It was late afternoon when the sun cast long shadows through the attic’s dusty windowpanes, imbuing the space with an amber glow that danced upon forgotten relics. There, amidst the myriad trunks and boxes of a lifetime’s worth of memories, the three Davidson siblings, Isaac, Elijah and Olivia, toiled, their hearts heavy with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia. They were entrusted with the solemn task of helping their recently widowed mother, Saloma Davidson, pack her life away, preparing her for a new chapter in the autumn of her years.
Isaac, the elder of the two brothers, was a sturdy man his thinning hair hinting at the passage of time. His hands, weathered and strong, gingerly handled each keepsake, each memento of a life well-lived. At his side stood Elijah Jones, Isaac’s younger brother by blood and friend by choice. A few years Isaac’s junior, Elijah’s eyes held the same steely resolve, tempered by the hardships of their shared existence. Along with their parents, grandparents and siblings, their wagon company consisted of 39 individuals, arrived in Oregon on August 31, 1850 – the party arrived at “Foster’s,” a point near Eagle Creek, Clackamas County, of today. Issac was only five at the time they crossed the plains in covered wagons and Elijah was just a baby. Saloma went on to have 13 children, five of whom were born in Illinois.
Marking the frontier, in its essence, was never a precise demarcation. With each mile journeyed, their wagon company inched farther from the embrace of civilization. Yet, even fora five year-old, Isaac, there lingered vivid recollections of the unfettered liberty that came with traversing untamed terrain. He cherished fragments of the “unsolicited” age-old wisdom from his dearly departed grandmother, her timeless resonance echoing in his memory: “Instead of fretting over the uncontrollable, channel your vigor toward shaping a future of your own making,” she was quick to advise all her grandchildren within an earshot.
And then there was Olivia Davidson Whitman, the youngest of the trio treasure-hunters,, a child of destiny born far after the challenges of the Oregon Trail had been conquered. She had not yet graced the world with her presence when her family had left the plains of Illinois in pursuit of a dream, a dream that would shape the Davidson family’s history for generations to come.
Her auburn locks cascaded like a gentle waterfall. Though only 25, her face was marked by the wisdom of pioneer life. Olivia retained a youthful spirit, an eternal twinkle in her eyes that mirrored her mother’s grace and her grandmother’s sharp and often stinging wit.
Saloma, their mother, had enjoyed a long and loving marriage to Elijah Barton Davidson, a partnership that had seen them through the vicissitudes of life on the unforgiving frontier. But that partnership had come to an unfortunate end this past winter when Elijah, her husband of forty-eight years, succumbed to a deadly bout of consumption, leaving a void in her heart as vast as the Oregon Trail they had traversed together in 1850.
“Remember how Pa use to say, “To an intelligent man, life is infinitely more mysterious. But to the stupid they have an answer for every question.” Isaac said.
“And Ma would say, ‘Never fight unless you have to, but if you do, you fight like you’re the third monkey on the ramp to Noah’s Ark, and it’s raining!” Olivia answered.
“Those two made quite a pair!”
As they sifted through the relics of days gone by, each item stirred a memory, a moment etched in the annals of their family’s history. A quilt that Saloma had lovingly stitched by candlelight, a weathered journal filled with recipes and remedies passed down through generations, and a sepia-toned daguerreotype capturing a youthful Saloma, her beauty frozen in time.
But amidst the array of treasures, there lay a trunk, older and more worn than the rest, a silent sentinel of their family’s journey westward. It had withstood the rigors of the Oregon Trail, bearing witness to the trials and triumphs of a daring adventure undertaken when the promise of the unknown beckoned.
Isaac, Elijah, and Olivia, their hands stained with dust and their eyes filled with wonder, opened the creaking lid of the ancient trunk. Inside, nestled among moth-eaten linens and faded garments, lay a hidden gem, a treasure more precious than gold or jewels—a diary, its pages yellowed with age and its ink faded, chronicling the days when Saloma Davidson was a young mother.
The three siblings paused in their work, their breaths held in anticipation, as they carefully lifted the fragile diary from its resting place. It was a relic from a time when the Oregon Trail had been more than a fading memory, when it had been the very thread that had woven the tapestry of their family’s destiny.
