Kate Mulhall

"You can see the lone pine tree from there, and I think from the last river crossing," the man responded to an eager question from mother Pelton. After declining an invitation to stop long enough to share with them in the meal then almost ready to serve, but accepting a quarter of the pie Aunt Sarah had just baked, the stranger started up the slope and soon disappeared over the ridge to his flock and faithful dog.

"What a life!" sighed mother Pelton—"with only his dog for a companion, no comfort but his frugal meal in a lonely cabin and cold lunch on the range." The day was too far spent to move their camp, and although impatient to see the lone pine, which all believed was the landmark for which they were searching, every member of the party was anxiously anticipating what the morrow might bring forth.

Following carefully the directions given by the herder, they approached the second crossing of the river early the next forenoon. At the first point from which a comprehensive view of the locality could be had, Sarah unexpectedly held out her hand as a signal for Adam to stop; and exclaimed in her excitement, "There it is, mother!" In the far distance a lone pine tree was sighted; and no one in the party doubted that it had grown from the small tree planted by Kate Mulhall, Ben Hardy and little Sarah half a century before.

A short drive brought the two automobiles to where the wagon tracks had worn deep in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail; but the lone pine, still a half mile or so away, was the center of all attraction. Coming nearer, it was discovered that they were on the wrong side of the ravine; and although not more than a stone's throw from where they stopped, no road led across to it.

There in lonesome grandeur stood the evergreen sentinel over the object of their long search, the grave of Catherine Mulhall, mother of two of the pilgrims and grandmother of the younger ones who drove the cars. Now a hundred feet high, rising above and throwing its shadows over the grave, the tree was a thing of beauty, observed by all who passed in the vicinity; and had given the very appropriate name—Lone Pine—to the surrounding country.

Retracing their steps to the four tracks and then traveling another mile or so, they reached the other side of the ravine. After making several detours and removing a number of obstructions, they arrived quite late in the day within a hundred yards or so of the spot. As the nature of the ground prevented the automobiles from going any farther, they were left in the track, and all proceeded on foot to the lone pine.

The sun was just sinking behind the horizon in a halo of glory as the silent and solemn members of the party reached the hallowed spot. After so long a period of time, the mound of earth had disappeared; but wild roses were blooming where Kate and little Sarah had planted the roots when the grave was made. Though corroded and rusty, the wagon tire which kind-hearted Douglas Craig had placed as a marker was still there, but the lettering he chiseled upon it had been completely obliterated.

Kate and the older Sarah, both now well past the meridian of life, stood in mute contemplation of that which had been uppermost in their minds for so many long years. Although the poignancy of the grief then experienced had been mollified by time, yet as darkness came and they turned to leave the grave, tears coursed down their furrowed cheeks. Camp for the night was made on the nearest suitable ground, while a spirit of sadness mingled with a feeling of satisfaction that the cherished plan had at last been realized, pervaded the little company.

THE LONE PINE

Marking the spot where Catherine Mulhall was buried a half century before the scene depicted in the illustration; see pages 73-74 and 119-125

Now that the grave had been found, the question uppermost with all was what should be done about it. Kate had often expressed a wish that the remains be interred alongside her father in the beautiful cemetery of a village in the Oregon Country; but Pelton formerly considered this impractical, if not almost impossible. However, since the railroad had been built within sixty miles of the burial place in the mountains, the removal could be made without much difficulty.

Aunt Sarah said "No"—-the spot where her mother had died was too sacred to be abandoned; and what could ever be more appropriate than the one under the shadow of this beautiful lone pine? Then tender memories of the planting of the tree, of Ben Hardy's unselfish life and Craig's consoling words, came uppermost in her mind.

All agreed that the decision should be made by the two sisters who had been present at the burial of their mother on the first trip to Oregon. Adam and his sister Sarah looked on in silent awe as the situation was discussed; their father also refrained from speaking, though he held a definite opinion concerning it.

The fatigue of the day, with its exciting incidents and long hours, finally prevailed and left the momentous question unsettled in physical exhaustion and finally restful slumber. No further decision took place, as Kate had been convinced that it would not be advisable to disturb the remains, and joined with her sister and children in formulating a definite plan to care for and commemorate the spot. Pelton said that he would heartily agree to whatever the daughters and grandchildren should decide—which was to leave the grave in its solitary grandeur, but to mark it in a permanent and appropriate way.

Camp was removed to a more convenient location, while the work of transporting a large granite boulder from where Pelton had found it in the course of a morning walk through the vicinity, to the head of the grave progressed for several days, as it was necessary to secure additional men and teams from a distance. After the huge stone had been set in place to the satisfaction of all, Adam and the younger Sarah chiseled upon it in deep sunken letters a brief record of the revered grandmother, the planting of a small pine tree and beautiful rose vine that adorned the last resting place of Catherine Mulhall, the date of her burial in 185-, and also of this visit.

Two weeks passed from the day the pilgrims first sighted the lone pine tree in the distance to the inscription of the last letter on the boulder; every member of the party felt that the long journey had been fully justified, and left the spot with an enduring memory of the occasion. Father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah concluded to return home by rail[4]; and a drive of about sixty miles brought them all to the nearest railroad station. Meanwhile Adam and Sarah decided to tour the eastern part of the United States, and possibly cross the ocean before returning to the Pacific Northwest.

One of the automobiles was loaded as freight and way-billed to a small city that had grown up in what was once the Oregon Country; and the "old folks" were comfortably settled in a westbound Pullman. Adam and Sarah waited in their automobile near-by the open car window until the train bearing father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah started westward. All of them waved signals of mutual endearment; and as the train passed out of sight, the young people began their journey eastward.

"A fine boy—Adam," Kate murmured half-audibly to herself; "and a dear girl." Pelton at her side added, "If ever parents were blessed with dutiful children, we have been." At the same time Sarah, speeding east in the automobile which Adam was driving, could hardly restrain her tears from the recurrence of many tender memories of her childhood, and the kindnesses of the parents from whom they had just parted.

In a tremulous voice she said, "I almost feel that we ought not to have left them;" Adam felt much the same way, but hesitating to trust his voice, made no reply. Thus the party separated, the parents homeward bound and the young people starting east to see more of what was to them a new world, and possibly to have some adventures thrown in for good measure.

Soon after the train started, the three elderly people went forward to the dining car. As the meal progressed, Kate fell into a reminiscent mood, and looking out of the window, opened conversation with Aunt Sarah by asking, "Don't you remember that sand-storm in this vicinity as we passed through in 185-?"

