[All excerpts are taken from The
Oregon Trail: Sketches of Prairie and Rocky-Mountain Life by Francis Parkman
the observations were penned by a 23-year-old Parkman as he was to embark on a 2-month
journey into the Great West.]
This volume is a frontier
Rough n Tumble classic that hints at many aspects of how life lived Wild is
different from the domesticated.
It offers many a lesson on how
living closer to the bone of necessity can inform us for own venturesome treks
or, at the vey least, provide some palliative perspective even if we decide
never to set a foot into the unknown.
“Meanwhile we erected our own
tent not far off, and after supper a council was held, in which it was resolved
to remain one day at Fort Leavenworth, and on the next to bid a final adieu to
the frontier: or in the phraseology of the region, to "jump off." Our deliberations were conducted by the ruddy light from a
distant swell of the prairie, where the long dry grass of last summer was on
fire.”
Let us look to that last
sentence again: Our deliberations were conducted by the ruddy light from a
distant swell of the prairie, where the long dry grass of last summer was on
fire.
·
A dramatic beginning to a tremendous exploit where
poetry and truth meet.
·
Not only a trip into the unknown where dangers are known
to occur, it begins with danger on the horizon [wildfire.]
·
How many of us have postponed far lesser “adventures”
for obstacles less daunting than a wildfire in the offing?
Humans remain human. Here we
learn of the expedition leader resenting dissension.
“We were a little surprised at
this disclosure of domestic dissensions among our allies, for though we knew of
their existence, we were not aware of their extent. The persecuted captain
seeming wholly at a loss as to the course of conduct that he should pursue, we
recommended him to adopt prompt and energetic measures; but all his military
experience had failed to teach him the indispensable lesson to be
"hard," when the emergency requires it. "For twenty years,"
he repeated, "I have been in the British army, and in that time I have
been intimately acquainted with some two hundred officers, young and old, and I
never yet quarreled with any man. Oh, 'anything for a quiet life!' that's my
maxim." We intimated that the prairie was hardly the place to enjoy a
quiet life, but that, in the present circumstances, the best thing he could do
toward securing his wished-for tranquillity, was immediately to put a period to
the nuisance that disturbed it. But again the captain's easy good- nature
recoiled from the task. The somewhat vigorous measures necessary to gain the
desired result were utterly repugnant to him; he
preferred to pocket his grievances, still retaining the privilege of grumbling
about them. "Oh, anything for a quiet life!" he said again,
circling back to his favorite maxim.”
What was true for the British
Army officer holds true for many of us. We choose to skip the unpleasantness,
or the brief bout of “hardness” that might cure what ails and choose the
non-strategy of persisting in woe “he preferred to pocket his grievances,
still retaining the privilege of grumbling about them.”
·
How true of many? Perhaps ourselves at times.
·
We know a solution, refuse to act, and prefer the privilege
of grumbling about our own inaction.
·
It was weak sauce to a young Parkman, it is weak sauce
to al who have to hear the whining.
We must consider how cherished
the journey further on must have been to dare what must be endured.
“These were the first
emigrants that we had overtaken, although we had found abundant and melancholy
traces of their progress throughout the whole course of the journey. Sometimes
we passed the grave of one who had sickened and died on the way. The earth was
usually torn up, and covered thickly with wolf-tracks. Some had escaped this
violation. One morning a piece of plank, standing upright on the summit of a
grassy hill, attracted our notice, and riding up to it we found the following
words very roughly traced upon it, apparently by a red-hot piece of iron: MARY
ELLIS DIED MAY 7TH, 1845. Aged two months. Such tokens were of common
occurrence, nothing could speak more for the hardihood, or rather infatuation,
of the adventurers, or the sufferings that await them upon the journey.”
In a land and society reduced
to essence. No pretension can persist.
“No living thing was moving
throughout the vast landscape, except the lizards that darted over the sand and
through the rank grass and prickly-pear just at our feet. And yet stern and
wild associations gave a singular interest to the view; for here each man lives
by the strength of his arm and the valor of his heart. Here society is reduced
to its original elements, the whole fabric of art and conventionality is struck
rudely to pieces, and men find themselves suddenly brought back to the wants
and resources of their original natures.”
The crucible of experience forges
men and women, it renders them impervious to petty woes. Just as training the
body hardens and strengthens it, the spirit responds in kind. We could all use
a dose of that cure I wager.
