History of Oregon Literature/Chapter 14

by Alfred Powers

CHAPTER 14

Joaquin Miller

And he, through books and bays,
 Delveth for pretty words
To weave in his languid lays
 Of women and streams and birds.
What was my troth to him?
 A stepping-stoneat best:
My face was proud and my smiles were sweet,
 And his gold could do the rest.
>MINNIE MYRTLE MILLER: Sacrifice Impetro.

Did the darts and barbs aimed at Joaquin Miller from every quarter strike harmlessly against a thick hide such as protects men of grosser occupations? Or did they easily pierce a thin, poetic armor and penetrate to the quick?

Many people called him a liar. Some claimed he stole his best poetry from his wife, the indignant women of Oregon said he deserted her and his children, she described his bad spelling in a public lecture, one of his neglected sons was later sent to prison. The politicians twitted him for his poetry, fellow poets— like the smug Bret Harte—patronized him in his early days, Oregon editors attacked him savagely, his own paper was suppressed because he was a secessionist. An eastern critic hesitated to review Songs of the Sierras because of his personal life. He was a squaw man, he lived in separation from three wives, but he bowed and kissed women's hands, wrote verses to them and scattered flowers in their paths. He drank without refinement by means of a tin cup, and a jug over his shoulder. He displayed huge vanity in his behavior and in the eccentricity of his clothes.

What if some of the poets who are said to have died of broken hearts had faced a medley of charges like that? Of course he was sensitive. How could he have caught as he did the impressions of a sensuous world, unless he was? How then did he take all the abuse that filled the air like arrows at Crecy? Let those who are highly civilized and accustomed only to politeness, call it perfect good taste. Those who know the cruelties of human association will call it something higher. He did not hide himself away in embarrassment, but with head unbowed walked forth as usual among his fellows, conspicuously in his typical garb. “For”—the words are his—“he is a man who never has clique or clan, but lives within himself and asks nothing and answers nothing.”

As biographical accounts of him are numerous and easily available, material about him included here will be of a less familiar nature. A short chronological record of the main events of his life, especially of his life in Oregon, will serve sufficiently as a basis for the events treated more fully. Some of the dates cannot be determined with exactness.

1841. Born in Indiana as Cincinnatus Hiner Miller. This was the date he gave, but various biographers have said that he lied, one of them placing the year of his birth as early as 1835.

1854. Arrived in Eugene City, Oregon, in a covered wagon.

1855–1857 In Northern California in the mines and living with the Indians. The youthful husband of a Modoc princess and the father of Calli Shasta, as romantically described by himself and quoted in the chapter of this book called “Squaw Wives and Squaw Men.”

1857–1858 Enrolled in Columbia College, Eugene City—located in the present College Crest district, on the hills above South Willamette Street. He lived on the southeast corner of what is now Fifth and Oak Streets. He was class valedictorian and wrote a poem. In his summer vacation he taught school near Vancouver, Washington. Page:History of Oregon Literature.djvu/263 rhymes set up, make a big book, and fire it right at the head of these stolid Britons."

A hundred copies of Pacific Poems were printed at his own expense. Several years ago, a Portland book collector found a local woman who owned a copy. She finally consented to trade it to him for Paisley shawl, which he was to buy new for her in New York City, and which he knew would cost about $45. When he returned she had died, he afterwards bought the books she left, but Pacific Poems was no longer among them! In the heydey of book prices another copy was listed at $800.

Songs of the Sierras published by a great London publishing house. Reviews praised him to the skies. He was famous.

Meanwhile, as the widening echoes of that fame reached Oregon, the women of Oregon, the Oregon newspapers, and, most of all, Minnie Myrtle Miller let the public know what kind of a person he really was. "...glory flooded from Europe and shame from the sensational branch of the press in the West."

1871- Back in San Francisco and Oregon.