Seated in a circle, they turned the diary’s pages with deliberate, cautious hands, each word a bridge to the past, each entry a whispered echo of their mother’s voice. The ink, though faded, revealed a vivid tapestry of emotions, hopes, and dreams woven into the harsh fabric of frontier life. It was a chronicle of endurance, resilience, and unwavering love, a testament to the strength of a woman who had braved the unknown alongside her husband, Elijah.
And there, in that attic bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, the Davidson siblings had embarked on a new journey—a journey through the forgotten pages of their mother’s diary, a journey to rediscover the essence of Saloma Davidson, the pioneer woman who had forged their family’s legacy on the Oregon Trail of 1850.
Isaac said: “I remember how Mother would always answered when we asked about the trip? …she’d say the trail was mostly just a boneyard, but pretty in the spectacular in the moonlight!”
Olivia joked: “Hah! …She probably got that from Grandma!”
“That Grandma was one of kind” said Elijah with a sarcastic, cackle in his voice, “She used to say, people prefer go to heaven for the climate and hell for the company!”
Olivia paused and reflected for a moment, “I’ll tell you Grandma wasn’t one to sit around twiddling her thumbs while society told her what women could or couldn’t do. No siree, Grandma was a spitfire, a woman with a mission, and she was about as subtle as a megaphone in a school library.
She never did buy into these old stereotypes that said a woman could only be good at one thing at a time. Nah, she saw life as a big ol’ buffet. Marriage, motherhood, and personal development, Shoot, she wanted to shout from the rooftops that women weren’t limited by what society said they could or couldn’t do.
She was a force of nature, on a mission to show the world that women could juggle all these roles and still come out on top. She believed women should shake things up, and she did it with a twinkle in her eye and a whole lot of southern sass!”
Isaac: “Well.. she certainly left mark on Mother! … and on you too!”
Everyone nodded in complete agreement. “No doubt!”
As they contoured to read aloud the words of their mother, the attic seemed to come alive with the echoes of laughter around a campfire, the crunch of wagon wheels on the Oregon Trail, and the timeless love that had bound their family together. The diary became a time machine, transporting them to a distant past, reminding them of the indomitable spirit that had brought them to this moment.
As the three siblings delved deeper into the attic’s troves, a palpable sense of history hung heavy in the air. The diary they had unearthed became not merely a relic but a luminous thread connecting past and future, weaving together the tapestry of their family’s saga. It was a portal to a time when their parents had been youthful pioneers, possessed of incredible tales and indomitable spirits. More often than not, the fringes of civilization bore the hallmarks of a fractured boundary, where remote outposts and forts dotted the periphery of the ever-advancing frontier, beset by myriad perils. Paramount among their concerns stood the specters of malady, misfortune, and the unpredictability of the elements. In the annals of 1850, the insidious grip of disease loomed large, as the foremost adversary, claiming the lives of nine in ten pioneers ensnared in its grasp. Even amid such grim realities, as Saloma had chronicled in her early journal entries upon beholding the grandeur of the Great Plains, one discerned an indomitable spirit when she wrote: “It stood as the most magnificent sight I had ever beheld.”
Among the entries was the extraordinary account of Woman Chief, a formidable warrior of the Crow people whose bravery had once rescued Saloma from the clutches of a merciless gang of kidnappers. These marauders, intent on unspeakable acts, had found their demise in the fierce protectress of the female chief, whose name would forever be etched in the annals of their family lore, whose tomahawk split the open the skull of Saloma’s would-be assailant.
“I wonder if that what Mother meant when she wrote, … Law and justice are not always meant to be the same.”
“From what I could gather, Grandma was very grateful and thankful of Woman Chief for saving mother, even though she always like to joke ‘You should never trust people who bury the dead above ground!”
“Hah,” She also said “You don’t call an alligator “big mouth” until after you crosse the river!”