"The prairie is a strange
place," said I. "A month ago I should have thought it rather a
startling affair to have an acquaintance ride out in the morning and lose his
scalp before night, but here it seems the most natural thing in the world; not
that I believe that R. has lost his yet." If a man is constitutionally
liable to nervous apprehensions, a tour on the distant prairies would prove the
best prescription; for though when in the neighborhood of the Rocky Mountains
he may at times find himself placed in circumstances of some danger, I believe
that few ever breathe that reckless atmosphere without becoming almost
indifferent to any evil chance that may befall themselves or their friends.
The perils of the journey were
weather, environmental, the indigenous peoples who saw you as interlopers, and
those outcasts in civil society who were considered “lesser” who chose a land
with no boundaries where their powers could be expanded.
The Barbarians of Old newly
equipped with better steel and gunpowder.
“As we gained the other bank,
a rough group of men surrounded us. They were not robust, nor large of frame,
yet they had an aspect of hardy endurance. Finding at home no scope for their
fiery energies, they had betaken themselves to the prairie; and in them seemed
to be revived, with redoubled force, that fierce spirit which impelled their
ancestors, scarce more lawless than themselves, from the German forests, to
inundate Europe and break to pieces the Roman empire.”
What can be done without when we
are reduced to what really matters?
“It is worth noticing that on
the Platte one may sometimes see the shattered wrecks of ancient claw-footed
tables, well waxed and rubbed, or massive bureaus of carved oak. These, many of
them no doubt the relics of ancestral prosperity in the colonial time, must
have encountered strange vicissitudes. Imported, perhaps, originally from
England; then, with the declining fortunes of their owners, borne across the Alleghenies
to the remote wilderness of Ohio or Kentucky; then to Illinois or Missouri; and
now at last fondly stowed away in the family wagon for the interminable journey
to Oregon. But the stern privations of the way are little anticipated. The
cherished relic is soon flung out to scorch and crack upon the hot prairie.”
A land and society that
demands development of the self; those constitutionally unable to develop
turned back or did not survive.
“In a moment a door opened,
and a little, swarthy black-eyed Frenchman came out. His dress was rather
singular; his black curling hair was parted in the middle of his head, and fell
below his shoulders; he wore a tight frock of smoked deerskin, very gayly
ornamented with figures worked in dyed porcupine quills. His moccasins and
leggings were also gaudily adorned in the same manner; and the latter had in
addition a line of long fringes, reaching down the seams. The small frame of
Richard, for by this name Henry made him known to us, was in the highest degree
athletic and vigorous. There was no superfluity, and indeed there seldom is
among the active white men of this country, but every limb was compact and
hard; every sinew had its full tone and elasticity, and the whole man wore an
air of mingled hardihood and buoyancy.”
We must not forget that the
American Frontier was a variegated obstacle that required WIDE resources. An
assumption of a few skills, or specialized skills misses the mark by far.
“But the FOREST is the home of
the backwoodsman. On the remote prairie he is totally at a loss. He differs
much from the genuine "mountain man," the wild prairie hunter, as a
Canadian voyageur, paddling his canoe on the rapids of the Ottawa, differs from
an American sailor among the storms of Cape Horn.”
Conjure the scene in your
minds eye…
“This was our plan, but
unhappily we were not destined to visit La Bonte's Camp in this manner; for one
morning a young Indian came to the fort and brought us evil tidings. The
newcomer was a dandy of the first water. His ugly face was painted with
vermilion; on his head fluttered the tail of a prairie cock (a large species of
pheasant, not found, as I have heard, eastward of the Rocky Mountains); in his
ears were hung pendants of shell, and a flaming red blanket was wrapped around
him. He carried a dragoon sword in his hand, solely for display, since the
knife, the arrow, and the rifle are the arbiters of every prairie fight; but no
one in this country goes abroad unarmed, the dandy carried a bow and arrows in
an otter-skin quiver at his back.”
Always armed, even over-armed
with ornamentation.
What’s your ornament to be
cast away? What is your back-up?
You have a hole-card armed or
unarmed, right?
One-trick ponies didn’t last
on the Frontier.
The following: Bravery?
Foolishness? Recklessness?
All three?
