BY THE SAME AUTHOR OREGON FOLKS OREGON'S YESTERDAYS BY ED LOCKLEY l', F Mbe Itnickerbocker firm; NEW YORK 1928 319. 53 1 c OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Copyright, 1928 by Fred Lockley Made in the United States 9f America 81 196 FOREWORD IN the accompanying volume, Mr. Fred Lockley, "The Journal Man", presents a series of sketches drawn from t.Q the earlier days in the Oregon Country. They express faithfully the courage, the romance and the buoyant optimism that inspired the pioneer to lay the foundation of an empire that is yet young. To this same ioneerin spirit which prevails in the Pacific Northwest this book is dedicated. P. L. JACKSON, Publisher The Oregon Journal -4- October3, 1928. CONTENTS PACE ....._, 1.-OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS • . . 3 II. HUDSON'S BAY DAYS . • • • . . 18 III. WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE • • • 33 IV.-THE LONG, LONG TRAIL • • • . 57 V.-INDIAN GRATITUDE • • • . • . 73 VI. INDIAN MEDICINE MEN • • • • 94 „,--- VII.GOLD - WHEN DUST WAS LEGAL TENDER . . 108 VIII.—To OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 • . . . 135 IX.—A PIONEER FLAPPER . . . . 157 X.-CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW, WAGON TRAIN MASTER 172 XI. THE OLD FIREPLACE . . • • 188 XII . - WHEN THE _ n ALLES WAS AN ARMY POST . . 193 XIII.-VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS . . 211 - WHENDID MEN'S WORK . xiv. BOYS .235 XV.-OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS OF YESTERDAY AND TODAY 283 XVL-EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD . • • • 332 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS OREGON'S YESTERDAYS I OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS WE think of pioneer life as a thing of the past, something the younger generation must learn of from their school books or histories. Here and there, it is true, there are survivors of that historic migration, actors in the stirring drama of half a century ago, from whose lips our children may learn of the mode of life of the pioneer settlers of the Oregon country. We shake our heads regretfully and say : "We shall not see its like again. The day of the pioneer is over for no longer is there any frontier. The last West is gone." Yet, though few are aware of it, there are, scattered throughout the remote districts, scores of settlers whose homes and home-life are unchanged from the era of the pioneer. Here, far from the beaten trail, time has stood still. Here we may step back into an era that we thought existed only in books and see perfectly reproduced the daily life of our ancestors. Here in this era of invention, this day of 3 4 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS electric lights, elevators, telephones, railways, radios and airplanes, we may step back into the day of the tallow dip, the rag carpet and the freight wagon and pack horse. For the sake of convenience in referring to and classifying these survivors of a past age, let us term them our contemporaneous ancestors. On a recent trip into the "interior country" I found myself at the close of a beautiful Fall day a good hundred miles from the nearest railroad and no telling how many miles from the nearest house. On the preceding day I had passed a farm house at about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, but thinking it too early to stop for dinner I had gone on, intending to stop at the next ranch. When I arrived at the next ranch late that afternoon I found their nearest neighbor, the ranch I had passed at eleven o'clock in the morning, was nineteen miles distant. Wondering if I would have a similar experience to find a stopping place for the night I drew rein and looked about me. The last, long, level rays of the sun were lighting up the rim-rock mountains and the citadel-like rocks that crowned the nearby hilltops, rusty reds blending with velvety browns and restful grays. Every swale was vivid with Autumn's brilliant garb. Every stream ran the gauntlet of a crimson-clad army along its banks. Against the sombre Quaker-gray coats of balm and cottonwood the sumach blazed in vivid crimson, like the burning bush which, of old, Moses saw. The leaves of the choke cherry and rock OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS S maple were, by Autumn's wondrous magic, transmuted to lustrous crimson and gleaming gold. But no matter how beautiful the purpling dusk or the ever-deepening blue of the distant mountain tops, my first concern was to hurry on to reach the friendly shelter of some mountain ranch before darkness rendered travel difficult. I touched my horse, he quickened his pace and we swung along the mountain path at a lope. Suddenly, above the rhythmic hoofbeats of my horse, to my ear came the welcome sound of ringing steel on wood. I listened till I had located the sound of the ax strokes and then galloped on. In the clearing below me was a log cabin. Its roof was of shakes. The logs were chinked with mud. The whole end of the house seemed to be taken up by a huge chimney built of unhewn rock. From the smoke-stained chimney the smoke rose in a spiral column which soon lost itself among the limbs of the evergreen trees. Above the door was mounted a noble pair of antlers and the front of the barn was decorated in the same manner. Against the side of the barn were nailed a bearskin and several smaller pelts to dry. A staghound and several greyhounds lay by the open doorway. Back from the house rose in serried ranks the trees of the primeval forest. Mingled with the resinous odor of the pines came the delicious fragrance of coffee and I rode down the slope to the bars of the rail fence. Seeing no one about, I called, "Hello within !" A moment later the doorway 6 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS was filled by the huge frame of an old man. His white hair hung to his shoulders. His beard was almost as white as his snowy locks. He looked like some old patriarch who had stepped out of the Old Testament. Immediately upon seeing me he called out heartily : "Light, stranger, light. Tie youah critter to the fence thah and come right in. Nevah min' puttin' of it up, the boys will be along directly and they all '11 tend to it. ?) "Can I impose on your hospitality by staying all night?" I asked. "Impose on our hospitality," he quoted scornfully and added explosively, "What do you all take us for-heathens or savages? Stay all night ! You-all well know you're welcome to stay as long as you like. We shorely are glad to have you. Come right in. My or woman will have supper for ye before a dead sheep kin shake his tail twice." I followed him into the house. In the cavernous fireplace at the end of the room a cheerful fire was blazing. An iron kettle hung over the blaze, its lid beating a merry tattoo as the water boiled lustily. "Draw up your chair befront the fiah. I'll throw on a few pitchpine knots an' we'll soon have it a-roaring. The mornings and evenings are beginnin' to have a touch of the winter in 'ern and the fiah begins to feel like meetin' an ol' friend. It takes upwards of a hundred cords of wood a year to keep that fireplace a-goin', OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS 7 but we sure couldn't keep house without it. It gets me how these folks that are herded together in the cities can earn money enough to keep their fireplaces goin'. All we have to do is to trim the limbs off of some big tree that is down and hitch a couple of yoke of our oxen to it and snake it in and you kin see we don't have fah to bring it." A white-haired little woman with cheeks as rosy as a schoolgirl's came into the room. "Ma, this is a stranger that has been good enough to put up with us overnight." "We certainly are glad you-all happened to strike our place near nightfall," she said. "I would have been right smart provoked if you had happened to come earlier and gone on to our next neighbors to put up. We are plain people and have plain ways, but if you can put up with our plain fare we will be proud to have you stay with us as long as you care to." She excused herself and began bustling about in the kitchen preparing supper. I took a Portland paper from my pocket and handed it to my host. "This is several days old, but it may have some news you have not seen." He thanked me gravely and folding it up he put it back of his gun that was hung above the fireplace. "I'll give it to my boys. I'm no reader myself. When I was a little shaver in Old Kaintuck I didn't happen to be on hand when they was passin' around book-learnin' and somehow, since I got my growth, I never got around to 8 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS learnin'. It always seemed a sort of triflin' business to pick out the letters and find they said, 'Is this a cat'? Yes, this is a cat.' I could always tell that much by the picture without bothering my head to sort out the letters, an' another thing: when a man tells you a thing you can look him in the eye and tell whether he's lyin' but these books and newspapers can look you right in the eye and