Another tale recounted the remarkable bond between their father, EB, and their uncle Alex when they had plunged into the rapids of the icy embrace of the Laramie River to save two grizzly cubs from a watery demise. It was a testament to the Davidson brothers’ deep reverence for the wild and their willingness to brave perilous waters in the name of compassion.
“Mother said it was a damnedest, fool hardy thing they ever did, and glad she didn’t see it – she might have kill ‘em both, herself!”
“She never forgave Pa of that. Every time that story came up she tell the everyone in the room, ‘God made everything out of nothing, but in his case, sometimes nothingness shows through!”
Then there was the harrowing narrative of survival in the face of a ferocious tornado that descended upon their wagon train while traversing the vast plains of Nebraska. The tempest had raged snatching up loved ones … right up off the ground. With a fury matched only by the pioneers’ unyielding determination to persevere. It was a story of resilience in the face of nature’s wrath, a tale that spoke to the unwavering resolve of those who had ventured westward. They didn’t have much to say about it, thought it best to keep silent on that one.
As Isaac, Elijah and Olivia, pored over these narratives, their imaginations ran wild, vividly resurrecting the past. The diary was a window into a time when the West was still untamed, a land where courage was the currency of survival and adventure was an everyday occurrence. Each page turned was a step deeper into the heart of their family’s legacy, a legacy that now lay entrusted to their care, to be preserved and passed down to future generations.
In that attic, where the past and future converged, the siblings, now with families of their own found not only a diary but a testament to the indomitable spirit of their ancestors, a spirit forged on the anvil of adversity and shaped by the boundless horizons of the American frontier.
A Second Rare Find
As the three siblings inspected their recent discoveries in the dimly lit attic, they did so with the reverence of historians delving into a hidden treasure trove. In this chest, tucked away among layers of cherished family relics, lay an unassuming yet another, well-worn book that defied the years with its enduring presence. Its timeworn edges and the gentle surrender of its aging binding bore witness to a storied past, one that Isaac, driven by insatiable curiosity, brought out to light. The title, “A History of Kentucky Baptists,” penned by J. H. Spencer and published in 1860, was revealed to their intrigued eyes.
“Why on earth would Mother keep this? We aren’t even Baptists!” Olivia huffed, her voice filled with astonishment and curiosity, her brow furrowed in perplexity.
Yet, there was more to this book’s denomination than met the eye. Nestled within its pages, a fragile bookmark beckoned their attention. Isaac, guided by an unquenchable thirst of an archeologist searching for rare antiquities, invited his siblings to join him in uncovering the secrets within. With deliberate care, he unfurled the page, revealing its contents—a mosaic of folded corners and underlined text, etched in faded pencil markings.
With bated breath, Isaac assumed the role of a narrator embarked on the journey of reading aloud the words from an era long past, words that whispered of a tumultuous chapter in Kentucky’s history, a chapter that had inexplicably drawn their mother’s interest.
With his very first words they were mesmerized:
“Slavery was by far the most fruitful of mischief of all the questions that agitated the Baptist churches of Kentucky from 1788 till 1820. Opposition to slavery extended to every part of the territory, and engaged the talents of some of the ablest ministers of the denomination. Cornelius Duese, John Murphy, John H. Owen, Elijah Davidson…”
“That’s Grandpa!” Olivia erupted, her voice filled with recognition and pride.
Isaac continued, “and Carter Tarrant, … all men of piety and influence, openly opposed slavery in Green River Association from the constitution of its first churches. Joshua Carman, Josiah Dodge, and Thomas Whitman…”
“Thomas Whitman!, and that’s my husband’s granddaddy!” Olivia interrupted a second time, pointed out with a sense of connection.
Isaac grimaced, showing his dismay, and resumed reading, the words resonating with historical significance, “…they had disturbed the churches of Salem Association by preaching against slavery until their fraternity was threatened with dissolution. The opposers of slavery in Elkhorn and Bracken Associations were among the ablest men in those bodies. Among them were William Hickman, John Sutton, William Buckley, Donald Holmes, George Smith, George Stokes Smith, and David Barrow.”
The three of them fell into a reverent hush as the weight of these words hung in the air, as if the very walls whispered the echoes of a bygone era. The revelation struck them like a bolt of lightning, forging a tangible connection between the past and their present, a connection they had never imagined.
