“We are going to decide?”
“Yes, I think it is something that we should decide together.”
Her eyes welled up with tears of happiness, and warmth enveloped her soul. While not exactly a proposal of marriage, she was very comforted that Thomas was not going to abandon her. The anxiety she had been feeling faded away.
As they passed between the tall green mountains, water, grass, and game were once again plentiful.
“Now this is what I imagined South Pass to look like,” Olga remarked to her friends. They were camped in a rich green valley with shear mountainsides to the west and east. They were traveling north, following the Bear River. There were no buffalo in the mountains, and few deer. However, there was a significant population of mountain goats. Thomas hunted these fine tasting animals. After a few days of climbing steep rocky slopes passing from one mountain to another, sometimes advancing no more than a handful of miles, they were once again traversing green grassy valleys.
When they reached the Portneuf River they were noticeably heading downhill. The days seemed to fly by as they walked through the beautiful mountains. One day, the valley opened wide and they descended onto a huge plain. The fields of grass stretched for miles to the north, east, and west. Remembering the bleakness of the desert, Olga thought she was in heaven.
“Where are we?” she asked of Thomas.
“That is the Snake River and that is Fort Hall up ahead. I was here two days ago scouting out the place. You won’t like it any better than Fort Bridger, except it is not run by Mormons.”
They camped at Fort Hall for two days to allow their animals to graze and regain strength. Some of the oxen were too weak to continue and these were traded for fresh animals. The weakened oxen would be fattened and then traded to travelers behind them. Unfortunately, the trading post offered little in the way of other food and supplies.
Thomas hunted the buffalo roaming the valley and refilled their supply of dried meat. They had been told to expect little game in the desert a hundred miles westward.
The Snake River
When their westward journey resumed, they followed the twists and turns of the appropriately named Snake River. For a time it was as though they were back on the grassy plains. Even the Indians reappeared. However, these natives watched the emigrants from a distance and made no attempt to assist them during the river crossings. Major Jamison ordered the wagons to camp close together during the nights in an effort to thwart any attempt that the Indians might make to steal the livestock. They had been warned at Fort Hall that these Snake Indians were not friendly.
A week after leaving Fort Hall, they entered an area of widespread black lava flows. The life giving waters of the river plunged over an enormous waterfall into a deep canyon. The sheer walls of this gorge precluded any attempt at retrieving drinking water. The river at the bottom of the gorge tantalized them—so close, but so unreachable.
Without the river’s water, the land turned to desert as they made their way from waterhole to waterhole. Olga found this stretch of wretched land to be unbearable. The months of the never ending cycle of breaking camp in the morning, walking for eight to ten hours, and then cooking and camping once more had taken all the reserve from her. Were it not for the encouraging talks given by Major Jamison each evening, and his barking commands each morning, she would have stopped dead in her tracks.
Each day they passed exhausted emigrants who had stopped alongside the trail.
“Hurry along,” Major Jamison would encourage them, “winter will be upon us all too soon. The mountains ahead cannot be crossed after the snow falls.”
Without question, these stragglers were welcomed to join the wagon train. Some had stopped not due to a lack of will, but because their wagons had broken down or their oxen had died. Some had been attacked by Indians. With their own collection of spare parts and extra animals exhausted, Major Jamison could not set these unfortunate souls right. They had no choice but to abandon their belongings and join the wagon train with only that which they could carry. Major Jamison accepted what food they had as payment for joining.
One of these stragglers was William Chapman. “He’s from Tennessee,” Beth said. She had taken an instant liking to him. “He was traveling with a group of wagons, but his wheel broke. They had no spare and his companions set off to find a wheel and bring it back to him. It has been three days they have not returned, and he thinks they abandoned him.”
“That is a rather disgusting way to treat a friend,” Olga responded.
“I gather that they weren’t exactly friends. He says there has been nothing but strife among them for the past month. Anyway, I’ve offered to take what manner of his possessions that my wagon will hold.”
“I see,” Olga said with a knowing smile. She surmised that Beth was taking some of Grace’s advice and seeking a man to marry.
With the pathway more downhill than up, the land eventually dropped. The tall sides of the gorge surrounding the river diminished until the wagons were once again alongside the Snake River. They fed on the fish that filled the river.
After another week, they were back in the mountains. The land surrounding the Snake River canyon was too rugged to allow the wagons to continue following the river. While the Snake River turned north, they continued a westerly direction following the Grande Rondo River, into the mountains.
“Where does it go?” Olga asked of Major Jamison, pointing to the Snake River.
“It winds through a sheer canyon ahead, but eventually empties into the Columbia River less than fifty miles upstream of where we are going, Umatilla Landing. We are nearing the end of our journey,” he continued. “Less than fifty miles over these hills is Wailatpu and the Whitman Mission.”
The major valiantly tried to lift the spirits of the weary emigrants. Their food supplies were long gone and the malnourished travelers were surviving on meat alone. Fortunately, game was still plentiful. The Powder River valley was the most handsome that she had seen since leaving Bear River. The valley was several miles wide, covered with a heavy coat of grass. To the west stood the high range of the Blue Mountains. The whole country abounded with deer and prairie chickens.