1872 In San Francisco, in the fall of 1872, Minnie Myrtle Miller gave two lectures on his private life. The report of the second one, reprinted from the San Francisco Chronicle of November 13, was spread in two and a quarter columns over the front page of the Oregon State Journal of Eugene City, in the issue of November 23, 1872, the reporter's first paragraph being as follows:

"Mrs. Minnie Myrtle Miller delivered her second lecture on 'Joaquin Miller, the Poet and the Man' to an audience of about three hundred persons in Pacific Hall last evening. The lecture was delivered in a clear ringing tone, and abounded in most delicate satire. Her sarcastic allusions to her illustrious and romantic liege were highly appreciated by her hearers, and so sharp and cutting was the vein of wit and satire running all through it that the audience was kept in continual smiles and good humor. Punctually at 8 o'clock the lecturess emerged from the waiting-room and ascended the rostrum with a quick, decisive step. Her appearance was greeted with applause, which she acknowledged with a grateful bow. She was attired in a modest dress of black silk, with white lace mauve, and a delicate pink knot at her throat. Her hair fell in flowing curls down her back and shoulders and her hands were encased in white kid gloves." 1871

1873- In London, on the Continent, in Egypt and Palestine. 1880 1881- Lived in New York City and Washington, D . C. 1885 1883. Minnie Myrtle Miller died in New York City. 188-. "In the early eighties" he married Abbie Lei and, "sister of the well-known Lelands of hotel fame in New York." They had one daughter, Juanita. 1885. Settled on The Hights, above Oakland. His well-to-do wife did not choose to live with him there until near his death. 1897— Newspaper correspondent in the Klondyke. While lost in 1898. the snow a toe was frozen off. He joked about it around the campfire : "I'm the most no-toe-rious poet in America." 1899. In China to the Boxer War as a newspaper correspondent. 1905. Was a conspicuous figure at the Lewis and Clark Exposition in Portland. The Oregon Journal Souvenir View Book of the fair contained a full-page picture of him in his flowing hat, long hair, boots and Prince Albert coat, with one hand in his pocket and the other resting on the neck of one of Homer Davenport's Arabian horses. 1907. Revisited Canyon City. Wrote A Royal Highway of the World as a long letter to the county commissioners of Grant and Harney Counties, describing a stage trip from Canyon City to Burns, over what is now the smooth state highway known as the Joaquin Miller Trail. 1913. Died at his home on The Hights. 1923. Stuart P. Sherman edited the Poetical W oris of Joaquin Miller, with a biographical sketch which cast doubts upon his ever having been with Walker in Nicaragua. The author of this book stopped to talk to George Melvin Miller on the streets of Eugene and, referring to Sherman's statement, asked: "Was he in Nicaragua?" The poet's brother tapped his chest and cryptically replied : "Whether he was or not is locked here in my bosom." 1932. A Royal Highway of the W orld made into a beautiful book by the Metropolitan Press, so that the first two and the last one of his books were published in Portland. An account of his life in Canyon City is given in the introduction to A Royal Highway of the Worlds from which a few paragraphs will be q

His cabin...still stands in the little town, but when I first saw it, in 1920, it showed marks everywhere both of age and prolonged neglect.... The building was serving at the moment as the buttress for discarded lumber and firewood, and chickens scratched in the mold about it. But, in the bright afternoon of an Eastern Oregon September, the place was not wholly bereft of the aspects of a shrine. The trees he planted could now lift their softening foliage above it; Canyon Creek still ran by it, just as in the old days; and beyond was the rimrock upon which he gazed in creative meditation.

My guide was a high school boy just returned from foot- ball practice. Replying to a remark that the cabin probably did not mean much locally, he said: “No, it’s just like an old shack around here mostly.”

The boy’s view at that time was not fully shared by the older population of the town, and two years later, in the summer of 1922, the cabin was made into a Joaquin Miller museum, with greater attention focused upon its reservation. Canyon City staged a pony express race of 187 miles, built “Whiskey Gulch” in Caynon Creek in front of the cabin, and summoned Juanita Miller from Oakland. She brought with her, “for keepsakes in papa’s old cabin,” his quill pen, some of his manuscript, and his last whiskey jug.

Mrs. Emma Hazeltine, still living in Canyon City at the time of my visit, had been Joaquin Miller’s neighbor and had known him and Mrs. Miller well. “Minnie Myrtle,” she said, “was just about as good a poet as Joaquin was, but she didn’t have much of a chance to write. Joaquin kind of neglected her. One day my sister and I were visiting Mrs. Miller, who had a trunk open to show us some souvenirs. The little girl was clinging to the strap of the top, which was liable to come down on her hand, when Joaquin came in and stepped over and slapped her as hard as he could. It was very embarrassing. Mrs. Miller tried to smooth it over by saying her husband was alarmed for the safety of the child.”

