complexion. The pioneer, Medorem Crawford, then in his young prime, was also in the company. Sydney Moss, now living as a nonegenarian at Oregon City; Thomas Sladden and——Robb were also quickly made acquaintances. Among the women of the party Mr. Matthieu especially recalls an elderly widow, Mrs. Brown, and her daughter, who were said to have been held, previous to this time, as captives among the Comanches. There were a number of families in the train, among them being that of Mr. Smith.

The pilot of the company was Fitzpatrick, the famous guide of Wyeth’s party, whom Matthieu describes as tall and spare with abundant gray hair; an Irishman of good common education, and even gentlemanly bearing; perfectly at home anywhere on the boundless prairies, or within the mountain ranges. Unlike the most of his race, however, he was very taciturn.

While this company was waiting at Laramie, provisioning, Matthieu and his comrades quickly decided to go along with them to Oregon. They had their rifles and their horses; what more was required? The very first night, however, they discovered that more was needed. They went supperless, game having failed during the day; and they could not but look on with a little envy and self-commiseration at the various campfires where the immigrants were despatching fried bacon and mountain biscuit and drinking coffee. Mr. Matthieu says, however, that the immigrants could not be blamed or called inhospitable for neglecting to entertain them, as they knew as yet nothing of the trappers who had joined their caravan, and every head of a family felt obliged to guard his little store of provisions, scant at the best.

The incidents of the journey are vividly recalled by Mr. Matthieu, though now after a lapse of fifty-eight years. These should be mentioned here, some being serious and some being laughable, whether recorded elsewhere or not, as they afford light upon the individuality of this important member of the group of Oregon pioneers, of the era of the provisional government.

One of the first serious affairs after leaving Laramie occurred at Independence Rock. This was the incident of the capture of Hastings and Lovejoy by the Sioux Indians. At this point, a noted rock, or high ledge, with a perpendicular front, about the space of a mile (F. X. M.) from the Sweetwater River, the immigrant train was delayed in order to bury a man, one of a company of Germans, who, in drawing his gun from a wagon accidentally caused the discharge of the piece with the result that he was fatally shot in the groin.

Taking advantage of this delay, Matthieu and his comrades went buffalo hunting. From the actions of the buffaloes that were at length discovered, he was suspicious that there were Indians in the neighborhood. The buffalo herds were constantly in motion, as was the case when the Indians were stalking them. This, however, caused him no uneasiness, and it was not until two o’clock next morning that he returned to the train.

The journey was resumed about daybreak, but sometime in the forenoon it began to be passed around that Lovejoy and Captain Hastings were missing; and this caused anxiety. Matthieu suspected Indians and scanned the plains, now ablaze to the distant horizon in the summer sunshine. At length he caught far in the distance, a distinct glance of light. This was thrown, as he surmised, from one of the little zinc-framed looking-glasses that the Indian braves frequently wore attached around their necks. Waiting for no further sign, he hastened to the train, telling the immigrants to halt and get ready, as the Indians would soon be upon them. To them this was rather mystifying, as the young Frenchman took no trouble to explain how he knew this. But upon his advice the wagons were halted, and everything was placed in readiness to receive the Indians, who might be hostile. In the course of a few hours a great band of Sioux appeared in sight, developing out of the prairie, and galloping in wild fashion upon their ponies—or in large part running on foot. They numbered about five hundred and were in full war dress and paint. Lovejoy and Hastings were among them, being held as captives and looking very much crestfallen. They had delayed, as it seems, in boyish spirit, to inscribe their names among others on the face of Independence Rock; and having just completed their task, had turned to go only to find themselves in the embrace of some very large Indians.

