Kate Mulhall

He regretted to be parted from his mother for her sake and from Linda for her sake, but took very little thought for himself. The tenets of endless punishment after death, widely taught in his boyhood days, never found lodgment in his brain. He believed in a God of love, not of vengeance; and while clinging to the present for the sake of those he loved, was resigned at any time to pass to the future life.

Douglas Craig and Benjamin Hardy had become fast friends; their mutual trials and duties had drawn them closer together as the journey progressed. "There isn't a lazy bone in Craig's body," the Squire said to Kate one day, to which she responded that the same could be said of Ben. Mulhall readily assented, saying that he had been blessed with "two of the best boys God Almighty ever made;" and added, "your mother thought the same, God bless her memory." Kate made no response, but the tears that came to her eyes at the mention of her mother's name expressed a deep and abiding sorrow.

In the morning Ben learned that it would be eight days before the next mail to "the States," as the pioneers were accustomed to speak of all the country east of the Missouri River; and so did not write to Linda as planned.

"Ben, I've a notion to go with you to hunt a claim," Craig said when he noticed the preparations Ben was making for the trip. "I don't like the idea of parting with you just now," he continued; "besides, maybe it's best for me to take a claim anyway, and not depend altogether upon working at my trade."

And so the two "boys," who had come down the Columbia River and to the southern part of the great territory, started off in search of a home for each. Mulhall had determined to go into the northern district of the Puget Sound; so they did not expect to meet him until such time as they learned where he had located. After many days of searching, the spot that suited them was found, and a line agreed upon between the two adjoining claims.

"I golly," Ben said, "why can't we build one cabin and locate it for the line to cut through the middle? You can have your bed in one end, on your claim, and I can have mine in the other end on my claim;" and then he added, "if you want to work at your trade a part of the time you would not lose your residence; and if I"—. But Ben stopped there, for he was near to revealing his secret, if he had not already done so by his manner and confusion.

The pact was sealed and the cabin built; and here for the present we must leave our young friends to trace the fortunes or misfortunes of Squire Mulhall and his three girls. In due time also we shall learn whether or not Ben could leave his claim before the four years' residence required by the law to secure a title; and whether Linda remained true to him through all that time.

When Ben and Craig passed out of sight over the crest of the hill ahead, following the trail with packs on their backs, Mulhall could control his emotion no longer: and tears coursed down his cheeks as he spoke in a tremulous voice to Kate of their noble character and self sacrifices. Kate, more demonstrative than her father, gave way without restraint to manifestation of distress in voice and weeping. Observing the unusual scene, little Sarah joined with childish soothing words to Kate and her father; but the more she said the deeper their distress, until all restraint was abandoned and the three were relieved by tears and words of praise for the two "boys."

David Mulhall, even though mild-mannered and gentle, was a man with a stout heart, and fully realized the gravity of the situation confronting him. It was a race with famine and lingering starvation or death. If he undertook to increase the speed of travel as some had done, his oxen would probably fail and leave him without a team; having noticed several such instances, he resolved to pursue the even tenor of his way.

The first formidable barrier to be met was the Blue Mountain ranges, which must be crossed at an altitude of about 4,200 feet; that steep ascent could not be avoided, and many outfits were stranded along the slope of the mountain. To lighten the load in the wagon, some clothing was packed on the horse Ned, while the girls and the Squire walked.

By a succession of short drives and long rests, the summit was reached, though a long stretch of rough roads and steep hills was still ahead. While not hazardous, the descent into the plains extending to the west and north was tiresome and tedious; it presented a scene of enchantment seldom equaled—the whole covered by a carpet of luxurious grass, dotted here and there with bands of Indian ponies and tepees of Indian villages.

Mulhall was now about twenty-five miles from the site of the Whitman Missionary Station, where help was given to all in need until the fateful day of the massacre, November 29, 1847. Here, at the foot of the mountain, Mulhall left the trail of Ben and Craig, who had followed the Columbia route down the river leading to Portland, and joined the gathering hosts of the migration along the new trail northward to Puget Sound.

It was a daring and momentous decision. Two formidable barriers were in the track—the mighty Columbia, the second river in length and volume of water on the Continent, and the Cascade Range, which proved to be the most formidable mountain obstruction of the whole trip, far greater than that of the Rockies.

As they passed the site of the former Whitman Mission, Mulhall tarried to view the locality which had witnessed the activities of Dr. Marcus Whitman and his gifted wife, Narcissa Prentiss Whitman, in their efforts to implant the Christian religion in the breasts of the Indians, and where they had relieved the suffering of many pioneer emigrants during eleven years of heroic struggle to maintain their mission. The day of the supreme sacrifice came unheralded, as recalled by the grass-grown graves of the thirteen victims, which Mulhall viewed with bared head in the presence of the three daughters, who had so recently witnessed the closing of the earth over the precious remains of their mother. When shown the small grave and told the story of the drowning of the only child of the lonesome mother, Narcissa Whitman, Sarah's grief again became inconsolable, and only with great difficulty was she persuaded to leave the sacred grounds.

The Columbia River, more than a mile wide and with a swift current, was directly in their path some thirty miles away. How they were to cross was not yet definitely known, but it was the general belief that at the Hudson's Bay Company's fort, situated on the bank of the river, there would be some means of getting over it.

After two more days of driving, Mulhall drew up to the camp of more than two hundred detained emigrants. The first train to arrive, consisting of 148 people with thirty wagons, finding no means of crossing, undertook to build a boat large enough to carry a loaded wagon or several oxen.

Driftwood lodged on a sand-bar above the fort furnished the material, and a whip-saw was set to work cutting the lumber; it ran day and night, and in eleven days the boat was launched. Then the first crossing was made, and in four more days all were safely across, after the loss of fifteen days of precious time.

Whether or not snow in the mountains would block the trail, weighed heavily upon the minds of the whole company. The abundant grass in that locality had greatly strengthened the oxen and enabled them to make good progress, though as no wagons had gone on ahead, it was necessary at times to stop and open the way. Measured by the current of the river they must follow, there were still about 200 miles between the crossing of the Columbia and the settlements on Puget Sound, about 100 of the whole following mountain streams.

Evidences of that drive through the gorges had been left, sometimes on sand-bars with rounded boulders imbedded in the sand, and then in the shallow streams. Other marks had been made on slippery boulders, until deep water compelled the emigrants[5] to cross the river or open a road through the timber and underbrush—one alternative and then another, until 62 crossings of the river were thus crudely recorded.