"Indeed I do," was the prompt response, although Sarah had been at the time a child of only seven years. "The sand blown through the tent into the dough fairly gritted my teeth when eating the bread made from it. We had no water in the camp that night, and slept with dirty hands and faces; my hair, ears and eyes were filled with sand—but let's talk of something else." By the time the first meal was finished, they had progressed on their return journey about as far as in a whole day on the early trip.

As night followed, and while comfortable berths were being made up for them, Sarah—notwithstanding her admonition to "talk of something else"—broke into oral expression of the thoughts surging through her mind. "I guess there will be no 'ticks' in the bed to-night, as we found them when sleeping on the ground." "Or snakes and other creeping things," Kate added—"you of course remember the rattler," to which Sarah simply nodded to indicate that while she understood, she was not disposed to pursue the subject any farther. Soon all the three travelers fell into restful slumber and awoke, greatly refreshed, beyond the eastern boundary of what was once known indefinitely as the "Oregon Country," out of which the present States of the Pacific Northwest had been created within their own recollections of it.

At breakfast the next morning, while the train was speeding by a recognized object, Kate exclaimed, "It took us four weeks to travel over the same ground that we have now passed through in a single night." Strive as much as they could to banish thoughts of the hardships encountered on the early trip, the memories of it would not leave them. Within three days they had covered as much distance as in the same number of months on the first overland journey.

Alighting from the automobile into which they transferred at the station nearest their home, Pelton held open the gate for his "sweetheart" (as he often spoke of Kate); and she paused just long enough while passing in to say, "God bless you, Isaac; you did the same when I first came fifty years ago." "And God bless you, Kate," he replied as they re-entered their happy home—lovers as in the early days; and here we must leave them to the enjoyment of well-spent lives.

CLOSING SCENES

Adam and Sarah continued their travels over the eastern half of the grand old and historic route which their parents had traversed with ox-teams more than a half century before. Then the tracks of the Oregon Trail passed through an Indian country for more than a thousand miles from the west bank of the Missouri River, where the last vestige of civilized life except a few widely scattered trading posts or Government forts, were left behind. Various tribes of red men possessed whatever claim there was to that vast region; millions of buffalo roamed in great herds without restriction over the Plains, while the grizzly bear was a source of danger to man and of terror to wild beasts in the higher altitudes of the Rocky Mountains.

From certain points of vantage deer, elk and antelope could be seen in large numbers. Except for the wild animals, and an occasional passing throng of emigrants, the country was a solitude, generally considered unfit for habitation by a civilized race. But on this motor trip the young people saw evidences of changes and developments which their parents in the slow, westward moving column of the early 50s, would have considered beyond the range of possibilities.

Soon after leaving the Sweetwater River, traveling east, they passed through pretentious cities and prosperous villages with church spires and schools, trading centers, paved streets and large numbers of comfortable residences—civilization personified in western enterprise along or near-by the old Trail. Coal, oil, gas and other natural resources—unknown either to the passing throng of pioneers, or for many years afterward to the outside world—came gradually to the knowledge of adventurers and enterprising business men who laid the foundations for a great commercial prosperity in addition to the returns from the soil and ranges; and through subsequent developments on a large scale have made that region a very important national asset.

The waters of the various streams gathered, controlled and drawn upon as needed by agriculture, wrought the great miracle of irrigation by which land formerly believed sterile had been transformed into a "garden spot" of the United States, many times the area of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, or the State of New Jersey, to both of which that term has been generally applied. Even the rich Valley of the Mississippi and its tributaries does not exceed in fertility that once thought to be barren and worthless Plains, when supplied with water and placed under scientific cultivation.

Adam and Sarah saw vast areas of grain, immense beet fields with towering sugar factories, extensive orchards and alfalfa lands unexcelled in the entire country. The world seemed larger and the nation greater as our young adventurers continued along the valley of the Platte River on an excellent modern highway of imperceptible downgrade toward the Missouri River. Toward evening of the fifth day after parting from their parents in the Sweetwater Valley, they entered the suburbs of Omaha, Nebraska, and soon reached the center of its business activities, surrounded by skyscrapers of many stories.

Sarah, who had never been in a city of that size, was amazed and thoroughly enjoyed the sights. After an evening walk through the brilliantly lighted streets, and a couple of hours at the theatre, both were ready to rest in the luxurious apartments of the hotel, and slept until late the following morning. At breakfast, the question of their future movements was discussed, for they were then at the eastern end of the Oregon Trail[5]—or would be as soon as they reached the great river now in sight about two miles ahead.

Adam again fell into a reminiscent mood, talking as much to himself as to Sarah, "When grandfather passed through here half a century ago on the way to Oregon, all on this side of the Missouri was Indian country; there was no city—not even a cabin."

"But they didn't cross the river here," Sarah responded. "Mother said it was several miles farther down; and I would like to see the place where she was thrown into the water when the scow upset." "And Ben Hardy saved her life," Adam continued, but added, "it's no use going there; last evening a man told me that the channel of the river is now more than a mile away from where it was when grandfather crossed."

So they concluded to drive over the Missouri to the site of the old Mormon camp of Kanesville, which they did on a fine modern bridge to Council Bluffs, Iowa, occupying the location of the log cabin town that their grandparents saw. "We must stay here to-night," said Sarah, to which Adam readily assented, though they had traveled only four miles during the day.

A two-mile walk brought them to a short portion—then still visible—of the trail over which their grandparents passed when coming into Kanesville a half century before, though all vestiges of it within the city had been eliminated. Sarah was reluctant to leave the spot, and followed along the abandoned track as far as it could be identified.

Talking more to herself than to Adam, Sarah said, "Oh, if grandfather could only have come with us"—apparently forgetting that, as the reader knows, Squire Mulhall had long since been called to his reward; and then said, "Adam, I want to go on to the old homestead where mother was born." To this Adam replied, "We will go there if you want to." So they planned an early start on the morrow for the old cabin site in Missouri.

Two days sufficed for the trip, which was part of the time over hard-surfaced highways, and some dirt roads a little rough, but all the way through a fine agricultural region with evidences of great crops and abounding prosperity. As they rode along, both wondered why their grandparents should have left such a country and traveled two thousand miles over dusty plains and rough mountains to Oregon.

On the morning of the second day out from the "Bluffs," it became reasonably sure that they would reach the old homestead before nightfall. Try as much as he could, Adam failed to interest Sarah in further conversation, for she was in a mood to commune only with herself.

