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| Washington [D. C.] Daily National Intelligencer - July 15, 1845 |
Chapter 6 (Part II, 282-293) of Philip St. George Cooke's Scenes and Adventures in the Army (1857) in turn derives from this April 1852 installment of “Scenes Beyond the Western Border." While the magazine and book versions are nearly identical to each other, both depart significantly from the original text. Here below is the complete text of "Oregon, Ho!" by "ST. GEORGE" as originally printed in the Tuesday edition of the National Intelligencer (15 July 1845). "Oregon, Ho!" was reprinted the following week, in the Wednesday evening edition of the New-York Spectator (23 July 1845). A deleted portion of the Spectator text, indicated in boldface below, was restored when "Oregon, Ho!" was again reprinted in Littell's Living Age 6.67 (August 23, 1845): 356-358.
EDITORS' CORRESPONDENCE.
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PLATTE RIVER, May 30, 1845.OREGON, HO !
Where is the WEST? The Celestial Empire will one day be called the West, else in Oregon they will have no West.
Three squadrons of the 1st Dragoons (the others are in motion far and wide) marched from Fort Leavenworth the 18th instant, under the immediate command of Colonel S. W. KEARNEY. A right pleasant company are we; all joyously bent upon ascending the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, and grateful to our Colonel for resigning the actual power of his department command and the ease of St. Louis, to place himself at our head. In thus promoting our welfare, he eminently advances national interests; safely leads on the thousands of rough and hardy frontiersmen to lay the foundations of a new empire on the other ocean; the best diplomatists of us all, they will checkmate the presumptuous claims of Britain.
Presumptuous claims, indeed. A royal claim, forsooth! to the most distant portion of this virgin world of ours! We will plant our standard on the ocean verge, and administer the caveat of the rifle!
The world was given to MAN, to subdue and enjoy; and not to kings—royal puppets—to quarrel for. Away, then, with the trivial conventional claims of the elder diplomacy—the inventions of the Pope and the Don, and other palace slaves! We will occupy, use, and possess.
Such expeditions as this will prove an ample protection to the migration, and the only one now practicable. Intermediate posts, unnecessary at best, could only be established at an immensely disproportionate expenditure. Even fuel could not be obtained in this vast grassy desert.
On a bright morning, turning our backs on that lovely spot, Fort Leavenworth, the ties and comforts of home, we set forth on a march of 2,500 miles; duty, enterprise, and the excitement of change will strew our paths with flowers. We followed for more than two days the trails of previous marches, guiding us through the intricate and broken but picturesque grounds which border the Missouri. Right beautiful scenery it is—broken but verdant; with its many irregular vales, with the rich dark forest tree; in the distance, the bold blue highlands of the great river―itself revealed in far off silver spots. The third day we struck out boldly into the almost untrodden prairies, bearing quite to the west. The sixth day, having marched about ninety miles, we turned more to the south, crossing a vast, elevated, and nearly level plain, turning its branches on either side into two branches of the Blue river. Thus, without an obstacle for fifteen miles, we reached and encamped on its banks. We had the company of an afternoon rain, which lasted us for the night. Thus "to sleep" wet is "perchance to dream" indeed for young campaigners. It was just bad enough to elicit the jest of "seeing the elephant"; but an amateur, who, in addition, here lost a horse, was supposed to have considered it a poor joke.
We fortunately struck the Blue, where the pioneers soon made a ford practicable for our wagons. This is a difficult undertaking, to lead three hundred heavily armed men for four months beyond communications. It is not thus the European marches or goes to war. The foresight of much experience is requisite. Accordingly, we are incumbered with seventeen wagons, although the rations are greatly shortened; cattle are driven, and buffalo much depended on.
The seventh day, leaving the Blue, and turning to the northwest, between two tributaries from that direction, we soon espied on a distant ridge the white wagon tops of the Oregon emigrants—mere dim specks on the horizon; we gradually approached, and in a few hours met.