Just beyond the summit, a rim of almost perpendicular rock was encountered, so steep that it was impossible to drive the wagons down the declivity. Three steers were killed, and their hides cut into strips to lengthen the ropes assembled from the train; in that way thirty wagons were let down the mountain with the loss of only one of them. The tree used as a snubbing post was deeply encircled by the wear of the ropes and finally killed; but it stood sentinel over the scene for another quarter of a century.

When Mulhall emerged from the deep forests of the foothills west of the Cascade Mountain range, he was fairly dazed at the sight that confronted him; and could scarcely believe his eyes. The evergreen trees were so tall and dense that they obscured the light and made it difficult to read common print at the noon hour, while the bright shining sun spread light and warmth over the tops of the forest giants. All through the mountains, the eyes of the pioneers had become accustomed to a lesser light than they had encountered in the open country.

That forest is one of the greatest and most notable on the Continent or in the world. Giant firs grow to a height of three hundred feet; large numbers of them measure six feet, with here and there one eight and in rare cases even twelve feet, in diameter. A monster tree fifteen and a half feet through at the base, and probably a thousand years old, could be seen as one laboriously followed the trail.

The mind of the Squire was affected in just about the same way as if he had suddenly emerged from a dark room into bright sunlight, with his eyes dimmed by the glare; it required time to recover and grasp the change. He had arrived at what is locally known as "Elk Plains" on the eastern margin of the famed Nisqually Plains, a wide extent of prairie country extending to the Nisqually River, twenty miles away to the south and nearly that distance to Puget Sound on the west. The whole intervening space was interspersed with numerous small, clear lakes with pebbly bottoms into which the creeks emptied their limpid waters.

Occasionally a creek would issue from a lake fed by springs in the bottom; in other cases there was no inlet or outlet, and yet the water was as pure and sparkling as that running in the creeks. Here and there were small groves of evergreen timber surrounded by the prairies to lend enchantment to the landscape, a veritable fairy-land in the eyes of the wearied pioneers. Unexpectedly, off to the east, a large number of sheep were seen quietly grazing on the stunted grass that covered the soil.

Starting to drive toward one of the lakes, Mulhall suddenly came upon a herd of cattle that fled at the sight of his wagon and took refuge in a near-by grove. Kate was sure she saw three deer fleeing with the cattle—the latter now as wild as any creature that roamed the plains. At about the same time, a band of Indian ponies was suddenly encountered, as the outfit rounded a point of timber; the wild scene was then re-enacted as the ponies, with heads and tails in the air, snorted and ran.

The sight of the deer fired Kate's imagination; she thought of the rifle in the wagon, but could not stop to try her hand on the game of that region. She thought of Ben, who had saved her life—and Pelton too. No flowers could grow in the deep forests; but here on the prairies and margins of the lakes and creeks many species, the wild rose predominating, grew to perfection. The little sisters eagerly picked some of the first flowers they had found for many weeks, and brought them to Kate as they had formerly done to their mother.

Photograph from Washington Historical Society, Tacoma

MONUMENT TO BE SEEN ALONG THE CLOVER CREEK
HIGHWAY, ABOUT TEN MILES SOUTH OF
TACOMA, WASHINGTON

Here, in Mr. Meeker's story, Kate Mulhall unyoked her oxen for the last time: see page 89. The inscription on the monument will be found on the reverse of this leaf.

[Over]

Fac-simile of inscription upon the monument shown on the reverse
of this leaf:

OCTOBER
1853      1913

COMMEMORATING
THE 50TH ANNIVERSARY
OF THE ARRIVAL OF THE
FIRST EMIGRANT TRAIN
COMING DIRECT TO THE
PUGET SOUND VIA THE
NATCHESS PASS. THEY
MADE THEIR LAST CAMP
OCT. 8TH 1853 ON THE
BANK OF CLOVER CREEK
THREE FOURTHS OF
A MILE SOUTH OF THIS
MONUMENT
ERECTED BY
WASHINGTON STATE HIST-
ORICAL SOCIETY—PIERCE COUNTY
PIONEER SOCIETY MEMBERS—DE-
SCENDANTS AND FRIENDS OF
THE NATCHESS EMIGRANT TRAIN

[Over]

The Squire soon came to the camp[6] on the margin of a creek, where he found more than half of the pioneers who had gone on ahead; and here, about twelve miles from Puget Sound, Kate unyoked her oxen for the last time. A fine carcass of beef had been sent there for them by the Chief Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company with the message, "divide this among yourselves;" and a near-by farmer brought a wagon-load of vegetables to give out "free for everybody." Just then a team arrived from the fort with sugar, salt and other provisions, of which they were greatly in need, and told the pioneers to help themselves.

All day and well into the night stragglers came in, some with teams and others with packs on their backs—all tired and hungry. Fearing that their teams might be unable to climb the hill out of the valley, a few had stopped at the last river crossing, and early next morning an expedition was sent to assist them.

As evening fell, all were safely camped together, with the consolation that not one life had been lost in the struggle over the mountain range. All of the 148 attended a prayer-meeting held by the light of the camp-fires; the pent-up feelings of emotion were usually accompanied by silent tears of joy, though some gave way to boisterous manifestations of thankfulness for deliverance from the hazards of the trail.

Kate's spirits had risen; but not so with her father, who had made the perilous trip to secure a home and a farm. This charming region was suitable only for grazing, and besides was in possession of a foreign corporation. He was now in a strange land, without shelter for his family of girls or ready money, and so far as he knew without credit; with winter approaching, he could not stay in camp very long, and as he said afterwards, "I was stumped to know what to do."

A large majority of those who crossed the mountains with him were in the same state of perplexity. "I do not believe in that old saying, 'misery loves company.' To be sure, I did love that company of noble men and women, but not because they faced the trials that confronted me," was spoken many years later in a reminiscent mood. Mulhall could not help being relieved at the happiness of the girls, especially the twins or "little buds," as he fondly called them.

Sarah had recovered from the shock that so depressed her upon the death of her mother, and would often refer to her with tears of affection. Not being old enough to enter deeply into or think seriously of the cares of life, the girls often joyfully roamed the byways of the trail in search of flowers or anything new.

"Mamma, what kind of a bird is this?" both asked at once. They had now become accustomed to calling Kate "mamma," and she had not discouraged them in doing so.

"That's a young robin," Kate answered, as she held the little bird in the palm of her hand; "where did you get it?" "Mayn't we keep it as a pet?" Sarah anxiously inquired.