“Six years ago a fellow named
Jim Beckwith, a mongrel of French, American, and negro blood, was trading for
the Fur Company, in a very large village of the Crows. Jim Beckwith was last
summer at St. Louis. He is a ruffian of the first stamp; bloody and treacherous,
without honor or honesty; such at least is the character he bears upon the
prairie. Yet in his case all the standard rules of character fail, for though
he will stab a man in his sleep, he will also perform most desperate acts of
daring; such, for instance, as the following: While he was in the Crow village,
a Blackfoot war party, between thirty and forty in number came stealing through
the country, killing stragglers and carrying off horses. The Crow warriors got
upon their trail and pressed them so closely that they could not escape, at
which the Blackfeet, throwing up a semicircular breastwork of logs at the foot
of a precipice, coolly awaited their approach. The logs and sticks, piled four
or five high, protected them in front. The Crows might have swept over the
breastwork and exterminated their enemies; but though out-numbering them
tenfold, they did not dream of storming the little fortification. Such a
proceeding would be altogether repugnant to their notions of warfare. Whooping
and yelling, and jumping from side to side like devils incarnate, they showered
bullets and arrows upon the logs; not a Blackfoot was hurt, but several Crows,
in spite of their leaping and dodging, were shot down. In this childish manner
the fight went on for an hour or two. Now and then a Crow warrior in an ecstasy
of valor and vainglory would scream forth his war song, boasting himself the
bravest and greatest of mankind, and grasping his hatchet, would rush up and
strike it upon the breastwork, and then as he retreated to his companions, fall
dead under a shower of arrows; yet no combined attack seemed to be dreamed of.
The Blackfeet remained secure in their intrenchment. At last Jim Beckwith lost
patience.
"You are all fools and
old women," he said to the Crows; "come with me, if any of you are
brave enough, and I will show you how to fight." He threw off his
trapper's frock of buckskin and stripped himself naked like the Indians
themselves. He left his rifle on the ground, and taking in his hand a small
light hatchet, he ran over the
prairie to the right,
concealed by a hollow from the eyes of the Blackfeet. Then climbing up the
rocks, he gained the top of the precipice behind them. Forty or fifty young
Crow warriors followed him. By the cries and whoops that rose from below he
knew that the Blackfeet were just beneath him; and running forward, he leaped
down the rock into the midst of them. As he fell he caught one by the long
loose hair and dragging him down tomahawked him; then grasping another by the
belt at his waist, he struck him also a stunning blow, and gaining his feet,
shouted the Crow war-cry. He swung his hatchet so fiercely around him that the
astonished Blackfeet bore back and gave him room. He might, had he chosen, have
leaped over the breastwork and escaped; but this was not necessary, for with
devilish yells the Crow warriors came dropping in quick succession over the
rock among their enemies. The main body of the Crows, too, answered the cry
from the front and rushed up simultaneously. The convulsive struggle within the
breastwork was frightful; for an instant the Blackfeet fought and yelled like
pent-up tigers; but the butchery was soon complete, and the mangled bodies lay
piled up together under the precipice. Not a Blackfoot made his escape.”
A land that bred cheerfulness
in spite of circumstances.
"Two more gone under!
Well, there is more of us left yet. Here's Jean Gars and me off to the
mountains to-morrow. Our turn will come next, I suppose. It's a hard life,
anyhow!" I looked up and saw a little man, not much more than five feet
high, but of very square and strong proportions. In appearance he was
particularly dingy; for his old buckskin frock was black and polished with time
and grease, and his belt, knife, pouch, and powder-horn appeared to have seen
the roughest service. The first joint of each foot was entirely gone, having
been frozen off several winters before, and his moccasins were curtailed in
proportion. His whole appearance and equipment bespoke the "free
trapper." He had a round ruddy face, animated with a spirit of carelessness
and gayety not at all in accordance with the words he had just spoken.
"Two more gone," said I; "what do you mean by that?"
"Oh," said he, "the Arapahoes have just killed two of us in the
mountains. Old Bull-Tail has come to tell us. They stabbed one behind his back,
and shot the other with his own rifle. That's the way we live here! I mean to
give up trapping after this year. My squaw says she wants a pacing horse and
some red ribbons; I'll make enough beaver to get them for her, and then I'm
done! I'll go below and live on a farm." "Your bones will dry on the
prairie, Rouleau!" said another trapper, who was standing by; a strong,
brutal-looking fellow, with a face as surly as a bull-dog's. Rouleau only
laughed, and began to hum a tune and shuffle a dance on his stumps of feet.”
