"Old Click-Click-Clackety-Clackety," the Historic Wagon. Breaking Camps and its Incidents, and the End of the Journey.

Breaking camp at Green River was a noisy and gleeful occasion. Half-starved Indian ponies, when they have rested a few weeks, generally rebel when packs are cinched with a "diamond hitch" around their well-marked ribs. Upon this occasion amusement was diversified and enjoyable, even to the actors. But both Indians and traders were no novices in such business, and soon the companies bade good by to each other and started along the trails to their widely scattered homes. It was the great exciting social event of Indian life, this distant visit to trade. The Indians there met friends and relatives, exchanged gossip, gathered the few luxuries and necessaries of life for the year to come. They brought with them squaws and some of their children, and enjoyed their outing in their savage way as much as the Élite do the seashore or Saratoga, and judging of both, one would say they had more fun. The Oregon Indians were all anxious to be escorts to "the Boston teachers." There were two intelligent traders from Oregon, Messrs. McKay and McLeod, who offered escort to the little company, which was gladly accepted, and they were of invaluable service in that most difficult portion of the journey. The faithful Indian boys, however, held their places of honor and trust to the last. Mrs. Spalding had for some time been on horseback, and enjoyed it more than the wagon, traversing the rocky roads. There was no longer need of two wagons, and one was left at the rendezvous; but "the brides' wagon" pulled out with the pack-train. My young readers may think it an uninteresting object to write about, but they must remember it is "the brides' wagon," fitted up with all the little accommodations for the first two white women who braved the dangerous journey across the great stony mountains to the Pacific. True, it was battered and worn, dust and mud and storms had robbed it of style. It is well for those who ride in palace cars and whizzing 'autos to remember the days of their great grandfathers and grandmothers, who, amid privations and perils, with the parting blessings of Puritan homes, pulled across the Alleghanies in rough wagons and hewed out homes, and built this great empire of the Middle West. The more often we remember the heroines of the past the more we will enjoy this grandest inheritance of the present ever left to any people. But there was more than sentiment to this wagon as we shall see later on. It figuratively blazed the way, and "marked a wagon-road to the Columbia," and years after silenced the eloquence of America's greatest orator!

The battered old wagon was a source of amusement to the Indians, who rode in troops by its side to see the wheels go round, and hear its clatter. Especially was it a novelty to the younger Indians, who at once named it "Old Click-Click-Clackety-Clackety." There was a plain wagon-road from the Missouri to Green River, and from thence to Fort Hall—there it stopped. The royal owners of Oregon had long before prophesied and decreed, "there would never be a wagon-road to the Columbia!" They did not want one.

The company reached Fort Hall safely, which was an outpost of the English Company, and only a pack trail led westward to the Columbia. Captain Grant, in command of the post, knew his business, and that was never to allow a wagon to go beyond Fort Hall. He at once told the company of the dangers and perils of the journey, of the impracticability of hauling a wagon. If tried it would so detain them that they would be caught in the snows upon the mountains and perish. His earnestness and arguments were such that he convinced most of them, who favored abandoning the wagon. Even Mrs. Whitman joined others in the entreaty to Dr. Whitman to leave the wagon and move on. "The Silent Man" said little, but went on with his preparations, and when the pack-train moved out, "Old Click-Click-Clackety-Clackety" clacked in the rear as usual. The real facts are, that Captain Grant had scarcely overstated the dangers and difficulties of the undertaking. From the day they left Fort Hall until the memorable baptism of the wagon in Snake River, the old wagon is one of the constant themes of Mrs. Whitman's diary. We read, "Husband had a tedious time with the wagon to-day. It got stuck in a creek and he had to wade to get it out. After that in going up the mountain the wagon upset twice." She describes the steep up and down mountain trails where at times the mules had to be unhitched and the wagon lowered with ropes (as the writer a few years later was compelled to do). She adds, "I wondered that the wagon was not turning somersaults all the time. It is not grateful to my feelings to see him wearing himself out with such fatigue. All the mountain part of the way he has walked in laborious attempts to take the wagon." About one week later Mrs. Whitman writes, gleefully, "The axletree of the wagon broke to-day. I was a little rejoiced, for we are in hopes it will now be left." She adds, in her next note, "Our rejoicing was in vain; they have made the wagon into a cart with the back wheels, and lashed the front wheels to the sides, determined to take it through in some shape or other." "Worse yet" (she writes a week later), "The hills are so steep and rocky, husband thinks it best to lighten the load as much as possible, and haul nothing but the wheels, leaving the box and the trunk!" What do you think of that, my girl readers? The brides' trunk, that came from the far-away home, with all its mementoes and tender memories to be sacrificed, and "only the wheels" taken! But the gallant McLeod solved the problem and ordered the trunk packed on one of his mules, and it made the journey safely, and the old wagon made into a cart, but its wheels and every iron sacredly preserved, was still a wagon; and under a power impressed upon one brave soul it moved on its great way, marking a wagon-road and a highway between the oceans. Those may smile who will, but they do not think deep, nor do they estimate how small and seemingly insignificant events shape the greatest events in a personal, and even national, life.