"Yes," Kate answered, "but not as a prisoner;" and added, "it would be better off with its mother, don't you think?"

"But its mother wasn't there; we found it on the grass and it couldn't fly," both again spoke at once.

"Yes, but I am sure the mother was taking watchful care of her little one," said Kate. The girls had set their hearts on having a pet, but agreed that it was not right to take the young bird away, and cheerfully returned it to the spot where they found it; after watching awhile they saw the mother bird come and feed the little one.

The same evening the girls fairly raced to see who should first tell the story of an apron full of nuts they had found, and now exhibited them to "mam-ma." "Where did you find them, girls?" Kate asked. "In a hollow tree, the cutest little place you ever saw," Bess answered.

"But that was the winter store of a squirrel; would it be right to rob the treasure of the squirrel, which might starve before winter ended?" The girls hadn't thought of it in that light; next morning without any further word from "mamma," they returned the nuts to the "cute squirrel's nest," and then started off for new adventures and discoveries. All of them were greatly benefited by the vigorous outdoor life; the father was delighted to see the rosy cheeks of the little girls and the returned sparkle in Kate's eyes.

"I have in my pocket a document that would be worth thousands of dollars back in Missouri; but here, where there are no banks, it is not worth the paper it is written on. What is the good of it if one can't get the money the writing calls for? No more than a pile of gold two thousand miles away from anything to eat," he said ruefully to Kate.

He was not going to be idle; but the more Mulhall looked over the near-by country, the less he liked it. Passing nearby the Hudson's Bay Company's fort he decided to go in and thank the Chief Factor for the beef sent to the pioneers; and to his surprise found a large stock of well assorted merchandise on the shelves of the store and numerous customers, principally Indians, buying or bartering furs for goods.

Asked if he wanted to purchase anything, he answered that he had no money, whereupon the clerk, Edward Huggins, surmising that he had something to barter, suggested that he see the Chief Factor. The Squire hadn't the least thought of buying anything when he went into the fort; but he did want to see the head official and thank him for the beef. He met Dr. William F. Tolmie, a slightly corpulent man with flowing locks and an almost florid complexion, who spoke with a Scotch brogue and had the bearing of a kindly gentleman.

"Oh, that's nothing at all," he said in response to Mulhall's expression of thanks; "you could have had much more than that if you needed it." As the thought of the paper in his pocket and the possibility of using it to establish a credit flashed through his mind, he produced the precious document and handed it to the Factor.

A look of surprise followed the examination, for it represented a large sum for that time and place. "Do you want the money on this?" the head official quietly asked, to which Mulhall—fairly stunned and for once off his guard—replied, "Not all of it now, but I do urgently need some immediate supplies." "You can have either supplies or cash as may best suit your convenience—all of it, or part as you may wish, though we would be perfectly willing that you take all of it."

After a dinner with the Factor while dressed in his well-worn plainsman's garb, which the host appeared not to notice, the business was consummated; and Mulhall received from the great Company a certificate of deposit payable on demand. A cart was loaded with supplies and dispatched to his camp, and a servant was directed to take him to it. Mulhall arrived there first, and found Kate a little dejected, as the flour was all gone and only vegetables were in sight for the coming meal.

She was surprised when the Squire leaned over her and imparted a kiss of joy at having rescued his little family from want, while the girls stood near-by in silent wonder. The pressing situation had been carefully concealed from the children, who were now accustomed to being limited in the variety of food; and when told that they could not have bread for supper, thought nothing of it. They were always associated with the memory of the cherished wife and mother now peacefully sleeping in the sands of the Sweetwater Valley near the summit of the Rocky Mountains; and "let them be happy" ran in the minds of both their father and Kate.

Within two years after Mulhall had completed this to him important arrangement, a very different scene was enacted a few miles distant. The American Government at that time began dealing with the Indians in the country west of the Cascade Mountains as tribes by making a treaty[7] with them; and a sorry mess was made of it by adopting the policy of driving the hardest possible bargains regardless of the future welfare of the Indian or the white race. Before another year elapsed a small war followed, with massacres of whites and Indians alike, a situation in which Mulhall became deeply involved.

The great Hudson's Bay Company that so long ruled the Oregon Country was an English corporation, with headquarters in London; it was incorporated May 2, 1670, for the purpose of trading with the Indians of North America. Owing its origin and growth primarily to the fur business, it did not undertake to develop the agricultural possibilities of the country, a policy which had a far-reaching effect upon the history of that region.

Had the Company encouraged settlement, as the Americans did when they arrived from the eastern and central western States, the final solution of the question as to which Government would come into final ownership of the Pacific Northwest might, and probably would, have been different. It is generally believed that the firm hold of the American home builders influenced the minds of the English statesmen to yield in the final negotiations; they could not very well displace the large numbers of Americans who came to stay and build up the country.

Wishing to avoid legal complications in the region where Mulhall and his comrades had landed, the management of the Company had organized a subsidiary under the name of the Puget Sound Agricultural Company; and thus thinly disguised, occupied the Nisqually Plains with their sheep, cattle and horses, plowed the fields and erected cabins, but for occupancy by employes instead of independent home builders. The Factors (managers) of the Corporation were cultured gentlemen, known for their fair dealings alike with Indians and white people, following the policy of the parent organization; and it was with the head official in that district that the Squire had dealt.

After the arrival of the cart loaded with supplies from the fort, Kate sent part of them to several pioneer families that yet remained in camp, and then revised the plan for their own dinner. Most of the big company had scattered, some to the timber camps, others to the shores of the Sound where shell fish abounded and a few to claims, already chosen, upon which they proposed to make their future homes.

The first and most urgent problem was that of shelter for so many new arrivals. In one notable instance a large hollow cedar stump served as "home" for a family of six until the husband and father was killed by the Indians. The pathos of that story, with many a parallel in American history, is mentioned here to illustrate the difficulties and dangers encountered by the emigration of which the Squire and his family were a part.

After dinner Mulhall and Kate took counsel far into the night, while the little girls were sleeping on their beds of boughs as peacefully as in a palace. The faint yelping of a pack of coyotes in the distance could be heard; and the cougar (closely allied to the American panther) that infested the country, was abroad seeking his prey. But Kate and her father paid no heed except to the all important subject as to their future; and it was midnight before a final conclusion was reached.

The opening of a farm under the varied and often trying conditions prevailing in that region was very different from what they had been accustomed to in Missouri; and Mulhall was past the meridian of life. Why should he undergo a long period of toil to secure a competence, when he was possessed of sufficient means to live without the sacrifices incident to pioneer life on a new homestead?