P. F. Chandler, editor of The Blue Mountain Eagle, says that when Joaquin Miller returned for a visit to Canyon City in 1907, he used to walk along the street with the ex-judge and poet, passing old timers idly congregated in groups. Several of these men had known the poet well in the late 60’s, and Joaquin Miller greeted them as he passed but often they, on their part, refused to speak to him.

His first book, Specimens, was printed in Portland in 1868. “Its reception,” says Martin S. Peterson, “was far from warm. Miller’s friends disregarded it except for a few good-humored jibes—all of which and a very temperate comment of derogatory nature in The Overland, written by Bret Harte himself, failed to dampen his ardor.” The next year, in 1869, his second book, Joaquin, Et Al., was published in Portland.

George H. Himes, now the aged curator of the Oregon Historical Society Museum, printed both books, Specimens directly for Miller, and Joaquin, Et Al. for S. J. McCormick, 105 Front Street, Portland the formal publisher.

Mr. Himes, from memory and from reference to his notebooks, gave in an interview for this history, the following account of the publication of Joaquin Miller’s first two books:

The Express in those days took a man of quick thinking and ready-witted—a man with qualities of leadership. Miller fitted it beautifully. He worked for the I. B. Mossman Express Company. He was a dare-devil makeshift, letting Mossman do the work and he taking the money.

Miller entered my office, a shabbily dressed man, unkempt in appearance, with a long beard, shaggy and clay-colored, and long hair. One pantaloon was stuck in a boot, and the other one drooped over a boot. He had a very abrupt and business-like manner. All the time I knew him he kept this same manner. Of course, I knew him only in a business way, and then it was always "Hello" and "Goodbye." But I didn't have much time to be bothered about the social side in those days, what with struggling to get along in my little business, and a fine baby at home getting a new tooth every once in a while. The ninety-six dollars for Specimens and the one hundred and ninety- two dollars for Joaquin, Et A I. interested me most of all. By the way, what he paid me for this latter book wasn't all it cost. He paid McCormick's one hundred dollars to have it fancily bound.

In my diary here for April the 7th, 1868, I have:

Very busy. Printing a short pamphlet of "choice" poetry.

On the 11th, I have:

Finished printing for C. H. Miller. Made 56 pages. Glad it's out of the way.

You see I only mentioned matters of real importance in this Diary. My baby's new incisors were of much greater moment to me. Furthermore, Joaquin had not yet an aura of fame around his name.

Miller had five hundred copies of each of these books made. He displayed them in the store of S. J. McCormick. The price was fifty cents. Little attention was given to them. I had fifty copies of the first edition of Joaquin, Et Al. but I gave them all away. They are extremely scarce because in '72 the store of S. J. McCormick burned and about half of the books with it.

And then the manuscripts themselves—they were very raw. Miller didn't write a readable hand and I would have to guess a great deal. I showed my relish for all this work in my Diary of March 22, 1869:

Usual work and just as busy as I care to be. Began work on Cincinnatus [Hiner] Miller's poem—Joaquin.

Looking back a good many years later—in the year 1918, in fact, I made an interesting note in my Diary:

Had I supposed that Miller would achieve world-wide fame as a poet when I was setting up his wretched manuscript I would have saved the original of Joaquin, Et Al. It would have been a treasure now, gifted as he proved to be. Miller was exceedingly human, not in the highest sense either. It was when I was printing this job that I suggested that he use "Joaquin" as a pen name.

Mr. Himes' claim that he suggested the pen name "Joaquin" is a little like "Seven cities claimed old Homer dead." It is also said that Ina Coolbrith, the California poet, proposed the literary use of this name.

During the same interview, Mr. Himes furnished the text of the speech he gave on July 15, 1905, at the old Oregon Building, during the Lewis and Clark Exposition, at a banquet in honor of Joaquin Miller:

I feel highly honored in having been asked by Mr. [Robertus] Love to respond to this toast, but I am fully aware that I can not do the subject justice. The presence of Mr. Miller tonight throws me into a reminiscent mood. My mind runs back to an April day in 1868 soon after I first engaged in business for myself with an office at the corner of Front and Stark Streets, then over the Ladd and Tilton Bank. My equipment was small and customers few.

