 |
| Congressman Thomas
Tongue of Oregon introduced the legislation, signed
by President Theodore Roosevelt in May 1902, that
authorized formation of Crater Lake National Park.
Tongue posed at a scenic rim location during a
triumphant visit with Will Steel and others in
August 1902. (Courtesy National Park Service, Crater
Lake National Park Museum and Archives Collection.) |
Fifty Years in
Oregon
EXPERIENCES,
OBSERVATIONS, AND COMMENTARIES UPON MEN, MEASURES, AND CUSTOMS
IN PIONEER DAYS AND LATER TIMES
BY T. T. Geer,
formerly Governor of Oregon, and one of her native sons
Chapter LXIII
The death of Thomas H. Tongue in 1902, member
of Congress from the First Oregon District, was a loss to the
public service which was keenly felt at the time and is still
recognized. He was born in England, but, when a small boy, came
to Oregon with his parents and settled in Washington County.
After arriving at the age of manhood, he became a farmer,
devoting his attention largely to the raising of blooded horses.
He was also admitted to 1he bar and for many years before
entering Congress was recognized as one of the leading lawyers
of the State, He succeeded Binger Hermann in Congress in 1897,
remaining there by successive elections without opposition until
his death.
Mr. Tongue was one of the best public speakers
in Oregon, aggressive, ready, forceful and witty. He was elected
to the State Senate in 1888, serving in that body with
distinction for four years. He was always a prominent figure at
gatherings of Republicans and twice was president of the
Republican State Convention.
Mr. Tongue was noted for his illegible
handwriting, and it was a standing joke among his friends. He
gave thanks to the man who first invented a typewriter and often
remarked that his friends were more thankful than he was. I
recall that, one year, he wrote a letter descriptive of
Washington County for the New Year’s edition of the Oregonian,
to which his signature was attached in facsimile, as were those
of the writers of articles descriptive of the other counties. My
paper came to me during the holidays, while two Salem teachers
in the public schools were visiting at the farm. Upon its
receipt I discovered Tongue’s letter, and his signature looked
so much more like anything else one might imagine that I called
the two teachers and asked them if they could decipher it. They,
with my two daughters, looked over my shoulder, as I sat in my
chair, and guessed almost every other name under the sun except
that of Tongue.
The next day I wrote to Tongue the following
letter:
MACLEAY, OREGON, Jan. 2.
HON. TROS. H. TONGUE,
Hillsboro, Or.
My Dear Tongue:
The New Year’s Oregonian, just
received, contains an article descriptive of the resources
of Washington County, which is so very admirable that I
should like to know the name of its author. His name is
attached to it, to be sure, but it is printed in facsimile
and I cannot make it out. In fact, there are two school-ma’ams
visiting at my home this week, and as I sat in my chair they
came and, looking over my shoulder, failed utterly to
decipher the signature.
Knowing that you are well acquainted in
Washington County, it occurred to me to write you and make
an effort to ascertain the author of the very excellent
article, for I should like to compliment him on his splendid
and thorough treatment of his subject.
Yours sincerely, etc.
Within a week I received the following letter,
to appreciate which it is necessary to say that my own
handwriting was little, if any, better than Tongue’s, and that
in order to retain the respect of my friends I purchased one of
the first typewriters that came from the factory:
HILLSBORO, OR., Jan. 10.
Hon. T. T. GEER,
Macleay, Or.
Friend Geer:
I am after information. I received a
letter a day or two ago written in such a wretched hand that
I cannot make out who it is from, and I write to you, for
the reason that the envelope has the postmark “Macleay” on
it and, so far as I recall, you are the only person living
there whom I know, I wish you would make some inquiry about
the matter, for the poor devil may want to know something of
importance that I can tell him. The only thing I am sure
about is that the letter came from Macleay and that its
author was sitting between two school-ma’ams when he wrote
it.
Very truly yours,
Thos. H. TONGUE.
