FROM INDIANAPOLIS TO WASHINGTON.

Upon my arrival in Indianapolis, people began to ask me about the Trail, and to say they had never heard that the Oregon Trail ran through that city, to which I replied I never had heard that it did. A quizzical look sometimes would bring out an explanation that the intent of the expedition was as much to work upon the hearts of the people as to work upon the Trail itself; that what we wanted was to fire the imagination of the people and get them first to know there was such a thing as the Oregon Trail and then to know what it meant in history.

After passing the Missouri, and leaving the Trail behind me, I somehow had a foreboding that I might be mistaken for a faker and looked upon either as an adventurer or a sort of a "wandering Jew" and shrank from the ordeal. My hair had grown long on the trip across; my boots were some the worse for wear and my old-fashioned suit (understood well enough by pioneers along the Trail) that showed dilapidation all combined, made me not the most presentable in every sort of company. Coupled with that had I not already been compelled to say that I was not a "corn doctor" or any kind of a doctor; that I did not have patent medicine or any other sort of medicine to sell, and that I was neither soliciting or receiving contributions to support the expedition? I had early in the trip realized the importance of disarming criticism or suspicion that there was graft or speculation in the work. And yet, day after day, there would come questions, pointed or otherwise, evidently to probe to the bottom to find out if there was lurking somewhere or somehow an ulterior object not appearing on the surface. There being none, the doubters would be disarmed only to make way for a new crop, maybe the very next hour.

But the press, with but one exception, had been exceedingly kind, and understood the work. It remained for one man [25] of the thousand or more who wrote of the work, at a later date to write of his "suspicions." I wrote that gentleman that "suspicions as to one's motives were of the same cloth as the 'breath of scandal' against a fair lady's character, leaving the victim helpless without amende honorable from the party himself," and gave him full information, but he did not respond nor so far as I know publish any explanation of the article in his paper.

March 1st, 1907, found me on the road going eastward from Indianapolis. I had made up my mind that Washington City should be the objective point, and that Congress would be a better field to work in than out on the hopelessly wide stretch of the Trail where one man's span of life would certainly run before the work could be accomplished.

But, before reaching Congress, it was well to spend a season or campaign of education or manage somehow to get the work before the general public so that the Congress might know about it, or at least that many members might have heard about it. So a route was laid out to occupy the time until the first of December, just before Congress would again assemble, and be with them "in the beginning." The route lay from Indianapolis, through Hamilton, Ohio; Dayton, Columbus, Buffalo, then Syracuse, Albany, New York City, Trenton, N. J.; Philadelphia., Pa.; Baltimore, Md., thence to Washington, visiting intermediate points along the route outlined. This would seem to be quite a formidable undertaking with one yoke of oxen and a big "prairie schooner" wagon that weighed 1,400 pounds, a wooden axle, that would speak at times if not watched closely with tar bucket in hand; and a load of a thousand pounds or more of camp equipage, etc. And so it was, but the reader may recall the fable of the "tortoise and the hare" and find the lesson of persistence that gave the race, not to the swiftest afoot. Suffice it to say that on the 29th of November, 1907, twenty-two months to a day after leaving home at Puyallup, I drew up in front of the White House in Washington City, was kindly received by President Roosevelt, and encouraged to believe my labor had not been lost.

The general reader may not be interested in the details of my varied experiences in the numerous towns and cities through which I passed, nevertheless there were incidents in some of the cities well worth recording.

As noted before, the press, from the beginning, seemed to understand the object, and enter into the spirit of the work. It remained for one paper during the whole trip (Hamilton, Ohio) to solicit pay for a notice. My look of astonishment or something, it seems, wrought a change, and the notice appeared, and I am able to record that not one cent was paid to the press during the whole trip, and I think fully a thousand articles have been published outlining and commending the work. Had it not been for the press, no such progress as has been made could have been accomplished, and if the appropriation be made by Congress to mark the Trail, the press did it, not, however, forgetting the patient oxen who did their part so well.

An interesting incident, to me at least, occurred in passing through the little town of Huntsville, ten miles east of Hamilton, Ohio, where I was born, and had not seen for more than seventy years. A snap shot of the old house where I was born did me no good, for at Dayton some vandal stole my kodak, film and all, containing the precious impression.