Early on the April day mentioned a gentleman appeared, of medium stature, mild blue eyes, fair complexion, flaxen hair, flowing beard and "negligee" attire—saying,

"I am from Canyon City. I have a few lines to print. What will be the cost?"

And he handed me a roll of manuscript. I took the manuscript. Upon examination I found it was a poem entitled, Loua-Ella; or, a Tale of the Rogue River War [Specimens]. I scanned the man before me closely, endeavoring to decide in my own mind the question of his sanity, also the further and more important question to me, of his ability to pay the price for printing his production. In a few minutes I told him what the work would cost. To my utter surprise he handed me twenty dollars to apply on account. Then I had no further doubt of his entire sanity. The work was finished to the poet's satisfaction, the lines making a small volume of

fifty-four pages, bound in paper, and entitled Specimens. The poet disappeared as quickly as he came, returning to his mountain home in Canyon City, Grant County, of which he was the first County Judge. A year later he emerged once more from his mountain fastness, came to Portland the second time with a roll of manuscript, formidable in size and style of writing. This time he was more ambitious and apparently had an idea that there would be a demand for his verses. Hence he sought advice from the principal bookseller of this embryo city amid the logs and stumps. The locality where we are now assembled was famous then as a hunting ground and abounded in game, such as deer, ducks, geese, swans, grouse and pheasants. The publisher was S. J. McCormick, and he and Miller called upon me. An agreement as to style and price being effected, I finished the volume, setting the type and doing the press work alone. Thus the poet's second little volume, entitled Joaquin, Et ... , was born. Five hundred copies were issued and the selling price was one dollar... the publication was the source of any income to the author 1 am unable to say, but I do know that I was paid for the printing and that satisfied me that the work possessed merit — a poor criterion to judge by perhaps but one apt to be taken into very serious consideration by the printer wh... struggling to establish a successful business. The poet did not get a very cordial re ception at the hands of the newspaper critics of the early days, at least in this part of the country. Hence, in the early seventies h... foun... London, where... I mistake not, his third volume, Song... the Si erras, was issued. This work struck a popular accord and the reviewers gave a kind mention for the most part, and in this way our author came to have a reputation as a true poet from the "Far West." He had to go to the "Far East" — to go to the literary center of the earth before he was discov ered. The utterances of that man who spake as never man spake before, who said nearly two thousand years ago that a

man has honor save in his own country, aptly describe the experience of our poet. By now I think all will agree with me in saying that a goodly portion of the productions of the good gray poet of Oregon will live long after he has been gathered to his fathers. From my point of view, I see in him a true poet of nature, a fitting mouthpiece to depict the transcendent beauties and majesty of our beloved snow- crowned and emerald state. There is a reference to Specimens in one of his let ters to his sister at the Warm Springs Reservation, dated April 28, 1868, at Canyon City... . Last week I sent you a small volume of my poems. I desire that you have them bound so that you can keep them while you live. You will direct the binder to put heavy state and fly leaves on the sides so as to give it bulk. If finely bound with the title "Specimens" and the author's name on the side, it will be a nice ornament for your center table. They can be bound in Portland. If I live another year or two, I will publish a large book and have it found and put in market. This larger, but not very much larger, book, Joaquin, Et ... , came into existence the next year, as has already been described... was not altogether with out favorable notice, being given the following very nice puff in the Eugene City Guard, in his home town... the issue of April 24, 1869: The abov... the title of a volume of poems composed by Hon. C. H . Miller, Judge of Grant County. The volum... entirely Oregonian, having been written, printed, bound and published within this State. The mechanical work in the pro duction of this neat little volume cannot be surpassed any where... was printed by Messrs. Carter & Himes, bound by A. G. Walling and published b... J. McCormick. A careful perusal of the contents proves that the poet possesses true genius and real poetical fire. H... among the poets that are