Kate said, "Let's go to the county town where the girls can attend school and there are neighbors;" her father was of the same mind and that question was speedily settled. Then they thought of Ben Hardy, to whom Mulhall had promised one of the teams upon their arrival in Oregon as extra compensation for his services in crossing over the trail. Not a word had passed between them about that understanding at the parting of the Snake River, after which the Squire was reduced to one team, and it was doubtful whether or not he could complete the long journey with the one that was left.

"If I only knew where to reach him, I would send him enough money to buy a team," said Mulhall. Ben had gone into southern Oregon while the Squire had moved into the northern part, several hundred miles away; they might be five hundred or even a thousand miles apart, for Oregon was a big country without roads or the means of speedy communication. Where Ben had settled, or whither he had gone, was a problem difficult to solve.

Kate said, "I hear there is a newspaper in Oregon; let's advertise." Mulhall thought a better plan would be to secure a list of post offices and address a letter for Ben to all of them; "Anyway," the Squire said, "we must not leave a stone unturned till we find the boy." Both retired to sleep and forgot their fortunes or misfortunes, but with a firm resolution to find Ben if they could.

Following the decision to remove to the county town, Mulhall soon purchased a nearly finished house at the county seat. The thriving village, built upon a slope facing west and fronting on a wide bay of Puget Sound, presented a charming view of the distant range of mountains bordering on the sea with perpetual snow-mantled peaks; the landscape of dark evergreen forest covered the islands and mainland in the nearer view.

The wide bay was dotted with Indian canoes floating on the tide twice each day; and at intervals a ship would pass or drop anchor in front of the village to discharge freight or barter for a cargo of timber. The fort, a group of log cabins situated a short distance back from the water-front and out of sight of it, commanded a splendid view of the landscape.

In the farther background, west of the Cascade Range, was Mount Rainier, completely encircled with a wonderland of timber and flowers—once seen never forgotten, and always cherished as the sight of a life-time. That majestic mountain of the American Continent, "kingly and alone," a great dome separated from the mountain range, standing nearly three miles high and covered with perpetual snow, is the father of seven rivers and twenty-eight glaciers, and has a base of several hundred square miles. The alpine flower beds are simply wonderful to contemplate; according to John Muir, there are two hundred square miles between the timber and the summer snow-line circling the dome, with literally several thousand varieties of flowers, some of which force themselves up through the receding snow.

Kate at once took up the task of searching for Ben. Writing the first two words, "Dear Ben," she stopped to ask herself might he not think she penned them with a deeper meaning than merely a friendly beginning of a letter? However, Ben was dear to her; he had saved her life, had been loyal to her father, was always kind to all, industrious and truthful.

Before she had time to fully analyze what was passing in her mind, Kate began to realize that she was thinking of Ben more than as a brother. Her pen hovered over the paper; but she finally laid it down with nothing more than the two words already written. That evening at supper Kate asked her father if it would not be best for him to write to Ben.

"Oh, no! You know I scarcely ever write a letter; besides I am very busy on the house," replied Mulhall. "You write, Kate, it's just as well." The Squire did not have the least suspicion of why she should want him to write to Ben instead of doing so herself. If he had, the more he would have preferred that Kate write, for he sincerely wished that she should marry the "dear boy," as he always thought of him.

Kate did not undertake to write to Ben that night, and the paper with the two words on it remained on her table untouched. The idea that Ben might interpret them in a different way from what she intended would not down, while she half realized that they meant more to her than she was willing to acknowledge. Not for mountains of gold would she betray the secret Ben had confided to her, and stand between his love for her very dear friend, Linda Shaeffer.

But Linda was more than two thousand miles away, with what Kate thought an insuperable barrier between them. The paper with the words "Dear Ben," was kept for several days without another word being added to it; and in fact the letter was never written. Kate hesitated to trust herself.

Hadn't she now abandoned all hope for the fruition of her first love, with a pang of regret and bitterness as she thought of Pelton? She would resolve never to marry, but hereafter devote her life to altruistic work for young girls. Kate had no knowledge of Isaac's resolution, while at that very moment he, with the one absorbing purpose in his mind, was feverishly carrying out plans to make the trip to Oregon and win her for his wife.

A few days later an advertisement appeared in the two Oregon newspapers asking Benjamin Hardy to communicate with David Mulhall at a certain post office, and learn something of interest to him. As weeks passed without response, the Squire and Kate were greatly worried, and wondered if some accident had befallen him. She then began writing to postmasters with no better results.

Kate was almost in despair. Might it not be possible that he had found a good location, taken up a claim and then started back to Missouri for Linda? More weeks passed, then months; and yet not a word came. There was ever a warm corner in her heart for the playmate and companion of bygone school days; and she would never relax her efforts to unravel the mystery of his strange disappearance.

Ben was hard at work, in ignorance of the search for him; but often wondered what had befallen father Mulhall, as he always thought of the Squire, Kate and the little girls after their separation on the Snake River. He had written to Linda, but months elapsed and no answer had come. Though often alone in his cabin with only one neighbor in sight, he was too busy to be lonesome; Craig was off working at his trade most of the time while Ben was making improvements on both of their claims.

Once a month Craig would bring supplies to the cabin, stay over Sunday and then be off again. They sorely needed a team; and Craig was gradually saving so that they might be able to buy one by planting time in the spring. Ben gave no thought to the understanding by which he was to get a team from Mulhall; he would have rejoiced to hear of the safe arrival and good fortune of the kind-hearted family which had treated him so tenderly in his sickness and, as he believed, saved his life.

Ben had written a second letter to Linda, receiving no reply; but attributed the delay to the slow and uncertain mail service. He was now in vigorous health, gaining in weight to surprise even himself; the pale spare face disappeared and a ruddy complexion took its place. Pure Oregon air, simple diet and steady work had developed him so that an old-time acquaintance would hardly have known him.

At last a letter written in a spirit of gloomy forebodings, came from Linda. She had heard of the misfortunes of the Mulhalls, and could not see how she could ever reach Oregon; but remembered her vow to be ever loyal and true to Ben no matter what happened.

REDUCED TO A HAND CART

A considerable number of Mormons traveled to Salt Lake City as shown in this illustration; described on pages 48-49.

[1] While somewhat unusual to insert a quotation in a work of this character, no better description of the difficulties and dangers of crossing the Platte in pioneer times has been, or is ever likely to be written. E.M.