Here was a vast thoroughfare—a broad and well-worn road—better than a macadamized one; it is the longest and best natural road in the world. Endless seemed the procession of wagons; mostly light, and laden rather with family goods and children than heavier wares, for teams averaging perhaps two yokes of oxen. We inquired, and found that we had seen a mere rear-guard; and some three hundred other wagons, or families, were said to be in advance. This was cause to tremble for our sole resource for forage. The grass is backward and full short at best; and these Romulus-ites—these foster-children of the Missouri bear (see the state arms), we knew, take vast herds of cattle, like the patriarchs of old; and we cannot say, like Abraham to Lot, "if thou will take the left hand I will take the right."
Having progressed about twenty miles we turned off to a small branch of the Blue, where we found that our friends in advance had left their mark. Here we had a frost.
This little creek has made a section of about twenty feet through a stratum of yellow adhesive clay. At its foot was found a mammoth tooth, of which I obtained possession; the roots are nearly all gone; but, exclusive of them, it is two and a half inches long, two broad, but three-fourths of an inch thick on one side, and only one-fourth on the other. My guess is that it is the smallest grinder of a herbiferous animal. Can there be much doubt that the skeleton might there be found in situ, to borrow a mineralogical expression?
On the 26th we were off betimes, highly desirous to "head" the very leading "captain" of this vast migration; for we fear that, worse than the myriads of locusts which we saw east of the Blue, they will make a clean sweep of the grass at all the spots where it is necessary to encamp for water.
After a very long march a camp-ground was sought at a small branch, fringed as usual with small tress trees—which are an unerring indication of water in the prairies; but the grass was found so backward and well-grazed, that we were forced to countermarch and retrace our steps above half a mile to a low spot, where it was to be found. Then had our soldiers, weary with the long slow march, in addition to their usual toil of grooming horses, pitching tents, cooking, &c. (making their extemporaneous settlement in the wilderness) to go afoot this long half mile and load themselves with wood and water. Such is a peace campaign; but cheerfulness makes all light. We had passed at noon a beautiful creek, with one of those island groves in the green ocean of prairie which are so refreshing to every sense—in whose cool recesses birds do congregate and sing musical greetings: delightful they are, with their cool sparkling brooks, and, pleasing most from the contrast to the hot bare plains around, are of the nature of, but more natural and sweet than, the rus in urbe. After an hour's enjoyment we part, perhaps forever, with these friendly spots, and encamp, mayhap, in an inhospitable waste. Such is the type of a soldier's life. Indeed it gives it all its zest; the excitement of change and uncertainties, the unlooked-for pleasure, and the difficulty overcome.
I observed to-day with pain poor women trudging along the weary road. Three weeks ago they parted from every comfort; severed the ties of kindred, of civilization (and of country, it may be said), and their journey is scarce begun―a poor 150 miles, with 1,500 more before them! What privations are here; what exposure to stormy weather, cooking out of doors; they must unsex themselves, and struggle with all the sterner toils which civilization has happily cast upon the harder and rougher male. Is it possible that many of them willingly follow thus their life's partners for all the "worse"? That old woman of sixty, whom I have often seen dispensing kindly the comforts and joys of the homestead fireside, does she willingly forswear the repose which her years, her virtues, her labors, and her sex entitle her to? And that child—that little boy, who, barefooted, limps along, holding for assistance to the hinder axletree of that weak old wagon—is his case to be pitied? Ah! but he may one day be the "gentleman from Oregon," who arrived in last night's cars, and to-day takes his seat in his arm-chair in the Capitol.