In the month of August, 1902, Mr. Tongue
joined a party of about twenty-five people who visited Crater
Lake, in Klamath County — which, by the way, is one of the
greatest natural wonders on the globe, being a sunken body of
water on the very summit of the Cascade Mountains, six miles
across, the surface of the water two thousand feet below the
surrounding country. Teams and automobiles are driven to the
verge of these bluffs, from which point one of the grandest
scenes afforded in all the handiwork of Nature is presented to
the beholder. These tremendous walls are almost perpendicular
and the water’s edge is accessible in one place only in all
their vast extent.
Official soundings have been made by the
government to ascertain the depth of this body of water, and it
was found that the average is about fifteen hundred feet, though
several measurements showed a depth of two thousand feet. On one
side of this lake is a cone-shaped island composed of burnt
shell lava whose summit is eight hundred feet above the surface
of the water — all of which gives an abundant field for
speculation as to its origin. Undoubtedly, however, there once
stood where this lake now lies a huge mountain, probably similar
to Mt. Hood, which was blown to atoms in some convulsion of
Nature in distant ages, leaving its summit to settle into the
vast chasm thus created. This afterward filled with water, at
least to within two thousand feet of the surface, and, finding
some subterranean outlet, remained at that stage — for Crater
Lake has neither an inlet nor outlet that is visible.
One of the most singular and beautiful
features of Crater Lake is that its water is as blue as the
darkest indigo, looked at from a distance or while riding on its
bosom in a skiff, but if dipped into a cup it is as clear as the
purest mountain stream. This coloring is supposed to be caused
by the atmospheric effect, in conjunction with the reflection of
the sky into such an enormous cavity in the earth’s surface.
Taken as a whole, there is nothing in the world which will rival
any of its remarkable features, and it is destined to become a
most, popular resort for those who are investigating the causes
and effects of Nature’s mysterious ways.
Mr. Tongue joined our party on this outing,
not only for the reason that he had never seen Crater Lake, but
in the hope that his health, which had not been good for a year,
would improve. The trip was made under the auspices of Will G.
Steel, the veteran boomer of Crater Lake. We camped the first
night out from Medford at Eagle Point, a delightful typical
country village in a splendid agricultural section. The people
in the neighborhood came to our camp after dark, and by huge
bonfires several speeches were made, Mr. Tongue being especially
happy in his remarks. But it was frequently remarked by
different members of the party that he was in an enfeebled
physical condition. When we made our camp on the banks of the
picturesque Rogue River and most of us began fishing for the
delicious mountain trout with which that stream abounds, Tongue
spread his blankets down and rested, explaining to me that his
condition was worse, he feared, than most people supposed.
The next day the teams all stopped when we
came to a small stream which flowed across the road. Tongue sat
down for a rest on an old rail fence which had not been repaired
for a generation, it seemed. I suggested to him that Steel get
his Kodak and take his picture, to be printed in the
Oregonian and under it the words: “Congressman Tongue in his
favorite attitude.”
At that moment I was picking up a rail from
the ground with which to make myself a seat, and Tongue quickly
retorted: “All right, I’ve no objection, but let him take one of
you also, with the explanation: ‘Governor Geer still mending his
fences.’“
The day following our arrival at the lake the
entire party descended the precipitous path which leads to the
water’s edge, took a couple of treacherous skiffs that were
there, and rowed across to “Wizard Island.” It was a very
foolhardy thing to do, considering the sort of boats we used,
but we arrived safely and made the very difficult, because
exhausting, ascent of the island, every step sinking a foot into
the loose lava (I mean sinking a foot deep into it). In
descending, one would often slide ten feet at a time after
taking one step, moving a rod square of loose rocks in the
operation.
The climb out of the lake was a most fatiguing
undertaking and we scattered out in the ascent as each one felt
able to proceed. We had all reached camp far ahead of Tongue,
and were discussing the advisability of sending some one after
him when he appeared at the top of the cliff not far away.
Everybody remarked the awful pallor of his countenance and his
lips were of such a deep purple color that general alarm was
felt. He sank down on a nearby bunk, completely exhausted, and
was unable to talk for several minutes. He soon recovered,
however, and seemed once more himself; but when his death was
announced some four months later as having occurred suddenly at
Washington, it was not at all surprising to those who were his
companions during his last vacation.