Matthieu, however, who knew personally some of the chiefs, soon saw that they were good natured, as they now moved around the train, and were only wishing to drive a good bargain to let their captives go. They were a war party and wanted ammunition. When this was made known, the men of the train exclaimed “What! shall we give them ammunition to shoot us with?” Matthieu, however, advised giving it. “They have enough ammunition already,” he said, “to shoot us. They do not wish to fight us, but only desire supplies for fighting other Indians.” Accordingly, the ammunition was given them, along with other things, and the captives were released. This, however, was not the last of Indians. The next day a band, or rather a host, of about five or six thousand (F. X. M.) of the Blackfoot Sioux, under a great war chief, appeared. By this immense multitude, the train was compelled to halt, and to be inspected by band after band of the curious savages. The Indians being in such overwhelming force, were very free in their ways. They were especially curious to look at the women of the train. Mr. Matthieu relates the following amusing incident: “The family of Mr. Smith was especially annoyed by the curious braves, who came continually to their tent, and pulling the flaps apart, gazed in silent admiration upon his wife and daughters, or spoke to one another in their own language.” By this behavior Mr. Smith, who was of a very irascible temper, was so much annoyed that he came at length to Matthieu, asking him to send them off, as he could do nothing with them. When Matthieu arrived and discovered what it was the Indians wanted, and the thoroughly irate Mr. Smith desired to know, the Frenchman said: “You must be very quiet; you must make no commotion.” Mr. Smith agreed. “I am almost afraid to tell you,” continued Matthieu, “you will not like it.” Mr. Smith insisted. “They wish to buy one of your daughters to present to their great chief,” said Mr. Matthieu. At this Mr. Smith sprang to his feet in great excitement, ready to drive the intruders away by force. “Softly, softly,” said Matthieu. “You will have the whole band down upon us.” Then to the Indians he explained how their white brother regretted his inability to meet their wishes; but according to the customs of his people, it was impossible to sell her. When satisfied entirely with this information, the braves retired. However, the fondness of the Indians to see and even possess the white women, was a real source of danger, with which the immigrant parties had to reckon. It was not simply an annoyance. It was apprehended by some that American families could never cross the plains safely. The Indians, it was said, would seize their women at all hazards. That they did not do so, but respected the white man’s customs, even when, as in this case, they were in greatly superior numbers, shows they had a certain native morality, often not found among the whites.

This great band of Indians also could hardly be made to believe that the immigrant train had no liquors, and begged insistently for the firewater. Fitzpatrick, the pilot, both with this band and that at Independence Rock, refused to be made known, not wishing to implicate himself as a leader of white people through their country; and remarked that all the prairie was home to him, and he could drop off anywhere. Matthieu, therefore, having learned the custom of the Sioux, and knowing some of them personally, was able to help the immigrants, and to greatly reduce the liability of trouble. “I actually believe,” he says, “that they might not have got through without me.” These Sioux, being of the Blackfoot division of the nation, were at this juncture on a great expedition to cross the Rocky Mountains and attack the Snake Indians.

At Fort Hall, the exact date of reaching which is not remembered by Mr. Matthieu, the immigrants delayed, some for a shorter, others a longer time. The object was to change from their wagons to pack saddles. Mr. Matthieu does not recollect that the Hudson’s Bay commandant there offered to purchase any wagons, and thinks this improbable. “The Hudson’s Bay Company had no use for any wagons,” he observes.

The commandant, Grant, is well remembered as very large and fine looking “as big a man as Dr. John McLoughlin”—which is as grand a comparison as could be made by a McLoughlin admirer. Grant assured the immigrants that it was impossible for wagons to cross the Blue Mountains into Oregon. This, Mr. Matthieu believes, was said because he thought it true, and he was simply representing what was generally understood as the fact. Mr. Matthieu remarks, however, “we all know very well that the Hudson’s Bay Company was not favorable to immigration to Oregon;” and, though only a young man at the time, he understood that the British expected to hold the Columbia River as their boundary line. As to bringing the wagons on to the Columbia River, he says that this could have been done, as wood and water and the grass were in most places abundant, and though in some places the trail was very difficult, it was not impossible to American teamsters.

He and his comrades remained about eight days at Fort Hall, and then came on with the Hudson’s Bay express by the horse trail, crossing the Blue Mountains, and descending upon the valley of the Umatilla, and then going by Whitman’s farm at Waiilatpu to old Fort Walla Walla. At Waiilatpu he remained fifteen days waiting for the other immigrants to come in; as the trip from Fort Hall to Whitman’s was made in small parties, or even by families, as they were able, the later ones following the tracks of the earlier. There was here no danger of Indians, and the semi-military organization with which they started was entirely abandoned.

With Doctor Whitman and his place, Mr. Matthieu was very favorably impressed. The farm was neat and well cultivated, having a large garden, a field of grain and a small grist mill. Doctor Whitman himself he describes as “a very nice man,” of unbounded hospitality. “His garden and grist mill he threw open” to their use, and for what they had need of “he would not take a cent.” In person he recalls Whitman as not very tall, rather slender in build, and of strongly Yankee style. His hair was then dark. Though very favorably impressed, however, with Whitman, the Yankee missionary bore, in Matthieu’s estimation, no comparison with Doctor McLoughlin, who was his beau ideal of the natural-born leader of men.

