The Sons of Liberty, or patriots, carried their movement to the point of armed resistance. They drilled regularly in secret, using sticks for guns; and at night met in secluded places to make cartridges and mould bullets. Mr. Matthieu has preserved to this day his old bullet mould, used at that time, which he has now presented to the Oregon Historical Society. He was himself a very useful member of the Sons of Liberty, since, being a store clerk, he could procure lead and powder more easily than some others. One of the services of this company was to guard the house of Papineau, whose appeals he heard in public, and whose boldness was bringing on the threatened crisis.
As is well known, however, the movement collapsed. Before a blow was struck, many of the Sons of Liberty were placed under arrest and executed. Mr. Matthieu recalls the hanging of sixteen patriots in one market place, tied in pairs, back to back. Though then a youth of not twenty years old, he was himself in danger of the same fate and sought safety at Terrebonne. While here, almost in hiding, he was approached by a certain Doctor Frasier, a Scotchman, holding some government position, and who, as it happened, was an uncle of Dr. John McLoughlin, then Hudson’s Bay chief factor at Fort Vancouver, Oregon Territory. Matthieu was asked why he did not leave Canada.
“I have no pass,” he replied.
“I will give you one,” said the old doctor; and immediately provided the necessary paper.
With this passport, Matthieu at once started for the American border. He would become citizen of the United States. At the line, however, where it was necessary to present his pass, the officer looked at him sharply; “You do not correspond with the description;” he said, “this calls for black eyes, yours are blue”—this inadvertence probably being due to the fact that his eyes were of that changeable color that turns dark under excitement.
“Can’t help the description,” replied the young refugee, “that is not my fault.”
The officer then eyed his red and black diamond squared plaid, which was the patriot uniform, and which Matthieu had not thought of as unsafe while he had his passport. But instead of detaining him, the officer said, “Well, get along with you; the sooner the country is rid of you fellows, the better”—probably little dreaming that the blue-eyed patriot was to turn up a few years later in Oregon to confront the British authority and help that important section of North America over to liberty as defined in the American Constitution.
Coming to Albany, New York, (1838), he soon found employment as clerk in a store. To him, his patron was honorable; but not altogether so to his creditors, as he left the city suddenly and secretly. Matthieu was entrusted with the care of his family, and was instructed to bring them to the new scene of operations, being Milwaukee, Wisconsin. This, in course of time, led the young man to that then far western land (May, 1839). From Milwaukee he went to St. Louis, being attracted toward that old French city (August, 1839). There he found service very soon with the American Fur Company—then officered almost exclusively by Frenchmen. His first outing was to Fort Pierre (October, 1839), on the Missouri River, among the Sioux and Dakotas—the Sioux Indians being the finest wild men that he has ever seen, whom he describes as “a great nation, fine, noble fellows.” During this period he encountered many hardships, and also much to interest a light-hearted Gallic youth. He remembers one expedition on which provisions became reduced, the daily allowance being two biscuits to the man and two ounces of dried Buffalo beef to two comrades. This lean fare was eked out, as they marched, by eating the frosted rosebuds of the Missouri meadows. As an incident of a trader’s life among the Sioux, he recalls with much gusto the solemn feasts of the chiefs, which it would have been the height of impropriety not to attend, and which must be observed with all punctillio, or spoil all the bargaining. These were dog feasts, and consisted principally in eating a plateful of soup of tender dog meat boiled to a paste, into which red buffalo berries were sprinkled. To leave any of this delicacy uneaten would be a breach of etiquette too serious to allow; and the higher the trader was held in estimation, the more liberal the share placed upon his plate. Not only to a refined palate was the dog paste rather objectionable, but it often included much of the hair of the dog as well as other portions. The sharp French trader, however, avoided the difficulty. He hired an Indian chief of unquestioned appetite to clean up his plate. Thus the feast had been eaten; and etiquette was fully satisfied.
A limited amount of alcohol was also used by the traders in connection with driving bargains, and Mr. Matthieu recalls one instance in which one gallon of the article judiciously diluted procured ten buffalo robes, worth $10 each—besides other trumpery. However, the better class of the traders seldom indulged the Indians beyond moderation, or only at long intervals. So great was their fondness for the stuff that even the smell of liquor often seemed to set them wild.
After a year’s service in the country of the Sioux, the return to Saint Louis was made, and at that point he outfitted as a free trapper, going out on to the Arkansas to Bent’s Fort (1840). George Bent, the notable trapper-captain, whom he met there, he describes as “a little bit of a man, but sharp as lightning.” On this jaunt he also met Kit Carson, who is almost as well known in the annals of the frontier as Daniel Boone of Kentucky. Carson he describes as “a terror”—not as a desperado, however, but as a hunter. He was an unerring shot, and dropped many a buffalo. He was stocky and nervy in build, and had something of the Southwestern bluster of manner, yet not so offensively so as many others.