The Memorials to Whitman. Why Delayed. Why the History was not Written Earlier. Whitman College the Grand Monument! Professor Harris Defines "History the window through which the soul looks down upon the past and reads its lessons."

It is of great importance that history be written accurately, and is best when written at the time of action by reliable observers. But there is much history of great value which was not currently recorded. The Bible record is an instance of this. Take the history of the battles of the great Civil War as another illustration. General Sherman, president of "The Army of the Tennessee," in every annual meeting, long after the war, declared the papers read before the society, and those read before "The Loyal Legion," descriptions of skirmishes, campaigns, and battles of the great conflict, as of greater value to history than were even the official reports made at the time of action; they were the personal experiences of many participants; that they caught the very spirit of the time and events, and were reliable although written thirty and more years later.

There were many valid reasons why the history of the North Pacific states in pioneer days was left unwritten for many years. It was most fortunate that when the subject first began to receive attention so many of the pioneers were still living, and that so much of the history had been preserved by the Pioneer Association of Oregon, and by individual records and letters. The writer reached Oregon soon after the massacre at Waiilatpui. He was a teacher of the boys and girls of the first settlers, and had access to their homes soon after the execution of the five Indian leaders. The scene of the execution was not far distant from the school-house in the fir woods. Naturally it was a subject for discussion in every intelligent circle. I thus learned historic facts not from books of written history, but from men who were makers of the history.

Why the Writing was Delayed

In less than eight months after the massacre, gold was discovered in California and Oregon, and no other event so absorbed the attention of the population of the Pacific Coast or we might say of the whole United States. They thought of little else for ten years. During the same period, an Indian war following the Whitman massacre was in progress in Oregon. Before these excitements ceased, the political upheavals, beginning in 1856, culminated in 1860. Then followed the great struggle of the Civil War, when giants met in battle, and the very existence of the nation hung upon the success of the men behind the flag. After 1865, the starry flag floated from ocean to ocean, from the lakes to the Gulf, came the troublous period of reconstruction—railroad-building and money-making as never before witnessed in the Republic.

It is not at all strange that under such conditions, at least such history as was made by a poor country doctor and his noble, unselfish wife should have been for the time neglected. Who will say that it is too late to remember such? In every civilized land the historian's pen, the painter's brush, and the sculptor's art have been taxed to place upon the library shelves historical books, upon the walls paintings, and upon pedestals sculptured marble; thus commemorating the noble dead, their great names live again as educators of the people.

The Memorials to Whitman Few

After leaving Oregon, the writer did not return for forty-five years; in the interim were wondrous changes. The giant forests of firs had disappeared, while cities, towns, and country homes, and waving wheat-fields had taken their places. But as I stood at "the Great Grave" of the martyrs, it alone was undisturbed and unchanged, in all these years!

To the great credit of loyal pioneers of Oregon who knew Whitman and his work, upon the fiftieth anniversary of his death erected a stately marble column above the grave and secured five acres of ground about it, while the Christian people of Walla Walla built a little Memorial Mission Church at the place of the massacre.

In a previous chapter we noted the action of the American Board and the Presbyterian statue to Whitman upon the fiftieth anniversary of his death.

It is gratifying to observe these marked evidences of awakened interest in the long-neglected Oregonian hero. It is but the beginning, for the name and honor of Marcus Whitman will shine with new luster in the years to come.

The Grand Memorial is Whitman College

It needs no argument to convince intelligent readers, young or old, that to such a character as Whitman, a great institution of learning is the best and most appropriate memorial. While it is a constant reminder of a noble, unselfish, patriotic Christian life, it is also a blessing to the whole people within its reach, by building up intellectual and moral character in the young men and women of that land for which he gave his life.

The story of Whitman College, like the life of the man it commemorates, gives a lesson in faith.

Dr. Cushing Eells was the co-worker with Whitman, and perhaps knew the inner life of the man better than any other. After the massacre he was driven from his post, but returned to the Indian country as soon as it was opened to white people. He at once visited the tragic grounds at Waiilatpui. As he stood uncovered at the great grave of his beloved friends, he writes in his diary:

"I believe the power of the Highest came upon me, and I asked, What can I do to honor the memory of these Christian martyrs who did so much for the nation and humanity? I felt if Dr. Whitman could be consulted he would prefer a high school for the benefit of both sexes, rather than a monument of marble."

We must remember that at that time there were very few schools in the Pacific States above the grade of the ordinary country district school.

The subject impressed him, and as he thought and prayed, it came to him as his life work and duty, to build such a monument. In memory of his friend he laid the matter before his good wife, it met with her cordial approval; and then before the Congregational Council, and they enthusiastically indorsed the work, and in a closing minute said, "The Whitman Seminary is in memory of the noble deeds and great work of the late lamented Dr. Whitman and his noble wife."