But there was a wedding last night! That damsel takes things coolly as they come. She is a fine girl for a new country. Beware, ye Suckers, after the romantic! Cry not Eureka! and straightway with bold imagination found a love story with intricate plot of a maid of the mountain, who was wooed and won by a bold horseman of the prairie desert, and, scorning silken dalliance and trifling forms, yielded her hand, possibly, over the arching neck of a prancing steed; for ruthlessly I shall wave my wand of truth, and presto! the fabric will vanish. Thus, then it fell out. A driver of oxen, a homespun matter-of-fact lad—not even a "leather stocking," but clad in dirty woollen—having for some time observed with longing eyes a fair neighbor—that is, for three nights they had encamped on the same stream—a strapping lass, who was the possessor of the extra attraction of a beautiful red blanket—that is, an extra blanket, and he, all weary and cold of nights (and that accursed frost!) with nothing between him and the rugged earth but a worn and well-singed blanket, thus forlorn and tempted by the splendid dower, and struck, too, with the obvious truth that two can sleep warmer than one—he bluntly proposed; the kind she consented to share his fate and her blanket; and they were wed! Thus clearly a marriage de convenance. I defy all story-tellers to make any thing further of it. But Oregon will surely be peopled in due season.
May 26th, we quitted early our camp-ground, and soon approached that far western and longest branch of the Blue, which seems to fulfill its destiny in leading the Missourians, by its hospitable waters and fuel, in the direct route of their new West; and, having ministered to all his pressing wants, turns him over—the "divide"—to the like friendly offices of the great Platte—in late parlance, the Nebraska, which honest river is thus too desired to stand godfather to a most iniquitous territory, to people which the political hacks of a very late day were willing to break all the last and most binding pledges of their country's faith—her voluntary and most solemn and plain obligations to the congregated remnants of many of the weak, ignorant, and helpless tribes of the red man; and the motives assigned were ridiculous, the assumptions false, the ignorance great.
Approaching this other Blue, from its hill-tops we were struck with the beauty of its vicinity, indented far and deeply with narrow vales of a thousand shapes, their soft green dotted and fringed with the blue-green oaks. After this introduction, the road led us away again on a high plain, where we were for hours out of sight of all earth but grass. But soon we saw before us a long line of wagons, with a vast herd of cattle. Approaching and passing as rapidly as we might, we learned that several such companies were some days gone on. The cattle were grazing like buffalo on the prairie, and I estimated them at their real number of one thousand; and then I was convinced, by comparison, that from one spot, by turning my head, I had seen at least two hundred thousand buffaloes.
We descended at evening into the wide savannas of the Blue to make our night camp.
A few hours after I had written the last sentence, a hurricane passed over the camp. No night was ever darker; the rain fell in torrents; many tents were prostrated. I cannot refrain from recording the impressions made on my mind in the moments of uneasiness and awe by this storm, the most remarkable in its sounds I ever heard. I imagined that vast multitudes of the wild horse and buffalo rushed madly over the earth, following some extinct mammoth animal revisiting its ancient haunts, and uttering at each moment a bellowing roar! The furious wind was sounding in the canvass of many tents; the incessant thunders strangely played a sonorous bass accompaniment.
Next morning a bright sun set us all to rights by 9 o'clock. We still ascended this Western Blue; crossing now and then the feet of the hills protruding into the bottoms; at times winding through some great ravine or sand-gully, washed by the rain of ages. The little river was now a turbid, rushing stream; its bottoms, a fourth of a mile wide, begin sensibly to lessen; the grass is very deficient from drought, but, turning short down from a high bluff, at the camping hour we fortunately found a sweet little valley and bottom, where the grazing was good, and was as fresh and beautiful as late showers and green groves could make it.
May 29.―To-day, just as yesterday, we marched some twenty-two miles, following the stream, passing near night a small emigrant party. When desirous of making the night halt, we found that grass was scarcely to be had far or near; and, after a long search, the squadrons were necessarily dispersed over a half mile. This day a cool wind has blown freshly from the north, pure and invigorating, such as it is a pleasure to breathe. The hills are diluvial—mere sand, with a soil that scarcely supports a thin sod. As the hills break off, they are washed by the rains into fantastical shapes of white sand that prettily contrast the surrounding verdure. Many slopes beyond the stream are clothed with a tall old growth of grass exactly resembling ripe wheat. Adjoining are weed stubbles, with dead trees, which, together, are the picture of corn-fields with girdled trees. These surround green hills and meadows, groves and shrubbery, which we easily imagine conceal a mansion-house. Such beauties, to be seen on the stream in a day's ride, must deceive no one, for beyond all is barren; and the vast territory, between the frontier and the mountains, has not ten trees of all sorts to the square mile, and is, much of it, little better than a sand desert; even game is not found.