born, not made, and with experience and study, Judge Mil ler will rank among the first poets of the age. He is worthy to be crowned laureate of Oregon. We cannot give a lengthy notice of each poem, but will briefly say that the little vol ume is full of sweet flowing numbers and beautiful imagery. Judge Miller is well and favorably known to the citizens of this place and county. Here he received his early education, and here his muse first sung. His many school mates and friends of this place will receive "Joaquin et al" to their fire sides as a precious gem from one who possesses a warm and noble heart, and who merits a niche in history among the immortal bards. We welcome "Joaquin et al" to our sanc tum. High honor it was in his own country, and does it not appear that it was Eugene City rather than Lon don that first discovered him—only the London dis covery had more weight and influence? After the lat ter city made him famous, the same paper that con tained all this praise and prophesy, the Eugene City Guard, reprinted on August 12, 1871, from the Al bany Democrat, an editorial of merciless attack, under the caption "Such is Fame ! " C. H . Miller, ex-editor of the Eugene Register, and ex- County Judge of Grant County, has published a book of poems and become a man of fame in London. The fact makes us think no more of Miller, but much less of the Lon doners. During the time that he was connected with the Register, he published one or more serial stories under his own name and called them original. They were, however, stolen bodily from some of the flash publications of that day. Plagiarism was palpable and audacious. For particulars, we refer the curious to the files of the paper named, of, if we mistake not, the year 1862, in the Librarian's office at Salem. After his marriage, which took place in the year named, and after he

began to write poetry, this habit of plagiarism was not abandoned, if his wife's testimony is worth anything, and if we do not misinterpret the following quotation taken from her "Sacrifice Impetro," a reply to Miller's farewell on leaving Oregon: And he through books and bays Delveth for pretty words To weave in his languid lays Of women, and streams, and birds. For this and many other better reasons we don't hesitate to pronounce the belief that this so-called poet is what is termed, in the vernacular of the coast, a first-class bilk, and that besides the other injuries that he has inflicted upon his unhappy wife, he has filched from her the literary jewels and published them as his own. Up to the date of his marriage Miller had published no poetry, if indeed he had written any. But up to that time and for a long time prior thereto, the people of this state had been charmed by the verses of Mrs. Miller, then "Minnie Myrtle." Minnie Myrtle's poetry left off where Miller's begun. Those who take the trouble to compare Miller's Joaquin et al with these verses of Mrs. Miller, published ten years ago, will readily detect her poetic genius upon the best pages of the book. In some of them they will recognize the woman, as for instance, in the Sierra Nevadas, which makes them look As though Diana's maid last night, Had in the liquid, soft moonlight, Washed out her Mistress' garment bright And on yon bent and swaying line Hung all her linen out to dry. It is much more likely that the simile of a line hung with linen and which employs the idea of washing garments in moonlight, should occur to a woman of strong poetic imagi nation, the routine of whose life was the wash-tub and the kitchen, than to a languid and dyspeptic man. The quotation has the credit of being the best in the book.

The lines — What was my troth to him? A stepping-stone at best. in Mrs. Miller's reply to Miller's "Farewell," seems to be evidence against him upon the charge of appropriating his wife's literary productions. The italics are used by us. With the largest charity that we are capable of exercising on this occasion, we must say of this new aspirant for literary honors, that he is what no poet ever was —a money-getter, who on general resources and by slow accumulations ac quired a competence. He is what no poet ever can be —de void of affection or concern for his own offspring. Notwith standing the hard efforts of their mother, his babes were rescued from want and taken from a miserable attic in Port land by private charity, a few months after Miller's depar ture from the State. The preservation of its offspring is an instinct that even the brute possesses. The man who deserts his offspring is a little lower than the brute. Poets are a little lower than the angels. No such base metal as this Charles Hiner Miller ever gave out the true poetic ring. He is simply gifted with rare impudence. He is only a com pound of brass and bad grammar. If this be fame, then what is fame worth? It was indeed "shame from the sensational branch of the press in the West." The Albany Democrat said that he published the plagiarized serial stories under his own name. Dr. J. B. Horner said that he was writ ing stories for the weekly papers of Oregon which were "wild, weird and sometimes blood-thirsty" but that he signed them "Giles Gaston." In one of these, in which he thrillingly depicted a battle on the border with the Indians, he expressed a desire to be come acquainted with the sweet singer of the Coquelle, who ever she might be. .. . In Minnie's next story was given her address; and the correspondence, which a few months later

resulted in her marriage to the poet, began by his mailing her an appreciative letter inclosing a tin-type picture of himself. It was a delicate and romantic beginning to have such a sordid ending. His Shasta wife, their half- brown child at her skirts, had waived a red sash from the cliffs, in an acquiscent goodby that could always he recalled with poetic rather than actual sorrow — "memories richer than roses, sweet echoes more sweet than a song." But this Saxon poetess afforded a termin ation not similarly casual and agreeable. The story will be continued in the next chapter, very much from her point of view in poetry and prose.

