With Doctor Whitman and his place, Mr. Matthieu was very favorably impressed. The farm was neat and well cultivated, having a large garden, a field of grain and a small grist mill. Doctor Whitman himself he describes as “a very nice man,” of unbounded hospitality. “His garden and grist mill he threw open” to their use, and for what they had need of “he would not take a cent.” In person he recalls Whitman as not very tall, rather slender in build, and of strongly Yankee style. His hair was then dark. Though very favorably impressed, however, with Whitman, the Yankee missionary bore, in Matthieu’s estimation, no comparison with Doctor McLoughlin, who was his beau ideal of the natural-born leader of men.
In this connection Mr. Matthieu states that he had the following incident directly from some employees of the Hudson’s Bay Company at Vancouver, which illustrates Doctor McLoughlin’s disposition toward Whitman. In 1841 the Cayuse Indians formed the intention of killing Doctor Whitman. But they feared the punishment that Doctor McLoughlin would visit upon them, if he disapproved the act. They devised the plan, therefore, of discovering his feeling, as if by accident. A number of the leaders were sent to Fort Vancouver, and there stationing themselves by the bank of the river, they began to talk to one another of destroying Whitman. Doctor McLoughlin was passing and they were purposely overheard by him. Instantly confronting the Cayuses the old Doctor raised his great cane and cried out in a terrific voice, “Who says you shall kill Whitman?” and threatened condign punishment if such a massacre should take place. The Indians scattered and immediately gave up their evil plan.
Before leaving Mr. Matthieu’s account of his experiences on the plains, perhaps the following story may be told as throwing a side light upon the character and ways of some of the people who crossed. It is in regard to an Irishman called Pat, who was with the party but had no outfit and no money, and was little better than a camp follower. He obtained his day’s provisions by going from camp to camp, or mess to mess, asking for anything that might be put into his pot, which he then boiled over the fire making a sort of soup. Once while he was thus cooking he had the misfortune to drop his pipe into the savory mess, which turned it so much against his stomach that he would not eat it. “Give it to B.,” suggested a bystander, “he will eat anything.” B. was another camp-follower, less-liked than Pat. B. enjoyed his meal, but afterwards regretted his precipitancy. Pat always endeavored to return the courtesies of his patrons by doing little favors around the camps, especially in helping the women about their wood and fires, and became rather a favorite. Reaching Oregon, and finally going to California, he prospered and became a wealthy man.