"Yes, suh, I knows where the Squire's cabin stood; it's all gone now. The well is there, but the sweep is gone too. Yes, suh, I played the banjo at the farewell party the Squire gave before he started for Oregon. Me? Well, they called me 'Stinson's man' then, because I was a slave; but when Massa Lincoln made us all free, I stayed with Massa Stinson till he died, and never took another name."

Adam had been advised that this negro, whose hair was white as snow and who was reputed to be a hundred years of age, could show them the old cabin site. He lived in a near-by village, was yet able to do light chores for the white people of the neighborhood, and thus continued to earn his own living.

"Stinson's man" was regarded the sole survivor of the old slaves of La Fayette County; in fact no one else, white or black, could be found who knew David Mulhall. The generation living when the Squire left his home for Oregon had passed away, except for this aged old negro who still enjoyed good health and played the banjo for parties, or for his own amusement.

"Right here was the front door; I knows it for I often stepped it from the well. Yes, the water is good yet, and there's the fire-place."

"Here's a piece of broken plate," exclaimed Sarah, as she picked up a precious relic, which she believed had once belonged to their grandmother.

The old barn site was located, and the barn-yard where her mother had climbed the fence when "gentle" old Star, with the yoke on for the first time, broke away from them and ran about with tongue out, bellowing like a mad bull. Sarah's mother had often told the story with a hearty laugh, which brought merriment as the incident was recalled fifty years later, on the spot where it occurred. Adam believed that he had located the old barbecue pit in a depression near the spot his mother had described. Both were reluctant to leave the grounds, and did not until approaching darkness warned them to seek accommodations for the night.

"Adam!" "What is it, Sarah?" Adam asked, thinking that his sister had something on her mind she hesitated to mention. Gathering courage, she exclaimed, "Adam, I don't want to go any farther, for I ought to be at home taking care of mother. You know as well as I do that she is not strong as even last summer; and I should be with her."

"God bless you, my dear! We will start for home to-morrow if you say so," he replied, throwing his arms around her and imprinting a kiss upon her cheek in love of his sister, and of the revered parents in the far West. So our story closes with the sacrifice of a trip they had expected to extend to Washington City and the Atlantic Coast for the greater pleasure of returning home sooner as a filial duty.

[1] Along the Burnt River in northeastern Oregon—the subject of "Westward Ho!" the painting by Emanuel Leutze in the Capitol, Washington, D.C. While somewhat exaggerated in details, it is a fair representation of the difficulties encountered by the pioneers on that part of the overland trip in the early 60s. E.M.

[2] One of the little twins in the early chapters of this story.

[3] Those four parallel wagon tracks, worn nearly hub deep across a ledge of rock on the Oregon Trail, may be seen to this day in the Sweetwater Valley near Split Rock, Fremont County, Wyoming; see photograph opposite page 217. E.M.

[4] Which they did at from thirty to forty miles an hour, almost continuously day and night, over substantially the same ground they had traversed half a century before by ox-teams at two miles an hour for an average of about eight hours a day, with frequent stops to rest the stock, or on account of bad roads, river crossings or other hazards of early emigration. E.M.

[5] The beginning of the old Trail to the west-bound traveler crossing from the Iowa side into the "Indian Country" of the 60s.—E.M.

APPENDIX

THE MISSIONARY'S STORY

THE LEWIS AND CLARK EXPEDITION; FOUR INDIANS FROM THE NORTHWEST JOURNEY TO ST. LOUIS IN SEARCH OF THE WHITE MAN'S RELIGION; OPENING AND SETTLEMENT OF THE OREGON COUNTRY; HISTORIC CHARACTERS—JASON LEE, NATHANIEL J. WYETH, MARCUS AND NARCISSA WHITMAN, AND OTHERS; WHITMAN'S RIDE; MASSACRE AT THE WHITMAN MISSION; NOTABLE INCIDENTS OF THE EARLY MIGRATION TO OREGON.

A little before sundown a few days after the neighborhood party described in the first chapter, a stranger rode leisurely up the road toward the Mulhall farmhouse. Seeing the owner of the place doing some chores in front of the barn, he accosted him and asked if it were possible to secure accommodations for himself and mount for the night. The Squire answered, "Well, stranger, you can see for yourself that our accommodations are none too good; but if you are willing to put up with such as they are, you are entirely welcome. We will do the best we can under the circumstances."

"It is not necessary to put yourself to any extra trouble on my account," said the stranger, "for I have led a wayfaring life and am accustomed to roughing it in the broadest meaning of that word." Mulhall suggested that he dismount, go to the cabin and rest while he would unsaddle the horse and take it to the barn.

The stranger replied, "My good friend, I truly appreciate your courtesy; but I have always made it a point to bestow the first care and attention upon the beast that carries me. Now if you will show me where to stable him, I will do the rest myself. This faithful animal has borne me many a long mile upon his back, and it is only right that I should repay him by devoting a little time to his comfort."

After hanging up the saddle and bridle, he took from the saddle-bags a currycomb and brush, which he said he never failed to take along, and gave the noble animal a thorough cleaning. Then after seeing that the horse had plenty of hay and grain for the night, he accompanied Mulhall to the house.

By this time the owner of the place had surmised that his guest was a clergyman; his language was too precise and his delivery too easy and natural for the ordinary man found in that part of the world. This conclusion was verified beyond question when, just before leaving the barn, he took a well worn Testament from his saddle-bags.

It did not take Catherine and Kate long to prepare a good and appetizing meal to which the reverend stranger, after asking the blessing, did ample justice. During the supper Mulhall informed the guest that he and the family were about to leave their little farm for the Oregon Country, where conditions were said to be much more favorable for getting along in the world than in Missouri.

At the mention of Oregon the stranger's face brightened, plainly indicating that the news was pleasing to him; and said, "You are doing a wise thing, for that is a grand country with a wonderful future. The journey ahead of you is long, difficult and more or less dangerous; but if you get safely through—as I hope and trust you will—you will be amply repaid for all the hardships and sacrifices endured. I tell you this advisedly, for I have spent many years in that favored region, being among the first of our nation to cross the Continent for the purpose of carrying the light of the gospel to the benighted savages who dwelt there."

After hearing this statement, every member of the Mulhall family exhibited the greatest surprise and pleasure at having under their roof one able to give them first-hand information of the distant region where they intended to cast their lot; and begged him to tell them all about it. Heretofore all the knowledge they had of Oregon was through one or two letters received from parties who had gone out there a year or two before; and these contained very little information except that it was a good country for industrious people, with a mild climate and good market for farm produce.

