Chapter II

REMINSCENT.

            Possibly some ambitious son or daughter of Union or Wallowa county will in the future win fame by making an exhaustive collection of pioneer incidents and presenting them in a graphic and fascinating form. Could such a work be properly prepared it would be read with profound interest. The long, toilsome journeys across the wide, sky-bordered buffalo range of the prairies or over the towering mountains and through the rugged passes were rich in adventures of the most thrilling nature, while the constant menace of the red men, the intrigue, diplomacy and chicanery resorted to by immigrants to avoid trouble with them, the frequent forays of these depredators upon cattle, horses and even children, the hot pursuits and the occasional battles with them throw around the days when the plains were populated with ever advancing prairie schooners a rich glamour of romance.

            But the days of adventure were not over when the pioneer safely ran the gauntlet of ten thousand dangers on the plains and in the mountain fastnesses and eventually came to a halt in the far away “westmost west.” He was still in the midst of savages, and moreover he was in a new environment and confronted with new conditions, so that it became necessary for him to work out for himself a thousand economic problems. It is probable that could all the adventures of the pioneer people of these two counties could be collected and set in order a marvelous array of tragedy, pathos and humor would be the result. The limits and province of this work and the limitations of its authors render an attempt to embody any extensive collection of incidents herein decidedly out of the question, but realizing that a few anecdotes might better preserve the spirit and flavor of early times than pages of descriptive history, we will give a  few stories of the “brave days of old,” told in prose and verse.

            E.S. McComas is authority for the following humorous anecdote, which is given in his own felicitous style and language:

A PIONEER ORATOR

            The inaccessibility of the country adjacent to Union county and the sparse and scattered settlement held no inducements to traveling theatrical troupes, hence the people were thrown on their own resources for amusement in the early days of this county. In Lagrande the people organized a literary society and conducted a red hot weekly paper, which was always well filled with local hits and productions of merit. In order to give the society a boom and get up a real, paramount issue, something that would draw a crown from Summerville, Iowa and Cove, ten to fifteen miles distant, the committee on program selected for discussion, one night in April, the question, “Resolved, That the northern abolitionist is as much the cause of the present war as the southern secessionist.” This was hot stuff, like tobacco sauce, which they use in hazing at West Point.

            There lived in the Cove at that time a genuine specimen of a “Foine ould Irish gintleman-one of the rale ould schtock,” whom we will call Mishter O’Conner. He had a beautiful brogue, was dressed gorgeously in knee breeches and corduroy, was about equally gifted in gall and gab and was a sincere “Dimmykrat.” He was appointed leader on the affirmative side and was duly notified to be on hand at the proper time with his heavy artillery. Ample time was given for preparation. The old store had been furnished “regardless” with elevated seats and commodious stage room. During the interval between the lowering thunder and the red glare of battle it was generally conceded by the conservative element (usually on such occasions the wisest counselors) that a mistake had been made in the selection of that firebrand question for discussion. The opinion gained rapidly in approval and it was finally decided, after a careful and candid caucus between General Stevens, Ben Brown, Green Arnold, J.H. Slater, M. Baker and others, that this question should be withdrawn and something mild like “Who was entitled to the most credit, Washington or Columbus,” substituted. However, the long distance telephone was not in repair, “lines busy,” out of order and out of sight, there was no way of reaching the public and especially no way to communicate with Mishter O’Conner, who lived in a little mud thatched castle away down in lower Cove. A sudden thaw had raised Catherine creek and the valley was quite a miniature lake, and to come around by Union, where there was a bridge, necessitated about forty miles travel.

            There was the usual large and appreciative audience. The preliminaries were all arranged, judges chosen, “riders up” and awaiting the word “go” on the momentous question, when all at once there was a commotion and down the aisle strode the hero of the occasion. Mishter O’Conner had arrived. Talk about Napoleon in the midst of this old guard, or Phil Sheridan’s dash down the lines at Winchester! They were tame events compared to the stately march of Mishter O’Conner  down the vacant place between the benches, bearing books enough to load a pack mule. These he dumped on the stage with a dull sickening thud, then turned to face a sea of strange faces, while he mopped his massive brown with a big red bandanna.

            At this juncture “old Judd,” the affable chairman, slipped down and whispered to Mishter O’Conner an explanation of the change of program. For a moment the old veteran was speechless, and during that moment old Judd had hurried upon the stage and resumed his seat. All was still. You could have heard a keg of nails drop. Slowly Mishter O’Conner assumed the poise of the true and trained orator and spoke as never man “shpake” since up to the time Bryan sprung his “Crown of thorns and cross of Gold.”

