Part 7

I also ceased hunting. The provisions were soon exhausted. Nothing was left but coffee and sugar, of which we had a fair supply. With a drink of strong coffee well saturated with sugar, and jolly in spirit, we treated the situation as a huge joke. We all started out for venison. I saw nothing during the day, but frequently heard the report of the rifles of my partners. Each shot was full of hope. We all returned quite late in the evening, and the report of nothing killed was somewhat dismaying. We made, however, a cup of strong coffee--told our best stories, then rolled ourselves in our blankets to dream of home, and of our father's house, where there was bread enough and to spare. We rose early the next morning, taciturn and sad; not much conversation was indulged in. Each, after his breakfast of coffee and sugar, took his own course into the woods, while I had my accustomed ill luck of seeing no game. I heard reports of my companions' rifles, but their echoes did not carry with them much of faith, or hope. I returned quite late that evening and found my companions all in the cabin. Things began to look serious. We took our accustomed coffee and sugar, and soon retired to our bunks to dream of tables loaded with provisions; but some fatality always prevented us from reaching them. I was hungry, and while slowly working my way through the snow to the cabin I looked anxiously for some bird or squirrel that I might kill and eat. The next morning we held a short consultation to determine whether it was better to leave, or to make still further efforts to obtain provisions. In the afternoon of that day I saw a large buck and three does in a clump of brush above me on the mountain side. They were too far away for an effective shot--so I slowly approached them. They saw me and were somewhat disturbed by my presence. They could not go higher on account of the increasing depth of snow. I was lying on the snow with my rifle in position, watching an opportunity for a successful shot. All at once the buck left the clump of brush and came plunging down the mountain side, attempting to pass me some eight rods to my right. If I ever looked through the sights of a rifle with a desperate determination, it was then. I fired when he was nearly opposite me and he plunged headlong into the snow. I had struck him fairly in the heart, and life was immediately extinct. I got to him as soon as I could, after reloading my rifle, and cut out of his ham a piece, which I ate while it was still warm. It had the same effect upon me for a short time as a drink of strong brandy has upon an empty stomach. I cut off the saddle, threw it over my shoulder, and started for camp. It was in the dusk of the evening when I arrived. My partners were there, and when they saw me coming said nothing, but with a fixed gaze, as though to be certain of relief, fairly grabbed the saddle from my shoulders, rushed into the cabin and began to roast and eat. The roasting was not overdone. About midnight, for fear that wolf or cougar might find the portion left on the mountain side, they took my trail to where it was, and brought it in. We stayed about a week longer, but I had no difficulty in killing an abundance of venison. I did the hunting; my partners did the packing. On the last day of our stay I killed three deer, and with the echo of my last shot, the ghost of starvation, which I had imagined was standing on the clouds and pointing Willametteward, disappeared in thin air.

Resting for two days, and in the meantime having received an offer for our claims from a company mining on the bars of Rogue River, my partners were anxious to accept the offer. I first opposed it, but finally consented. My partners were not only tenderfeet, but they were subject to periodic attacks of cold feet. I drew the bill of sale, and each partner took his $250 in gold dust. It was an unwise transaction, for the claims were worth much more. We all determined to go to the Willamette Valley. When we arrived at the road we found that many miners, especially of those living in the Umpqua, or Willamette Valley, were returning home. The second night we stopped at what was called a hotel, about four miles south of the mouth of the canyon. It rained hard and continuously all of the second day of our journey, and we wallowed through the slush, snow and water until about 11 o'clock p. m. before we reached our stopping-place. The next morning early, twenty-five or thirty of us were at the southern mouth of the canyon and on the creek that flows south. We found it a dashing, foaming and roaring torrent, but it had to be crossed; so eight of us, with strong poles in our hands, standing in a line, elbow to elbow, moved slowly and in unison through the tumbling waters. The worst, so far as that creek was concerned, was over. The other crossings were made without so much difficulty, or danger. It rained continuously all day. We arrived at the little lake on the summit about noon. There we commenced the descent of Canyon Creek proper. This has a larger, deeper and more furious current. The first crossings were accomplished without much trouble or peril; but as we descended the mountain its volume increased and its current became so swift and strong, that we were compelled to make our way, the best we could, on the steep mountain side. We crawled under logs and over logs, and in dangerous places hung onto brush to steady us. I was among the first to reach the hotel near midnight of that awful day, tired, wet and hungry. We were now in a land of plenty, and although we paid a dollar each for one meal of good, plain, solid food, we did not begrudge it. The next day we made a camp in an old deserted shack in the valley and remained there for about a week. The flood had swept away all the ferry-boats on the South Umpqua, and there were no means to cross that swollen and rapid river. The ropes, or cables still remained, however. The owner of the ferry offered eight of us board, and a place to sleep in his barn, if we would assist him in the construction or rather digging out, of a canoe from a huge log which he had selected for that purpose. We accepted his proposition, and experience soon showed that most of those who had accepted his offer were quite good mechanics. One of them, who was a wagon maker by trade, was elected as boss, and every day, by the continuous stroke of ax, adz and other tools, that canoe began to assume the shape and form of the real thing. It was full thirty feet in length, and of several tons capacity. It might be classed a giant in the canoe family. It was placed upon an extemporized sleigh, and two yoke of oxen drew it to the river bank. The wire or rope extending across the river being intact, the next day the builders of this ark, or most of them, and the ferryman with his two sons, launched it; and we having deposited our blankets in it, the owner, seated in the stern, acted as captain, while two of the strongest men in the party took hold of the rope and by a hand over hand motion, to keep it straight in the current, thus attempted to work it across the river. But when the stronger current was encountered, it became impossible to hold it without filling it with water, and the command was given to let go. It rapidly shot down stream, but the captain succeeded in steering it into the willows on the side where we desired to land, though a considerable distance below, and we all seized hold of the willows and succeeded in making a landing. Had we gone down stream much further, we might have been compelled to take an ocean voyage; but all is well that ends well. The captain and his two sons thought that they could reach the further shore by running diagonally across the current. We stood upon the bank and watched the operation, and saw that it was successful. I have stated probably with too much particularity this incident in order to show something of the hardships, as well as joy, of pioneering.