Dayton treated me nicely, bought a goodly number of my books and sent me on my way rejoicing with no further feeling of solicitude toward financing the expedition. I had had particularly bad luck in the loss of my fine ox; then when the cows were bought and one of them wouldn't go at all, and I was compelled to ship the outfit to Omaha, more than a hundred miles; and was finally forced to buy the unbroken steer Dandy, out of the stockyards at Omaha, and, what was more, pay out all the money I could rake and scrape, save seven dollars. Small wonder I should leave Dayton with a feeling of relief brought about by the presence in my pocket of some money not drawn from home. I had had other experiences of discouragement as well: when I first put the "Ox Team" in print, it was almost "with fear and trembling"—would the public buy it? I could not know without trying, and so a thousand copies only were printed, which of course brought them up to a high price per copy. But these sold, and two thousand more copies printed and sold, and I was about even on the expense, when, lo and behold, my plates and cuts were burned and a new beginning had to be made.

Mayor Badger of Columbus wrote, giving me the "freedom of the city," and Mayor Tom Johnson wrote to his chief of police to "treat Mr. Meeker as the guest of the city of Cleveland," which he did.

At Buffalo, N. Y., though, the mayor would have none of it, unless I would pay one hundred dollars license fee, which of course I would not. Fortunately, though, a camping ground was found in the very heart of the city, and I received a hearty welcome from the citizens, and a good hearing as well. A pleasant episode occurred here to while away the time as well as to create a good feeling. The upper 400 of Buffalo were preparing to give a benefit to one of the hospitals in the shape of a circus. Elaborate preparations had been made and a part of the program was an attack by Indians on an emigrant train, the Indians being the well mounted young representatives of the city's elite. At this juncture I arrived in the city, and was besieged to go and represent the emigrant train, for which they would pay me, but I said, "No, not for pay, but I will go." And so there was quite a realistic show in the "ring" that afternoon and evening, and the hospital received over a thousand dollars benefit.

Near Oneida some one said I had better take to the towpath on the canal and save distance, besides avoid going over the hill, adding that while it was against the law, everybody did it and no one would object. So, when we came to the forks of the road, I followed the best beaten track and soon found ourselves traveling along on the level, hard but narrow way, the towpath. All went well, and just at evening on an elevated bridge across the canal, three mules were crossing and a canal-boat was seen on the opposite side, evidently preparing to "camp" for the night. With the kodak we were able to catch the last mule's ears as he was backed into the boat for the night, but not so fortunate the next day when the boat with three men, two women and three long-eared mules were squarely met, the latter on the towpath. The mules took fright, got into a regular mix-up, broke the harness and went up the towpath at a 2:40 gait and were with difficulty brought under control.

I had walked into Oneida the night before, and so did not see the sight or hear the war of words that followed. The men ordered W. to "take that outfit off the towpath." His answer was that he could not do it without upsetting the wagon. The men said if he would not, they would d—n quick, and started toward the wagon evidently intent to execute their threat, meanwhile swearing at the top of their voices and the women swearing in chorus, one of them fairly shrieking. My old and trusted muzzle-loading rifle that we had carried across the Plains more than fifty-five years before lay handy by, and so when the men started toward him, W. picked up the rifle to show fight, and called on the dog Jim to take hold of the men. As he raised the gun to use as a club, one of the boatmen threw up his hands, bawling at the top of his voice, "Don't shoot, don't shoot," forgot to mix in oaths, and slunk out of sight behind the wagon; the others also drew back. Jim showed his teeth and a truce followed when one of the women became hysterical and the other called loudly for help. With but little inconvenience the mules were taken off the path and the team drove on, whereupon a volley of oaths was hurled at the object of all the trouble, in which the women joined at the top of their voices, continuing as long as they could be heard, one of them shrieking—drunk, W. thinks.

The fun of it was, the gun that had spread such consternation hadn't been loaded for more than twenty-five years, but the sight of it was enough for the three stalwart braves of the "raging canal".

I vowed then and there that we would travel no more on the towpath of the canal.