The last note of Mrs. Whitman's diary referring to the wagon says:

"August 13. We have just crossed the Snake River, the packs were removed from the ponies and placed on the tallest horses, while two of the highest were selected for Mrs. Spalding and me. Mr. McLeod gave me his and rode mine. The river is divided into three channels by islands, the last, a half a mile wide, and our direction was against the current, which made it hard for the horses, as the water was up to their sides. Husband had a difficult time with the cart, as both mules and cart upset in midstream, and the animals got tangled in the harness, and would have drowned but for the desperate struggle for their release. Two of the strongest horses were taken into the river and hitched to the cart, while two men swam behind and guided it safely to the shore."

There they were at Fort Boise, beyond the Snake, and in Oregon! The wagon-road was made! It was within easy reach of their future home. There it was decided to leave the cart until spring, together with half a dozen footsore cattle, which could be sent for, or exchanged for others at Fort Walla Walla. Packs were now divided and the patient mules, which had long drawn the cart, became packers.

An old wagon is the common rubbish in every farm-yard, and if my reader enters a protest to the large place I have given it, or to protest against Marcus Whitman for his persistent refusal to take the advice of his companions, I will state in simple defense, I believe Whitman was an inspired man! He never once made such claim, even to the wife he almost adored. Later on, as we shall see, he obeyed the same voice under far more trying circumstances, when called to make his midwinter ride to save Oregon.

When his friends insisted in saying, "It is like going down into the valley and shadow of death; wait until spring," his only answer was, "I must go now!" Who can fathom such mysteries in any other way than that I have mentioned. The chances are, he never dreamed of making a trail for a great transcontinental traffic. It is not at all likely that ever the thought came to him that he should guide a great immigrant train over the same route a few years later and the brides' wagon proved a notable factor in his success.

The Last March

The incumbrances left behind, the company moved on as rapidly as the loose stock could be driven. It was still a wild, rugged road, but much of the country traversed was beautiful. They were all now on horseback, and all their worldly possessions on pack-saddles. The weather was delightful, game abundant, and there was now no danger of starving, although they had long been without all the luxuries common to civilization. But best of all, they were buoyed up by the near completion of a nearly seven months' journey of hardships and danger. The day before they were to reach Fort Walla Walla, the Doctor and Mrs. Whitman rode ahead of the company, and camped under the trees on the bank of the river, eight miles from the Fort. At daylight they were upon the road. Who can imagine the delight of the tired travelers, as they came in sight, at a distance, of human habitations and civilization! They spurred their horses into a gallop and rode to the gates of the Fort just as the occupants were sitting down to breakfast. The men and women of the Fort came at once and admitted them through the gates, and gave them a cordial welcome, and did their best to make them feel at ease.

Mrs. Whitman writes in her diary:

"September 1, 1836. We reached here this morning just as they were sitting down to breakfast. We were soon seated at table and treated to fresh salmon, potatoes, tea, bread, and butter; what a variety thought I. You cannot imagine what an appetite those rides in the mountain air give a person."

She playfully adds that,

"While at breakfast a rooster perched himself upon the doorstep, and crowed lustily. Whether it was in honor of the arrival of the first two white women, or as a general compliment to the company, I know not, but he pleased me."

The rest of the company reached the fort during the afternoon. Here they all were, and none missing, right upon the scene of their probable future labor.