Last night we had an arrival of an officer of the Topographical Engineers, with astronomical instruments. We shall thus be enabled, in our far-reaching expedition, to make important additions to a geographical knowledge, so much needed, of these semi-deserts.―The longitude, for instance, of Jackson Grove, has been in debate between ours and the Texan government. That is the point where Capt. Cooke, of the First Dragoons, performed the difficult and disagreeable duty of disarming a large force of Texan rovers, with the name of troops, whom he surprised within our frontier, and pursued across the Arkansas river, but at a point, as he believed, east of the boundary line.
Marching later than usual this morning, there was no expectation of leaving the Blue; but, after six miles, we found that we were ascending the elevated and apparently nearly level plain (called a "divide"), where, in twenty-three miles, no water could be found, unless pools of the late rain.
We passed, midway, at such a pool, an emigrant party of twenty-four wagons. These, as a specimen, were ascertained to be composed of thirty-one men, thirty-two women, and sixty-one children; they had two hundred and twelve head of cattle. We also met, on the ridge, Pawnees with some two-hundred horse-loads of dried buffalo meat, which they were conducting to their village, perhaps seventy miles below, on the Platte. This is a temporary supply. After getting their corn fairly under way the whole tribe will move off on their "summer hunt."
We arrived on the hills of sand bordering the remarkable valley of the Platte near sundown. At our feet lay two miles of level savanna; the waters of the broad river were nearly concealed by Grand Island, which is sixty miles long, and, like all others, well wooded. It is a rare thing to find a tree on either shore of the Platte. It was a beautiful sight. The squadrons winding along a gentle curve, two abreast, over the fresh well-washed young grass, which the slant rays of a clear sun made brilliant. The horses had a gallant bearing: fifty blacks led, fifty grays followed, then fifty bays, next fifty chestnuts, and fifty blacks closed the procession; the arms glittered, the very horse-shoes shone twinkling on the moving feet. It was a gay picture, set in emeralds. Just then a hare, of the large black-eared species found here, bounded away from the head of the column, pursued by a swift dog. It was a beautiful chase for a mile over the greensward, which we halted to witness, but the hare proved the fleeter animal.
The broad valley of the Platte is nearly level, rising but from two to five or six feet above the ordinary height of the water. It is composed of sand, through which the river spreads to its level. There is no rising above the universal flatness, which resembles the Delaware near its mouth. You have a horizon of green meadows, and frequently, too, of water. We had marched two hundred and fifty miles (in part as explorers) in twelve days.
May 30.―The trumpet sounds of reveille called us forth this morning, as usual, under arms, and we instantly beheld a scene of beauty and sublimity such as the wanderer over the earth sees now and then when least expected. Above the illimitable plain to the west, dotted with white wagons and vast herds grazing, black clouds, tossed by a gale, came thundering on wrathfully, as the lightning leaped from mass to mass, and from beneath the sympathetic river rolled forth in angry waves of dusty hue. To the east the sun was rising, dispensing a rosy glory over the calm and fleecy cloud-mists of his hemisphere, which was caught and reflected back by the dancing waves of the broad waters. It seemed a rebellion of the Powers of Darkness against the Spirit of Light. Then three hundred men uprose the midst upon the placid green, the sun shone forth, and the threatening storm melted into rain. This was a wondrous reality, breaking, all unprepared, at early morning, on eyes that had been closed the still night long, and on minds just roused from dreams of quiet home-scenes.
Now, as I write, all is reversed: the sun sinks serenely on the western wave, while, in the east, a dark cloud mutters a menace of its power in the coming night. Sad types of the world's doings, and the busy varying warfare of good and evil. To-day we rest.
ST. GEORGE.
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