THE START.

Camp No. 1 was in my front dooryard at Puyallup, Washington, a town established on my own homestead nearly forty years ago, on the line of the Northern Pacific Railroad, nine miles southeast of Tacoma, and thirty miles south of Seattle, Washington. In platting the town I dedicated a park and called it Pioneer Park, and in it are the remains of our ivy-covered cabin, where the wife of fifty-eight years and I, with our growing family, spent so many happy hours. In this same town I named the principal thoroughfare Pioneer Avenue, and a short street abutting the park Pioneer Way, hence the reader may note it is not a new idea to perpetuate the memory of the pioneers.

No piece of machinery ever runs at the start as well as after trial; therefore Camp No. 1 was maintained several days to mend up the weak points, and so after a few days of trial everything was pronounced in order, and Camp No. 2 was pitched in the street in front of the Methodist church of the town, and a lecture was delivered in the church for the benefit of the expedition.

I drove to Seattle, passing through the towns of Sumner, Auburn and Kent, lecturing in each place, with indifferent success, as the people seemed to pay more attention to the ox team than they did to me, and cared more to be in the open, asking trivial questions, than to be listening to the story of the Oregon Trail. However, when I came to count the results I found ninety-two dollars in my pocket, but also found out that I could not lecture and make any headway in the work of getting monuments erected; that I must remain in the open, where I could meet all the people and not merely a small minority, and so the lecture scheme was soon after abandoned.

Then I thought to arouse an interest and secure some aid in Seattle, where I had hosts of friends and acquaintances, but nothing came out of the effort—my closest friends trying to dissuade me from going—and, I may say, actually tried to convince others that it would not be an act of friendship to lend any aid to the enterprise. What, for lack of a better name, I might call a benign humor underlay all this solicitude. I knew, or thought I knew, my powers of physical endurance to warrant undertaking the ordeal; that I could successfully make the trip, but my closest friends were the most obdurate, and so after spending two weeks in Seattle I shipped my outfit by steamer to Tacoma. Conditions there were much the same as at Seattle. A pleasant incident, however, broke the monotony. Henry Hewitt, of Tacoma, drove up alongside my team, then standing on Pacific Avenue, and said, "Meeker, if you get broke out there on the Plains, just telegraph me for money to come back on." I said no, "I would rather hear you say to telegraph for money to go on with." "All right," came the response, "have it that way then," and drove off, perhaps not afterwards giving the conversation a second thought until he received my telegram, telling him I had lost an ox and that I wanted him to send me two hundred dollars. As related elsewhere, the response came quick, for the next day I received the money. "A friend in need is a friend indeed."

Somehow no serious thought ever entered my mind to turn back after once started, no more than when the first trip of 1852 was made.

Almost everyone has just such an experience in life, and, after looking back over the vista of years, wonder why. In this case I knew it was a case of persistence only, to succeed in making the trip, but of course could not know as to the results; but there was more than this: I simply wanted to do it, and having once resolved to do it, nothing but utter physical disability could deter me.

From Tacoma I shipped by steamer to Olympia.

The terminus of the old Trail is but two miles distant from Olympia, at Tumwater, the extreme southern point of Puget Sound, and where the waters of the Des Chutes River mingles with the salt waters of the Pacific through the channels of Puget Sound, Admiralty Inlet and Straits of Fuca, 150 miles distant. Here was where the first American party of home builders rested and settled in 1845 and became the end of the Trail, where land and water travel meet. At this point I set a post, and subsequently arranged for an inscribed stone to be planted to permanently mark the spot.

I quote from my journal: "Olympia, February 19th, 1906.—Spent the day canvassing for funds for the monument, giving tickets for the lecture in the evening in return; what with the receipts at the door and collections, found I had $42.00—$21.00 of which was given to Allen Weir for benefit of monument fund."

OUT ON THE TRAIL.

"Camp 10, Tenino, Feb. 20th.—Went to Tenino on train to arrange for meeting and for monument; hired horse team to take outfit to Tenino, 16 miles, and drove oxen under the yoke; went into camp near site of the monument to be erected about 3 p. m."

"21st.—A red-letter day; drove over to the stone quarry and hauled monument over to site, where workman followed and put same in place. This monument was donated by the Tenino Quarry Company and is inscribed, 'Old Oregon Trail, 1845-53.' At 2 o'clock the stores were closed, the school children in a body came over and nearly the whole population turned out to the dedication of the first monument on the Trail. Lectured in the evening to a good house—had splendid vocal music. Receipts $16.00."