Dr. Eells, like Whitman, was a very poor man. The people about them were poor. But they were rich in the kind of "Faith that removes mountains." To financiers of modern times who demand millions for schools the outlook for Whitman Seminary would not have been marked as "promising." Dr. Eells bought the great Whitman Mission farm from the American Board for one thousand dollars (on credit), and began work. He and his wife were then well along in years, but that did not count, and they had two sons of like mind who still live to tell the story. For six years he plowed, sowed, reaped, and preached a free Gospel up and down the valley; while the good wife made butter, raised chickens, spun and wove, and at the end of that time, they had accumulated six thousand dollars to start Whitman Seminary. The charter was granted, the foundations laid, and work begun. The time came, years later, when the seminary grew into a college, and Dr. Eells had such strong and able men to aid and advise him as Dr. Anderson, the first president, Dr. Atkinson, Dr. Lyman, Dr. Spalding, and many others. But the college, while it had from the outset a good reputation, was poor; there was no endowment, and the young men and women to be educated were poor. Dr. Eells devoted his time and life energies to his task, but in spite of all they had to place a mortgage of thirteen thousand five hundred dollars upon the property. One has to read the story in Dr. Eells' diary to know it in its completeness. In its darkest days, when the faith of others was small, his was still as strong as at the beginning. The last entries in his diary, just before his death, were prayers for the upbuilding and full success of Whitman College.

The Story of Long Ago, and its Sequel

The sacred word says, "A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver!" Who can overestimate the power of a good word or a good act? Drop a stone in the middle of a placid lake and the circles begin and widen until they reach the farthest shore. So with good words and good acts, they go on and on into the great future, in ways we know not of.

Congressman Thurston was a Maine man—a fine type physically, intellectually, and morally. He had early immigrated to Oregon, and was the first congressman from that territory. It was too far to return to Oregon for his summer vacation, over the slow routes of that day, so he went up to Chicopee, Massachusetts, to spend the summers of 1848 and 1849. The house where he boarded was one of the old-fashioned New England double houses, with a wide porch across the entire front. It so happened that a young doctor and his wife occupied the other side of the house, and the front portico was the common retreat in the long summer evenings. He loved to tell of the majestic forests of fir and pine trees, fifteen feet in diameter and three hundred feet high, of the grand rivers, rich soil, and its great future. It was not until 1848 that word reached the States of the tragic disaster at Waiilatpui, and the death of his dear friends, Dr. and Mrs. Whitman. The incidents and heroism of their lives were told by the eloquent, earnest congressman, in a way that made a deep and lasting impression upon the young doctor and his good wife. They were seriously casting about for some wider field in life, and were almost persuaded to make Oregon their future home. Upon the homeward journey to Oregon in 1850, Congressman Thurston lost his life in a great ocean disaster upon the Pacific. The writer was in Oregon at the time, and well remembers the wave of sorrow that spread throughout the territory. After the death of Thurston, the young doctor gave up the Far Western journey, but he still had "the western fever," removed to Illinois, and bought a small farm. Prospecting through that state, Wisconsin and Michigan, he made up his mind that there was money in pine land, and beginning in a small way, marketed the timber, and made money. He at once invested all his money in pine timberland, bought and sold, and ever bought more pine, and the time came when he could readily sell for four times the cost of it. He was an observant man, and his success in locating and selling, by his straightforward way of doing business, soon attracted the attention of capitalists, and they persuaded him to settle in Chicago and buy and sell for them. Soon an immense business was in his hands, which continued for years, and left him with a fortune. He wearied with the years of intense business activity, retired, and said to himself, here is a snug little fortune, what is to be done with it? In the language of a notable address, delivered by the doctor before a great audience at Battle Creek, when he said, "These dead hands can carry nothing out! What, gentlemen, are you going to do with your money?" He soon settled upon a plan to spend his, and that was to use it through deserving struggling Colleges, to give to poor young men and women an intellectual, moral, and religious training. He believed that every institution for its permanency and security should have a healthy, interested, money-giving constituency about it, and so he gave in a way to induce others to give, and aids no institution where the Bible and moral training are neglected. I scarcely need tell my intelligent readers this person is D. K. Pearsons, M.D., LL.D., of Chicago, now eighty-six years old.

I have given, in brief, a sketch of his work in this connection, first because of his direct association with it, and secondly, because it pointedly marks what we have tried to show from historic facts in all the chapters—that Power higher than man's power can be traced and studied.

We often speak of all such as "accidental happenings." Were they? Did the four Flathead chiefs accidentally, in 1831-32, appear in the streets of St. Louis upon their strange mission and there meet their old friend the great red-head chief? Were Drs. Whitman and Spalding and their wives accidentally in Oregon? Was his heroic ride to save Oregon in 1842 an accident? Was it accidental that he was on the border in 1843 to lead that great immigration to Oregon in safety? The Oregon of to-day was dependent upon the safety of that great company in 1843. Was it all accidental that Congressman Thurston met Dr. Pearsons in 1848-49 at Chicopee, Massachusetts, and by "words fitly spoken," that forty-five years after he had rested in his watery grave were found to be "apples of gold in pictures of silver"?