From Grandma Margaret, they heard the stories of their great-grandpa, Reverend John Murphy, who had been a stalwart advocate in the battle against the tide of slavery within the Baptist community. Grandfather Elijah, was known as a man of unwavering convictions, a man whose principles ran deep, even in the face of moral dilemmas. And the name Carter Tarrant, has been passed down through three generations of Davidson men, down to today, including their very own brother, Carter Tarrant Davidson. The name had taken on newfound significance—a name symbolizing a legacy of principles upheld with fervor.
Stunned and humbled, the three of them remained seated, their hearts heavy with the gravity of their family’s history. Theirs was a history woven with threads of justice, a history of unwavering commitment to what they believed was right.
Isaac, Elijah, and Olivia, much like their nine other siblings, bore a profound familiarity with the annals of their family’s past. Including the founding of one of Oregon’s oldest public institutions of higher education, that began as a private institution in 1856 and was incorporated into the state system as a teacher training institution in 1882.
It was a promised fulfilled to the Davidson women back in Monmouth, Illinois, prior to their agreeing to even considering the trek to the Oregon Territory in 1850.
The three of them could vaguely recall all the old stories of their grandparents, Elijah and Margaret, who had boldly aligned themselves with an Emancipation Society in Kentucky back in 1806.
The Emancipation Society, known as the “Friends to Humanity,” was a community comprised of ministers and congregations who had chosen to sever their ties due to the scourge of slavery. They were a group that saw themselves as witnesses against the institution of slavery, a group that believed it was their moral duty to renounce it unequivocally.
They knew that the Emancipation Society community was comprised of ministers and congregations who had severed their ties due to the scourge of slavery. They christened themselves as the “Friends to Humanity,” yet they were more commonly referred to as the “Emancipators.” This schism began its course in the year 1805, a split precipitated by some departing of their own volition and others, regrettably, cast out from their respective places of worship and associations.
They had firmly embraced a stance diametrically opposed to slavery, condemning every facet of this iniquitous and inscrutable system in both principle and deed. They deemed it a sinful and loathsome contrivance, brimming with its own set of nefarious ills and inexplicable mysteries. It was their conviction that every virtuous soul ought to renounce it and stand as a witness against it.
These individuals were united, not only in their shared abhorrence for slavery but also in their aspirations and actions to bring about, at the earliest possible moment and in the most judicious and beneficial manner for both the enslaved and their masters, the complete and universal emancipation of a race ensnared in perpetual servitude. These hapless beings, bereft of the very notion of freedom and liberty, were ensnared in a hereditary and unending bondage by the laws and customs of the land.
With such exalted and humane sentiments, one might reasonably anticipate that they would garner the approval of every compassionate Christian soul. Yet, in the eyes of so-called “Christian” slaveholders, this was an abomination of the worst kind. To rail against the institution of slavery and its proponents, especially in the presence of the multitude of enslaved souls, was to twist the most fitting arguments into improper purposes. Such endeavors, they contended, were fraught with peril and displayed a reckless disregard for prudence.
The Emancipators found themselves continuously accused of this, and their purported misdirection of their discourse toward the enslaved was deemed a singular evil.
The Emancipators passionately embraced a stance diametrically opposed to slavery, considering it not only a sinful abomination but a loathsome contrivance filled with unfathomable cruelty and injustice. In their eyes, every virtuous soul should stand against it.
However, this principled stance incurred the wrath of slaveholders, who viewed it as an affront to their way of life. To speak out against slavery, especially in the presence of the enslaved, was considered by many as dangerous and reckless.
Under the tutelage of Carter Tarrant, in the year 1806, Elijah Davidson fervently embraced the cause of the Emancipationist. Alongside his father-in-law, Elder John Murphy, in the year 1808, they took a momentous step by severing their ties with their church, for it harbored the taint of slavery. This same church, was founded by Elijah’s father, pioneer preacher, Alexander Davidson in 1798, and the very first in the Green River basin.
