In a short time all was in readiness, the last farewell wept, rather than spoken, the last yearning look lingered on cherished objects, and they were on their way to Oregon.
On the day that their eldest son was one year old, they embarked from
Boston.
That their adieus were sorrowful may not be doubted, indeed this or any other word in our language is inadequate to describe the emotions of the party. As the pilot-boat dropped at the stern of the vessel, its occupants waved their handkerchiefs and simultaneously began singing a farewell "Missionary Hymn." The effect was electric; some rushed to the side in agony as though they would recall the departed ones and return with them to their native land. Others covered their faces, and tears streamed through their trembling fingers, and sobs shook the frames of even strong men. They thought not of formalities in that hour; it was not a shame for the sterner sex to weep. The forms of their friends fast lessened in the distance, and at last their boat looked like a speck on the wave, and the sweet cadences of that beautiful song faintly rolling along to their hearing, like the sigh of an angel, were the last sounds that reached them, from the home of civilization.
With hushed respiration, bowed heads, and straining ears, they listened to its low breathings now wafted gently and soothingly to them on the breeze, then dying away, and finally lost in the whisperings of wind and waves.
For weeks did it haunt their slumbers while tossing upon the treacherous deep. And it came not alone; for with it were fair visions of parents, home, brothers, and sisters, joyous childhood and youth, and everything they had known at home floated in vivid pictures before them touching them as by the fairy pencil of the dream-angel.
The voyage was a protracted one. But the close relationship into which they were brought served to knit together the bonds of Christian fellowship, and inspire them with a oneness of purpose in carrying out their noble enterprise. Immediately on arriving at their field of labor they entered on their first work, viz.: that of establishing communities. In that almost unbroken wilderness, cabins were erected, the ground prepared for tillage, and steps were taken towards the building of a saw and grist-mill. The Indians were conciliated, and a mission-school for their instruction was established. The party received constant accessions to their numbers as the months rolled away, and opened communication with the other mission-colonies in the territory.
During the summer the ladies divided their labors; the school of Indians was taught by Miss Johnson; Miss Downing (now Mrs. Shepherd) attended to the cutting, making, and repairing of the clothing for the young Indians, as well as these for the children of the missionaries; Mrs. White and Miss Pitman (now Mrs. Jason Lee) superintended the domestic matters of the little colony.
In September, Mr. and Mrs. Leslie, three daughters, and Mr. Perkins the fiancé of Miss Johnson, joined them. The family was now enlarged to sixty members. Dr. and Mrs. White removed into their new cabin—a mile distant. Here ensued a repetition of trials, privations, and hardships, such as they had already endured in their former habitation.
Their cabin was a rude affair, scarcely more than a shanty, without a chimney, and with only roof enough to cover a bed; a few loose boards served for a floor; one side of the house was entirely unenclosed, and all their cooking had to be done in the open air, in the few utensils which they had at hand.
One by one these deficiencies, with much toil and difficulty, were supplied; a tolerably close roof and walls shielded them measurably from the autumn tempests; a new chimney carried up about half the smoke generated from the green fuel with which the fireplace was filled; the hearth, made of clay and wood-ashes, was, however, a standing eyesore to Mrs. White, who appears to have been a notable housewife, as it did not admit of washing, and had to be renewed every two or three months.