by Earl Murray
I explained what had happened and we had a good laugh at how life provides numerous twists and turns that challenge our way of thinking. I then showed her the blue sapphire and said that Owen had proposed to me at the foot of the falls.
“This is indeed a special day,” she said. “First, I find my daughter and then I gain a son.”
We talked about her life and how it had changed with the coming of Americans and the claiming of Oregon. She said that it concerned her from the standpoint that the Indian people would soon discover their lives dramatically changed.
“They live in a simple manner and I’ve learned to do the same thing,” she said. “I’m not worried about the Oregon issue because I live with the tribes, and they don’t have land problems. When you don’t worry about owning everything, the days run smooth and quiet.”
“Surely you realize all that will change,” I said. “The land around here will soon be developed.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. “I don’t want to think about that now.”
She invited us to stay as long as we wished. I told her we would be glad to spend some time, and that we needed to return to the canoe to get our bags.
“I have something I want to show you,” I said.
She brimmed with curiosity and insisted on coming with us. A number of armed men formed an escort and she explained that the people wouldn’t allow her to go anywhere alone, as they revered her as holy and believed that in every village she visited, the sickness that might be there became afraid and left.
“I’m a medicine woman of sorts,” she said.
We walked past the fishermen at the falls and down the trail. At the canoe, we discovered that Edward and Uncle Reginald were waiting for us, along with ten of Edward’s men, who brought their guns to bear.
The Chinook men began singing war songs and Mother stopped them.
“Can this be dealt with peacefully?” she asked me.
“No, it can’t,” Edward said. He stepped forward and smiled coldly at me. “I’ve been waiting for you to reach Oregon.”
“Why did you hide the letters from me?” I demanded.
“I didn’t feel it necessary to tell you,” he replied. “You never did learn that I am more qualified than you to decide the important issues in your life.”
“Such as your affair with Avis?” I said.
He laughed. “Reginald has told me the lies you and Mr. Quincannon have been spreading about me.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Lies?”
“Yes, lies. Mr. Quincannon was bedding both you and Avis. Now I will settle this with him here and now. After all, I’ve been terribly dishonored.”
“We will settle it,” Owen said. “But not here, among the Chinook people.”
“This is British soil,” Edward said. “They are entitled to nothing. You and I will count off the paces. Now!”
“You had better listen to me,” Owen said. “If there’s bloodshed here, the Chinook people will act.”
“They cannot stand up to rifles,” Edward said.
“How many rifles do you have?” Owen nodded towards the large number of Chinook warriors who suddenly emerged from the trees armed with their bows. Mother whispered to me that she had sent one of the escort party back to the village for help. Had she given the command, Edward and his men would have been filled with arrows.
“Yes,” Owen said, “you will get your wish. But you are going to have to face me in front of witnesses now in an honorable match, something you need a lesson in.”
Gabriella’s Journal
19 DECEMBER 1846
The dawn came blustery and overcast, but not so cold that the wind bit strongly. Chief Factor Douglas would have nothing to do with the dueling arrangements but instead sent an assistant named Lowell Cribbs to document the proceedings.
A surgeon from the post accompanied Edward, along with Uncle Reginald. Lucy insisted on coming, but was forced to leave her Chinook escorts at the village. Owen and I helped her into the canoe and she said with sadness, “Peaceful mornings like this can never be fully enjoyed.”
We rowed in two separate boats to a small island just upstream from the fort. The birds were singing, just as they had that April morning on Bloody Island out of St. Louis. The dueling site was level sand and gravel. The shore was lined with small birds searching the shallows for food.
Uncle Reginald kept staring at me as if he wished to talk. I approached him and we looked out over the shining river.
“Why do you feel so strongly in favor of Edward?” I asked.
“He has agreed to give me a good position within his family back in England,” he explained. “There is nothing left for me here. No one wants to soldier any longer.”
“Why soldier when there is no need for dying?” I asked.
“That is the problem, my young niece,” he said. “There is a need for dying.”
“Uncle Walter always spoke so highly of you,” I told him, “so I know you to be an honorable man. Why don’t you go back to the fort and wait for this to be over?”
“I told Sir Edward I would act as his second, and I will do just that,” he insisted. “Now please excuse me.”
Mr. Cribbs spoke in a commanding voice and asked Edward not once, but twice, if he meant to go through with the duel.
“I shall have it no other way,” Edward said.
“Very well, then, we will take care of the legalities first.”
Mr. Cribbs insisted that Owen and Edward both sign a document releasing the Hudson’s Bay Company and the British government from any affiliation with the encounter. Edward’s red face reddened even more and he said, “I would think that the Crown would thank me for what I’m about to do.”
“Great Britain is not at war with the United States,” Mr. Cribbs said. “That fact seems constantly to escape you.”
Edward slammed the pen against the parchment and handed them back to Mr. Cribbs. “Let’s get on with it, then.”
Mr. Cribbs called the arms bearers forward and Edward selected a pistol from a box of a matched pair. Uncle Reginald did the same.
Another arms bearer opened an identical box and offered Owen his choice.
“You pick first,” he said to me.
