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XXXI

WHITMAN RETURNS WITH A THOUSAND PEOPLE

1843

"HHRAVEL, travel, travel, nothing else will take — you to the end of your journey. Nothing is wise that does not help you along. Nothing is good for you that causes a moment's delay." The commanding voice and clear-cut face of Dr. Whitman passed from wagon to wagon of that great procession on the plains.

Back, far back as the eye could reach the line extended, a thousand souls, one hundred and twenty wagons drawn by oxen, and following in the rear fifteen hundred loose horses and cattle trampled up the dust. Like the Greek anabasis, like the exodus of Israel, like the migrations of northern Europe, this little army of emigrants broke all previous record, as they toiled on westward two thousand miles in one unresting march. At every dawn the bugle woke the night encampment. At every dusk the tents were set and supper fires were kindled. Old rocking-chairs were brought out. Grandams knit by the cheerful blaze and babies toddled in the grass. Under the mellow moon the old men met in council, and young men and maids tripped the toe to "Pretty Betty Martin "on the velvety plains of the Platte. Many a lover's