The Cayuse Indians who had earnestly interceded for teachers were the owners of a great tract of fertile land on both sides of the Walla Walla River. Adjoining them, one hundred miles distant, was the Nez Perces, to whom all the missionaries felt indebted and attracted, because of the boy friends who had so faithfully served them during the long journey, and as well for their amiable dispositions. The Cayuse were smart Indians, whose wealth was in horses, which roamed over their rich pastures, and without care, kept fat the year through. But the Cayuse were not like the Nez Perces, always to be relied upon. They were sharp traders, and notably tricky. But our missionaries found they could do nothing by way of settlement until they presented their credentials and consulted with the ruling authorities—the English Hudson Bay Company at Vancouver, two hundred and fifty miles down the Columbia. They were urged to stop and rest before making the long journey, but so eager were they to get to their work, and to make preparations for the winter, that they declined the kind invitation. Large boats were secured, and strong-armed, experienced Indian rowers soon bore the party to their destination, through a land, and along rivers romantically interesting. They found great bands of Indians on their route, especially at the rapids, and The Dalles, where many found employment, as boats and goods had to be carried for miles to smooth water. Dr. Whitman at once marked The Dalles as an ideal place for a mission.[1]

Dr. McLoughlin, the chief factor of the Hudson Bay Company, received the party most cordially, and bade them welcome. He was known among the Indians as "The great white head chief." He was a giant in stature, a gentleman of culture and education, and a man with a soul as large as his body. From the outset there seemed to be a freemasonry attachment between Whitman and McLoughlin. They were much alike, physically and mentally. They were both physicians and men with high moral character, stamped in every act of their lives. McLoughlin carried out fixed principles in all his dealings with the Indians; he never allowed them cheated in any trade; he lived up to every promise made; and the savage tribes, in every quarter, obeyed his commands like good soldiers do their general. Whitman laid bare the whole case, how and why they were there, and concealed nothing. His ideas freely given were, that he believed savages must first be taught to build homes, plant and sow, and raise cattle, sheep, and stop their roaming life. This was directly what the Hudson Bay people did not want. They wanted furs and skins, and to get them whole tribes must each year migrate to the distant hunting and trapping regions. Dr. McLoughlin, while anxious to serve the missionaries, was yet true to his company. He had placed the Methodist missionaries Jason and Daniel Lee the year before far up the Willamette, and he explained to Dr. Whitman that The Dalles was not the place for a mission, and that it would be far better for the company and for the missionaries, to settle in a more distant quarter. It all resulted in Dr. Whitman going to the Cayuse on the Walla Walla, and Dr. Spalding to the Nez Perces, one hundred and twenty-five miles further on.

McLoughlin was so impressed with the honesty and earnestness of his guests, that he gave them liberty to draw upon him for anything he could furnish for their use and comfort. Such an unlooked-for kindness was greatly appreciated. And we may add, as far as Dr. McLoughlin could execute the promise, it was sacredly fulfilled. It is well to constantly remember that without his kindly aid the missionaries of Oregon would have suffered, or even starved. Having settled these important preliminaries, the little company was impatient to be at its work. McLoughlin saw the necessity of house-building in preparation for the winter, but protested against the wives leaving his roof until homes were provided, and when he saw that they hesitated and feared that they would tax hospitality, he at once overcome all by stating it would not overtax, but would be a great favor to him if Mrs. Whitman would remain and give his daughter lessons in music. So it was arranged—The husbands with helpers, tools, and seeds departed for the scene of their future homes.

The Cayuse Indians were delighted with the arrangement, and at once set off six hundred and forty acres of their best land at the junction of two branches of the Walla Walla River for the mission. Here the Doctor, his two teamsters, and two he had hired set about house-building. There were small trees all about the grounds and along the river, but none suitable for lumber or boards. For all such they had to go from eight to ten miles up the river to the foot of the Blue Mountains, and saw by hand, or rive boards, pack them on horses, or float them down the rapid river. It is easy to see that house-building was no picnic job under such circumstances. But Whitman was not an "eight-hour man," and he never "struck." He toiled early and late, and camped down in the forest, and went to sleep with the musical howl of the wolf in his ears. The result was, in less than six weeks there loomed up "a commodious house," of one great room, with a large open fireplace and nearly ready for guests. It had a shingled roof, places for windows and doors, and while the Doctor added the many little conveniences for comfort, Dr. Spalding went to Vancouver to escort the women, who were impatient, and anxious to be helpers of their husbands. A house, whether a cabin or a palace, is never a home until a good wife enters its doors. A man alone can no more make a home home-like than he can pack a trunk.