Instead, they cast their lot with the Licking-Locust Association, aligning themselves with the Friends of Humanity movement. It was within these ranks that Elijah was ordained to proclaim his convictions from the pulpit.
Within this movement, Elijah found his calling as a minister, ordained to proclaim his convictions from the pulpit. His fervent abolitionist beliefs were rooted, in part, in his adherence to the “New Light Religion,” a belief system that emphasized free will in contrast to the traditional Baptist doctrine of predestination.
These “New Lights” would later unite with figures like Barton Stone and Philip Mulkey, giving birth to the Christian Church or Churches of Christ, an entirely American religious movement grounded in distinctive beliefs.
In a collective effort, Elijah, John Murphy, and Carter Tarrant worked tirelessly to establish the Emancipation Society known as the Friends of Humanity. Together with eleven preachers and nineteen other messengers who chose to sever their affiliations with their respective congregations, they birthed a novel church association—the Licking-Locust Association. Swiftly, this new association flourished, encompassing nine fresh churches and boasting a collective membership of 190 devoted souls in the heart of Kentucky.
The Friends of Humanity, guided by unwavering principles, not only championed the immediate abolition of slavery but also upheld the principle of non-fellowship with any slaveholders within their congregations. Influenced by the fervor of the Second Great Awakening and the optimism of postmillennialism, which believed in human potential for progress, these men viewed themselves as instruments of divine mandate. They were entrusted with the mission of uplifting American society, paving the way for a brighter future.
Their convictions were often faced opposition, with detractors questioning the effectiveness of their cause. They asked, “What can a few individuals achieve in this endeavor, especially when the government has sanctioned slavery? Can anything truly efficacious be accomplished in the pursuit of freedom?”
Despite such doubts and the pervasive grip of slavery and covetousness, these brave individuals pressed on, guided by their unwavering faith in justice. Their journey was marked by principles that went beyond their time, principles that resolutely stood against the tide of oppression.
The Emancipators assembled, taking a significant step by formalizing their fraternity into an organized body, christened as “The Baptized Licking-Locust Association, Friends to Humanity.” This appellation was drawn from that of a church known as Licking-Locust, recognized as a central pillar of the emancipation movement in Kentucky, akin to a mother institution nurturing the cause.
The inaugural gathering of the Emancipators as a cohesive entity occurred in August of 1807, when they convened for a conference aimed at charting the course of their future endeavors. During this pivotal meeting, eleven ministers and nineteen private brethren boldly inscribed their names as champions of emancipatory principles, thus forging a united front for their noble cause. Eleven queries were presented at this Conference, and most of their time appears to have been taken up in discussing and resolving them.
First query was: “Can any person be admitted a member of this meeting, whose practice appears friendly to perpetual slavery?”
Answer: “We think not.”
“Is there any case in which persons holding slaves may be admitted to membership into a church of Christ?” Answer. “No; except in the following:
1st. In the case of a person holding young slaves, and recording a deed of their emancipation at such an age as the church to which they offer may agree to.
2nd. In the case of persons who have purchased in their ignorance, and are willing that the church shall say when the slaves or slave shall be free.
3rd. In the case of women, whose husbands are opposed to emancipation.
4th. In the case of a widow, who has it not in her power to liberate them.
5th In the case of idiots, old age, or any debility of body that prevents such slave from procuring a sufficient support; and some other cases, which we would wish the churches to be at liberty to judge of, agreeably to the principles of humanity.”
“Shall members in union with us be at liberty in any case to purchase slaves?”
Answer. “No, except it be with a view to ransom them from perpetual slavery, in such a way as the church may approve of.”
The last query was, “Have our ideas of slavery occasioned any alteration in our view, of the doctrine of the gospel?”
Answer. “No.”
Their maxims were approved of by many, but, still some would not unite with them, because they still held slaves and with the state laws respecting its propriety. There was such a strong current against the emancipation of slaves, and covetousness, that there seemed but little prospect, that any material change would be effected, in the condition of this numerous race of enslaved and degraded beings.
Thank you, Karen, for your kind words. Charles stayed in Birmingham with his family. I have found no record of…