tell the blamedest kind of lies, so I don't know as I am much worse off for not bein' able to figure out what they say." I went out to the wash bench by the kitchen door to wash my hands for supper. On the crude home-made bench was a tin wash basin. From a peg driven into a crack in one of the logs hung the gourd that served as a dipper. Above the wash bench was a broken looking-glass flanked on the one side by a towel and on the other by a comb that had seen better days. Not far from the kitchen door was the big brass soap kettle. The turkeys were beginning to fly up into the trees for the night. From the barn came the lowing of the oxen and the hungry squealing of the pigs, good farm sounds that bespeak peace and plenty. As I washed my hands with the home-made soap one of the girls came in from the barn with a brimming pail of milk. Her sunbonnet was hanging on her back and her brown, waving hair crowned a well-shaped head. She gave me a shy glance and then her long lashes dropped demurely over her dark brown eyes. Soon the boys, big, brawny, bashful fellows, came OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS 9 from the woods, where they had been getting out rails to fix up the line fence. Shortly after their arrival we were summoned to supper. The table, like most of the furniture, was of home manufacture and was covered with oilcloth. Most of the dishes were of tin, but I, being the guest, was honored with a plate and a cup of stone chinaware. The knives and forks were substantial affairs of steel. The supper—well, all I can say is that if the supper was a fair sample of what the pioneers had to eat, then I want to be a pioneer. We had fried chicken with milk gravy, cold roast venison with huckleberry jelly, baked Hubbard squash and mashed potatoes, biscuits, rice cooked in the Southern style, coffee with thick cream, wild honey and huckleberry pie. "The boys were out hunting day before yesterday," said my host. "They got a big buck on Wolf Creek. He dressed nearly two hundred pounds and had a layer of fat on him an inch thick." When supper was over we sat before the vast fireplace with its blazing backlog and crackling, snapping pine knots. As we looked at the leaping flames we talked of the early days. "In 1853," said the old man, "I took up a donation land claim in Southern Oregon, but the settlers began pouring in till I didn't have elbow room, so I pulled up my stakes and came over the mountains. In those days Morrow, Grant, Gilliam, Sherman, Wheeler and some 10 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS more of the counties on this side of the Cascades hadn't been made and The Dalles was county seat for a strip of country that stretched pretty nigh to the California line. I left the valley because it was gettin' crowded but it's beginnin' to get that way here too. I certainly was disgusted when a neighbor settled within seven mile of me a few years ago, and now they tell me a fellow has taken up a homestead on the creek only four mile from my place. I'd pull up and go, but I don't know where to go to get elbow room any more. I'm seventy-five years old and you know it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks. I can't get along without plenty of room. Oh, yes, I shorely am hale and hearty. Fact is, I never had a doctor in my life. Maybe that's the reason I'm so well. "I come mighty near havin' one once, though," he said with a reminiscent chuckle. "That was before we pulled across the mountains. My claim was on Looking Glass Creek not very far from where Aaron Rose put up a log cabin to accommodate the travel. His wife Sarah was a famous cook and the miners made it a point to put up there whenever they could. The town of Roseburg is built on Aaron Rose's old claim. Well, the time I'm tellin' you about I had a misery in my chest so's I could hardly breathe. My wife heard there was a doctor in the neighborhood and so nothing would do but she must send for him to come look at my tongue and feel my pulse and charge me an ounce of dust for doin' it. I was sittin' by the fire gaspin' for breath and OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS ii feelin' pretty puny. Ma thought it would look more respectful to the doctor if I took my clothes off and went to bed. So to humor her I did it. A couple of hours later I heard the hounds runnin' a deer. I looked out of the window and I saw it was a fine buck. It was run-nin' across my pasture. I figured maybe I could slip on my overalls and moccasins, slip out of the window and kill it before the doctor come or my wife missed me. I watched my chance and got my gun from the sittin' room while my wife was out of doors and I got away without her seein' me. Well, you know yourself how it is when you are out deer-huntin', how the time kind of slips by without you noticin' it, so by the time I caught up with the deer and killed it and got it hung up, it was a good bit later than I expected. I sneaked back to the house and crawled back through the window but my wife heard me. My, but she was mad. Talk about ketchin' it. I shorely got all that was comin' to me. She made me feel like a sheep-killin' dog caught in the act. The doctor had been there and when she took him into the best bedroom where she thought I was, the bed was empty. He had come a dozen miles to see me and he was plenty mad too. He rared around considerable. 'You tell your husband if huntin' deer is more important than keepin' appointments with the doctor, he can die without my help. Next time he calls me he will wish he hadn't brought me on this fool's errand.' Well, sir, after that I was afraid to have him; so you see 12 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS I never happened to have a doctor though I had to pay his bill for comin' to find me out deer-huntin'. "What's that? Have I ever been in Portland? I should say I had. Lots o' times. I used to haul freight from Portland to Eugene in the '5os. I used to get two cents a pound for freight and it was most all profit, for the grass was knee high all down the valley clear to Eugene and all I had to do was to turn my oxen out to graze after the day's trip. A fellow that used to freight with me in those days and who has been in Portland off and on considerable ever since, told me they built a hotel called the Occidental on our old camping ground. About the only expense we had when we were freighting in those days was paying to get across the river on the mule ferry at Portland. Lemme see, the last time I was in Portland was in the summer of '73. Bein' used to sleepin' out in the open I could hardly breathe in the room the hotel keeper gave me. Along about the middle of the night I heard a big racket and lookin' out I saw a crowd of fellers surgin' by. I dressed, quick as I could, and hurried down to see where they was stampedin' to. When I got on the street I found there was a big fire so I followed the crowd. As I stood watchin', a fellow with a rubber coat and a helmet came along and said to me, 'Here you big huskie, grab ahold of that bar and help pump that fire engine.' It had a rail along each side of it and a crowd of fellows had hold of each side OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS 13 and we shorely bent our backs bowin' and scrapin' to each other from the opposite sides of the engine as polite as a Frenchman at a dance. Purty soon they changed shifts and as I was standin' there gettin' my breath and wipin' the sweat off my face a fellow rushed up and handed me an ax an' said, 'Here you overgrown giant, come on, you'll do for the chopping gang. Look lively now.' I told him very polite and respectful that I wasn't lookin' for a job, that I was jes' restin' for a few minutes. 'None of yer back talk,' he says. `Ye better not get too gay or I'll have ye run in.' Well, sir, livin' out in the mountains this way, I wasn't used to bein' talked to like that and before I knew it I had hauled off and hit him in the mouth and he went rollin' head over heels in one direction and I cut and run in the other. I always meant to look that fellow up if I ever went back to Portland and apologize for bein' so hasty, but the chances are, city people being so restless, he mightn't be there now ; for that was a good many years ago, ye see." As the flames danced and lit up the smoke-stained rafters with their long strings of dried apples, shoulders of bacon and chunks of jerked venison, bunches of onions and ears of popcorn braided into bunches and hanging head downward, we talked of the old times, of Indian wars, of mining in the early days, of the Devil's Backbone and Laurel Hill, where the wagons had to be let 14 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS down with ropes, of Ash Hollow on the Platte and scores of other places familiar to every pioneer. I spoke of the hardships of pioneer life. "Hardships nothin.' Why the pioneer is the most independent man on top of God's green earth. Look at the city fellows. Always afraid of losin' their jobs. Always thinkin' they're gettin' the worst of it. Always hollerin' about favoritism. Why