The boon of vast experience, as
here, to draw upon a knowledge of sailing when there is not an ocean in sight.
“I leveled at the white spot
on its chest, and was about to fire when it started off, ran first to one side
and then to the other, like a vessel tacking against a wind, and at last
stretched away at full speed.”
Parkman was no respecter of
the Tribal ways he encountered, but his respect for the indigenous mettle and
natural-hewn physique was unadulterated.
“Savage figures surrounded our
tent, with quivers at their backs, and guns, lances, or tomahawks in their
hands. Some sat on horseback, motionless as equestrian statues, their arms
crossed on their breasts, their eyes fixed in a steady unwavering gaze upon us.
Some stood erect, wrapped from head to foot in their long white robes of
buffalo hide. Some sat together on the grass, holding their shaggy horses by a
rope, with their broad dark busts exposed to view as they suffered their robes
to fall from their shoulders. Others again stood carelessly among the throng,
with nothing to conceal the matchless symmetry of their forms; and I do not
exaggerate when I say that only on the prairie and in the Vatican have I seen
such faultless models of the human figure. See that warrior standing by the
tree, towering six feet and a half in stature. Your eyes may trace the whole of
his graceful and majestic height, and discover no defect or blemish. With his
free and noble attitude, with the bow in his hand, and the quiver at his back,
he might seem, but for his face, the Pythian Apollo himself. Such a figure rose
before the imagination of West, when on first seeing the Belvidere in the
Vatican, he exclaimed, "By God, a Mohawk!"
Compare the following to your
last “sick day” or “I’ll skip doing this because of that twinge in my knee.” We
are all vastly more capable than we resolve to be.
“I recall these scenes with a
mixed feeling of pleasure and pain. At this time I was so reduced by illness
that I could seldom walk without reeling like a drunken man, and when I rose
from my seat upon the ground the landscape suddenly grew dim before my eyes,
the trees and lodges seemed to sway to and fro, and the prairie to rise and
fall like the swells of the ocean. Such a state of things is by no means
enviable anywhere. In a country where a man's life may at any moment depend on
the strength of his arm, or it may be on the activity of his legs, it is more
particularly inconvenient. Medical assistance of course there was none; neither
had I the means of pursuing a system of diet; and sleeping on a damp ground,
with an occasional drenching from a shower, would hardly be recommended as
beneficial. I sometimes suffered the extremity of languor and exhaustion, and
though at the time I felt no apprehensions of the final result, I have since
learned that my situation was a critical one.”
Upon recovery Parkman remarks
that his recovery was possible likely because of such hardships. Sometimes the
cure is in what we avoid.
“Hardship and exposure had
thriven with me wonderfully. I had gained both health and strength since
leaving La Bonte's Camp.”
How shall we face perils?
Avoid them? Fear them?
Perhaps they are not what we
assume.
We will never know until we
venture.
“Suddenly the sky darkened,
and thunder began to mutter. Clouds were rising over the hills, as dreary and
dull as the first forebodings of an approaching calamity; and in a moment all
around was wrapped in shadow. I looked behind. The Indians had stopped to
prepare for the approaching storm, and the dark, dense mass of savages
stretched far to the right and left. Since the first attack of my disorder the
effects of rain upon me had usually been injurious in the extreme. I had no
strength to spare, having at that moment scarcely enough to keep my seat on
horseback. Then, for the first time, it pressed upon me as a strong probability
that I might never leave those deserts. "Well," thought I to myself,
"a prairie makes quick and sharp work. Better to die here, in the saddle
to the last, than to stifle in the hot air of a sick chamber, and a thousand
times better than to drag out life, as many have done, in the helpless inaction
of lingering disease." So, drawing the buffalo robe on which I sat over my
head, I waited till the storm should come. It broke at last with a sudden burst
of fury, and passing away as rapidly as it came, left the sky clear again. My
reflections served me no other purpose than to look back upon as a piece of
curious experience; for the rain did not produce the ill effects that I had
expected.”