That was more than they had in Missouri; so they had already determined to make the venture. But with an unexpected opportunity to acquire full and accurate information regarding it, they wished—if he would be kind enough to take the trouble—to hear from his lips everything of consequence concerning what was to them a practically unknown country.

The clergyman replied, "My good friends, nothing except expounding the word of God gives me greater satisfaction and keener pleasure than to talk about Oregon, and recount the difficulties, tribulations and heroic actions of those who were in the vanguard of its settlement; it is a subject of surpassing interest, and has had a remarkable influence upon the rapid development and material welfare of our country. The narrative will take considerable time, and perhaps tire your patience before I am through; but I deem it to your advantage to have a correct outline of the principal historical incidents relating to its exploration and settlement.

"It certainly affords me greater satisfaction to go into the subject thoroughly than to give merely a short summary of those very important events. If you are willing, when the meal is ended and everything put away, we will gather around your cheerful and cozy fireplace; and I will do my best to both entertain and enlighten you."

Soon after supper, the younger children climbed the ladder to their sleeping quarters while David Mulhall, Catherine and Kate arranged seats in a semi-circle before the glowing fireplace where the large backlog furnished sufficient heat and light for the little cabin. There is no place where a good story can be as effectively told as before a blazing fireplace on a chilly evening in the mellow light of the crackling logs, with eager and attentive listeners. In such a pleasant atmosphere the itinerant missionary now began his recital:

Half a century ago[1] that vast region known as the "Oregon Country" had never, as far as any one knows, been penetrated by a white man. It is true that Captain Robert Gray of Boston, in the good ship "Columbia" entered the mouth of the great river in 1792, crossed the dangerous bar and sailed upstream about a dozen miles, naming it Columbia's River after his vessel.

A few months afterwards Lieutenant W. R. Broughton, of the British Navy, also entered and proceeded up the mighty river about 100 miles. But nothing more was known of the "Far Northwest" until the celebrated exploring expedition of Lewis and Clark crossed the Continent in 1804-5, arriving at the mouth of the Columbia in November of the latter year.

While it would be impossible in this recital to give a detailed account of that memorable expedition, or do justice to the dauntless courage and perseverance of the remarkable men who conducted it, one surpassing incident that happened on the journey was primarily the cause of bringing all that extensive territory under the American flag. I must crave your patience for devoting some extra time to describing this most interesting event.

That exploring expedition, as you doubtless know, was conceived by one of our greatest presidents years before he came to that high office; but the opportunity for carrying it out did not exist until he became President. The men chosen to organize and lead the expedition were selected with fine discrimination for the stupendous task assigned them, and proved worthy of the trust and confidence reposed in them by Thomas Jefferson.

After their departure from near St. Louis in the spring of 1804, they spent about a year and a half ascending the Missouri River, crossing the mighty "Stony Mountain" range and later the yet more rugged and precipitous "Bitter Root" Mountains, before reaching the beautiful open and undulating country on the Clearwater River. It was a joyful experience for the tired, half famished explorers, descending from the rugged and inhospitable mountains where game was scarce and pasturage scant, to find ahead of them as far as the eye could see, rolling hills carpeted with an abundant growth of bunch-grass, and watercourses with groves of cottonwood and quaking asp along the river bottoms. They also found game quite plentiful, and excellent trout and salmon fishing in the streams.

Before proceeding very far in this region, they suddenly came upon a few native women and children picking berries. Observing the party of strange looking beings garbed in unusual attire and carrying weapons never seen before, the simple-minded natives were terrified. The women ran, and the children sought refuge under bunch-grass and bushes, from what they imagined to be supernatural intruders.

In a short time the men caught up with a couple of the squaws, who expected nothing else than swift and sure death at the hands of these fierce looking strangers, and bowed their heads in anticipation of the fatal stroke. By signs and kind words they soon dispelled the fears of these women of the Nez Perces tribe, which then occupied all that part of the country. They were dismissed with many presents, and told by signs to have some of their head men come out to the camp for an interview.

In a few hours a party of Indians garbed in native finery and armed with bows and arrows, arrived; but they made no hostile demonstrations, and were evidently in a friendly mood. Cordial relations were soon established between the explorers and the Indians, the latter inviting the white men to their village to partake of their crude hospitalities.

The explorers were fortunate in having with them as the wife of Toussaint Chaboneau, their French-Canadian guide, a young and handsome Indian woman of the Snake tribe—Sahcajahweah, meaning "bird-woman," commonly known in later history by the shortened and simplified name "Sacajawea." By her courage, fidelity, tact and intimate knowledge of aboriginal habits, this remarkable girl wife assisted materially in extricating the explorers from the many almost insurmountable difficulties that beset the journey over the Rocky Mountains and Bitter Root range. It is no exaggeration to say that but for her, Lewis and Clark might never have reached the shores of the Pacific.

At the present juncture she was of great assistance. Though not understanding the Nez Perces tongue, her familiarity with the native sign language enabled her to make known to the Indians whatever the white leaders wished to communicate, and explain to her companions what the former were desirous of expressing. She completely removed from the minds of the red men any lurking suspicions they might otherwise have entertained as to the motives and purposes that brought the white men hither.

The explorers learned from these Indians that the big Chief of the tribe was encamped about two days' travel down the river, and that a messenger had already been dispatched to notify him of the arrival of these strange men in his country. On the following morning the party, accompanied by a Nez Perces guide, set out to visit the Chief of this seemingly very friendly tribe. The commanders issued orders that the men should polish up their accoutrements and make the best possible appearance; and that their behavior while sojourning in the country of this tribe should be above reproach, as it was essential for the success of the expedition to have the friendly cooperation of these Indians.

On the evening of the second day the cavalcade of thirty-odd travelers descending from a rolling plateau, beheld the many lodges forming the main camp of the Nez Perces tribe situated on a willow creek bottom, a short distance above where the stream entered the beautiful Clearwater River, along whose banks were many small groves of cottonwood, interspersed with clumps of large willows. The camp presented a picturesque appearance of probably two hundred lodges, scattered up and down along the little valley for perhaps a mile with very little regularity in formation. On this occasion it presented a very animated appearance, for the occupants of each tepee were on the outside anxiously awaiting the arrival of the wonderful strangers with bearded faces and carrying loud-noise weapons.

