Kate Mulhall A romance of the Oregon Trail
explorers and missionaries--Benjamin L. E. Bonneville, Nathaniel J.
Wyeth, Jason Lee, Marcus Whitman, John C. Fremont and many
others--helped to deepen these enduring markers in stone, now chiefly
interesting as evidences of the great westward movement over the
Oregon Trail. Inset: a miniature view of the split in the mountain
rock from which the name of the locality is derived; see also Douglas
Craig's promise to little Sarah, pages 72-73.
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The track to which she thus called attention was {218} dim, showed no
signs of recent travel, and had been overlooked as they passed it the
previous day. At several places there were parallel trails, one
along the river with frequent crossings of the stream, the other
across table-lands high above it, and either over or around
projecting edges of the adjacent hills. Neither Aunt Sarah nor
mother Pelton was sure which one they had gone over before, but all
agreed that they should drive out on the abandoned roadway.
This proved not only a tedious but a really dangerous task, as the
elements had destroyed parts of it and cut deep gullies in and across
what was left. Nevertheless Adam believed they were on the right
track; mother Pelton thought the same, and said that the trail looked
more natural to her than the one they had traveled the day before.
Father Pelton took off his coat and joined Adam in some repairs made
necessary by the rough going, and Sarah appeared on the scene ready
to help. Pelton was surprised at how well he was able to do the
unaccustomed work, and greatly relished the dinner mother Pelton and
Aunt Sarah prepared. Hearing the tinkling of a bell over the near-by
ridge during the early afternoon, he strolled off toward the sound;
and soon came upon the bell-wether of a flock of sheep, then the
flock and herder--each equally surprised at the presence of the other.
"Where'd ye come from?" the man asked somewhat abruptly, and yet in a
friendly tone; and {219} almost at the same instant Pelton remarked,
"I didn't expect to find anyone here." After mutual explanations and
cordial greetings--for each was glad to see the other--Pelton
mentioned that he was one of an automobile party trying to reach the
four track ruts in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail.
"I know where it is," the herder responded, "down the river opposite
the lone pine tree." The reader may well imagine the relief and joy
of father Pelton upon hearing the three magic words "lone pine tree,"
as he believed they contained definite information of the lost grave,
which soon afterward proved true.
"You can see the tree for miles around, as it stands out by itself;
everybody wonders how it came to be there," continued the stranger.
"Would you come to our camp a short way over the ridge?" Pelton asked.
"Sure," the man replied and then spoke in a low tone to his dog,
which immediately headed off some of the flock just starting to cross
the ridge.
"Wonderful, isn't it?" asked Pelton, half to himself. To this the
herder made no reply but again spoke to the dog, which he left on
watch while the two men started off toward the camp. On their
arrival, work ceased and all assembled to listen eagerly to what the
stranger had to say.
"Yes, this runs to the four tracks on the Oregon Trail," were his
first words; "you can reach them {220} another way that's open to
travel, but can't get through here in a month's work. Go back about
five miles till you come to the first river crossing," the herder
continued, "turn short around on the river trail about eight miles
till you cross the river twice. Then turn to the right on the old
Trail about half a mile, I should judge, and you will come to the
tracks."[3]
"You can see the lone pine tree from there, and I think from the last
river crossing," the man responded to an eager question from mother
Pelton. After declining an invitation to stop long enough to share
with them in the meal then almost ready to serve, but accepting a
quarter of the pie Aunt Sarah had just baked, the stranger started up
the slope and soon disappeared over the ridge to his flock and
faithful dog.
"What a life!" sighed mother Pelton--"with only his dog for a
companion, no comfort but his frugal meal in a lonely cabin and cold
lunch on the range." The day was too far spent to move their camp,
and although impatient to see the lone pine, which all believed was
the landmark for which they were searching, every member of the party
was anxiously anticipating what the morrow might bring forth.
Following carefully the directions given by the herder, they
approached the second crossing of the {221} river early the next
forenoon. At the first point from which a comprehensive view of the
locality could be had, Sarah unexpectedly held out her hand as a
signal for Adam to stop; and exclaimed in her excitement, "There it
is, mother!" In the far distance a lone pine tree was sighted; and
no one in the party doubted that it had grown from the small tree
planted by Kate Mulhall, Ben Hardy and little Sarah half a century
before.
A short drive brought the two automobiles to where the wagon tracks
had worn deep in the ledge of rock on the old Oregon Trail; but the
lone pine, still a half mile or so away, was the center of all
attraction. Coming nearer, it was discovered that they were on the
wrong side of the ravine; and although not more than a stone's throw
from where they stopped, no road led across to it.