[2] Edward J. Allen and Ezra Meeker, the author of this historical narrative.—Editor.

[3] It is estimated that fully 5,000 died that year on the Oregon Trail.

[4] The author knew the lad who made the remark and of his experience; he was afterward a successful merchant in Tacoma, Washington.

[5] The author personally knew a large majority of the people in that train, several of whom became prominent in the affairs of the Territory just founded, among them the actual personalities represented in this story by David Mulhall and his daughter Kate. Of the 148 comprising it, not one of the adults is now left, and only two or three of the younger members who vividly remember these events; their generation has nearly passed, but the memories of their deeds fortunately remain. E.M.

[6] A granite monument, suitably inscribed, erected by the State of Washington to perpetuate the memory and location of this camp, attests the importance of the event. See illustration and inscription inserted here. E.M.

[7] The Medicine Creek Treaty, December 26, 1854.

CHAPTER IV

A MASSACRE AND A WAR; KATE MULHALL, DEPUTY SHERIFF; A RACE FOR A WIFE; THE WEDDING AND CHIVAREE; A DELAYED AND ADVENTUROUS HONEYMOON ON PUGET SOUND.

The great body of pioneers just arrived, like those who had preceded them, were honest and earnest Christian people, though as in all movements of large numbers of men and women, there were a few mere adventurers. Some left their former abodes for the good of the country and their own safety; others had fled from the consequences of unhappy marriages or acts of indiscretion, and though seldom criminals, preferred to let the past life fall into oblivion.

So a "Mr. Smith" one might meet in the new community may have been Mr. Jones before leaving his former place of residence. These were not necessarily bad men in the common meaning of that word, but were making a new start, generally with the firm purpose of leading upright lives in the future. The reason for referring to this phase of pioneer life will appear later.

Many thousands of Indians roamed through the country at the time of Mulhall's settlement in the new land of opportunity. A friendly feeling then prevailed between the races as such, and instances of sincere friendship between individual Indians and whites were not uncommon. This ought never to have been disturbed.

The honorable policy of the Hudson's Bay Company had won the confidence of the Indians by always keeping promises and giving fair value in trading with them; and they were inclined to believe in the rectitude of white people in general. Unfortunately this good opinion was soon changed to one of distrust and hatred.

Agents of the American Government came into the country to make what may, by courtesy, be called "treaties" with the natives. The simple-minded and unsuspecting Indians were overreached, inveigled into surrendering their rights to practically their entire hunting grounds,[1] and otherwise outrageously wronged. Indeed, when the nature of these transactions became known at Washington, the Government made restitution so far as possible, but too late to avert a cruel conflict.

That followed a massacre on October 28, 1855, by infuriated Indians of innocent pioneers—men, women and children—thirty miles away. A friendly native brought the appalling news to Mulhall during the night of the same day the tragedy occurred. Consternation reigned in the little village, the people not knowing to what extent the Indians might go in wreaking vengeance upon the white race.

Measures of defense were immediately taken by the villagers as best they could but they were not very effective. A log cabin that sheltered and protected many others besides the owner and his family was soon built; and is still preserved in the village where Mulhall dwelt, seventy years after the event.

A breach which at once occurred between the military authorities and the civil officials nearly came to a clash of arms; confusion reigned supreme, and conditions verged on anarchy. The military, though now obliged to wage war against the belligerent Indians, condemned various acts of the civilians which brought on an unnecessary conflict. Overnight Mulhall, it might be said by natural selection, became Sheriff.

By obeying orders from the military headquarters, which ran counter to those of the civil court, he was arrested for contempt, carried off to another county and confined. Before being taken away he slipped a paper into Kate's hand, saying in a low voice, "Conceal it quick," which she did.

After her father's departure, when immediate danger of further interference had passed, she opened the letter; and to her surprise found it contained an appointment as Deputy Sheriff during his absence. It was a critical situation, in which she held the keys of the Court House and the jail, and possession of the premises.

Would the opposition use force? and carry her off as they had Sheriff Mulhall? The military commander said they should not, and sent a guard to protect her at the jail, while a number of citizens rallied to her support. Before morning the excitement quieted down, cooler counsels prevailed, and she was able to safely leave for her home.

Kate found the little sisters terrified, and their eyes reddened by weeping during most of the night for father and their "mamma." They did not go to school the next day, but accompanied her back to the jail where all had dinner together. By her tact and courage, Kate soon became the heroine of both the military and civil factions, as well as of the village; and conducted the office without opposition until the release of her father. This brief reference to a strange incident of the old frontier throws an additional light upon the character of Kate Mulhall, and is at the same time an interesting glimpse of pioneer life.

The jails of that day were without ventilation, sanitary conveniences or pretense of decency; all prisoners, civil and criminal alike, were usually huddled together in one room like sheep in a pen. Under these conditions it is not strange that the Squire's incarceration soon began to tell upon his health and strength.

* * *

Kate and her father were about a thousand miles out on the Oregon Trail when Isaac Pelton, still in Missouri, adopted a definite plan of action. He had discreetly kept his own counsel, planted the crops as usual and pursued the even tenor of his way as if no changes were impending.

One Saturday evening he mounted Ned and left home without informing any one where he was going, or how long he would be gone; and traveled all night to the county seat of Harrison County, adjoining the State of Iowa on the North. His mission was to buy a few acres to give him legal standing as a landholder in that county; this done, he returned as mysteriously as he had gone.

In its next issue, the Gazette, the local county paper, published an item to the effect that Isaac Pelton had bought land in Harrison County, Missouri, and was about to remove to his new home. In the same issue appeared an advertisement offering for sale all his holdings of real or personal property, but not including his slaves and teams.

Midsummer had just passed and harvest begun when Pelton and his three negroes left La Fayette County, in which he had lived so long; there was no molestation, or even a faint suspicion of what had prompted the move. Harrison County contained over ten thousand white inhabitants and only twenty-five slaves; upon arrival there, he filed his manumitting paper for record freeing the three, and came out of the Court House to receive congratulations wherever he went.

Andrew and Jennie were in blissful ignorance of their master's intention to liberate them; and Pelton had been very careful not to drop a hint of it, acting on the principle that the only sure way to keep a secret is to say nothing about it to any one. So now, when the long resolution was an accomplished fact, he felt a heavy burden lifted from his shoulders, and was in a mood of exultation for having performed a duty and accomplishing what he had so long contemplated.

The first thing to do, however, was to break the news to Andrew and Jennie. He was curious to see how they would take it, but was not prepared for the surprise that followed.