Joaquin Miller's principal books and pamphlets, in prose and verse and drama, represent an output of con siderable size that is a testimony to his industry. Poetry was more profitable for him than for most of those who writ... , and he made money from his books. Specimens, Portland, 1868. Joaquin, E... . , Portland, 1869. Pacific Poems, 1 87 1. Song... the Sierras, 1871. Olive Leaves, 187 1 (An obscure item but, according to Miller... wis published in Esston, Pi., m thit year.) Song... the Sun-Lands, 1873. Unwritten History: Life Amongst the Modocs, 1873. The Ship in the Desert, 1875. First Fam'lie... the Sierras, 1876. The One Fair Woman, 1876. The Barones... New York, 1877. Song... Italy, 1878. The Danite... the Sierras, 1 88 1. The Shadow... Shasta, 1881. Memorie And Rime, 1884. The Destructio... Gotham, 1886. Song... the Mexican Seas, 1887. In Classic Shades , 1890.

The History of the State of Montana, 1894. Songs of the Soul, 1896. True Bear Stories, 1900. Chants for the Boer, 1900. As It Was in the Beginning, 1903. Light, 1907. A Royal Highway of the World, Portland, 1932. An earlier chapter of this book contains several pages from Unwritten History: Life Amongst the Modocs. Here will be added a few brief selections from his poetry and an eloquent prose paragraph that is not widely known. The Ocean From "Joaquin" in Joaquin, Et AL, 1869 Behold the ocean on the beach Kneel lowly down as if in prayer, I hear a moan as of dispair, While far at sea do toss and reach Some things so like white pleading hands. The ocean's thin and hoary hair Is trail'd along the silver'd sands, At every sigh and sounding moan. The very birds shriek in distress And sound the ocean's monotone. Tis not a place for mirthfulness, But meditation deep, and prayer, And kneelings on the salted sod, Where man must own his littleness, And know the mightiness of God. The Columbia River From "Byron" in Songs of the Sierras, 187 1 And proud Columbia frets his shore Of sombre, boundless wood and wold, And lifts his yellow sands of gold

In plaintive murmurs evermore.

Indian Immortality

One of two stanzas quoted by Frederic Homer Balch at front of The Bridge of the Gods to establish its mood

They turned to death as to a sleep,
And died with eager hands held out
To reaching hands beyond the deep;
And died with choicest bow at hand,
And quiver full and arrow drawn
For use, when sweet to-morrow's dawn
Should wake them in the Spirit Land.

Through the Alkali on the Oregon Trail

From "Exodus for Oregon" in Songs of the Sun-Lands, 1873

Then dust arose, a long dim line like smoke
From out of riven earth. The wheels went groaning by,
Ten thousand feet in harness and in yoke,
They tore the ways of ashen alkali,
And desert winds blew sudden, swift and dry.
The dust! it sat upon and fill'd the train!
It seemed to fret and fill the very sky.
Lo! dust upon the beasts, the tent, the plain,
And dust, alas! on breasts that rose not up again.

Mountains of Oregon

From the article "At Home" in Memorie And Rime, 1884

My snow-topped towers crush the clouds
 And break the still abode of stars,
Like sudden ghosts in snowy shrouds,
 New broken through their earthly bars.

The Harney Valley

From A Royal Highway of the World, 1932

However, let me say to the truly devoted lovers of the magnificent in nature, it is worth all tangle of brush and all the "squalls" and the bother, said and unsaid, to see for one little half hour this indescribable Harney Valley from its

rock-built vale, as you break through the pines and look over against the sun: se... s flashe... the gleaming snow... Steens mountains, nearly one hundred miles beyond the twin lakes, Malheur and Harney. Here, from these lofty steeps, you look down upon the dreamful mirag... al... s mystery, magic, majesty. The sparse, drooped trees seem rootless and hang gleamin... the heavens one hundred fee... the air over against the everlasting snows. The glistening lakes ris... and hang, like the prophet's coffiin, mid heaven and earth. They are silver, they are gold, they are amethyst, saphire and rubies. They are all hues unite... one. They are the indescribable jasper wall... the new Jerusalem.