they're regular cogs in the dollar-makin' machine. None of that for me. Look at the pioneer. He ain't beholden to any man for his livin'. All he needs is a gun and a powder horn and he is fixed. Game, fish, land, wood, range, all to be had for the taking. Take us here. We raise cattle and sell them to the buyers that come in from Butter Creek for feeders. That gives us money enough to buy what supplies we need. Once in a while we make a trip to Prineville or to Burns to buy sugar, tobacco, coffee and calico and such like. But most of what we use is raised right here. We do our own work, carpenterin', black-smithin' and such. Whenever the creek is high it washes down coal from a vein up the creek a ways. Generally a wagon load or so lodges on the gravel bar back of the barn, so that gives us plenty of coal for the forge. We dress and tan our own buckskin and Ma makes fine gloves of it. She knits all of our socks and makes all the soap we use. We raise all the vegetables we need. We can get trout or grouse or deer meat whenever we want, We OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS 15 don't keep bees but we watch out for bee trees and get all the honey we need. We don't have any doctors or drug stores just around the corner, but we have fine health and don't need them. No, we don't have much excitement. Once in a while we have a taste of range wars. Once in a while a horsethief creates a little excitement. The sheriff went down to Summit Prairie last week to round up a horsethief. "Talkin' about horsethieves reminds me of a little happening that occurred in early days. Along about the time the Civil War broke loose there was a lot of horsestealing going on. I remember how we come to makin' a comical mistake once. We formed a sort of vigilance committee to kill a few horsethieves to discourage the industry. Well, we got on the track of a fellow that had been sellin' a heap of horses that had 'picked' brands or the frying-pan brand so we started to round him up. We followed him clear to the Umatilla River. We never had seen him but we had a good description of him. He was a short, heavy-set fellow with flaming red hair. Well, we came across him in a rye-glass flat, twelve or fifteen miles north of the Umatilla River, near a creek called the Wild Horse. He was on foot, so our man got the drop on him and made him put up his hands and marched him to the place where we had agreed to meet. He claimed he wasn't the man we were after, but his hair looked guilty. It was certainly the reddest hair i6 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS I ever saw. Pretty soon, when we had all come up, we had a short trial. "Our leader summed up the evidence and said, 'We have all been losing our horses. We know a heavy-set man with red hair has been selling horses with altered brands. You can see this man's build, and what better evidence do we need than that hair. There's a bunch of cottonwoods on Wild Horse Creek not far from here. Any one else any further remarks?' "Swish went a rope and settled around his neck. The fellow kept cool and said : 'In most countries it ain't a hangable offense to have red hair and that seems your main objection to me. Of course if I had of suspected you gentlemen didn't prefer that color I would have dyed it black, but not knowing it I can't see where I'm to blame. Before you proceed with these interesting ceremonies would it be asking too much of you to ride past Lieuallen's house on your way to the cottonwoods? It happens he is my brother and I just arrived last night from the mines in Boise Basin and up Auburn way. I turned my horses out last night and am out after them this morning.' "We decided it wouldn't be irregular to go out of our way a little to accommodate him. It happened that he was Lieuallen's brother all right, so we had to call the hangin' off. We never did catch the right red-headed man. He worked north into Canada and got away." The old-fashioned Seth Thomas clock wheezed and OUR CONTEMPORANEOUS ANCESTORS 17 struck nine. "Huh ! Nine o'clock. That's past our regular bed time. I reckon you'll want to be turning in. I'll see you to your bunk." He lit a tallow dip and preceded me up a steep flight of steps to the attic. "I guess you can make out to sleep here all right. I'll call you in the mornin'," and he bade me good-night and went below. The old-fashioned bedstead, the patchwork quilts, the feather bed, the rag carpet and the flaring, guttering tallow-dip carried me back to the pioneer days. The last sound I heard as I sank to sleep was the long-drawn quavering note of a coyote at the edge of the clearing. II HUDSON'S BAY DAYS ONE gets a better picture of Oregon's early days from human documents than from the printed page. Some years ago I interviewed Mrs. Mary Aplin, an early day resident at Vancouver and Oregon City. ' Though she was born in 1838, she still retained vivid memories of her girlhood days. "I was born at Fort Vancouver in 1838," she said. "My father, Peter Wagner, quit working for the Hudson's Bay Company when I was seven years old. My father's gather was German, but his mother was a French Canadian. Father was born near Montreal. When father was a young man, trapping and trading with the Indians were important industries. In 1813 the Northwest Company at Montreal bought out the Pacific Fur Company, owned by John Jacob Astor, whose headquarters were at Astoria. In 1821 the Hudson's Bay Company absorbed the Northwest Company. Three years later Dr. John McLoughlin came to the Oregon Country as chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company. He and Governor Simpson moved the trading post from the mouth of the Columbia to Fort Vancouver. In 1834 18 HUDSON'S BAY DAYS 19 my father came with James Douglas to Fort Vancouver. Mr. Douglas later became chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company and in 1843 he founded the city of Victoria on Vancouver Island. When my father came here in 1834, it took half a year to make the trip from Montreal. They traveled most of the distance in canoes or pirogues, paddling up the rivers and streams, making portages around the rapids and falls, paddling across the lakes and finally coming to the country where the streams flowed westward. They had to stop often to put pitch on their canoes when they leaked, or to patch them when they hit sharp rocks. They had to cross many swamps, carrying their boats and packs on their shoulders. It is over two thousand miles from Lachine to the Red River country, and that was but midway of their trip, so you- see it was a long trip to come to the Oregon country. My father, as was the custom of the Hudson's Bay Company, bound himself to give one year of his services free to pay for his long trip out here. At the end of this year, he was free to quit the company's service, if he cared to do so. Otherwise, he bound himself to stay for five years. When an employee quit the service of the Hudson's Bay Company he was given a boar and a sow, a sack of potatoes and one of wheat, and a sack of oats, to make a start. My father put in his first year at Fort Vancouver, milking cows and making butter for the officers' table. After the first year, father was sent out with the trappers to get beaver skins. While 20 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS on one of these trips, my father met the Sauk Indians, and from that tribe he took his wife, who was my mother. I was their third child and was born at Fort Vancouver in 1838. Joseph Petrain came to Fort Vancouver in the middle of November, 1838, to be baker for the Hudson's Bay Company. He boarded at our house and he told me that I was born four weeks to a day after he came there, so that I was born in the middle of December, 1838. My sister Marian was then about four years old. Later she married Mr. Petrain. Just before I was born the first Catholic priests to come to Oregon arrived at Fort Vancouver. They were Father Francois Norbert Blanchet and Father Modeste Demers. On November 25, 1838, the day after they arrived, they celebrated High Mass there. The Oregon country was not yet divided. It reached from Alaska on the north, to the Mexican possessions of California. The Hudson's Bay Company thought that when it was divided Great Britain would own all north of the Columbia River, so they told the priests to settle north of the Columbia. But the former employees of the Hudson's Bay Company, who had settled on French Prairie, south of the Columbia, asked the priests to come to French Prairie and hold services. Joseph Gervais and Etienne Lucier were two of the leading settlers on French Prairie. Mr. Gervais had come to Oregon with the Astor Fur Company, and Mr. Lucier with the Hunt party. They built a log church near Champoeg in 1836, though they had no priest. On the HUDSON'S BAY DAYS 21 first Sunday in January, 1839, Father Blanchet dedicated this church to St. Paul and celebrated mass there. That is now the town of St. Paul and the church there is the oldest in Oregon. When I was seven years old, we moved to what was then called Tuality Plains, not far