Ponder the skill, the grit,
the daring of…
:The chief difficulty in
running buffalo, as it seems to me, is that of loading the gun or pistol at
full gallop. Many hunters for convenience' sake carry three or four bullets in
the mouth; the powder is poured down the muzzle of the piece, the bullet
dropped in after it, the stock struck hard upon the pommel of the saddle, and
the work is done. The danger of this method is obvious. Should the blow on the
pommel fail to send the bullet home, or should the latter, in the act of
aiming, start from its place and roll toward the muzzle, the gun would probably
burst in discharging. Many a shattered hand and worse casualties besides have
been the result of such an accident. To obviate it, some hunters make use of a
ramrod, usually hung by a string from the neck, but this materially increases
the difficulty of loading. The bows and arrows which the Indians use in running
buffalo have many advantages over fire arms, and even white men occasionally
employ them.”
Compare the following with
Captain Bligh’s pragmatic view on “A hand on the tiller” as prayer.
“This honorable mention of the
Mexican clergy introduced the subject of religion, and I found that my two associates,
in common with other white men in the country, were as indifferent to their
future welfare as men whose lives are in constant peril are apt to be.”
And now the comparison.
The mutiny on the H.M.S. Bounty resulted in Captain
William Bligh and 18 of the loyal crew being set off ship in a 23-foot open
boat with food supplies for one-week.
[BTW-I have a 22-foot sailboat,
6 people get snug, 18, I can’t even imagine.]
The boat was loaded so heavily
that the seas were a mere few inches from the top of the gunwales.
Captain Bligh had long made it
his duty to know his business and was considered a master-navigator.
With these meager supplies
they travelled 4,160 miles in 47 days. They faced gale force winds, high seas,
starvation, torrential rains, and had to bale constantly to stay just above
water. Bligh himself spent most of his time at the tiller, all the men said his
skills and tenacity is what saw them through.
The following is Bligh on what
he saw as “velleity” [A wish, hope, or prayer not strong enough to lead to
action.] This comes from a passage between one of the many violent storms.
“Once, in a brief lull between
storms, Fryer had suggested that a prayer be said. “No, Mr. Fryer,” he
replied. “Pray if you like, but to my way of thinking, God expects better
than prayers at a time like this.”
[From Men against the Sea by Nordhoff and Hall.]
The Frontier and the Sea
breeds men and women who have no time for velleity.
Action is the Chapter and
Verse.
Compare the following with The
Texas Proverb.
“When in the midst of his game
and his enemies, hand and foot, eye and ear, are incessantly active. Frequently
he must content himself with devouring his evening meal uncooked, lest the
light of his fire should attract the eyes of some wandering Indian; and
sometimes having made his rude repast, he must leave his fire still blazing,
and withdraw to a distance under cover of the darkness, that his disappointed
enemy, drawn thither by the light, may find his victim gone, and be unable to
trace his footsteps in the gloom. This is the life led by scores of men in the
Rocky Mountains and their vicinity. I once met a trapper whose breast was
marked with the scars of six bullets and arrows, one of his arms broken by a
shot and one of his knees shattered; yet still, with the undaunted mettle of
New England, from which part of the country he had come, he continued to follow
his perilous occupation. To some of the children of cities it may seem strange
that men with no object in view should continue to follow a life of such
hardship and desperate adventure; yet there is a mysterious, restless charm in
the basilisk eye of danger, and few men perhaps remain long in that wild region
without learning to love peril for its own sake, and to laugh carelessly in the
face of death.”
The Texas Proverb
Cowards Never Started,
The Weak Don’t get Here,
& the Unfit Don’t Stay.
The honest question to ask the
self is, which are you?
Next Parkman describes “Indian
Religion.” He has a bit of respect for it yet considers it a little “less.”
[We’ll come back to this.]
“After advancing for some
time, I conceived myself to be entirely alone; but coming to a part of the glen
in a great measure free of trees and undergrowth, I saw at some distance the
black head and red shoulders of an Indian among the bushes above. The reader
need not prepare himself for a startling adventure, for I have none to relate.
The head and shoulders belonged to Mene-Seela, my best friend in the village.