            “Mishter Chairman, Me name is O’Connor, me father’s name was O’Connor and me grandfather’s name was O’Connor, and Oi challenge iny man to say that nobler min iver sat foot on the green turf of ould Oireland. Mishter Sphaker, Oi have been chosen to lead the affirmative on to victory in this great sthruggle. Oi’ve rode forty miles to shpake and Oi’m goin’ to shpake on the quischun Oi came here to shpake on.” (Applause.) “Go in, O’Connor,” “Wade into ‘em, old hoss,” “Give ‘em hallelujah,” “Rip ‘em up the back,” “Give ‘em the cold steel,” and like expressions were kindly hurled at the old hero.

            Mishter O’Connor, thus encouraged, unbuttoned his shirt collar and mopped his sobbing brown with his bandanna. He pawed the floor, he tore the very air to shreds: even Brother Morrison’s favorite peroration about the “Voice of God rumbling along the mountain side of time” was eclipsed and seemed tame. Mishter O’Connor shpoke and continued to shpeak and the crowd cheered and cheered until the old man sank exhausted in a chair.

            Then Herman Geer broke the stillness, which was getting so dense that it could be cut with a rotary plow, with one of those mirth provoking explosions of hilarity with which the old timers are so familiar. This was the signal for an outburst of applause and Mishter O’Connor was scraped into a pile by admiring friends and borne on their shoulders to Mat Rice’s “sanitarium,” were frequent applications of the desirable soon put him to sleep. This, I believe, was the last meeting of the Lagrande Literary Society. Peace be to its memory.

A GOOD JOKE

            Perhaps no practical joker ever achieved such success from his efforts to provoke mirth as did the one who, in the spring of 1889, victimized Company H, of Lagrande. It occurred one day in March, twelve years ago.

            On this day, early one Sunday morning, a telegram signed in due form with the name of the Adjutant General of the state militia and dated at Salem, was received by the captain of the local company. By it Company H was ordered to prepare at once to leave for Portland to assist in repelling an attack on that city by Germany and also to assist in quelling Indian outbreaks in that vicinity. Immediately all was excitement and activity. The boys in blue were going to the front-going to war. The whole community was aroused as it had not been in years. Little groups of citizens discussed the matter on the streets; it was the single topic of conversation in store and shop; women heard the news and were stunned by its force, as they thought of certain loved ones who might be sacrificed for the country’s honor; even the boys and girls became suddenly very serious and patriotic.

            Meanwhile a hurried call summoned the members of Lagrande’s military company to the armory and the order from headquarters was read and preparations hastily made for the departure of the company on the next westbound train. At this time Company H was the best equipped and drilled company in the regiment and it was with just pride that the boys thought of the splendid opportunity which had been offered them to win fame and glory on the field of battle.

            In a comparatively short time the members of the company were attired in full uniform and, thoroughly armed and equipped, paraded up and down the main streets of the city. At noon they marched in a body to the hotel and amid solemn ceremonies, interspersed with a few remarks appropriate to the occasion, took their “last dinner” at home.

            Then came the final farewell. Had the company been ordered to advance into the “jaws of death,” the scene could hardly have been more affecting. Fathers and sons grasped each other’s hands in one hearty farewell; mothers and sisters fondly embraced their loved ones and silently wept as they thought of what the future might bring forth; sweethearts and lovers vied with each other in expressing their affection; and friends bade each other good-bye with struggling emotions. At the station was gathered an immense crowd waiting to bid Godspeed to the soldier boys, and just as the company drew up on the platform the westbound train, composed of two sections and carrying an excursion party of several hundred people, rolled in.

            Then-then-words fail us. The pen cannot do justice to the scene which followed. It baffles description. Men and women, soldiers and citizens, boys and girls, wrestled with their pent-up emotions, and a stranger would have imagined that the was in the midst of a struggling mass of madmen.

            The scene immediately surrounding the soldiers became particularly exciting. Here violent demonstrations and words of anger and revenge filled the air. The lines, which but a few moments previously had been so orderly, so silent and so stately, were no longer to be recognized and pandemonium prevailed. The scene was laughable; it was ridiculous, and it was several minutes before any semblance of order was secured out of the chaos and days and weeks before the natural quiet of the place was restored.

            And all because of the receipt, just as the company was about to board the train, of a telegram which read:

            “Company H.O.N.G., will proceed at once immediately to Hot Lake and take a bath.”

More coming soon!

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©Shauna Williams