from where the town of Forest Grove was later built. I remember so distinctly the first trip we made from our home on Tuality Plains, to visit our friends in Vancouver. There were no roads then and but few trails. We followed game trails, or the lay of the country. We climbed the hill north of Tuality Plains. This hill is now called Council Crest and is one of the show sights of Portland. There was a winding trail down to the river. We were on horseback and father said, 'Hold your legs tight to your horse, Marie, the trail is narrow —you may get your knees hurt.' I was a little thing, not yet eight years old and I was frightened at the steepness of the trail. It was very narrow and wound through heavy timber. This was in 1845. I remember there were two log houses where Portland now is. It was not called Portland then. We and others called it Middletown, because it was midway between Oregon City and Vancouver. There was a store near the bank of the Willamette. On the river bank at what is now the foot of Morrison and Washington streets were Indian tepees. We used to make many trips from our claim to visit our friends in Vancouver. Always father would say in jargon, 'How much will you charge to take 22 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS us to Fort Vancouver?' Always the Indians would say, 'A shirt.' Father would hand the Indian a cotton shirt and he would go back of a log, put on the new shirt and strut out so proudly. If they had a shirt they would not wear their blanket. A shirt, a gee string and moccasins were considered the height of fashion. The Indians looked funny with their cotton shirt and bare legs and sometimes the white men laughed at them but the white men looked just as funny to the Indians, but the Indians were too polite to laugh. My mother was a British Columbia Indian. She told me that when her people first saw white men they thought they were half animals because all of them had fur on their faces. They had never seen people with beards. The squaws would tell their little folks to be good or the strange new animals would get them. Our nearest neighbors on Tuality Plains were Joe Meek, with his Nez Perce wife and family—his son Stephen A. Douglas Meek still lives on the old place ; Squire Ebberts, with his Indian wife and family ; Charlie McKay, whose father was Scotch and whose mother was Chinook; J. S. Griffin, a strange, severe man, a missionary, who thought it was very wicked to have any pleasure ; and a man named Burris, who had an Indian wife and three children. He also was very religious. He became wrong in his head and killed his wife and all three of his children. He said he had killed them while they were still good, so they would be sure to go to heaven. It was when Dr. McLoughlin resigned HUDSON'S BAY DAYS 23 from the Hudson's Bay Company in 1845 and went to Willamette Falls to live, that my father quit the service of the company. In 1843 and 1844 many new people began coming across the plains to the Willamette Valley. In the old time my father and the other Hudson's Bay men had known everybody in the country, but now they saw strangers everywhere. In the summer of 1844 Father DeSmet left Fort Vancouver to get more priests. He went to the old country and in the summer of 1844 brought four fathers and six sisters of Notre Dame. They came up from Fort Vancouver by canoe. They came to St. Paul in August, 1844. The year before Father Blanchet had started St. Joseph's college for boys at St. Paul. It was named for Joseph Larocque, an old time fur trader who had been in the Northwest Company. He gave Father Blanchet five thousand francs to start the school. Father Langlois had charge of it. That same year the good Dr. McLoughlin gave Father Blanchet a block of ground in Oregon City on which to build a church. Father Demers was the first pastor at Oregon City. Most of the settlers on Tuality Plains were Scotch Presbyterians. There were some Congregationalists and Methodists there—not many Catholics. The Catholics had settled on French Prairie. Father Blanchet used to stop overnight at our house on his way to Vancouver. He would give us our Easter Duty, or give us instructions in church doctrines. One evening Father Blanchet said 24 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS to my father, `Mr. Wagner, my niece who is staying with me is lonesome. Will you give me one of your little girls?' Father said, 'You can have whichever one you want if she wants to go, but you must ask them yourself.' Rose, my oldest sister, hung her head and would not look at Father Blanchet. Father Blanchet looked at me and I became confused. I said, 'Yes, I will go with you.' Father said, 'Marie is only eight. She has never been away from home. I think she will be homesick and you will have to bring her back.' I packed all of my clothes and everything I owned in a large handkerchief and got on the horse, back of my father. My father gave Father Blanchet a horse. It would be hard for me to tell you how I felt when father left us when we came to the river. I watched him till he got smaller and smaller, as we went away from him. Soon he was so small I could no longer see him. I felt very small and alone. In those days what we now call Oregon City was called Cuhute, though the white people called it Wallamet Falls. At Oregon City were some other girls like myself who had a white father and an Indian mother. Dr. Forbes Barclay had two daughters. They said to me, 'Are you going to stay with Father Blanchet?' I nodded my head. They looked sorry for me and said, 'We tried it—you cannot be able to stand it. His niece, Miss Lucier, always is cross if you do not keep terribly clean. Forever she has you clean the house. If you do not mind instantly HUDSON'S BAY DAYS 25 when she speaks, she scolds. She is hard to please. When she is pleased she never lets you know, but when she is not pleased, she is severe.' I was badly scared about that. I wished I had not come. I did not know what to do. I thought to myself, I will be very obedient and dutiful—it might be that she would like me and not be too cross. How long ago that seems. I myself, since then, have had many children. One of my daughters has had twelve children and another has had six. No, none of us has ever had a doctor. When you send for a doctor he makes you go to bed. You begin to believe you are very sick and you usually die. Sometimes the doctors cut you up. In the old days Dr. McLoughlin or Dr. Barclay would give quinine to those who were sick, but for the most part, we died in peace, without the doctors. I went to the Bishop's house. His niece talked very rough, but I found that it was only her voice that was rough for her heart was soft. Much of the time she, looked like a storm cloud. She rumbled and grumbled' like rolling thunder, but never was there quick anger like a bolt of lightning. Always I answered her softly and minded quickly, so we had but little trouble. Father Blanchet of an evening, would get out his violin and say, 'Come, Marie, I want you to sing for me.' Each evening all of that first winter, he would get out his violin after supper and teach me to sing the Latin songs of the church. He said, 'Marie, you have a quick ear and true' ; and his praise made me so pleased that I learned many 26 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Latin hymns. I can still sing them. I sang in the choir. When I would see the children point me out and hear them say to new children, 'The one with the voice, that is Marie; she is Father Blanchet's daughter ' —then I would be very proud. "When the Sisters of Notre Dame came they had to portage around the falls. They left their boat at Cham-poeg and walked to St. Paul. In those days we had no wagons, and the sisters were afraid to ride horseback. Bishop Blanchet said to my father, 'Wagner, you must put Rose in school. You must pay for Rose but for Marie, I will pay, for she is my daughter now.' What the priests said in those days, the people always did, so my sister Rose came to school and I also. Sister Cornelia was the Sister Superior. Sister Ignacius, Sister Aloysis, Sister Catherine and Sister Albine taught us to sew and also taught us our music and studies. Sister Norbertine was the cook sister. There were thirty little girls going to school there. Spelling, reading, numbers, writing, we could learn, but it wa's 4rd for us to learn to play. We played very solemnly and earnestly, and they would tell us, 'You must laugh when you play,' but we did not know when to laugh. We had to run around each other and drop a handkerchief and do many strange things. Always before when we desired pleasure, we played with little bits of colored flint or with the babies. We liked to play we ware mothers. I never saw a doll till many years after I was married. It made HUDSON'S BAY DAYS 27 me greatly amused to think of girls playing with dolls. I always had real babies for my dolls when I was little. Our teachers taught us to make aprons, knit stockings, to patch and spin and weave, and we also took turns helping Sister Norbertine to fix the