In this connection Mr. Matthieu states that he had the following incident directly from some employees of the Hudson’s Bay Company at Vancouver, which illustrates Doctor McLoughlin’s disposition toward Whitman. In 1841 the Cayuse Indians formed the intention of killing Doctor Whitman. But they feared the punishment that Doctor McLoughlin would visit upon them, if he disapproved the act. They devised the plan, therefore, of discovering his feeling, as if by accident. A number of the leaders were sent to Fort Vancouver, and there stationing themselves by the bank of the river, they began to talk to one another of destroying Whitman. Doctor McLoughlin was passing and they were purposely overheard by him. Instantly confronting the Cayuses the old Doctor raised his great cane and cried out in a terrific voice, “Who says you shall kill Whitman?” and threatened condign punishment if such a massacre should take place. The Indians scattered and immediately gave up their evil plan.

Before leaving Mr. Matthieu’s account of his experiences on the plains, perhaps the following story may be told as throwing a side light upon the character and ways of some of the people who crossed. It is in regard to an Irishman called Pat, who was with the party but had no outfit and no money, and was little better than a camp follower. He obtained his day’s provisions by going from camp to camp, or mess to mess, asking for anything that might be put into his pot, which he then boiled over the fire making a sort of soup. Once while he was thus cooking he had the misfortune to drop his pipe into the savory mess, which turned it so much against his stomach that he would not eat it. “Give it to B.,” suggested a bystander, “he will eat anything.” B. was another camp-follower, less-liked than Pat. B. enjoyed his meal, but afterwards regretted his precipitancy. Pat always endeavored to return the courtesies of his patrons by doing little favors around the camps, especially in helping the women about their wood and fires, and became rather a favorite. Reaching Oregon, and finally going to California, he prospered and became a wealthy man.

The trip over the Cascade Mountains was the most difficult of any part of the journey, and involved the most suffering. The route was by the old Indian trail at the base of Mount Hood, on the north side. A snow-storm was encountered here, and by this fourteen of the horses were stampeded and took the back trail for The Dalles, where there was an abundance of grass. Matthieu, however, managed to keep himself comfortable during the storm by kindling an immense fire in the timber, and retained his horses by tying them. On this part of the trip he was accompanied by Hugh Burns, a well-known Irishman, who made himself useful as cook.

At Oregon City, which he reached about the twenty-fifth of September (F. X. M.) the first man that he met was Father Waller, the well-known member of the Methodist Society. By this kindly gentleman, Matthieu was at once and very pressingly invited home to supper. “He wanted to hear all about my journey.” Matthieu, however, felt rather delicate about accepting his hospitality. After his hard journey over the last range of mountains he felt outrageously hungry; but, for this very reason, was timid about partaking a “company dinner,” so he began apologizing: “I am looking rough and very dirty,” he said, “Had you not better excuse me?”

“No, no,” said Father Waller, “you must come.”

The neat house, the supper table with its snowy cloth and shining dishes, and the care of the lady, Mrs. Waller, to have a nice repast, greatly impressed the hungry immigrant. But particularly was his appetite whetted, if that were possible, by the sight and smell of potatoes—an article of food he had not seen for months. When seated at the table he was hardly able to restrain himself; he was taken not a little aback, however, when, instead of proceeding to the meal at once, the good missionary began by asking a blessing, which he extended into quite lengthy devotions. “It was the longest prayer I ever heard,” says Mr. Matthieu.

Learning at Oregon City that there were French Canadians on the prairie fifteen miles up the Willamette, he proceeded to Champoeg. Arriving there he found that the settlers in that region numbered nearly three hundred all told. Stopping off at the old landing, he found near this point, about a mile and a half up the river, living upon the river bank, Etienne Lucier, and remained with him during the winter. French Prairie is the borderland between the originally heavily timbered country of the lower Willamette and the more open lands of Marion County and the big prairies of the upper valley. Matthieu found the country of the French settlers even more beautifully diversified than at the present, the practice of the Indians, then but recently discontinued, of burning the prairies over, having brought the whole country for miles together to the condition of a park. Stately groves of fir and oak, or belts of deciduous timber along the water courses, broke the monotony of the grassy levels, while from almost any point of view the panorama of distant mountain scenery was uninterrupted. The Butte, as it was called, which escarped upon the Willamette just below the landing, and from which Butteville takes its name, formed a sightly highland and became a well-known landmark to the voyager of the early day. The name Champoeg, says Mr. Matthieu, is simply a corruption of the French term, _Champment Sable_—the camp of the sands.

With this Willamette country, however, Matthieu was not at first thoroughly pleased. The deep moss that gathered on the trees and buildings, and the general mildness and moisture of the winter weather, suggested disease, such as fever and ague. He anticipated a hot, sickly summer—which, however, he afterwards found was not the characteristic of Oregon.