Most of the women adopted Olga’s practice of driving the ox team while the men hunted. Olga marveled at how tame the oxen had become. After pulling the wagon day after day for so long, the beasts thought of nothing else. With nothing more than a verbal command, they would strain with all their remaining strength to haul the wagon up the steep hills. In the morning, when the train set into motion, her oxen would begin the day’s journey was soon as the wagon in front of them began to move. Her oxen required no instructions from her at all.
What a blessing. I have no energy for it.
With all of their provisions gone, the wagons had room for the settlers to sleep inside. Everyone abandoned the ritual of setting up tents. Frying small bits of meat was all the cooking that needed doing.
While traversing the Blue Mountains, the wagon train was overtaken by a small band of Indians. Fearing the worst, the wagons closed in together as best they could in the narrow canyon. Olga watched as Thomas checked the load in his Hawken rifle and joined Major Jamison and his scouts to meet the intruders.
“I am Five Crows, Chief of the Cayuse, Dr. Whitman’s Indians,” their leader said.
Everyone sighed with relief. They all knew of Marcus Whitman and his wife Narcissa. They had been among the earliest settlers in the Oregon Territory and operated a mission to help other immigrants and the local Indians.
Five Crows spoke nearly perfect English and was the finest looking Indian Olga had seen. He was of a medium height with muscular limbs. He was dressed in buckskin pants like Thomas had been wearing when she had met him He wore a calico shirt sewn from several patches of cloth. Unlike other Indians, he wore short hair under a broad brimmed hat. Were it not for his bronze skin, she would not have known that he was an Indian.
“What is happening?” Olga asked Thomas when he
returned from the meeting.
“He seems to be a rather fine fellow. He claims to be a Christian. They are a hunting party and have offered us meat and potatoes.”
“Goodness, I would dearly love a potato!”
The Indians remained with the wagons. They rode their ponies along the length of the train peering into each wagon. Nervous that the Indians were plotting to steal from them, the emigrants kept their weapons handy. That evening, the Indians did not camp by themselves, but rather they mingled among the wagons.
“May I dine with you?” Five Crows asked of Thomas. They were eating the food that the Indians had provided, so Thomas welcomed the man to join them. “You are Mormon? These women are your wives?” he asked, observing Olga, Beth, and Grace together. “These are your daughters?” He pointed toward Catherine and Marjorie.
“No, these women are widows. Their husbands died along the way here and I am taking care of them.” Thomas observed a change in Five Crows expression, and he added, “I am seeing them safely to the Willamette Valley.”
“Ah,” Five Crows answered.
“Your English is excellent,” Thomas observed.
“Ah, yes, Dr. Whitman has a school and invites everyone to attend. There are many among the Cayuse and Umatilla peoples that speak English.” Then the Indian slowly extended his hand to touch Beth’s red hair. “I’ve never seen such beautiful hair.”
“She’s with me.” William Chapman said, walking into the camp. He touched Five Crows’ hand and he withdrew it.
“Ah, she is lovely,” the Indian said, and broadly smiled. “Such startling green eyes I’ve never seen before.”
As they were preparing for bed, Thomas whispered to Olga, “I want you and Catherine to sleep in the wagon. Mr. Chapman and I will sleep outside. We’ll take turns watching over our new friends.”
The emigrants were nervous with the Indians sleeping in their camp, but they exhibited no sign of thievery. In the morning, they offered their horses to assist the exhausted oxen in the effort to pull the wagons over the Blue Mountains.
This last leg of the journey proved to be the most difficult. Nine yoke of oxen and horses were hitched to one wagon to pull it up the steep mountainsides. Then ropes and pulleys were used to lower the wagons down the opposite side. In this manner, the wagons were moved one by one. Once again, Olga was pleased that Peter had insisted that they travel light with a small wagon. That night they camped, still within sight of where they had spent the previous night. After the day’s labor, the Indians departed with a promise that they would return with more food.
High in the mountains, the nights were freezing cold. They had been traveling through the summer and did not have any winter clothing. Olga, Thomas, and Catherine snuggled together under Thomas’s buffalo hide. They slept much better than many others who had nothing except one or two blankets to keep them warm. It took a full week for the wagon train to reach the plains on the northwestern slope of the mountains.
Chapter 13
September 16, 1848
Whitman Mission
“Oh, my word, the Lord is testing me,” Olga groaned to Thomas. The two sat in the wagon box as they surveyed the parched brown rolling hills of the Oregon Territory that lay before them. After enjoying the beauty of rich green pine trees in the mountains, she was depressed by the sight, once again, of a brown desolate landscape. “I’ve not seen a patch of worthwhile land since we left the Kaw River. Why we did not stop there is beyond me.”
He sighed, and agreed, “Indeed, this is not quite the heaven-on-earth that we expected.”
Olga quickly decided to end her complaints. They would do nothing to alleviate their situation.