In about the center of the string of lodges was one a little larger than the rest, in which dwelt the great Chief of the little nation, who was now standing in front of the lodge entrance arrayed in an elaborate costume of Indian finery surmounted by an immense head-dress of eagle feather plumage. He wore a doublet of tanned deerskin, fringed and decorated with elk teeth and agate stones, and leggings of the same material; his feet were encased in moccasins inwrought with the finest embroidery done by Indian women. The Chief, probably fifty years old, was a well proportioned man of medium size with regular features and well shaped head; he stood motionless, with his eyes intently fixed on the approaching column of white men riding in single file down the gently sloping hillside towards the row of lodges—a sight never before witnessed by any of them.

The Indian guide pointed out the lodge of the Chief to Lewis and Clark, who halted the column; and dismounting a little distance off, approached it on foot. The Chief did not move a muscle until Captain Lewis held out his hand with the evident gesture of a friendly purpose, whereupon he reached out, grasped the extended hand of Captain Lewis and held it firmly for a little while, muttering something in a guttural voice which, though not understood, was evidently intended as a pledge of friendship.

Each one of the party was then presented to the big Chief, who gave every one a friendly greeting even to the last, the negro man servant of Captain Lewis, though the stoical Indian could not suppress a look of wonder as he gazed from head to foot upon the gigantic black man. The Indians were all filled with strong curiosity at these strange men with bearded faces and wonderful firearms that sent a leaden messenger of death faster and more accurate than their most expert bowman; but neither the white men nor their guns, strange and almost incomprehensible as they seemed, created anything like the astonishment aroused at beholding the African, who was a continual object of their awe and admiration. Little attention was paid to Sacajawea, for she was of their own race and a member of a tribe with which they were not too friendly.

The whole assembled concourse of savage tribesmen vied with one another in offering hospitality to the newcomers, and exhibited unfeigned pleasure when any of them entered their lodges and partook of refreshments. Friendly relations between the Americans and Nez Perces established so long ago under these peculiar conditions, have continued without a break up to the present time; and let us hope may never be impaired.

Lewis and Clark acquired much useful information during their sojourn with this tribe. They were informed that it was yet a long distance to the "Big Water"—the goal of the expedition; and also learned that almost insurmountable obstacles would prevent continuing all the way to their destination on horseback. It would be possible, however, to reach it by waters all flowing in that direction, finally uniting in one mighty river which was swallowed up by the "Big Water" near the setting sun.

Thereupon the explorers set their men to building boats on the banks of the Clearwater; and it was determined to complete the passage in that manner. They also made arrangements to leave their horses with the Indians until their return the following spring, when the journey towards the "rising sun"—the land of the white man—would be resumed.

While the Lewis and Clark expedition remained on the Clearwater, the Indians held their annual rites to placate the wrath of their false deity, lest he visit upon them dire misfortunes in the form of famine and pestilence, which at times fell upon their people with serious consequences. The white men refrained from making any comment upon these absurd and pagan ceremonies until they were ended. Then having a council with several of the leading men of the tribe, they endeavored in the kindest and most inoffensive manner—through the medium of Sacajawea, who by this time had acquired a considerable knowledge of the Nez Perces tongue—to point out to the Indians that the white people were in possession of a much better method of worshipping the Supreme Being who created the heavens, the earth and all things therein; and it would be a great blessing if they would learn to do likewise.

This kindly advice found deep lodgment in the minds of those untutored children of the wilderness, and was made still more effective by the earnestness and sincerity of the "bird woman," who since becoming the wife of Chaboneau had already received considerable instruction in, the tenets of the Christian religion. Thus the seed that bore such rich fruit a quarter of a century later, and actually led to all that vast region becoming a part of the United States, was planted in what is now our far Northwest.

When the boats were finished the little band prepared to continue its journey by water. Many presents were distributed to the friendly Indians before leaving their hospitable village; though trifling in value, these were highly prized by the natives, and helped to cement firmly the friendship already started between the two races. In return the white men received a liberal supply of dried venison and roots to sustain them during the arduous undertaking still ahead of them. The Nez Perces also furnished two guides to accompany the expedition; these proved of invaluable assistance to Lewis and Clark, particularly in their perilous descent of the Columbia.

That historic journey down the river to the Pacific Ocean was successfully accomplished; and in the following spring the party returned to the Indian encampment on the Clearwater, finding all the horses that had been left with the Indians in fine condition to re-cross the mountain ranges over which they had come the preceding summer. While stopping at the Indian village on this homeward-bound route, the subject of the white man's religion was again broached by the natives; and once more the leaders of the expedition impressed upon them the spiritual and temporal advantages of acquiring a knowledge of the revealed word of God.

This good and salutary advice sank deep into the hearts of the simple-minded red men, who realized that in many ways the white strangers were superior to them. They had more effective weapons, their utensils and implements were beyond the power of any Indian to make, they could find knowledge in books and talk on paper; they had far better saddles and bridles, and could kill a deer or a bear with their smoke-fire guns. Surely then, it was more than probable that they possessed a better knowledge of worshipping the Supreme Being than the poor and ignorant Indians—thoughts about which continued to agitate the minds of this truth-seeking tribe long after the departure of their good friends, Lewis and Clark.

After the lapse of many years the subject was again brought into prominence by the arrival in that part of the country of a small party of full-blooded Iroquois and half-breed employes of the Northwestern Fur Company from eastern Canada. All of these had acquired a knowledge of the Christian religion, and lost no opportunity to impress upon the pagan members of their race its superiority over the crude and senseless forms still practiced by the native Indians.

Coming from people of their own stock, this corroborative testimony of what Lewis and Clark had told them carried great weight, and aroused an intense desire for instruction in the white man's faith; but they could see no possible way to gratify it. How could the poor, benighted Indians come into contact with the white people, and acquire their way of worship, when there were none in any region with which they were familiar? The prospect was indeed gloomy for Indians seeking the light.

But conditions soon began to change. The Hudson's Bay Company was securing a firm hold upon the country, bringing in white men, half-breeds and Indians from Canada to carry on its extensive fur-hunting business. Trading posts were established throughout the vast region west of the Rocky Mountains and north of the Spanish possessions. The Indians welcomed this great commercial enterprise into their country, for it gave them a market for what they had to sell, and opportunities to acquire by trade many useful articles which had never before been within their reach.