The trip across the Umpqua Valley and down the Willamette was a continuous wade through slush, and mud, and the steady downpour of the garnered fatness of the clouds. I had for my companion a, seemingly, intelligent man, but a pronounced pessimist, bordering on the anarchistic type. His gloomy philosophy of life added a moral chill to the prevailing dampness. I gladly bade him adieu in the hills south of Salem, where I departed to the home of a friend. Safely arriving there, I rested and recuperated for ten days. I had adopted the maxim, never to pay board when I had the ability or capacity to earn it. I therefore considered what it was best to do, and I determined to teach school for a time, and then to return to Michigan. I drew up a simple article of agreement and went up into the Waldo Hills--that country being settled with families--to offer my services as a school-teacher. The prospect proved to be not very encouraging, although I offered to teach a three-months' school for five dollars a scholar, and board. Three-days' effort secured but seven-and-a-half scholars. The afternoon of the third day was an alternation of rain and snow. I stopped quite late in the afternoon at the house of Mr. Waldo, the father of the late Hon. John B. Waldo. I freely stated to him the object of my visit, and he promptly told me that he did not care to subscribe. I stood for a time waiting for the storm to abate somewhat, when he suddenly asked me what State I came from; I answered "from Michigan." He said laughingly that they wanted no more Michigan men, or men from the North to come to this country, for they had already, by their presence, changed the climate. After a moment I asked him from what state he came; he proudly answered, "from Virginia, sir." I laughingly replied "that if we had any more Virginians in this country I feared we would have neither schools, nor churches, nor any other agency of civilization." He said to me: "Walk into the house, and we will talk this matter over." We walked into the house; and as Cervantes' work, containing the exploits of Don Quixote, lay on the table, the conversation turned upon that. I was quite familiar with the work, and its absurdity and wisdom, and we discussed chivalry and its social aspect, as well as its system of land tenures, together with Sancho's judgment after he became governor of the island, and Don Quixote's profound maxims of government. By his invitation I stayed all night. He said to me the next morning that as a matter of courtesy, I should see certain friends whom he named, and that as there would be a meeting held in the school-house, which was also used as a church, he would have it publicly announced at that meeting, that school would be opened by me at that place, one week from the following Monday. I followed his advice, and at the appointed time there was quite a full attendance of pupils. Mr. Waldo was somewhat eccentric, but in him was embodied that principle of the Roman maxim, that true friendship is everlasting.

I ought possibly to have stated that the first person that I called upon in my educational venture was a baldheaded and sharp-visaged man, with a family of five boys, the youngest of whom was over ten years of age. He told me that his oldest son had been almost through arithmetic, and that it would require some ability in a teacher to instruct him. I modestly informed him that I thought I could do it; but my assurances did not seem to satisfy him, and he only signed one-half of a scholar. During our conversation he told me that he was a poet, that he had crossed the plains in '45 and had written an account of the trip in poetry. He said he would like to repeat a portion of that poem; but before he did so he exacted from me a promise that I would give him an honest opinion of the merits of his poem. He was a weird and skeleton-like man, and rising to his feet, and with sundry gestures, repeated his poem to me. It was a hard matter for me to keep a solemn aspect on my countenance during this recitation. I only remember two lines:

"The Soda Springs lay on our way-- It makes good beer, I do say."