vegetables and to do the cooking. Because I sang well, they had me spend much time learning to sing in Latin, in French and in jargon. They thought that because my father was German, I had a taste for music. I learned hundreds of hymns by heart. Though I am nearly eighty, I will show you." From a nearby shelf, Mrs. Aplin took down an old leather backed book with yellowed and time-stained pages. It was printed in France and was dated 1837. "Here is my old book of church hymns," she said. "I will sing you one of these old time hymns, first in Latin, then in French and then in the Chinook jargon." As her voice, still strong and musical, intoned the Latin words, I could shut my eyes and see as of old the reverent group of French and Indian worshippers, most of whom have mingled their dust with that of Mother Earth, half a century or more ago. "In 1852 when I was fourteen years old, the bishop told my father that he must move from Tualatin Plains as it was a Protestant neighborhood and he must be where his family could have the advantage of religious instruction. The Bishop told us to move to St. Paul, so father swam his stock across the river and the whole family went on horseback to St. Paul. I had been at the Sisters' school for five years and I had been 28 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS home with my people but a few months. I was, of course, glad to go back to St. Paul. I went at once to visit the sisters who had been my teachers. As I rode up to the schoolhouse, a young man stopped his work and looked at me. I saw everything he did, though of course he didn't know it. His name was George Aplin. He was an Englishman and had been raised an Episcopalian but he had become a Catholic. After I had left, the Sister Superior called George Aplin in and said, 'Peter Wag-ner's family has just moved to St. Paul. I want you to marry a good Catholic girl. Rose and Marie were both raised in this convent. They are both good girls. Either one will make you a good wife. It was Marie who just left.' A day or two later George Aplin came to our home. Next day father said to me, 'Marie, the young man was here last night desires to marry you. What do you think about it?' I had been taught always to be obedient, so I said, 'Whatever you think is best, I will do.' Father said, 'Then it is all settled. He will take the donation land claim next to ours.' In those days, it was the custom for a young man to speak to the father to ask permission to pay his addresses to the daughter. Next evening Mr. Aplin came again. He said, 'Marie, will you marry me?' I said, 'I guess it will be all right.' So next Sunday our banns were called in the church. In those days a young man picked out a claim, then a girl, then they were married and settled on the claim. The Sister Superior wrote to my foster father, Bishop Blanchet, HUDSON'S BAY DAYS 29 to secure his approval. Bishop Blanchet came and talked to Mr. Aplin and then told me that he would give his consent for me to marry him. Bishop Blan-chet said, 'Marie, because you have been a good daughter and were obedient and dutiful, I will give you the finest ceremony of the Catholic church.' I was married by Bishop Blanchet under the veil of the Holy Sacrament. Choir boys held the veil up. Priests cannot perform this ceremony. It can only be performed by a bishop, so you see high honor was paid to me. I have known all of the Catholic priests in this part of the country for the past seventy years. Father Demers, afterwards Vicar General ; Father Devose, Father Bolduc of St. Paul, Father Vercruisse of St. Louis, Father A. M. Blanchet, brother of Bishop Francois Blanchet ; Father Brouillet—all of those early priests and many who came later. In 1855 the Catholic work came to a standstill, so Bishop Blanchet went to Chile and Peru to raise money for the Oregon Mission. He was there two years, securing funds to pay the mortgages on the Catholic buildings. On Washington's Birthday in 1852, the first Catholic church at Portland was dedicated at Fifth and Couch streets. Fifth street was so far out of town that in 1854 the building was moved to Third and Stark Streets. When I think back to the old days, it makes me sad. Dr. McLoughlin, Dr. Tolmie, Peter Skene Ogden, James Douglas, Donald Manson, Dr. Forbes Barclay, Tom McKay, Pierre Pambrun, Joe Meek, Dr. 30 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Newell—those and scores of others of the old Hudson's Bay men and the old trappers—are gone. Donald Manson was the foreman who had charge of the Hudson's Bay servants. My father worked under him at first. Mr. Manson was not always easy to work for. One of the French Canadian servants was light hearted and very gay and was more fond of pleasure than work. Mr. Manson could not stand those who did not love work, so he beat him over the head with his heavy cane and told him to go away and stay away, as he was a bad example to the others. This French Canadian servant felt very sad. The Indians had seen Mr. Manson beating the servant over the head, so they thought it would please the Hudson's Bay men if they killed the servant, so they killed him. Dr. McLoughlin was away on a long trip. James Douglas when he heard that the Indians had killed the Hudson's Bay servant, took the chief of the tribe and put him in jail. The chief said, 'One of your own people attacked this man and cut and bruised his head badly. We thought you did not like him and would be glad to have us kill him.' Mr. Douglas said, `If you will bring me the head of this servant, and I find that he had been cut and beaten up, I will let you go.' The chief sent one of his Indians, who brought the French Canadian's head to Douglas. Mr. Douglas saw the chief had told the truth, so he let him go. Mr. Douglas was a very fine-looking man. He was tall, strong and dark. He was so dark that many thought he had Indian blood, HUDSON'S BAY DAYS 31 but he didn't. His father was a Scotchman. His mother was a Creole. He was born in the Island of Jamaica. Isaac, Peter Skene Ogden's half-breed son, married Donald Manson's half-breed daughter. Isaac was too fond of liquor, so he was killed at Champoeg. Dr. McLoughlin would not let the Indians or half-breeds have liquor, but when the settlers came, then liquor was easy to be had and the Indians soon got into lots of trouble. After the coming of Jason Lee and the Methodist missionaries, and the coming of the priests, the Indians began singing their old songs to hymn tunes. In the old days they had their own music, which was very different. My mother taught me the old Indian songs and to sing them in the Indian way. I learned many other Indian songs from the Indians at Fort Vancouver. If you like, I will sing you an Indian love song after the old time manner of the Indians." She sang a song full of wild and weird monotones, in a plaintive minor key. "Now I will tell you in English what this Indian song means. The girl sings to her lover, 'Where are you going on horseback, my young chief?' Then her lover sings to her, CI am going to Spain'----the Indians used to call California Spain in those days—`for longhorn cattle. I'll be gone one moon.' Then she sings, 'Hurry back, my lover, good bye till I see you again.' When I was a young girl the Indian girls were always making up new love songs. Bishop Blanchet used to have me teach the Indians the hymns of our church in jargon. They 32 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS would sit on the grass and I would sing a verse. Soon they would join in. By the time I had sung it a few times, they would all know it by heart. I sang in the choir till I had a daughter old enough to take my place. In our congregation we had Kanakas from the Sandwich Islands, Iroquois Indians, French Canadians, with their Indian wives and sometimes our white haired, well-loved Dr. McLoughlin." III WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE HERE and there, throughout the Oregon country, you can still find men and women who can give you the story of the beginnings of Oregon's history from first hand. Recently I interviewed Miss Lelia McKay, the daughter of Dr. William C. McKay who was born at Astoria on March 18, 1824. His father, Thomas McKay, was born at Fort William, Canada, in 1797 and was the son of Alexander McKay, who was born in Scotland. The maiden name of Miss McKay's mother was Margaret Campbell. She was born at Fort Donvegan on January 13, 1834, and was the fifth daughter of Colin Campbell, chief factor of the Northwestern Fur Company. The McKay family have had much to do with the history of the Oregon country. In telling me of her people, Miss McKay said, "My grandfather, Thomas McKay, came with his father, Alexander McKay, from Mackinaw in the summer of 18 lo, to establish a post at the mouth of the Columbia River, which was to serve as a depot for furs. These furs were to be shipped from Astoria to China, where they were to be exchanged for tea, silk 33 34 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS and sandalwood, to be sold in Boston and New York City. My grandfather's father, Alexander