When I came to Albany, the mayor wouldn't talk to me after once taking a look at my long hair. He was an old man, and as I was afterwards told, a "broken-down politician" (whatever that may mean). At any rate, he treated me quite rudely I thought, though I presume, in his opinion, it was the best way to get rid of a nuisance, and so I passed on through the city.

But it took New York City to cap the climax—to bring me all sort of experiences, sometimes with the police, sometimes with the gaping crowds, and sometimes at the city hall.

Mayor McLellan was not in the city when I arrived, but the acting mayor said that while he could not grant a permit, to come on in—he would have the police commissioner instruct his men not to molest me. Either the instructions were not general enough or else the men paid no attention, for when I got down as far as 161st Street on Amsterdam Avenue, a policeman interfered and ordered my driver to take the team to the police station, which he very properly refused to do. It was after dark and I had just gone around the corner to engage quarters for the night when this occurred; returning, I saw the young policeman attempt to move the team, but as he didn't know how, they wouldn't budge a peg, whereupon he arrested my driver, and took him away. Just then another police tried to coax me to drive the team down to the police station; I said, "No, sir, I will not." He said there were good stables down there, whereupon I told him I had already engaged a stable, and would drive to it unless prevented by force. The crowd had become large and began jeering the policeman. The situation was that he couldn't drive the team to the station, and I wouldn't, and so there we were. To arrest me would make matters worse by leaving the team on the street without any one to care for it, and so finally the fellow got out of the way, and I drove the team to the stable, he, as well as a large crowd, following. As soon as I was in the stable he told me to come along with him to the police station; I told him I would go when I got the team attended to, but not before unless he wished to carry me. The upshot of the matter was that by this time the captain of the precinct arrived and called his man off, and ordered my driver released. He had had some word from the city hall but had not notified his men. It transpired there was an ordinance against allowing cattle to be driven on the streets of New York. Of course, this was intended to apply to loose cattle, but the police interpreted it to mean any cattle, and had the clubs to enforce their interpretation. I was in the city, and couldn't get out without subjecting myself to arrest according to their version of the laws, and in fact I didn't want to get out. I wanted to drive down Broadway from one end to the other, which I did, a month later, as will presently be related.

All hands said nothing short of an ordinance by the board of aldermen would clear the way; so I tackled the aldermen. The New York Tribune sent a man over to the city hall to intercede for me; the New York Herald did the same thing, and so it came about, the aldermen passed an ordinance granting me the right of way for thirty days, and also endorsed my work. I thought my trouble was over when that passed. Not so, the mayor was absent, and the acting mayor could not sign an ordinance until after ten days had elapsed. Then the city attorney came in and said the aldermen had exceeded their authority as they could not legally grant a special privilege. Then the acting mayor said he would not sign the ordinance, but if I would wait until the next meeting of the aldermen, if they did not rescind the ordinance, it would be certified as he would not veto it, and that as no one was likely to test the legality he thought I would be safe in acting as though it was legal, and so, just thirty days from the time I had the bother with the police, and had incurred $250.00 expense, I drove down Broadway from 161st Street to the Battery, without a slip or getting into any serious scrape of any kind except with one automobilist who became angered, but afterwards became "as good as pie," as the old saying goes. The rain fell in torrents as we neared the Battery. I had engaged quarters for the cattle nearby, but the stablemen went back on me, and wouldn't let me in, and so drove up Water Street a long way before finding a place and then was compelled to pay $4.00 for stable room and hay for the cattle over night.

Thirty days satisfied me with New York. The fact was the crowds were so great that congestion of traffic always followed my presence, and I would be compelled to move. I went one day to the City Hall Park to get the Greeley statue photographed with my team, and could not get away without the help of the police, and even then with great difficulty.

A trip across Brooklyn Bridge to Brooklyn was made, but I found the congestion there almost as great as in the city proper. The month I was on the streets of New York was a month of anxiety, and I was glad enough to get out of the city on the 17th of October, just thirty days after the drive down Broadway, and sixty days after the holdup on 161st Street, and the very day the big run on the Knickerbocker Bank began.