When he took his seat, I stated to him briefly some of the laws of poetic composition, and then showed him how his lines failed to comply with these laws; I added, however, by way of salving his feelings, that genius knows no law, and was not to be judged by ordinary mortals. He seemed a little nettled, and replied that he had repeated his poem to a great many people, who were scholars and good judges of poetry, and that they had pronounced it a fine performance. This ended the incident. Had my judgment been given before he signed one-half a scholar, it would probably have been one-tenth, or a still smaller proportion of a scholar. His boys all attended school, however, and he personally urged me to teach another quarter. On the last day of school, many of the parents came in and paid me for my services, three hundred dollars, and hired me for six-months' more teaching at the same price. I taught in all about three years in that neighborhood.

My teaching career was in every way pleasant, and I have every reason to feel proud of the positions of honor and trust attained by at least three of my pupils, and by the general financial success and high moral standing of all. Judge Bellinger, late of the United States District Court of Oregon, was a pupil of mine for about a year. He was the son of poor parents, and by sheer force of intellect and study pushed his way to the front, and to the honorable position which he attained, and which he held at the time of his death.

John B. Waldo, recently demised, was also a pupil of mine for about two years. He was a sober, clear-headed, studious and somewhat taciturn boy, quick to perceive and prompt to act. He became judge of the Supreme Court of the State of Oregon for one term. His decisions are models of clearness, and directness. In addition to his store of legal learning, he probably knew more of the flora and fauna, of the mountains of Oregon than any other man. He was not a man of robust constitution, and his health was precarious. His death, in the prime of manhood, was deeply mourned by all who knew him.

Our own honored Oregon Dunbar, was also a pupil of mine. He was a frank, open-hearted boy, of determined will and intense application. He had what the great law-writer Bishop calls a legal mind--a natural perception of the relation of legal truths--and superior powers of classification and generalization. He is eminently a fit man for the position he holds on the Supreme Bench of Washington. Long may he continue as a distinguished member of that Bench--and late may be his return to Heaven!

With such a triumvirate of integrity, high legal attainments, and judicial honor, a teacher may well feel proud. While it is the duty of the teacher to aid and assist his pupils and to impart instruction in the various branches taught, yet this is not his whole, or principal mission. His higher and nobler mission is to arouse into action all the latent forces and qualities of his pupil's nature and to inspire him with a noble ambition to conquer in the arduous conflicts of life. If he succeeds in the accomplishment of this, he has fully performed his mission.

After I ceased to teach public school in Marion County, I became the private tutor of the children of R., who was at the time Superintendent of Indian Affairs for Oregon and Washington. I also became to some extent his literary secretary. R., though not a learned man, had business capacity of a high order. In religious matters he was an agnostic, and he read more of Shakespeare than he did of the Bible. He was a man of inflexible integrity, and a capable and faithful administrative officer. He was much interested in Indian civilization, and talked much of it. He was of the opinion that the system of most of the churches was wrong in principle, and not fruitful in good results. He maintained that the first move in this work of civilization was to improve the physical condition of the Indian, and that the moral improvement would come as a slow, but necessary consequence. Being full of the subject, he concluded to call a council of the chiefs and the principal head men of the various tribes under his jurisdiction, and to impart to them his ideas in this behalf. The time was fixed, the place named was the general council hall in the city of Salem, and notices were sent out requesting their attendance. R., while he had a good residence in town, usually spent most of his time upon his fine farm in the country. At the appointed time he invited me to go with him to the council and take notes of the proceedings. When we arrived at the council chamber we found from fifty to seventy-five Indians seated on the floor with their backs to the wall. After a general salutation, R. took a seat on the rostrum and requested an Indian whom he knew to act as interpreter. As the interpreter could not speak in the language of the various tribes represented, the jargon was adopted as the mode of communication--all the Indians understanding that. R. briefly stated to them the object of the council, and then asked the question, "Did they desire fine houses, fine horses and cattle, and plenty to eat and wear": R. was a very emphatic man and spoke in short and positive sentences. The Indian is a stoic, and if any emotion ever agitates him it is not betrayed in his countenance. I was much interested in the interpreter. He seemed to be full of his mission, and he imitated the tone of voice and gestures of R. Having asked the question, R. himself emphatically answered that all these things that he had mentioned, and which they desired, were obtained by "work." He reminded them that many of them had visited his fine house in the city, and had seen his fine furniture and other things, and he asked: "How did I get these things?" He again answered, "By work." Having concluded his short, emphatic and impulsive speech, silence prevailed for a short time. Finally a chief arose and with great deliberation adjusted his blanket about him; this being accomplished, he spoke as follows: "We are very thankful for the good talk of our father; we will consider it; we cannot answer now." He suggested that one week from that time they would meet the good father at that place and tell him their conclusions.