“What is going on here?” Edward asked.
“I am acting as Mr. Quincannon’s second,” I explained. Edward stared at me. “You must be mad.”
“Do you wish to call this off?” I asked.
“Never!”
I picked a pistol from the box. “Then keep your impressions to yourself.”
I stepped back with Owen and watched him load the two pistols. I couldn’t help but notice that his injured elbow had begun to bother him in the cold and damp.
“Call this off, Owen,” I said. “Please.”
“I can’t,” he said.
Mr. Cribbs began reading the instructions loudly. When he came to the part regarding distance, Owen interrupted him.
“I suggest we duel at twelve feet,” he said.
“Are you serious?” Mr. Cribbs asked.
Owen was staring at Edward. “Most definitely.”
Mr. Cribbs turned to Edward. “What say you, sir?”
“Twelve feet it is,” Edward said.
The distance was paced and marks drawn in the dirt. I stood to one side, holding my pistol cocked and pointed down. Uncle Reginald faced me a short distance away, averting his gaze.
Owen and Edward took position with their pistols pointed downward and awaited the order to fire. Edward turned towards me, watching my hands.
“Gentlemen, are you ready?” Mr. Cribbs asked.
Owen and Edward both nodded. I cringed, awaiting the inevitable sounds of pistol blasts. Edward kept watching me, as if concerned that at any second I might raise the pistol towards him.
“Fire!” Mr. Cribbs yelled.
Edward had already begun to lift his pistol towards me and I raised mine and shot. Both Owen and Uncle Reginald fired at the sa
me time. I felt a hot sensation along my side and noticed a red stain growing. I sank to my knees.
Owen and Lucy rushed over to me. Uncle Reginald was right behind them.
Lucy heaved a sigh of relief. “It grazed your ribs is all.”
Uncle Reginald gently placed a hand on my head. There was a deep sadness in his eyes.
Owen helped me up. “Thank God,” he said. “I could never stand to lose you.”
He took me in his arms and held me tightly. I buried my face in his shoulder to escape the scene nearby. Edward had been hit three times and, against the surgeon’s wishes, would not lie down. He staggered in circles, trying to speak from vocal cords shot to pieces. His left arm hung limp and a red blotch grew ever larger along his lower left side.
It occurred to me that all three of us had fired on Edward. Uncle Reginald later told me that he had finally realized the truth and knew that he must act as Edward’s second to keep him from murdering me.
Edward continued to garble words and make violent movements with his hands.
“Has he gained his satisfaction?” Mr. Cribbs asked the surgeon.
Edward shook his head and made signs with his hands that he wished another duel to take place. The surgeon argued emphatically against it, trying again to get him to lie down. But Edward reached out with his good arm and pushed him away.
Mr. Cribbs turned to Owen. “What say you, Mr. Quincannon?”
“I would decline to fight, unless Sir Edward insists.”
Edward gestured emphatically that he wished to proceed.
“Very well,” Mr. Cribbs said. “If that is your wish.”
The pistols were loaded again and Edward stared at me bitterly. He held his good hand against his torn throat, blood bubbling through his fingers. He staggered over to take one of the weapons, but it slipped through his fingers to the ground.
He dropped to his knees and his throat made a strange gargling noise as he tried to vent his rage. Then he suddenly sagged as though the air had gone out of him and he fell sideways and lay still.
The surgeon checked his pulse and shook his head.
“’Tis a sad end to a sad man,” Mr. Cribbs said.
Quincannon’s Journal
19 DECEMBER 1846
This morning Edward Garr was buried unceremoniously. I stood with Ella and looked out across the Columbia and wondered at the changes that have come to this land, and also at the many people who have come and gone, most of them lost to history.
No one will ever know that Edward Garr sought to stop the emigration into Oregon single-handedly. Many could believe that a British nobleman could be adamant against the movement, especially if he stood to lose his own land grant. But such was not the case here. This man simply had no idea how to alleviate his frustration regarding his own family and sought to gain notoriety as a defender of the British cause, even when the British cared no longer about the cause in Oregon.
I wonder also how many other similar circumstances have been lost in the mists of time. Last night Ella’s mother was telling stories she had heard from the Chinook about horned men with hairy faces dressed in skins who came across the big waters in giant canoes with sails. Their shields were metal and their huge knives four times as long as any they had seen before. Some of these men stayed and some left, was how the story went. Those who stayed became major leaders and their bones eventually went into canoes forever lost in the swelling waters of eternity.
I don’t know whether it was Ella or me, or Reginald Dodge who put the ball through Edward Garr’s throat. It doesn’t really matter; it’s finished. But I suppose we’ll talk about it any number of times in the future.
That future for Ella and me will be a grand one. I intend to act as her agent, touring with her in all the courts and castles we can find, showing her grand pieces of art to all the kings and queens and noblemen throughout Europe. She is so capable at what she does that her reputation will be built in no time.
Last night she presented me with the self-portrait I had asked her to paint. It is a work of genius.
Two ladies, exact twins, stand beside a plush carriage. One is dressed in a blue dress and hat, with dazzling blue dancing slippers. The other lady wears a white doeskin dress and knee-high moccasins.