Some of these new trading posts were established close to the Nez Perces country, and the tribesmen soon became frequent visitors to them. Here again they were told how superior the white man's religion was to their outlandish and foolish ceremonies. They also learned that one of the two leaders of the explorers who visited their country many years before was still living and occupying a high position, in that department of the Government having the management and care of Indian affairs. His home was in St. Louis, a city many miles beyond the great mountains, a distance that would take many moons to traverse.

These Indians pondered long and seriously what to do under the circumstances; but no matter how great the distance, formidable the obstacles or how threatening the dangers of traveling through a vast region—peopled, indeed, by men of their own dusky race but known to be fierce, warlike and no respecters of persons—they were determined to make the attempt. The desire to gain a knowledge of the white man's religion had taken complete possession of their minds, and they would not be content until that object should be attained.

At a joint council of the Nez Perces and Flatheads, one Indian of advanced age and a young brave of each tribe were selected to go in search of the explorer they had remembered during the quarter century since he had been among them, and ascertain the truth of the reported better religion than their own. During the summer and early fall of 1831, these four delegates traversed more than half of the Continent from the far Northwest to the junction of the Mississippi and Missouri rivers.

Arriving at St. Louis after a long, difficult and perilous trip of which no account was ever made, they were directed to the home of Gen.[2] William Clark, who received them cordially and during their stay there often entertained them in his own house. As may well be imagined, the General was astonished when he learned the purpose that brought them from such a distance; and although outside his line of duty, he determined to do everything possible to assist them.

Clark spent considerable time showing them the town and its attractions; to those children of the wilderness, St. Louis was of course a strange and wonderful place. It was at that time the largest settlement in the middle West, and the principal outfitting point for travel, explorations or hunting expeditions to the Rocky Mountains or beyond. But the greatest obstacle to the progress of their mission was the inability of the Indians to speak or understand our language.

Before they had been very long in St. Louis, one of the old men became ill, doubtless from the fatigue of the long journey, change of diet and impure water of the Mississippi; he soon passed away, and was buried there. In about two weeks the other old Indian followed him in death, neither living to know the result of their mission. The two younger men remained there during the winter, and in the spring started up the river on their way back to the far Northwest. One of them died in the Yellowstone region, and the other proceeded to cross the Great ountains alone, finally succeeding, after a long absence,
in reaching his home and kindred.

While they were at St. Louis an Indian agent, William Walker, en route to the Osage and other tribes beyond the Mississippi, arrived there with a letter from the Secretary of War, and called upon Clark for special instructions regarding the Indians he was about to visit. The General informed him of the Nez Perces and Flatheads under his roof at the time.

Anxious to see those aborigines from beyond the Rocky Mountains, Mr. Walker interviewed them and gives an interesting account of their appearance and the reason for their coming. This was published after his return from the trip already mentioned; and although he does not give dates, it has been established from contemporary records that the Indian delegation was in St. Louis during the winter of 1831-32.

Mr. Walker's letter in the Christian Advocate of March 1, 1833, at once aroused the greatest interest and religious fervor throughout the length and breadth of the land. Missionary enthusiasm quickly arose to fever heat, due to the fact that a party of Indians had voluntarily come more than two thousand miles over mountain and desert from near the waters of the Pacific, calling for Christian enlightenment.

It aroused the apostolic spirit among the churches to a height not seen in a generation; meetings were held, subscriptions to defray the expenses came pouring in, and devoted men offered their services to answer the call. The first in the field were the Methodists, animated by the evangelical spirit of John Wesley, founder of that great denomination. Funds were raised, the personnel of the party decided upon, and all preparations completed for the journey to the far West in the spring of 1834.

Rev. Jason Lee was placed in charge of the expedition; and I had abundant opportunity to personally observe how well fitted he was mentally, physically and spiritually for the serious task. Arrangements were made for the missionaries to accompany Nathaniel J. Wyeth, of Boston, who had organized a fur company to carry on that business in the Oregon Country; and had some forty or fifty men in his party.

The journey across the Continent was full of exciting adventures—fording or swimming turbulent and treacherous rivers, eluding or repelling small bands of predatory Indians, fleeing for safety from the thunderous charges of stampeding buffalo, and many incidents of lesser import. But while neither my time nor your patience will admit of giving a detailed recital of them, one event which happened on that trip deserves more than passing mention. After crossing the Rocky Mountain divide, their course was northwest until they came to the Snake River. While on an exploring trip the previous year, Mr. Wyeth had decided to erect a trading post at a point on that stream near where a considerable tributary, the Portneuf River, enters it and in the midst of a good fur-producing territory, well adapted for his purpose.

The party camped at this place and remained there a few days. Besides the men Wyeth had brought from the eastern States, who by this time had become genuine frontiersmen at least in appearance, he had taken quite a number of mountain men and independent trappers into his employ at the Rendezvous on Green River, near the site where Fort Bridger was located by James Bridger in 1843, about nine years later. There were also some nondescript characters with no visible occupation—altogether a motley and extremely picturesque throng.

Many of the men had buckskin suits, embellished with fringes and decorated with beads; others wore untanned deer and bearskin garments of almost every conceivable design. A few had coats and trousers of buffalo hide, and one a complete suit of wildcat skins. All had beards, some reaching to the belt line, while others were clipped until they resembled bristles; but there was no evidence that any man among them possessed a razor.

Though it was midsummer, many wore fur caps and some went bareheaded. Various kinds and patterns of rifles and muskets were in evidence, while a few carried Spanish musketoons. Physically they were somewhat above the average stature of men in "the States." While encamped there the men spent most of the time playing cards, shooting at targets or swapping yarns.

It was not the kind of a crowd you would expect to see occupying church pews or attending Sunday School; but Jason Lee made an announcement that he would hold services on the Sabbath, and desired every one to be on hand. They evidently thought it a good joke for any one to attempt to preach Christianity to such a lawless crowd of semi-wild and godless men; however, it was a diversion, and all promised to be there and hear the reverend visitor's message.

Jason Lee was six feet or more in height and slightly stooped; his head was large and well-shaped, with an undeniable expression of determination and courage. Yet there was a kindly look in his eye; and when he smiled, you instinctively knew that beneath his rugged outward appearance was a genial spirit tempered with seriousness.

Shortly after breakfast he took his Bible and went some distance from the camp to the shade of large trees, and spent a couple of hours walking back and forth in serious meditation. About 10 o'clock—the hour announced for the services—he returned to the camp where the throng had assembled.