McKay, was a partner of John Jacob Astor, who organized the Pacific Fur Company in 181o. Trading goods, to be exchanged for furs, were sent around the Horn aboard the Tonquin, which was in charge of Captain Jonathan Thorne. Captain Thorne could not brook opposition. He was obstinate, arbitrary, intolerant, and as a consequence, there was much friction aboard the vessel between the captain and the officials of the fur company. The Ton-quin left New York City in September, 1810, and arrived off the mouth of the Columbia in March, 1811. The bar was rough but in spite of this Captain Thorne ordered that one of the ship's yawls be manned and sent out to sound the bar and discover a channel. The others on board urged Captain Thorne not to imperil the lives of the sailors as the weather would undoubtedly moderate by the following day, which, as a matter of fact it did. In spite of all protests, Captain Thorne sent these four men in the yawl, to their death. When the yawl was overturned and the men drowned, Captain Thorne gave orders that the other yawl be launched and sent six sailors in it. This yawl also overturned in the heavy seas on the bar, four of the sailors being drowned. Next day the Tonquin sailed in over the bar. In June the Tonquin crossed out over the bar to make a trip up the coast to trade with the Indians for sea otter skins. They anchored in a small harbor on Vancouver's Island. My WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 35 great grandfather, Alexander McKay, who understood the Indian character from long association with them, urged Captain Thorne to be diplomatic in his dealings with the Indians. Indians are very sensitive. In trading with them you can't rush them nor can you insult them. Captain Thorne, however, declared the Indians must do business with him in his way or not at all. My great grandfather went ashore to visit the Indians and to get them to bring their furs out to the ship. Chief Nooka-mis with a number of his tribesmen went aboard the Tonquin with their furs. Captain Thorne prided himself on being a shrewd trader. His offers in trade goods for the sea otter skins were so low that the Indians refused to trade. Captain Thorne became furious. He seized a sea otter skin that Chief Nookamis was offering him, rubbed it in the chief's face and ordered him off the boat. Because they did not go as fast as he wanted them to, he kicked them and having served an apprenticeship as an old-time bucko mate, he decided to teach them an effective lesson of the superiority of the white man, and knocked some of them down with his fists. On his return to the Tonquin, my great grandfather learned from the Indian interpreter what had happened during his absence. He knew enough about Indian character to know that unless they set sail at once, the Indians would not rest until they had avenged the insult to their chief. Captain Thorne refused to listen to my great grandfather's advice and said that he would settle the Indians 36 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS in his own way and teach them a lesson that they would not forget, with his cannon and small arms. Once more my great grandfather went to Captain Thorne and demanded that for the protection of the lives of those on board, as well as on account of the value of the cargo, they should hoist anchor, set sail and depart at once for some other point. Captain Thorne became furious and refused to move the Tonquin a foot. My grandfather, Tom McKay, learned these details from the Indian interpreter who escaped and returned to Astoria. Next morning at daybreak a canoe with 20 armed Indians in charge of Chief Shewish came out to the Tonquin with furs to trade. On my great grandfather's advice, John Jacob Astor had issued orders to Captain Thorne to allow only a limited number of Indians on board at one time. Captain Thorne, however, declared that he was master of the ship and he would let as many come aboard as he wanted to. Canoe after canoe came alongside and the Indians clambered aboard. Captain Thorne was below. The officer on watch did not want to arouse Captain Thorne's anger by disturbing him and as Captain Thorne had issued no orders as to the number of Indians that should be allowed on board, the watchman allowed as many to come on board as cared to. The officer on watch did not like the looks of the Indians. He called my great grandfather to come and talk with the Indians. My great grandfather saw at once that the Indians meant trouble. He advised Captain Thorne to clear the deck of WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 37 the Indians and to set sail at once. The chief told Captain Thorne that he was ready to trade with him on his own terms, so Captain Thorne and the clerks soon were engaged in a brisk trade. The only articles wanted by the Indians were the long keen-bladed knives of which the Tonquin had a large store. The Indians began gathering in knots on the deck and talking in low voices. Captain Thorne became alarmed. He ordered the anchor hoisted and sail set. Approaching the chief, he ordered him in a loud and angry voice to leave the deck and take his Indians with him. Instantly the Indians attacked the white men. They felled my great grandfather with a war club and threw him overboard so the squaws, who were in their canoes could kill him with their clubs and knives. They stabbed Mr. Lewis, who fell to the deck. The Indians started for Captain Thorne. Chief Shewish leaped toward Captain Thorne but Captain Thorne, who had drawn his heavy clasp knife, with one blow ripped Chief Shewish open, killing him instantly. In a moment the captain was the center of a struggling mass of Indians, several of whom he killed, and shaking them off he made his way to the wheel. Here an Indian felled him with a war club and the others hacked him till he was unconscious and then threw him overboard for the squaws to finish. The crew was soon overpowered and killed. Seven of the sailors *ere aloft, setting the sails. Stephen Weeks the armorer and two of the other sailors were killed as they reached the deck. The other four dashed 38 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS into the captain's cabin and opened fire on the Indians, who jumped overboard and took to their canoes. These four sailors then came out on deck and fired the cannon at the canoes, sinking several and killing a number of Indians. The four sailors urged Mr. Lewis, who was desperately wounded, to escape with them, but he refused. Early next morning the Indians came back to the Tonquin in large numbers. They saw Mr. Lewis, the wounded man, leaning against the rail. He motioned for the Indians to come aboard. The Indian interpreter who had come from Astoria had been spared by the Indians as he was a member of their own race. He came aboard with the other Indians. As the first Indians clambered aboard, Mr. Lewis disappeared. While some of the Indians went below to hunt for Mr. Lewis, the others began plundering the ship and handing the goods to the squaws in the canoes that clustered around the Tonquin. Suddenly there was a terrific explosion. The Tonquin was torn to fragments. More than a hundred of the Indians were killed by the explosion. Mr. Lewis had put a fuse to the powder magazine. In addition to the killed, many were badly crippled. The four sailors were captured next day. The interpreter who had been on the Tonquin asked them about the blowing up of the Tonquin. They told him that Mr. Lewis, the ship's clerk, realizing that he was so badly wounded he could not escape, planned to get the Indians aboard and then blow up the ship. The four sailors were killed, WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 39 their torture being prolonged as long as possible. My grandfather, Thomas McKay, was 14 years old, at the time his father was killed by the Indians on the Tonquin. He was to have gone with his father on the trading voyage for sea otter skins, when the Tonquin sailed from Vancouver in June, 1811, to trade with the northern Indians, but just before the Tonquin sailed, he took sick, so his father left him with the men who were building the stockade and trading post at Astoria. Of course, if he had gone, that would have wiped the McKay clan out, for with the exception of the Indian interpreter, everyone aboard the Tonquin was killed at Clayoquot Sound in Vancouver Island. My great grandfather, Alexander McKay, had married an Indian wife, so my grandfather, Thomas McKay, was half Scotch and half Indian. Dr. John McLoughlin married the widow of Alexander McKay at Fort Williams, so my grandfather, Thomas McKay, became Dr. McLoughlin's stepson and was reared by him. My grandfather, Thomas McKay, had the stature of his Scotch father. He was tall, dark, and tremendously powerful. He was a man of great courage, daring and resourcefulness. He married the oldest daughter of Concomley, the chief of the Chinook tribe, and my father, Dr. William Cameron McKay, their son, was born in Astoria in 1824. Not long after my father's birth, his mother died. My grandfather then married the