Though certainly from two different worlds, the twins appear completely content with one another. Tied to the carriage are two pintos that look exactly alike and behind them rise the majestic Rocky Mountains.
“I want to live in the courts of Europe and perhaps meet with geographical and philosophical clubs, then come to the wilds of the American West,” she told me. “We can have it both ways.”
She presented me with another painting that I will always admire. Two men, both of whom look exactly like me, are standing with the two ladies. One of the men is dressed in finery, the other in buckskins. Both are holding the reins of a buckskin horse.
“We must keep these paintings in a very safe place,” I said. “We can cache them in a remote cave…”
“No caves,” she said with a laugh. “They will be very secure with my mother in Lancashire. She will be glad to meet you and hear your stories, I’m sure.”
Ours will be a life no two people have ever lived before. In this age of men traveling and leaving their families at home, Ella and I will be an exception. We will see all the trails that we can see in as many lands as possible, and she will preserve them all forever in oils and watercolors.
And if by chance we should have children, they will travel with us and see what we see and learn what we learn. We will be able to afford the best of tutors for them; and if they promise to take the responsibility seriously, they might be able to have a terrier or two as pets.
Gabriella’s Journal
29 DECEMBER 1846
We spent Christmas visiting in Oregon City. Dr. McLoughlin welcomed us and wished us the best for our future together. The news of our engagement had preceded our arrival and I guessed that some of his Indian friends had paid their annual visit for bags of holiday candy.
Lucy accompanied us to Oregon City, attired in one of my dresses. She seemed at ease and was pleased to meet some of our friends from the wagon train who had arrived for the festivities. We discovered Silas McCord and Guynema Rowe listening to carolers in the main square. They had come up from the Umpqua with the girls and the dogs to purchase supplies and Christmas presents. They were happy to hear that we would be married and told us to visit anytime we wished.
Pearl said that Rufus missed Owen something terrible and the little dog proved her right. He rose on his hind legs in front of Owen and woofed for attention. Then he sat down and lifted his nose, howling. Owen bent over and allowed Rufus to lick his ears—the little dog’s way of greeting special friends.
Jake was equally affectionate, prancing around with a small stick. I petted both terriers and asked the girls how their dogs liked their new home.
“They’re not quite used to all the rain yet,” Pearl said. “But they’re already chasing squirrels around the yard.”
Katie sat on Owen’s lap and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“I’m glad you haven’t gone to climb a mountain yet,” she said.
Owen promised the two girls he would take them up a mountain someday, when they were older. It was difficult to say good-bye, but we promised to visit them the first chance we got.
We were married the day after Christmas beside the waterfall where the salmon jumped. Lucy helped with the arrangements and asked us to allow an old man who lived in isolation deep in the forest to preside over the ceremony.
She called him Old Man, but his full name meant Man with Eyes of Stone Who Hears the Birds Talk. His hair was long and white and his eyes blue. His skin was a pale red-brown and hung in leathery folds about his jowls and body. He spoke no English, but Mother said that one of his long-ago ancestors had come from another land and that the eye color had been hidden for many generations before emerging again with his birth.
Old Man had a pet raven that never flew, but always walked just in front of him. It was as if the old man was being led by the bird, or was possibly directing the bird. No one knows for certain.
Though Mother said he never spoke English, I’m not convinced that he doesn’t know the language. Owen was talking to me about where we would spend our honeymoon and the next thing I knew Lucy was telling me that as part of his ceremony, Old Man is supposed to have the first night with me.
“He’s just kidding,” she assured me. “But he wanted me to tell you.”
When I looked at him, his eyes were smiling. I said to him in English that he only got an hour, and his mouth twitched ever so slightly.
Owen chuckled. “He’s probably reading your mind.”
As Old Man and Mother laid out special plants for the ceremony, Owen told me about the few true medicine people he had known.
“They don’t differentiate a person by race or color,” he said. “They look into your soul. And they see you in a fraction of a second.”
The raven came and stood in front of us while Mother and Old Man sang a number of songs. We both took sweat baths in different lodges—Owen with Old Man and I with my mother. Then Old Man had us each place a seashell necklace around the other’s neck and raise our hands to the sky and to the earth, and then to the four directions, signifying the unity of all that is living within the sacred circle.
He finished by burning plants and saying special prayers, and told us in an ancient language that we were joined as two beams of light would blend together into one, and should we ever decide to part, it would rip our souls in half.
When the ceremony was finished, we feasted on smoked salmon and received a great many presents from well-wishers, including baskets and seashell adornments for me, and for Owen, knives with whalebone handles, and bows and arrows adorned with feathers and shells and equipped with bone-tipped heads.
At twilight, we were ceremoniously seated in a large canoe and pushed into the current, to be carried out into the ocean. The canoe was layered with bear and otter skins, and filled with water bags, baskets of roasted roots, and smoked fish. We drifted in the darkness while the Northern Lights swept right overhead, thin clouds of red and blue and white, like spirits dancing on the ocean breeze.