As I had approached noiselessly with my moccasined feet, the old man was quite
unconscious of my presence; and turning to a point where I could gain an
unobstructed view of him, I saw him seated alone, immovable as a statue, among
the rocks and trees. His face was turned upward, and his eyes seemed riveted on
a pine tree springing from a cleft in the precipice above. The crest of the
pine was swaying to and fro in the wind, and its long limbs waved slowly up and
down, as if the tree had life. Looking for a while at the old man, I was
satisfied that he was engaged in an act of worship or prayer, or communion of
some kind with a supernatural being. I longed to penetrate his thoughts, but I
could do nothing more than conjecture and speculate. I knew that though the
intellect of an Indian can embrace the idea of an all-wise, all-powerful
Spirit, the supreme Ruler of the universe, yet his mind will not always ascend
into communion with a being that seems to him so vast, remote, and
incomprehensible; and when danger threatens, when his hopes are broken, when
the black wing of sorrow overshadows him, he is prone to turn for relief to
some inferior agency, less removed from the ordinary scope of his faculties. He
has a guardian spirit, on whom he relies for succor and guidance. To him all
nature is instinct with mystic influence. Among those mountains not a wild
beast was prowling, a bird singing, or a leaf fluttering, that might not tend
to direct his destiny or give warning of what was in store for him; and he
watches the world of nature around him as the astrologer watches the stars. So
closely is he linked with it that his guardian spirit, no unsubstantial
creation of the fancy, is usually embodied in the form of some living thing—a
bear, a wolf, an eagle, or a serpent; and Mene-Seela, as he gazed intently on
the old pine tree, might believe it to inshrine the fancied guide and protector
of his life.”
And in the very next paragraph
we have this…
“Whatever was passing in the
mind of the old man, it was no part of sense or of delicacy to disturb him.
Silently retracing my footsteps, I descended the glen until I came to a point
where I could climb the steep precipices that shut it in, and gain the side of
the mountain. Looking up, I saw a tall peak rising among the woods. Something
impelled me to climb; I had not felt for many a day such strength and
elasticity of limb. An hour and a half of slow and often intermittent labor
brought me to the very summit; and emerging from the dark shadows of the rocks
and pines, I stepped forth into the light, and walking along the sunny verge of
a precipice, seated myself on its extreme point. Looking between the mountain
peaks to the westward, the pale blue prairie was stretching to the farthest
horizon like a serene and tranquil ocean. The surrounding mountains were in
themselves sufficiently striking and impressive, but this contrast gave
redoubled effect to their stern features.”
In this very next paragraph
Parkman says “something impelled him” despite his
weakened condition. He followed that silent edict and found strength and
edification in the climb. He behaved just as Mene-Seela and reaped similar
blessings/rewards. Perhaps it is not foolish “to read nature like an
astrologer.”
One of Parkman’s most vital
lessons.
“Shaw and I were much better
fitted for this mode of traveling than we had been on betaking ourselves to the
prairies for the first time a few months before. The daily routine had ceased
to be a novelty. All the details of the journey and the camp had become
familiar to us. We had seen life under a new aspect; the human biped had been
reduced to his primitive condition. We had lived without law to protect, a roof
to shelter, or garment of cloth to cover us. One of us at least had been
without bread, and without salt to season his food. Our idea of what is
indispensable to human existence and enjoyment had been wonderfully curtailed,
and a horse, a rifle, and a knife seemed to make up the whole of life's
necessaries. For these once obtained, together with the skill to use them, all
else that is essential would follow in their train, and a host of luxuries
besides. One other lesson our short prairie experience had taught us; that of
profound contentment in the present, and utter contempt for what the future
might bring forth.”
Parkman is not singular in
feeling this “profound contentment in the present, and utter contempt for
what the future might bring forth.”
It was a common attitude amongst
denizens of the frontier.
“Mingled among the crowd of
Indians were a number of Canadians, chiefly in the employ of Bisonette; men, whose
home is in the wilderness, and who love the camp fire better than the domestic
hearth. They are contented and happy in the midst of hardship, privation, and
danger. Their cheerfulness and gayety is irrepressible, and no people on earth
understand better how "to daff the world aside and bid it pass."
For those with Frontier Hearts
in Modern Times, I leave you with this Lesson from The Strong Hearts.
“The society of the
"Strong Hearts" were engaged in one of their dances. The Strong
Hearts are a warlike association, comprising men of both the Dakota and
Cheyenne nations, and entirely composed, or supposed to be so, of young braves
of the highest mettle. Its fundamental principle is the admirable one of never
retreating from any enterprise once commenced.”
What a noble way to conduct
oneself.
I repeat:
“Its fundamental principle is
the admirable one of never retreating from any enterprise once commenced.”
May we all find a lesson or
two from The Oregon Trail and be Strong Hearts!
