“But some of them didn’t know they were in Oregon yet!” expostulated Captain Grant. “They asked me: ‘Say, stranger, how far to Oregon?’”
“They asked us the same, back on the Bear.”
“And still they were pressing on!” gasped Captain Grant. “Well, well!”
“How are you fixed for supplies?”
“Cleaned out, lieutenant. But I have some Yankee oxen.”
“Good.”
Agent Grant was a kindly man, helping Americans and British alike. The emigrants had been supplied by him with whatever he had that they wished. The lieutenant was enabled to buy of him several horses, and five fat oxen.
Now indeed winter set in with an all-day snow. Suddenly the country looked bleak and drear. By travel up and down to the end of the trail at Vancouver was some 900 miles. Lieutenant Frémont called his company together and made a short address.
“I am under instructions to go on to Vancouver,” he said. “It is not a pleasant nor an easy trail, at the best, and as winter is at hand there are some of you whom I will discharge. It is impossible for me to continue with so large a company, and several men are in no condition to take the trip, anyway. Those whom I discharge I discharge with honor; they will be entitled to transportation and to pay until they reach the frontier again.”
So he named Charles DeForrest, Henry Lee, John Campbell, William Creuss, Auguste Vasquez, Alexis Pera, Patrick White, Baptiste Tesson, Michel Crelis, and François and Basil Lajeunesse. Everybody hated to have Basil go, but his family needed him.