We afterwards learned that they appointed what we would call a committee. That committee, in their investigations, when they found a man engaged in some menial employment and roughly clad, followed him to his house, found that it was a very humble abode, and was not filled with fine things; then they followed up the merchant, who had many fine things and wore good clothes, to his home, and they found a fine house filled with fine furniture; they also applied the same test to the saloon keeper. Neither the merchant nor the saloon keeper, according to their views, worked at all. On our way home from the council chamber I ventured to suggest to R. that most of the wealth of this world was in the hands of men who organized, or directed labor or work, and but a small pittance in the possession of those who actually performed the labor. I gave as my judgment that the Indian had no conception of this work of directing and organizing labor, and that he would not consider it as work at all. At the appointed time for the answer, the spokesman for the Indians narrated what I have briefly stated above, and announced very plainly and flatly as their conclusion, that what the good father had said was not true. R. was much disappointed at his failure to start a general movement upward in the line of Indian civilization. I am of the opinion that his feelings went farther and impinged on the domain of actual disgust. The subject of Indian civilization fell, henceforward, into innocuous desuetude.

Looking at the surface manifestations only, and not having the ability to look deeper into that complex machine called society, we cannot be astonished at the conclusion reached by the Indian committee.

While I had the honor to represent Washington Territory in Congress, and by request of several members of the Committee on Indian Affairs with whom I was acquainted, and while the bill reported by them was under consideration and general debate was in order, I made a speech on Indian civilization. I shall not reproduce that speech here, nor give an extended synopsis of it. I commenced with the declaration that the philosophy of an Indian's life was to put forth an act and to reap immediately, the result of that act; that he threw a baited hook into the water, and expected to obtain fish; that he sent an arrow or a bullet on its fatal mission, and he expected game; that he did not plant nor sow, because the time between planting or sowing, and reaping--the gathering and enjoyment of the result of his work, was too distant; that it requires the highest degree of civilization to do an act, or to make an investment, the profits of which are not to be realized until the lapse of considerable time: that this primary law inherent in an Indian's philosophy of life is fundamental, and no system for his civilization can disregard it. My next cardinal proposition was that Indian tribes, if civilized at all, must be civilized along the lines of their past history, habits and modes of life; that some tribes of Indians subsist, and have subsisted for ages, on the products of ocean, lake and river: that these are sometimes called fish Indians: that to make appropriations to teach these Indians agriculture, or the successful operation of the farm, is a wasteful expenditure of public money; they are naturally sailors, and have carried the art of canoe making and sailing to a high degree of perfection; their larger canoes are models of symmetry, safety and strength; that in them they fearlessly go out on the ocean a distance of 40 or 50 miles to obtain halibut, codfish and fur seals. Let the Government, I said, if it desires to civilize these Indians, build them a sailing-vessel of a hundred tons or more capacity, and they will almost intuitively learn to sail and manage it; it would act as a consort for their larger canoes and as a storehouse for the profits of the sea taken or captured by them; that with such a boat, the Neah Bay Indians, for instance, would soon become self-supporting. My views had a respectful hearing, and influenced to some extent the policy of the Government in that regard. A large number of copies of this speech were sent by me to the people of the Territory, and to all our Territorial papers; but none of these, so far as I know, noticed it further than to say that I had made such a speech. Copious extracts from it, containing its points, were published in many of the Eastern papers, while two published it in full. There was some discussion as to the soundness of my views, but generally they were approved. So far as the Neah Bay Indians were concerned, the Government did build a sailing-vessel of smaller dimensions, however, and many of the Neah Bay Indians have like vessels of their own, and have become, to a great extent, self-supporting and prosperous. The same policy in a modified form, but in fact the development of the same idea, was adopted by Rev. Wilbur, agent of the Yakima Indians; and these Indians, to a great extent, have given up their nomadic mode of life; they have small farms, and neat and comfortable houses; they have gardens, chickens and a large accumulation of domestic animals about them. They are prosperous, and slowly moving along the line to a higher civilization.