Some were lolling on the grass, others squatting on blankets, a few listlessly leaning against the trees and others standing by the tent openings. There were no benches, nor any roof to protect the audience from the fierce rays of the summer sun; but that did not matter to men who had lived for years in the open, and were accustomed to sleep under the canopy of heaven.

REV. JASON LEE'S GREAT SERMON IN THE SNAKE RIVER COUNTRY, 1834; SEE OPPOSITE PAGE

Wyeth put his full force at work erecting the rectangular trading post, more generally known as Fort Hall, for his contemplated fur-dealing activities. Although it remained only a short time in the control of that enterprising American, and passed into the hands of the Hudson's Bay Company upon the collapse of Wyeth's original enterprise the following year, that frontier establishment was a very important factor in the great emigration to the Oregon Country.

A day or so after the Jason Lee sermon, the missionary company departed for its intended destination, the Columbia River, where a favorable location for a Mission was to be selected. The journey on horseback for several hundred miles through rugged and broken country was fraught with many difficulties and dangers, all successfully overcome.

In September the tired and travel-stained little party arrived at Fort Walla Walla on the Columbia, the chief trading post and outfitting headquarters of the Hudson's Bay Company east of the Cascade Mountains, where they were kindly received and hospitably entertained by Mr. C. P. Pambrun, the official in charge. Here it was decided to leave the horses and complete the remainder of the journey by water; and fortunately a party of fur-hunters returning with a cargo of pelts taken along the waters of the upper Columbia, was then on the way to Fort Vancouver.

With these the missionaries were given passage, and floated down the great river in their batteaux. The French-Canadian crew were expert boatmen and a happy lot to travel with, joking and singing almost without intermission; their care-free and mercurial natures never seemed to be ruffled, no matter what obstacles interfered with their progress. The annual fur-hunting expedition had been very successful; and they were looking forward to a genuine celebration upon their arrival at Fort Vancouver, a privilege given to them once a year.

I shall never forget the mingled feelings of wonder and admiration as our little party approached the mighty break in the upper levels of the Cascade Mountains made by the river when, in prehistoric time, it forced a passage through that gigantic range. The scenery was superb—nothing grander can well be imagined—magnificent snow-capped mountains, primeval forests clothed with foliage of various hues reaching down to the water's edge, and numerous sparkling waterfalls leaping over the sides of perpendicular bluffs from elevations of two to six hundred feet.

Occasionally immense basaltic pillars, rising from the bank of the river to a great height, and some of most grotesque outlines, would be encountered. There is nothing of the kind in the United States to compare with that scenery of the Columbia.

Upon reaching Fort Vancouver we met with a truly cordial reception. That grand old autocrat Dr. John McLoughlin had word of our arrival, came out to meet us and in the most courtly manner but with unaffected ease and dignity, ushered us into his private apartments where he said we were to be his guests during our stay. We greatly enjoyed the hospitality of the Doctor, especially after our long and tiresome journey; and have always looked back with sincere pleasure to the whole-hearted welcome given us by the representative of another nation, when we might reasonably have been considered in the guise of intruders.

A day or so after our arrival, Jason Lee unfolded to Dr. McLoughlin his plans for establishing a Mission among the Flathead Indians. The Doctor listened patiently as Rev. Mr. Lee related the details connected with the project; and then while expressing the satisfaction he felt at having a Mission located somewhere in the country, he pointed out the stupendous task of conducting it so far from a base of supplies.

Everything for the Mission must come by water around the Horn, be unloaded somewhere on the lower Columbia, and then carried by batteaux and pack animals a distance of five hundred miles up-country—a very serious handicap. Jason Lee saw it in the same light, but did not know what else to do.

Dr. McLoughlin suggested founding a Mission in the Willamette Valley near French Prairie, where a small settlement of French-Canadians already existed and there were Indians in the vicinity needing spiritual as well as temporal enlightenment. Such a point would also be reasonably accessible for receiving supplies by water.

So convincing were the facts presented by Dr. McLoughlin in support of the Willamette Valley as compared with the Flathead country for a Mission location, that Jason Lee decided to accept his views and followed his counsel. The Doctor also promised to assist it by every means in his power compatible with his duties as Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company; and kept his word.

The Mission established in the Willamette Valley was conducted successfully until measles and other epidemic diseases introduced by the whites almost completely annihilated the native population, so that in ten or twelve years after its founding there were no Indian children to attend its school. During that time, however, the white population increased rapidly by accessions to the missionary force, many newcomers brought from "the States" by glowing descriptions sent back by earlier arrivals, and the even stronger corroboration of the surpassing advantages of the new country by men returning east for missionary reinforcements.

In this again, my friends, I cannot but see the interposition of Divine Providence. Had our Mission been established among the Flatheads as originally intended, there would have been no such influx of American citizens as afterwards followed into the disputed territory to offset the prestige of the British claim, because that remote interior region offered no such opportunities for settlement as the salubrious climate and fertile valleys west of the Cascade Mountains. So I may well say again, "God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform."

While I have told you, and truthfully, that the Methodists were the first to answer the call from the Indians beyond the Rocky Mountains, the Presbyterians and Congregationalists soon followed. In 1835 Rev. Samuel Parker of Massachusetts, and Dr. Marcus Whitman of New York State, were sent out by the Missionary Board of that church to examine into the character and disposition of the tribes residing in the region from which the four Indians made the long journey to St. Louis in search of the white man's religion, and report as to the desirability of establishing a Mission among them.

With that purpose in view, Rev. Mr. Parker and Dr. Whitman crossed the plains, and in the summer of 1835 arrived at a point in the Rocky Mountains known as the "Rendezvous," a famous place for trappers and Indiana to congregate for trading in furs and pelts. They found encamped there several hundred Nez Perces and Flatheads just returned from a successful buffalo hunt; and through an interpreter learned that they were very anxious to have white religious instructors sent out to them.

This convinced Rev. Mr. Parker that the field was a very promising one. It was therefore agreed that he should accompany the Indians to their homes and select a suitable location for a Mission site, while Whitman would return east and arrange for a missionary party to go out there under his charge the following spring.

Parker impressed upon Whitman the necessity of having the company well equipped with everything essential for such an arduous undertaking, and above all else to provide himself with a good wife. The Doctor laughed and replied, "That is easier said than done; however, I may make the attempt."