"My Gawd-amighty, Massa, what'll I do?" exclaimed Andrew. "You turn me out on the world to take care of myself and Jennie and Margie? I hain't got no sense; I hain't got no nothin. Jennie, honey, what'll we do? Massa, I love you; I dun want to go way."

Pelton had anticipated a joyous scene to follow the news of their freedom, but there was nothing but outcries and lamentations. That was an exceptional case, though one like it occurred in the present State of Washington, where a slave refused to leave his master; after a lapse of years, during which the infamous law debarring the negro from holding land was repealed, he was finally rewarded by inheriting the property.

After the first outburst of grief, and upon Pelton's assurance that he could stay with him as long as he lived and that no one could take Jennie or Margie from him, Andrew shouted with joy and threw his arms around his old master to express his ecstasy. A new light had shone upon him.

Just before the falling of the leaves in the autumn after the departure of Squire Mulhall for Oregon, Isaac wrote to Kate a frank declaration of his love, and enclosed a certified copy of the court record confirming the manumission of the three slaves as stated in his letter. He was restless in the new environment, at best only temporary; and counted with impatience the days and weeks, and finally the months, awaiting a response from Kate.

None came. After investigating the reported wreck of a mail steamer, he became convinced that the letter had been lost; and late in the midwinter following her departure for Oregon, wrote a second one.

"Kate, come here," Squire Mulhall said one day soon after receiving mail by the semi-monthly steamer and pointing to an article in the local paper from his old neighborhood in Missouri, "Do you see that?" It read, "Isaac Pelton has set his three slaves free and removed to Harrison County, near the border of Iowa."

Mulhall was surprised when his daughter at once left his presence without making any comment or showing interest in the item he had just read. Kate knew that she could not control her emotions, and in the solitude of her room gave way to self denunciation for her attitude when Isaac visited their cabin before they left for the Oregon Country.

During all the trials of the long journey over the Oregon Trail and the anxieties afterward in their new home, the thought of Pelton would become upper-most in her mind in spite of all efforts to banish it. Now that he was no longer a slaveholder, she could cherish a sentiment for him even though unaccompanied with hope that they would ever meet again.

Finally, after nearly a year from their parting in the Missouri cabin, Pelton's second letter arrived. Kate's emotions can better be imagined than described. Her hopes had been all but extinguished; and now to have them suddenly revived came almost as a shock of pain, though mingled with joy.

Kate did not answer at once; anyhow it would be nearly a fortnight before another mail would be dispatched to "the States." A momentous question involving the future of her own life was to be decided; and as the days passed the task became more difficult.

While in this state of mind, one of the little sisters fell seriously ill, calling for her almost undivided care; and she felt an increased responsibility for her father and the two orphans. Finally the letter was written and dispatched; but Pelton left for Oregon before it was delivered in Missouri, and never received it. The contents remained a secret in her own breast, and as time passed brought regret that it had been written.

James Price was an undisguised admirer of Kate, but fearing rejection of his suit, had never made formal advances, although nothing had transpired to either encourage or discourage him. He was well aware that Kate would go to Oregon at all hazards if her father did, but rather shrank from the thought of accompanying them as a son-in-law in a subordinate position.

After the Mulhall outfit left, Price berated himself for being such a laggard and entertaining a false pride; and resolved that he would go to Oregon the following year. Price did not, like Pelton, disguise his intention to make the trip or his admiration for Kate; so it became common talk in the neighborhood that Price intended to go to Oregon to win her hand.

A year after the Squire had left his home in Missouri, the Gazette published the information that James Price had started for Oregon with an ox-team, over the route followed by David Mulhall the previous year. It expressed the hope that he might succeed in securing a home in the new country; and the people of the neighborhood interpreted this by adding, in their own minds—"and what is of equal importance, a wife." Pelton and in fact the whole neighborhood, knew of Price's admiration for Kate; and when the item appeared tongues were set to wagging that he was "going there to marry Kate."

Price was well out on the way before Pelton became aware of it, and the fact that his rival had gone considerably disturbed his peace of mind. He believed that the gossip as to what prompted Price to make the journey was true, but hardly thought he could have any assurance from Kate that would warrant the trip.

"But suppose Price arrived and should renew his suit, what then?" he asked himself. He knew that Kate respected Price, and when convinced that his first letter had been lost, was not sure that she would receive the second one. The more he thought of it, the more agitated he became.

"I'll go myself," he said one day; "I can go by the Isthmus and beat him there yet, and I'll do it."

That night he was troubled with the thought of an unexpected obstacle. When he freed Margie, Pelton had himself appointed as guardian to safeguard her liberty and prevent other parties from depriving her of it under the obnoxious law to which reference has been made. Who that he could trust would now accept the responsibility? Any number would be eager to secure her services while under age; but would shrink from the obloquy that would be attached to such a transaction.

Besides, there was real danger from the "night riders" that infested the county. The slavery question was in the minds of everybody; only a small minority believed it was possible to abolish the system, and very few had the courage to freely express themselves. It was before the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, but the "underground railroad" was in full operation. While not talking much openly, the Quakers usually supplied the "stations" for the escape of fugitive slaves.

Eli Sumner, a staunch "Friend" residing not far from the Iowa line, had a large and commodious barn, as was the Quaker custom, but lived in an unpretentious house. It was generally believed that he maintained an "underground station" on his premises, and that escaping slaves could trust him. Nothing had been proven, but he had the name of being a Free-soiler; and was therefore under suspicion by the slaveholding class.

Pelton realized how little time there was to spare if he would beat Price to Oregon; but he had fully made up his mind to undertake the long race. Price couldn't average more than fifteen miles a day with his oxen; and by estimating the distance, Isaac believed he had an advantage of about three weeks. But he might not make close connections; and furthermore, had a journey of nearly a thousand miles before reaching New York, a considerable part of it by stage-coach.

"I'll trust Sumner," Pelton said to himself and next morning started off to see him.

"Yes, thee can bring them up here and I will do the best I can for them," the Quaker said after Isaac had explained his mission; "but I do not see why I should be appointed her guardian (referring to Margie), as Iowa is a free State."

"Yes, but suppose the night riders should once get her across the line; might she not be helpless?" Pelton responded.

"Well, just as thee thinks; they can have that little house, and I will give the man employment, or he can work where he wills."