half-breed daughter of Mr. Monture, a clerk of the Hudson's Bay Company. They were married at 40 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Fort Vancouver, Bishop Blanchet performing the marriage ceremony. They had a son whom they named Donald McKay. Dr. McLoughlin greatly trusted my grandfather, his stepson. He not only gave him great authority, because of his influence with the Indians throughout the Pacific Northwest, but he gave him charge of many important expeditions. In 1832, Nathaniel J. Wyeth of Cambridge, Mass., came overland to establish a trading post. His ship, in which were his trading goods, was wrecked in the South Seas. He spent the winter of 1832 as a guest of Dr. McLoughlin at Fort Vancouver. He returned to the East and in 1834 once more came out with trading goods, establishing a trading post at Fort Hall. His ship, the May Dacre, arrived safely at Astoria, came up the Columbia River and landed his supplies on Sauvies Island, where he established a trading post. From this post he sent supplies up the Columbia to his trading post at Fort Hall. He found, however, that he was unable to compete with the Hudson's Bay Company, so he sold out to Dr. McLoughlin on. very favorable terms. Dr. McLoughlin sent my grandfather and John McLeod to go with Mr. Wyeth to Fort Hall to take over that trading post for the Hudson's Bay Company. While they were there, Jason Lee, the Methodist missionary, with his party, came to Fort Hall and on July 27, 1834, he preached a sermon to the mountain men and trappers, who were there assembled. One of the men who had gone up there with my grandfather WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 41 was killed that afternoon by a fall from his horse, so the next day they buried him and Jason Lee preached his funeral sermon. My great grandmother, Mrs. Alexander McKay, was a member of the Ojibway tribe. After the death of her husband, Alexander McKay, she married Dr. John McLoughlin and they had four children, Eliza, John, Elouise and David. Dr. McLoughlin was born in Canada on October 19, 1784. He was baptised on November 3, 1784. His father, John McLoughlin, who was born in Ireland, was drowned in the St. Lawrence River when Dr. McLoughlin was a boy. Dr. McLoughlin's mother, Angelique Fraser, was also a native of Canada. Her father, Captain Malcolm Fraser, was an officer in the Fraser Highlanders. Dr. McLough-lin's uncle, Samuel Fraser, was an officer in the Black Watch regiment and served in the British army in the wars against Napoleon. David McLoughlin, as well as John McLoughlin, studied medicine. David, shortly after the battle of Waterloo, took up his residence in. Paris and practised his profession there. Dr. John McLoughlin studied medicine in Scotland and was later employed by the Northwest Fur Company. He was given charge of the company station at Fort William and it was there that he met and married my great grandmother. In 1824 Dr. McLoughlin made a trip overland to Fort George, as Astoria was then called. The following year, by the advice and with the consent of Sir George Simpson, governor-in-chief of the Hudson's Bay 42 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Company's territories, he moved the chief trading post from Fort George to Fort Vancouver. The same year they located at Fort Vancouver, Jedediah S. Smith of the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, with a party of forty mountain men and trappers, traveled from the Yellowstone River to where the city of Sacramento was later established. Later they established a trading post at what is now Folsom, California. In 1827 he with some others started with a large quantity of furs, to go overland to the mouth of the Columbia River. While this party was camped on the Umpqua, not far from where Roseburg was later built, Jedediah Smith and one of the men made a raft and tried to discover a good ford across the Umpqua. While they were looking for a ford, the Indians attacked the men in camp, killing all but one, who made his way afoot to Vancouver. Jedediah Smith and his companion also eventually arrived at Fort Vancouver. Governor Simpson happened to be at the fort when Mr. Smith arrived. He sent my grandfather, Thomas McKay, to the Umpqua country, with instructions to recover the furs and bring them to Fort Vancouver. My grandfather located the Indians, secured the furs which were valued at $40,000 and brought them to Fort Vancouver where Dr. McLoughlin purchased them. Peter Skene Ogden was about to leave for Pierre's Hole, so Jedediah Smith accompanied him there. At Pierre's Hole they found Joe Meek, who had been sent out by Mr. Sublette to search for Mr. Smith. In 1834 WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 43 my grandfather, Thomas McKay, served as guide for Jason Lee, Daniel Lee, P. L. Edwards, Cyrus Shepard, J. K. Townsend and Dr. Nutall. He guided them from Fort Hall to Fort Walla Walla and thence by boat to Fort Vancouver, which place they reached on. September 15, 1834. Many of the officials of the Hudson's Bay Company were from Scotland. Most of these married Indian women. My grandfather married the oldest daughter of Chief Concomley and Archibald MacDonald married the second daughter of this chief. His wife was known by the whites as Princess Sunday. Just as my grandmother died shortly after the birth of my father, so Princess Sunday died shortly after the birth of her first child, Ranald MacDonald, so Ranald MacDonald and my father were cousins. Ranald was taken to the lodge of his mother's sister, Car-cum-cum, who served as a second mother for him until he was a year and a half old, when his father took him to Fort Garry, now called Winnipeg. On September 1, 1825, Ranald MacDonald's father married Jane Kline and shortly thereafter they were stationed at Fort George at the mouth of the Columbia. My father and his cousin Ran-ald attended school at Fort Vancouver in 1833. Their teacher, John Bail, had come to the coast with Nathaniel Wyeth. Mr. Ball started the school at Fort Vancouver in November 1832. Ranald's father was a graduate of the University of Edinburgh. When Ranald was little, his stepmother used to make long trips from Fort Langley 44 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS or Fort Colville to Fort Vancouver. On her return trip she would travel on a packhorse, with Ranald in a woven basket on one side of the saddle and Angus in a basket on the other side. Francis Ermatinger worked for the Hudson's Bay Company for over forty years. He and Ranald MacDonald were great friends. They usually stayed at Fort Vancouver, at Fort Colville or at Spokane House. He married Catherine Sinclair, the daughter of my mother's sister. "Yes, I am related to Dr. McLoughlin, to Ranald MacDonald and a number of the other early Hudson's Bay men, either by blood or by marriage. Ranald, though a brilliant student, was restless. He wandered through Japan before Perry opened that country to commerce. He was an expert swordsman and also an expert with his fists—so much so that he defeated the champion prize fighter of Australia. He traveled in India, China, Java and many other countries. Later he mined, ran pack trains and established toll roads in the Caribou country. The provisional government of Oregon in 1846 granted my grandfather, Thomas McKay, a charter, to construct and operate a toll road from the settlement on the San-tiam River, now Albany, across the Cascade and Blue Mountains, to his claim at Fort Boise. My grandfather lived on French Prairie. In 1835 there were two settlements on French Prairie, Gervais and McKay. While my grandfather's claim was on French Prairie, he himself was on the go most of the time. Nathaniel Wyeth, WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 45 who was on his way east in 1835, introduced my grandfather and Mr. McLeod to Dr. Marcus Whitman, who, with his bride and with H. H. Spalding and his bride and W. H. Gray, was on the way to the Oregon country to establish missions. They were driving three wagons and were bringing out blacksmith and carpenter tools as well as seeds and other supplies. Sir William Drummond and his party and Major Pilcher were with them. They left their wagons at Fort Laramie, except that of Dr. Whitman, who insisted on driving on westward across the sagebrush where no wagon had ever gone before. At Fort Hall, which had recently been taken over by the Hudson's Bay Company, Dr. Whitman cut his wagon down into a two-wheeled cart, like the Red River carts. His was the first wheeled vehicle to ever break the trail west of Fort Hall. He drove his cart to my grandfather's place, now the site of Boise, Idaho. From there on they took their goods on pack horses. My grandfather saved Dr. Whitman's life on this trip. Dr. Whitman had driven into the Snake River with his cart, not realizing how swift the water was. The oxen and the cart were washed downstream in the deep water. My grandfather was on horseback. He swam his horse below where the oxen and cart were and headed the swimming oxen shoreward till they finally got where they could