By their genial manners and evident sincerity of purpose, these two advance missionary agents while at the Rendezvous won the confidence of the assembled Indians to such an extent that they permitted Whitman to select two or three young boys to return with him to "the States," remain there for the winter, and accompany him back. The Doctor knew that their presence would have the effect of stimulating the Board to organize and equip a missionary party with the least possible delay; and would be tangible proof that the Indians were earnestly seeking religious instruction. Whitman also realized that the boys would be of great assistance to the missionaries in crossing the plains and mountains in the spring.

The Doctor and his wards experienced no serious difficulties on the journey back to civilization, and arrived at his home in Rushville, Yates County, New York State, early in the winter. He was dressed in the picturesque garb of the mountain men—buckskin coat and trousers decorated with fringes on the arms and legs, moccasins and bearskin cap, and had not been shaved for several months.

Reaching there late on a Saturday, Whitman did not go all the way into the village or make his presence known until Sunday, when he proceeded just as he was, and accompanied by the young Indians, to the church where services were being held; entered, walked up the aisle, and became the cynosure of all eyes in the congregation. At first everyone wondered where the uncouth and wild looking individual came from, and why he should interrupt the services. After gazing intently at him for a moment or two his mother, who was in the audience at the time, exclaimed, "Why if there isn't Marcus."

Services were immediately suspended, and all gathered around to welcome the intrepid Doctor back from the wilderness, where he had gone as a soldier of the Lord. He was the hero of the hour, and every community in that part of the State made an effort to honor him.

But there was one locality where he seemed to relish the attentions paid him more than in any other, and a house to which he made the most frequent visits. It was not because of the genial hospitality of the host—which was proverbial in the vicinity; nor altogether the fascination of his conversation, though he was a man of culture and refinement, to whom it was a treat to listen.

The admonition of Rev. Mr. Parker was uppermost in the Doctor's mind, and beneath that roof dwelt the charming daughter of the household he had known and admired for a long time, and who he hoped entertained more than a passing regard for him. He now determined to press his suit with all the energy of his forceful nature. But before telling you the results of his efforts in that direction, I should give a brief sketch of the early life of Narcissa Prentiss, a noble character whose life and deeds will always occupy a very prominent place among the pioneers of the Oregon Country—more so, indeed, than any other woman.

She was the daughter of Judge Stephen Prentiss, a highly respected and well-to-do citizen of the Lake Region in New York State. Careful attention was bestowed upon her early education and training, and every possible advantage given her within reach of people in moderate circumstances in that part of the country at the time.

In her early teens she is described as about the average in height, the possessor of an unusually fine and well-rounded form, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She had winning manners and a remarkably sweet, well trained voice which naturally made her a popular leader in the church choir and singing circles.

A romantic incident in her early life greatly impaired her happiness in after years, as will subsequently appear. While attending the village school one of the pupils, a boy her senior by a few years, became enamored of her beauty and sprightly manners. He sang in the same church choir, was a diligent scholar, had a good voice and was generally acceptable; thrown together in this way, they became very good friends. On her part this meant nothing more than congenial companionship, but with him it ripened into a master passion.

In this frame of mind, he asked her to make a solemn promise to become his wife as soon as circumstances would permit him to assume the responsibility of providing suitably for her. She laughed heartily at his boyish assurance, and said that she was entirely too young to even think of such a thing; besides, when she did, he would not appeal to her in that light. Even after this rebuff, he still hoped that by making no further advances for the present, and abiding his time, she would gradually come to look more favorably upon him.

A few years later Narcissa Prentiss had become one of the most attractive young women in that portion of the State—not only beautiful in person, but with a sweet and lovable disposition that endeared her to all. She also had a serious turn of mind, and was foremost in every activity connected with the church of which her family were members.

Narcissa had almost forgotten the school boy proposal when most unexpectedly the young man, then about to be ordained for the ministry, again appeared upon the scene. When he called at the Prentiss home, she received him in the usual friendly manner and treated him with the greatest cordiality, for they had been pleasantly associated in the choir, Sunday School and religious activities of various kinds, never having had any serious disagreement—unless the incident already mentioned might be so considered.

After conversing pleasantly for some time on general topics, he said, "Narcissa, I have called upon you at this time for a special purpose. You know that I am now about to become a minister of the gospel, may be sent to distant parts and separated from all my friends of boyhood days. This is not a pleasant prospect; but I could bear up under all those things, sustained by the knowledge that it is in the service of the Master, were it not that I would be leaving behind to me the most precious thing on this earth—you, Narcissa, the idol of my affections. Won't you accept the offer of my hand and heart, and be my helpmate through life?"

Narcissa, who thought she had firmly squelched the earlier fancy, and that he had long forgotten to think seriously of ever winning her hand, was dumfounded. But now in far more earnestness than ever, he had renewed the effort, apparently under the delusion that he might be successful. In an instant her mind was made up what to say and how to act; she must let him know once for all that such a proposal was unwarranted and repugnant to her.

Arising and standing before him in all the dignity of her womanhood, she asked, "Have I ever acted toward you in a way you might construe that I entertained any affection for you, or given any grounds for you to hope that I might have anything more than just a friendly feeling towards you? If I have so acted, I'm not aware of it. Now bear this in mind—never under any circumstances would you be considered in the light of a lover or husband for me!"

A cloud passed over the brow of the young man as he felt the sting of her reply, and it is generally believed that a vow of eternal animosity against what he deemed a haughty and insolent young woman who had repelled his well-intentioned proposal was made by him. "Some time you may regret this," he remarked, or words to that effect, and took his departure.

Narcissa, kind hearted and reluctant to hurt the feelings of anyone, regretted having wounded his vanity and pride so deeply; but thought that was the only way his persistent suit could be stopped for all time. This happened some four years before the return of Dr. Whitman from the Oregon Country to his home in New York State. About a year after his rejection by Narcissa Prentiss, Rev. Mr. Spalding was married to Miss Eliza Hart, a very estimable young woman, and sent west to engage in missionary work.

Marcus Whitman, although making frequent visits to the Prentiss home, and received on every occasion by the Judge and his family as a welcome guest and intimate friend, did not attempt as yet to play the role of suitor for the hand of Narcissa. He must first know that all arrangements for the projected missionary expedition were satisfactorily completed before committing himself in any personal way that might later prove embarrassing.

It was a matter of considerable importance for the Missionary Board to assemble and outfit a sufficient number of persons for such an undertaking; and many investigations and calculations had to be made before a complete organization was effected. It was considered necessary to have an ordained minister, and difficult to find one willing to go. But in the early spring the personnel of the party was decided upon, and the animals, wagons and supplies purchased so that the westward movement could begin as soon as the season was far enough advanced.