There in lonesome grandeur stood the evergreen sentinel over the
object of their long search, the grave of Catherine Mulhall, mother
of two of the pilgrims and grandmother of the younger ones who drove
the cars. Now a hundred feet high, rising above and throwing its
shadows over the grave, the tree was a thing of beauty, observed by
all who passed in the vicinity; and had given the very appropriate
name--Lone Pine--to the surrounding country.
Retracing their steps to the four tracks and then traveling another
mile or so, they reached the other side of the ravine. After making
several detours and {222} removing a number of obstructions, they
arrived quite late in the day within a hundred yards or so of the
spot. As the nature of the ground prevented the automobiles from
going any farther, they were left in the track, and all proceeded on
foot to the lone pine.
The sun was just sinking behind the horizon in a halo of glory as the
silent and solemn members of the party reached the hallowed spot.
After so long a period of time, the mound of earth had disappeared;
but wild roses were blooming where Kate and little Sarah had planted
the roots when the grave was made. Though corroded and rusty, the
wagon tire which kind-hearted Douglas Craig had placed as a marker
was still there, but the lettering he chiseled upon it had been
completely obliterated.
Kate and the older Sarah, both now well past the meridian of life,
stood in mute contemplation of that which had been uppermost in their
minds for so many long years. Although the poignancy of the grief
then experienced had been mollified by time, yet as darkness came and
they turned to leave the grave, tears coursed down their furrowed
cheeks. Camp for the night was made on the nearest suitable ground,
while a spirit of sadness mingled with a feeling of satisfaction that
the cherished plan had at last been realized, pervaded the little
company.
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{223}
Marking the spot where Catherine Mulhall was buried a half century
before the scene depicted in the illustration; see pages 73-74 and
119-125
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Now that the grave had been found, the question uppermost with all
was what should be done about it. Kate had often expressed a wish
that the {224} remains be interred alongside her father in the
beautiful cemetery of a village in the Oregon Country; but Pelton
formerly considered this impractical, if not almost impossible.
However, since the railroad had been built within sixty miles of the
burial place in the mountains, the removal could be made without much
difficulty.
Aunt Sarah said "No"---the spot where her mother had died was too
sacred to be abandoned; and what could ever be more appropriate than
the one under the shadow of this beautiful lone pine? Then tender
memories of the planting of the tree, of Ben Hardy's unselfish life
and Craig's consoling words, came uppermost in her mind.
All agreed that the decision should be made by the two sisters who
had been present at the burial of their mother on the first trip to
Oregon. Adam and his sister Sarah looked on in silent awe as the
situation was discussed; their father also refrained from speaking,
though he held a definite opinion concerning it.
The fatigue of the day, with its exciting incidents and long hours,
finally prevailed and left the momentous question unsettled in
physical exhaustion and finally restful slumber. No further decision
took place, as Kate had been convinced that it would not be advisable
to disturb the remains, and joined with her sister and children in
formulating a definite plan to care for and commemorate the spot.
Pelton said that he would heartily agree to whatever the daughters
{225} and grandchildren should decide--which was to leave the grave
in its solitary grandeur, but to mark it in a permanent and
appropriate way.
Camp was removed to a more convenient location, while the work of
transporting a large granite boulder from where Pelton had found it
in the course of a morning walk through the vicinity, to the head of
the grave progressed for several days, as it was necessary to secure
additional men and teams from a distance. After the huge stone had
been set in place to the satisfaction of all, Adam and the younger
Sarah chiseled upon it in deep sunken letters a brief record of the
revered grandmother, the planting of a small pine tree and beautiful
rose vine that adorned the last resting place of Catherine Mulhall,
the date of her burial in 185-, and also of this visit.
Two weeks passed from the day the pilgrims first sighted the lone
pine tree in the distance to the inscription of the last letter on
the boulder; every member of the party felt that the long journey had
been fully justified, and left the spot with an enduring memory of
the occasion. Father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah concluded to
return home by rail[4]; and a drive of about sixty miles brought them
all to the nearest railroad station. Meanwhile Adam and Sarah
decided to tour the eastern part of {226} the United States, and
possibly cross the ocean before returning to the Pacific Northwest.
One of the automobiles was loaded as freight and way-billed to a
small city that had grown up in what was once the Oregon Country; and
the "old folks" were comfortably settled in a westbound Pullman.
Adam and Sarah waited in their automobile near-by the open car window
until the train bearing father and mother Pelton and Aunt Sarah
started westward. All of them waved signals of mutual endearment;
and as the train passed out of sight, the young people began their
journey eastward.
"A fine boy--Adam," Kate murmured half-audibly to herself; "and a
dear girl." Pelton at her side added, "If ever parents were blessed
with dutiful children, we have been." At the same time Sarah,
speeding east in the automobile which Adam was driving, could hardly
restrain her tears from the recurrence of many tender memories of her
childhood, and the kindnesses of the parents from whom they had just
parted.
In a tremulous voice she said, "I almost feel that we ought not to