“Fear not,” Mr. Woodstock said as he rode by, “this is simply another test for you. The green meadows that you were promised are a mere two hundred miles east, along the Columbia River. You’ll be there in two weeks.” He clicked his tongue and his horse picked up the pace. “The major is calling one last meeting tonight,” he said over his shoulder.
As they descended into the Columbia River valley, their journey with the wagon train was officially finished. Umatilla Landing was only one long day’s ride ahead. There, barges on the Columbia River stopped to gather cargo brought over the trail. This post was the end of the line for Major Jamison and the merchants who had been hauling cargo. However, the pathway along the river to Oregon City and the Willamette Valley was well marked and dotted with settlements. Thus, the new settlers were on their own in this tame and safely traveled land.
With the sun low in the west, they camped beside the Umatilla River.
More friendly, English speaking Indians joined them and traded fresh meat and vegetables for whatever the emigrants had left. Nearing the end of their trek, many of their companions traded away their blankets, extra canvas, and anything else they imagined that they could survive without for the food. Olga was willing to part with most anything to fill her belly. She wondered if the natives could find a use for the black paddle.
“From here,” the major began at the nightly meeting, “you will continue west to what is known as The Dalles. The trail is well marked and you won’t have any problem following it. You are all experienced with making river crossings, so if you stay together and assist one another, you will have no trouble. At The Dalles, you will have to remove your wagon wheels and load the wagons on barges. You will have to pay for this passage, or you can build your own rafts. There is no roadway through the steep walls of the gorge, but there is a narrow footpath. Someone in your group will have to walk your livestock, in single file, along this way. When you get to the Cascade Rapids, you will have to reassemble your wagons and wait for your livestock to join you. Then take the narrow road around the rapids. Once again, you will load everything onto a boat that will take you to the Willamette River and to Oregon City. That is it; you will have finally arrived at the land you were promised. It does exist; it is really there.”
The crowd began to converse among themselves and he had to shout his next words to regain their attention.
“However, there is another way,” the Major continued. “Once you reach The Dalles, you can follow the Barlow Road. This is a land path that you can follow to take your wagons around Mount Hood directly to Oregon City.” He paused to gesture toward the giant mountain to the west. “It will take a bit longer, and it is a difficult path. There is a toll for using this road, but it is cheaper than the cost of the barges on the river.”
“Which means do you recommend?” someone asked.
“We have arrived at least a month before bad weather. The land path will remain passable until it snows. It takes longer, but all things considered, I would take this road to the Willamette Valley.”
The people again murmured, and he shouted his final words, “You don’t have to make the decision until you reach The Dalles. The water route is faster, but more expensive and frequently more dangerous than the land route.”
That night Catherine slept in a tent while Thomas and Olga made love inside the nearly empty wagon. When they had finished, he began to whisper to her.
“Darling, I think it is time we talked about the future.”
“Yes,” she whispered back.
I definitely think it is time we talked about the future!
“I know that only men can claim the promised 320 acres in the Willamette Valley. And if that is what you want, then I will continue there with you and make this claim.” He paused to take a breath and hugged her closely to him. “But you know that it is not my desire to be a farmer. If you want the land, I will stay with you to build a homestead—”
“No,” she interrupted. “That is not what I want. I want to go to California with you. I want to be where you are.” The homestead in Oregon had been Peter’s dream. Olga didn’t care where she ended up living so long as she lived with Thomas.
Thomas hugged her again and she sensed his smile in the darkness. He kissed her tenderly.
“I’m very happy to hear yo
u say that. In this case, I hope that you will consent to becoming my wife as soon as we can find a preacher.”
Olga had read many engagement scenes in romance books and she had always imagined what it would be like for her—her fiancé dropping to one knee while begging for her hand. She had been robbed of this experience with her parents’ command to marry Peter. He had not asked for her hand. Once again, it seemed that this romantic, fictional image was not for her. She concluded that this image was only for the stories—it was fiction.
“Yes,” she sighed. “That is exactly what I want, as well. It is my dream come true.” She was to be Thomas's wife. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer—for the rest of her life. Her heart soared with radiant joy. For the first time in her life, she knew what love really was.
“Good, my love,” Thomas said. “I discussed this with Major Jamison, and there is a third means of getting down the river. I suggest that we divest ourselves of this wagon and take the minimum possible amount of our belongings on a cargo boat from Umatilla Landing to the port city. There we can get passage on a ship to San Francisco. We no longer need this wagon or any of this and there is no need to continue carrying it along.”
“I want to keep my trunk,” she stated. She knew what Thomas considered packing light to be, and that would be a far cry less than what Peter had allowed her.
He paused for a moment, and then agreed. “I believe that we can pack all of what we need in your trunk.”
“But, Thomas, what of Catherine?”
“Once we get to Oregon City, we can rent a room. From there, we will find her uncle and take Catherine to her family. Then we will continue on our sea voyage.”
Comforted that a plan was set for her future, Olga snuggled beside Thomas and fell asleep.
South Pass Brides Page 15