I came near meeting a heavy loss two days before leaving the city. Somehow I got sandwiched in on the East Side above the Brooklyn bridge in the congested district of the foreign quarters and finally at nightfall drove into a stable, put the oxen in the stalls and, as usual, the dog Jim in the wagon. The next morning Jim was gone. The stablemen said he had left the wagon a few moments after I had and had been stolen. The police accused the stablemen of being a party to the theft, in which I think they were right. Anyway, the day wore off and no tidings. Money could not buy that dog. He was an integral part of the expedition; always on the alert; always watchful of the wagon during my absence and always willing to mind what I bid him to do. He had had more adventures than any other member of the work; first he had been tossed over a high brush by the ox Dave; then shortly after pitched headlong over a barbed wire fence by an irate cow; then came the fight with a wolf; following this came a narrow escape from the rattlesnake in the road; after this a trolley car run over him, rolling him over and over again until he came out as dizzy as a drunken man—I thought he was a "goner" that time sure, but he soon straightened up, and finally in the streets of Kansas City was run over by a heavy truck while fighting another dog. The other dog was killed outright, while Jim came near having his neck broken, lost one of his best fighting teeth and had several others broken. I sent him to a veterinary surgeon and curiously enough he made no protest while having the broken teeth repaired and extracted. He could eat nothing but soup and milk for several days, and that poured down him, as he could neither lap nor swallow liquids. It came very near being "all day" with Jim, but he is here with me all right and seemingly good for a new adventure.

No other method could disclose where to find him than to offer a reward, which I did, and feel sure I paid the twenty dollars to one of the fellow-parties to the theft who was brazen faced enough to demand pay for keeping him. Then was when I got up and talked pointedly, and was glad enough to get out of that part of the city.

Between Newark and Elizabeth City, New Jersey, at a point known as "Lyons Farm," the old "Meeker Homestead" stands, built in the year 1767. Here the "Meeker Tribe," as we called ourselves, came out to greet me near forty strong, as shown by the illustration. [26] Except in Philadelphia, I did not receive much recognition between Elizabeth City and Washington. Wilmington would have none of it, except for pay, and so I passed on, but at Philadelphia I was bid to go on Broad Street under the shadow of the great city hall where great crowds came and took a lot of my literature away during the four days I tarried; in Baltimore I got a "cold shoulder" and passed through the city without halting long. In parts of Maryland I found many lank oxen with long horns and light quarters, the drivers not being much interested in the outfit except to remark, "Them's mighty fine cattle, stranger; where do you come from?" and like passing remarks.

But when I reached Washington, the atmosphere, so to speak, changed—a little bother with the police a few days, but soon brushed aside. I had been just twenty-two months to a day in reaching Washington from the time I made my first day's drive from my home at Puyallup, January 29th, 1906. It took President Roosevelt to extend a royal welcome.

"Well, well, WELL, WELL," was the exclamation that fell from his lips as he came near enough the outfit to examine it critically, which he did. Senator Piles and Representative Cushman of the Washington State Congressional delegation had introduced me to the President in the cabinet room. Mr. Roosevelt showed a lively interest in the work from the start. He did not need to be told that the Trail was a battlefield, or that the Oregon pioneers who moved out and occupied the Oregon country while yet in dispute between Great Britain and the United States were heroes who fought a strenuous battle as "winners of the farther west," for he fairly snatched the words from my lips and went even farther than I had even dreamed of, let alone having hoped for, in invoking Government aid to carry on the work.

Addressing Senator Piles the President said with emphasis, "I am in favor of this work to mark this Trail and if you will bring before Congress a measure to accomplish it, I am with you, and will give it my support to do it thoroughly."

Mr. Roosevelt thought the suggestion of a memorial highway should first come from the states through which the Trail runs; anyway it would be possible to get congressional aid to mark the Trail, and that in any event, ought to be speedily done.

Apparently, on a sudden recollecting other engagements pressing, the President asked, "Where is your team? I want to see it." Upon being told that it was near by, without ceremony, and without his hat he was soon alongside, asking questions faster than they could be answered, not idle questions, but such as showed his intense desire to get real information—bottom facts—as the saying goes.