We all view such events from different standpoints, and I do not stop to argue, only to state facts historically accurate. There are accidents in the physical world from violated laws certainly, but in the moral uplift of the race there seems to be an invisible hand, and an agency greater than man's power. Wise as the race has grown, we cannot understand and explain the mysteries that surround us. I see the poor young Doctor in 1848 struggling to master his professional work, and I see him again in 1894, old and rich, and in January of that year, he sat musing by the fire in his winter home in Georgia, and he took his pen and wrote:

Lithia Springs, Georgia, January, 1894.
To the President of Whitman College, Walla Walla,
Washington:—

Dear Sir:

I will give Whitman College fifty thousand dollars for endowment, provided friends of the College will raise one hundred and fifty thousand additional,

Yours,

D. K. Pearsons.

Some may say "Nothing strange in that. Dr. Pearsons had made large gifts to thirty-four different colleges." That is true. I one day asked him, "Did any one ever ask that gift to Whitman College?" He replied, "No; no one asked me for a dollar, and the president of the college evidently thought my proposition preposterous, for he never even replied to my letter." It was in the dark days of the college. President Eaton was a good man, but he had lost the strong faith of his predecessors, and soon after resigned. Just then the Yale Band of Missionaries invaded Washington, and Rev. S. B. L. Penrose, a man of Eells faith and Whitman's courage and perseverance, was chosen president. He at once visited Dr. Pearsons, thanked him for his generous offer, and set about his task of raising the money. The difficulty was in getting a start. On June 20, 1895, the book "How Marcus Whitman Saved Oregon" was published in Chicago, and on the Fourth of July, Sunday, two weeks later, forty ministers in Chicago and neighboring places took Marcus Whitman as a patriotic text. Many of them took up collections for the memorial college, and the Congregational Club gave its check for one thousand dollars. Virginia Dox, an eloquent and enthusiastic pleader, took up the work, carrying it through Michigan, along northern and central Ohio and all New England from Maine to Massachusetts, and the one hundred and fifty thousand was raised, and the Doctor's fifty thousand added. The Doctor, in the meanwhile has paid off the mortgage debt of thirteen thousand five hundred dollars. Everything looked brighter. But the buildings were poor and over-crowded, the campus of five acres too small. It was a good fortune which enabled the directors to buy eighteen acres adjoining, and admirably adapted for the purpose.

Dr. Pearsons then said, "You need a dormitory for young men, where they can be cheaply and comfortably fed and housed, and I will give fifty thousand dollars to erect a memorial building to Dr. and Mrs. Whitman if others will erect the dormitory." Through the aid of Mrs. Billings of New York (the largest giver), Billings and Memorial halls went up simultaneously. Then Dr. Pearsons said, the girls need a dormitory as well as the boys, let others build it, and I will give fifty thousand to endowment. It was done.

The people of Walla Walla, though possessed of no surplus wealth, came nobly to the rescue and contributed several thousand dollars, and the poor professors and many students literally gave "all that they had, even all their living," in making up the required sum. And so it has been from the beginning a college built by faith and self-denial. It has still many great needs, but its friends still hope and believe that its wants will be supplied.

Some time ago the writer read the story of an orphan newsboy, a waif of the streets, but a manly little chap. He attended a mission Sunday school and became a Christian boy. Some weeks later, one of the smart young men half-sneeringly said to the boy, as he looked at his broken shoes and tattered garments, "Well, my boy, if I believed in God as you do, I would ask Him to tell some of those rich church people to give me some better shoes and nicer clothes." The little fellow looked troubled for a moment, and then replied, "I expect He did, but they forgot."

It was one of the great characteristics of the men and women of these pages, that they listened, heard, and never "forgot."

The world to-day, and in the generation to follow, is in need of strong men and noble women. Greater problems than the fathers have solved will the sons be called to solve. Be ready for them. Mistaken Christian teachers have sometimes used the words "Prepare to die." Change them to read "Prepare to live," and may you live long and bless the world by your living. In this land of ours, the poorest can aspire to and reach out for grand achievements. The poor, half-orphan boy, conning his lessons by a pine knot fire in his grandfather Whitman's old New England home, or as he went through his classical course, and the study of his profession, then learned to be a millwright, and learned all about machinery, perhaps never dreamed of the great work he was to be called to do. He simply did it all well! That is the key which unlocks the future good things of earth, and swings wide open the everlasting doors of the eternal world. You are here for work in a broad field, and while you toil, be happy, joyous, contented, and make others the same. The children of earth are in partnership with the Great Ruler of the universe in the moral government of this world. His great law is love. Love is the greatest word in the language. The Bible represents God's love, as "like a flowing river." Drink deep of it, as have our heroes and heroines, and when taps are sounded, whether in the quiet of your homes or amid the yells of savage men, as befell our loved ones, you can say with St. Paul, even when the feet of his murderers echoed from the walls of his dungeon, "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith, thenceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness." You can sing with Tennyson in his age:

THE END.