A load was lifted from Isaac's mind when he saw Andrew and Jennie safely in their new temporary home, and Margie under the guardianship of the good Quaker. Depositing a considerable sum of money with Sumner for emergencies, and bidding farewell to them all, he left with a light heart, determined to send for them some day if he secured a home in the Oregon Country and won Kate for a wife.

As the weeks passed, the great race was progressing slowly and even painfully for both participants, Price continued steadily on with pleasant anticipations of a hearty greeting from his old-time acquaintance, Squire Mulhall, and at least a cordial reception by Kate. He knew nothing of Pelton's intentions or movements; if he had, it would not have hastened his arrival, for his average progress of two miles an hour could not be increased.

Price had met and overcome the usual difficulties of a trip over the long trail. Unincumbered with dependents or loose stock, and with only one comrade selected from among his acquaintances for dependable character and aptitude for such an undertaking, the cares of the journey were much less than with those accompanied by their families.

He had a light-weight covered wagon, in which they could sleep, and did not a carry a tent. The team consisted of four trim five-year-old steers broken during the winter to work under the yoke, and two extras trained to be led behind the wagon. One day's experiences represented nearly all the trip across the Plains.

Camp was usually made early; one of them would at once take the oxen to water and grass, while the other would prepare the evening meal. Then one soon went to bed and the other out with the oxen; the next morning an early start was made with the night-watcher in the wagon asleep. Sound and refreshing sleep was possible under the circumstances and practiced by many, seldom disturbed by the slow movement of the ox-wagon.

Pelton did not find his journey to Oregon by the Isthmus route an agreeable one; quite the opposite, with some hardships and a great deal of discomfort. Three days were lost in New York waiting for a steamer, followed by nine or ten days on the water, which passed quite pleasantly, then a crossing of the Isthmus—a difficult matter in those days, with the ever-present risk of tropical fever. Emerging on the Pacific side, a second wait of three days ensued before another—and inferior—steamer could be taken to San Francisco, where Isaac arrived after heavy seas had blown the ship two hundred miles out of its course and added considerably to the delay.

Five days were spent at the Golden Gate before an old and clumsy looking hulk left for the northern ports; the trip was slow and beset with dangers, and the boat narrowly escaped destruction while crossing the treacherous bar of the Columbia River. But at last Portland, then a little village of probably not more than a thousand inhabitants, was reached; and as there was then no regular service to the Puget Sound country, Pelton was obliged to take a steamer plying on the Columbia River to the Cowlitz River, where a stage line operated over wretchedly bad roads a considerable part of the way to Olympia, at the head of Puget Sound; and from Olympia he employed an Indian with a canoe to take him to the little village where the Mulhalls had established a residence.

Up to the last moment his mind was tormented with visions of Price. Had he arrived, and if so, how many weeks before? How had he been received by Kate? The time that Price could have arrived had passed by several weeks; and Pelton himself had been delayed long after the date he had expected to reach his destination.

He soon found the house and walked boldly up to it with mingled emotions. Kate was in the kitchen preparing the evening meal with no thought that Pelton was any nearer than 2,000 miles; and when she opened the door in response to the knock outside, the two stood face to face. One word from each other sufficed, "Isaac!" "Kate!" They fell into each other's arms; the long suspense was over, the race won, the goal attained—and the prize at last secured.

James Price, whom Pelton had feared, was in reality no rival at all, so far as Kate was concerned. No matter what aspirations he may have entertained, she had never thought of being anything more to him than an old-time acquaintance. But the poor fellow never reached the end of the journey on which he started in the early spring.

While plodding slowly along with his ox-teams, he was overtaken on the sage-brush plains of the Snake River by cholera, the dread scourge that proved fatal to many emigrants in those days; and he was buried in the sands of that desert region. Both Pelton and Kate felt a genuine pang of grief at the untimely fate of the unfortunate young man.

* * *

Kate said, "Let's have a quiet wedding and invite three or four of the near-by neighbors."

"That will never do," Squire Mulhall replied; "let's go to the church where everybody that wants to can come." Isaac was neutral, only remarking, "you folks settle it between yourselves."

Kate hesitated to differ with her father, but she wanted a quiet wedding; finally the argument ended and all agreed to go to the only church in the village, and one with a history. That was the first place of worship in the new Territory where now, more than seventy years after the events here recorded, stands a granite monument to perpetuate a part of its interesting record.

It was near the holidays when the eventful Sunday for the wedding arrived. The Indian conflict was over, but many of the settlers still remained near the fort; the village was full of people and the saloons were all open. The clouds hung low, patches of fog just lifting in sight. When the wedding party arrived, the church was so filled that the principals had difficulty in entering.

Squire Mulhall had insisted that Kate have a dress to suitably commemorate the occasion, which had been the principal subject of talk among the dames of the villages, and the church was crowded with them at an early hour. Many who had seen Kate as Deputy Sheriff booted and spurred, with pistol strapped to her person, could scarcely believe their eyes when they saw the happy, modest and well dressed young woman soon to become a bride.

All attending the ceremony had donned their best, and some had supplemented their wardrobe especially for the occasion. The church was profusely decorated with evergreens so abundant in the recesses of the forests, and numerous varieties of beautiful ferns, to which were added many flowers still in bloom, although it was near midwinter.

Pelton had made one request of the clergyman—to omit the word "obey;" under existing law the phrase was not mere form, but literally interpreted. When, immediately after the ceremony, Pelton handed the bride a sealed envelope, no one in the assembly who saw the incident was more surprised than Kate herself. "Don't open it until tomorrow," he said in a low voice; and the incident remained a mystery.

The Peltons had planned a quiet evening at home with only a very few selected guests; father Mulhall had apparently acquiesced, but there were others with plans of their own. Mrs. Pelton—let us continue to call her Kate, which sounds so much better—wondered why her father had bought a barrel of apples and some candies, nuts and other delicacies she found in the pantry.

She suddenly clasped her husband's arm with a tight grip as an unearthly noise, such as she had never heard before, broke out nearby. It was no longer the Deputy Sheriff, but the timid bride looking for protection. Drums beating, horns tooting, guns firing, beating on tin pans—even the oldtime horse fiddle with its unearthly tones to make night hideous—to which was added yells and shouting, all combined to startle. Kate was off her guard for once, and fairly trembled with excitement until she realized that it meant a charivaree.

"Come in, boys," the Squire said, as he opened the door.

"No, we want to see the bride and groom," the spokesman answered.

At first Kate shrank from going out, but after each parley the noise would resume, as it seemed automatically; and still the bride would not, as she afterwards said, show herself. Finally a torch-bearing party was seen approaching, and sweet singing voices were heard—as much of a surprise to the noisy party outside the residence as to those inside the house.

