Historical fiction; Oregon Territory -- History -- Fiction; United States -- History -- 1815-1861 -- Fiction
I watched the forming of our caravan, and I saw again that canvas which
I have mentioned, that picture of the savages who traveled a thousand
years before Christ was born. Our picture was the vaster, the more
splendid, the more enduring. Here were savages born of gentle folk in
part, who never yet had known repulse. They marched with flocks and
herds and implements of husbandry. In their faces shone a light not less
fierce than that which animated the dwellers of the old Teutonic
forests, but a light clearer and more intelligent. Here was the
determined spirit of progress, here was the agreed insistence upon an
_equal opportunity!_ Ah! it was a great and splendid canvas which might
have been painted there on our Plains--the caravans west-bound with the
greening grass of spring--that hegira of Americans whose unheard command
was but the voice of democracy itself.
We carried with us all the elements of society, as has the Anglo-Saxon
ever. Did any man offend against the unwritten creed of fair play, did
he shirk duty when that meant danger to the common good, then he was
brought before a council of our leaders, men of wisdom and fairness,
chosen by the vote of all; and so he was judged and he was punished. At
that time there was not west of the Missouri River any one who could
administer an oath, who could execute a legal document, or perpetuate
any legal testimony; yet with us the law marched _pari passu_ across the
land. We had leaders chosen because they were fit to lead, and leaders
who felt full sense of responsibility to those who chose them. We had
with us great wealth in flocks and herds--five thousand head of cattle
went West with our caravan, hundreds of horses; yet each knew his own
and asked not that of his neighbor. With us there were women and little
children and the gray-haired elders bent with years. Along our road we
left graves here and there, for death went with us. In our train also
were many births, life coming to renew the cycle. At times, too, there
were rejoicings of the newly wed in our train. Our young couples found
society awheel valid as that abiding under permanent roof.
At the head of our column, we bore the flag of our Republic. On our
flanks were skirmishers, like those guarding the flanks of an army. It
_was_ an army--an army of our people. With us marched women. With us
marched home. _That_ was the difference between our cavalcade and that
slower and more selfish one, made up of men alone, which that same year
was faring westward along the upper reaches of the Canadian Plains. That
was why we won. It was because women and plows were with us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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