The reader will note quotation from my journal, "hired horse team to take outfit to Tenino," and wonder why I hired a team. I will tell you. Dave, the so-called ox, was not an ox but simply an unruly Montana five-year-old steer and as mean a brute as ever walked on four legs. I dare not entrust the driving to other hands, and must go ahead to arrange for the monument and the lecture. Dave would hook and kick and do anything and all things one would not want him to do, but to behave himself was not a part of his disposition. Besides, he would stick his tongue out from the smallest kind of exertion. At one time I became very nearly discouraged with him. He had just been shipped in off the Montana cattle range and had never had a rope on him—unless it was when he was branded—and like a great big overgrown booby of a boy, his flesh was flabby and he could not endure any sort of exertion without discomfort. This is the ox that finally made the round trip and that bore his end of the yoke from the tide waters of the Pacific to the tide waters of the Atlantic, at the Battery, New York City, and to Washington City to meet the President. He finally became subdued, though not conquered; to this day I do not trust his heels, though he now seldom threatens with his horns. He weighed in Washington City when viewed by the President 1,900 pounds—330 pounds more than he did when I first put him under the yoke twenty-two months before. [22] The ox "Twist," also shown in the illustration, suddenly died August 9, 1906, and was buried within a few rods of the Trail, as told in another chapter. It took two months to a day before I could find a mate for the Dave ox, and then had to take another five-year-old steer off the cattle range of Nebraska. This steer, Dandy, evidently had never been handled, but he came of good stock and, with the exception of awkwardness, gave me no serious trouble. Dandy was purchased out of the stock yards of Omaha, weighed 1,470 pounds, and the day before he went to see the President tipped the scales at the 1,760-pound notch and has proven to be a faithful, serviceable ox.

CHEHALIS, WASHINGTON.

At Chehalis a point was selected in the center of the street at the park, and a post set to mark the spot where the monument is to stand. The Commercial Club undertook the work, but were not ready to erect and dedicate, as a more expensive monument than one that could be speedily obtained would be provided as an ornament to the park.

I vividly recollected this section of the old Trail, having, in company with a brother, packed my blankets and "grub" on my back over it in May, 1853, and camped on it nearby over night, under the sheltering, drooping branches of a friendly cedar tree. We did not carry tents on such a trip, but slept out under the open canopy of heaven, obtaining such shelter as we could from day to day.

It is permissible to note the liberality of H. C. Davis, of Claquato, who provided a fund of $50.00 to purchase one ox for the expedition, the now famous ox Dave that made the round trip to the Atlantic and return.

JACKSONS.

John R. Jackson was the first American citizen to settle north of the Columbia River. One of the daughters, Mrs. Ware, accompanied by her husband, indicated the spot where the monument should be erected, and a post was planted. A touching incident was that Mrs. Ware was requested to put the post in place and hold it while her husband tamped the earth around it, which she did with tears streaming from her eyes at the thought that at last her pioneer father's place in history was to be recognized. A stone was ordered at once, to soon take the place of the post.

TOLEDO, WASHINGTON.

Toledo, the last place to be reached on the old Trail in Washington, is on the Cowlitz, a mile from the landing where the pioneers left the river on the overland trail to the Sound. Here, later, the citizens erected a suitable monument.

PORTLAND, OREGON.

From Toledo I shipped by river steamer the whole outfit, and took passage with my assistants to Portland, thus reversing the order of travel in 1853, accepting the use of steam instead of the brawn of stalwart men and Indians to propel the canoe, and arrived on the evening of March 1, and on the morning of the 2nd pitched my tent in the heart of the city on a beautiful vacant lot, the property of Jacob Kamm. I remained in camp here until the morning of March 9, to test the question of securing aid for the expedition.

Except for the efforts of that indefatigable worker, George H. Himes, secretary of the Oregon Pioneer Association since 1886, and assistant secretary of the Oregon Historical Society, with headquarters in Portland, no helping hand was extended. Not but that the citizens took a lively interest in the "novel undertaking" in this "unique outfit," yet the fact became evident that only the few believed the work could be successfully done by individual effort, and that Government aid should be invoked. The prevailing opinion was voiced by a prominent citizen, a trustee of a church, who voted against allowing the use of the church for a lecture for the benefit of the expedition, when he said that he "did not want to do anything to encourage that old man to go out on the Plains to die." Notwithstanding this sentiment, through Mr. Himes' efforts nearly $200 was contributed.

March 10, at 7:00 a. m., embarked at Portland on the steamer Bailey Gatzert for The Dalles, which place was reached at night, but enlivened by a warm reception from the citizens awaiting my arrival, who conducted us to a camping place that had been selected.

Upon this steamer one can enjoy all the luxuries of civilized life, a continuous trip now being made through the Government locks at the Cascades. The tables are supplied with all the delicacies the season affords, with clean linen for the beds, and obsequious attendants to supply the wants of travelers.

"What changes time has wrought," I exclaimed. "Can it be the same Columbia River which I traversed fifty-four years ago? Yes, there are the mighty mountains, the wonderful waterfalls, the sunken forests, each attesting the identity of the spot, but what about the conditions? The answer can be found in the chapter elsewhere in this work, "Floating Down the River," illustrating the mighty changes of fifty-six years, when as an emigrant I passed through this gap of the Cascades in a flatboat, on the waters of the great river."