It was the church choir giving a serenade. The old Scotch tailor with his bagpipe was there; the glee club of the village rendered its best song; the violin and flute added to the music, and with it dancing began on the sod. "Let's go," said Pelton. "All right," answered the bride; and before they could realize it, they were dancing with the joyous crowd.

It was near midwinter; the falling of the leaves had stripped the deciduous timber growth of the valley bare, but the evergreens of the tablelands retained their color as in the summer time. The sheltered ferns in the deep recesses of the forests were preserved in all their delicate beauty, while here and there a modest flower peeped from a sheltered nook. Grass was green in favored places on the common and in the gardens of the village.

Pelton could scarcely believe his eyes as he viewed the scene, particularly when it included a ship sailing by; the square rigged sails of the three-mast schooner was to him a thing of exquisite beauty, moved by some invisible power. Everything looked bright, and he was happy; the girl he had sought and won, now his beloved wife, never before looked so lovely to him.

Kate, no less happy than her husband, pictured to herself a quiet home where she could live as her mother had done amid the joys of a pioneer life. Now, more than ever, she realized her deep love for Isaac, and wondered what life would have been to her without him.

But there was one disturbing element; Bess and Sarah were unmistakably jealous of Pelton. They had been accustomed to the undivided love of "mamma," as they continued to call Kate, and were not easily reconciled to sharing that affection with another. Kate consulted with Isaac, then with her father, and finally all three conferred together as to how best to convince the little girls that her love for them was just as intense as ever.

The Squire suggested that he take the girls on a visit to Ben; they would enjoy it, and besides he wanted to see the "dear boy" himself. Pelton thought it would be better not to disturb them until the close of school, adding that he intended to make a trip to see the country and wanted Kate to go along if "father" would not be too much inconvenienced during their absence.

Mulhall cordially seconded the suggestion, saying that he and the girls could get along splendidly; he would have Clara Laighton, Kate's dearest friend, come to prepare the dinners in the evening, while he and the girls could get breakfast, and they take their lunch to school. The Squire's evident sincerity, bordering on enthusiasm, relieved Pelton and Kate from any uneasiness regarding his willingness that the trip should be made, and how the little girls would get along while they were absent.

So the question came up as to where they should go, how and the length of time they would probably be gone. The conclusion was finally reached to take a cruise on Puget Sound; "We can always get plenty of clams," Kate said, "when the tide is out." She had utilized clams to feed prisoners in the jail, and knew their value; besides it would be jolly to dig them and bake them as the Indians did.

Pelton was in doubt whether to take a boat or canoe; Kate said by all means a canoe, and explained their pattern for speed and safety, as exemplified by the clipper ships[2] which carried the Stars and Stripes to all parts of the world. The marvel of shaping these canoes from the body of a large tree, guided by the eye alone, remains a mystery to this day; the Indians did so, but it is difficult to fully understand how.

First, the exterior parts are cut down to a solid trunk of wood the size and shape of the finished canoe. Then follows the more intricate labor of removing the center, either by chipping off pieces with rude tools or burning out the excess. Coming down to what is left for the framework of the canoe, the problem is how deep to cut without penetrating the outside shell, which seems to be determined more by instinct than by measurement. They are made in various dimensions, from the one-man canoe up to a size in which thirty Indians go boldly out to sea on their fishing excursions.

Pelton secured the service of the native Steicca and his Indian "klootchman" (wife), who were recommended by the Chief Factor of the near-by Hudson's Bay Company fort; and hired their five-man size canoe. Steicca was a person of note among his people, and had gained the confidence of the men at the fort. He was above the average stature for his tribe, popularly designated as the "Fish" Indians, because they depended almost entirely upon sea food; his klootchman was a comely native from the over-mountain tribe known as the "Horse Indians."

She kept herself and clothing clean, in contrast with the carelessness or uncleanliness generally seen among the women of the tribe to which her husband belonged. Their four-year old boy was likewise always neat and tidy; and Kate thought he was one of the most likable urchins she had ever seen.

Pelton had procured a closed tent with complete camping outfit, which included a mirror for Kate and a bootjack for himself. Nothing seemed to be overlooked to make her feel at home on their bridal trip—a honeymoon in a Garden of Eden to them.

They embarked in the early morning observed by many friends and acquaintances, both men and women, the latter representing nearly every household of the village. Children were there with handsful of rice to shower good will upon the heads of their departing friends; Sarah and Bess looked on, but could not understand what the throwing of rice meant.

THE HONEYMOON PARTY IN AN INDIAN CANOE ON PUGET SOUND, AND SUDDEN APPEARANCE
OF THE HAIR SEAL; DESCRIPTION ON PAGE FOLLOWING

As Steicca pushed off the bow of the canoe both paddles were dipped vigorously into the water, and the handles struck the sides with resounding thumps, while each hummed in harmonious minor key an Indian ditty common to the tribe. The dull sound of the paddles knocking against the side of the canoe, and the voices in unison, could be heard long after the view of the slowly disappearing craft had become dimmed to the assembled villagers, who then reluctantly returned to their homes.

Propelled by the combined strength of both experts, the canoe passed rapidly through the water, accelerated by the swift current of an ebb tide. The morning haze had not cleared away and the water was of a glassy smoothness—not a ripple on the surface near-by—though not far away there were slightly disturbed patches, when Kate caught sight of what appeared to be a human head rising out of the deep water in the wake of the rapidly passing canoe.

"What in the world is that?" she exclaimed as she gazed for a moment at the seeming apparition, which now quickly disappeared from sight, and excitedly grasped the arm of her husband. Pelton jocosely suggested it was a mermaid.

"Do you believe in that stuff?" Kate asked, to which Isaac replied that at least it looked like the picture of one; and she admitted it did. In her childhood Kate had read the old-time legends about mermaids; and knew that all down the ages, the belief in creatures half human and half fish had existed among thousands. And now, was it possible that she had a glimpse of one? Kate was not superstitious, but the sight startled and puzzled her; and the reader will doubtless also wonder what it could have been.

An old record describing the mermaid states that "they have a way of lifting their round heads and shoulders from the water with a queer look of almost human intelligence upon their faces;" and that is exactly what Kate had seen. The head that had come above the surface only a few rods in the wake of the canoe, as if to investigate what had disturbed the repose of its abode, was about the size of a half-grown girl, with a suggestion of languid eyes and a plaintive countenance.