get their footing and were able to pull the wagon out. When they reached Fort Walla Walla they met J. K. Townsend, the naturalist. When Dr. Whitman and A. L. 46 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Lovejoy made their winter ride across the plains, at which time Dr. Whitman went to Washington, D. C., the Indians became restless. They blamed the whites for settling in their country, for killing their game and for bringing disease. They burned the mill at the Whitman Mission. Mrs. Whitman left Wa-il-lat-pu and went to stay at the mission at the Danes. Dr. Elijah White, the sub-Indian agent, hired my grandfather to go with him as an interpreter and hold a council with the Indians. They stopped at the Whitman Mission and then rode on to the Clearwater, where they held a council. After Dr. White had spoken to the Nez Perces, they refused to commit themselves. They listened to Mr. McKinley, the Hudson's Bay factor at Fort Walla Walla, but still they did not speak. My grandfather, Thomas McKay, not only had the great influence and prestige of being the stepson of Dr. McLoughlin, but he had the Indian gift of oratory. He said to the Indians in the council, appear among you as one risen from the long sleep of death. You know how my father was killed aboard the Tonquin when I was a boy. From the time of my father's death till five years ago, I have been a wanderer. None of you have traveled as I have. Once each year I have visited you or your fathers. I have been with you in war and in peace. I have been with you in seasons of much food, I have been hungry with you in times of want. At last I vanished from among men, I was seen no more, I was silent as one dead. The voice of my WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 47 brother aroused me. I spoke, I looked, I mounted my horse, I am here. I came at the call of the Great Chief, the chief of the whites and of the Indians—the Great White Father. You must listen—you must hear. If you will not hear, your ears will be torn open—you will have to listen. Be wise.' After my grandfather had finished his talk, Five Crows spoke. So did Bloody Chief, who was 90 years old. They chose a new chief, Chief Ellis, and agreed to be friends with the whites. Immediately after the killing of his friend Dr. Whitman and the others, my grandfather raised a company of volunteers on French Prairie. He was captain, Charles McKay was first lieutenant, Alexander McKay second lieutenant and Edward Dubois was orderly sergeant. The citizens on French Prairie presented my grandfather a flag for the company. It had a lone star with several stripes. After it had been presented to him, he presented it to the company saying, 'We are expected to defend this flag and we must defend it.' My grandfather served under Colonel Gilliam. In February they went to The Dalles. From Meek's Crossing of the Deschutes, where they had a skirmish with the Deshutes Indians, they started for the Whitman Mission and on the way they met the Indians at Sand Hollow, about eight miles from Wells Springs. My grandfather's company was on the extreme right. Five Crows, head chief of the Cayuses, had told his warriors that his medicine was so strong, the white man's bullets could not hurt him. War Eagle 48 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS had said he could swallow all the bullets the white man could fire at him. These two chiefs told their people they would not let the volunteers cross the Umatilla River. To prove that the white men's bullets could not hurt them, these two chiefs rode at full speed at my grandfather's company. My grandfather was a noted shot, in a day when most men shot well. As War Eagle rode forward, my grandfather shot him through the head, killing him instantly. Lieutenant Charles McKay was carrying a shotgun loaded with buckshot. He wounded Five Crows so badly that he had to give up the command. The Indians were demoralized by the death of their chief and the wounding of Five Crows. They fell back and there was no more charging of the volunteers, who reached Whitman Mission three days later. In a skirmish a day or so later, an Indian killed William Taylor. One of my grandfather's old time friends, Nathan Olney, grappled with the Indian and seizing his war club, struck him over the head. Finally he killed him with his knife. Shortly after the close of the Cayuse War, word came that gold had been discovered in California. In September 1849, a company was organized at Oregon City to go overland to the gold diggings. There were so wagons in the train and about 15o men. Peter H. Burnett who had been captain of the wagon train that crossed the plains in 1843 and who later became the first American governor of California, was elected WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 49 captain and my grandfather, Thomas McKay, was elected guide. He took them by the old Applegate trail to Klamath Lake. From there he headed for the old trail across the Sierras. They ran across a newly opened wagon road made by Peter Lassen. They reached the summit of the Sierras on October 20 and shortly after that they overtook Lassen, who had started out with ten wagons. Lassen and his party had found it impossible to travel through the heavy timber with wagons, so they had cut some of the wagons down to carts and abandoned the others. Some of the men were using their oxen as packhorses. Lassen and his party had been without flour for months. They were about starved out. The Oregon gold seekers took them under their wing and shared their supplies with them. Captain Burnett kept 75 expert axmen ahead of the train to cut down the trees and to clear the road. They got to the newly discovered diggings with all of their wagons. "My maternal grandfather was Colin Campbell, chief factor of the Northwestern Fur Company. My mother spent her girlhood in the Peace River country and was later sent to school at Fort Garry. On May 24, when she was 2o, she went with her brother-in-law James Sinclair and her sister Mrs. Sinclair from the Red River country to Fort Walla Walla on the Columbia River, where Mr. Sinclair was sent to take charge of the Hudson's Bay post. My mother drove a two-wheeled Red River cart, pulled by a black ox, the entire distance. My 50 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS father, who had taken up a place in 1851 on McKay creek, not far from the present town of Pendleton, heard of the arrival of the Red River Brigade at Fort Walla Walla and rode there to welcome the newcomers. There he met and fell in love with my mother and thereafter he was a frequent visitor at the fort. In the winter of 1854 the Indians became very restless. Kamiakin sent runners not only all over eastern Oregon but as far west as Cathlamet on the Columbia, to stir up the tribes over the broken promises of the white men. He told them that unless they fought to retain their land, the white men would soon crowd them from the land where their fathers lay buried. Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox, who had always been a loyal friend of the white settlers, was now an avowed enemy because the white men had murdered his son in cold blood. Finally it was decided by the white men that it would be cheaper to pay a part of the money promised to the Indians when the treaty was signed in which they gave up their land, than to have an Indian war, so Nathan Olney was sent to Fort Wallula from The Dalles with $soo in silver and some presents for Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox as a first installment of the payment promised under the treaty. This chief refused the presents or the money in payment for the murder of his son. Mr. Olney and my uncle, Mr. Sinclair, saw that the chief's action meant war, so they notified the settlers to leave the country and take refuge at The Dalles. Mr. WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 5 1 Sinclair took the powder and lead stored at the Hudson's Bay post at Wallula and dropped it into the river, so the Indians couldn't get it. Nathan Olney, the Indian agent, with my uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, and my mother, Margaret Campbell, left by canoe for The Dalles. "On March 26, 1856, the Yakima Indians attacked the white men at the Cascades, who were building a warehouse and two portage bridges. My uncle, James Sinclair, was one of the first white men to be killed during the atack. That fall on October 6, my father and mother were married at The Dalles. Their's was the first marriage license issued at The Dalles. My brother, Thomas Campbell McKay, was the first of the children in our family. Flora came next, then John McLoughlin McKay, then William McGilvray McKay, and I was the next child. My father's grandmother, Mrs. Alexander McKay, was a member of the Ojibway tribe. My mother's mother belonged to the Cree tribe. My father's mother was of the Chinook tribe. In 1855 mother was left in charge of the Hudson's Bay post at Wallula while her brother-in-law and sister, the Sinclairs, were at The Dalles. Mother heard the Indian drums at night. She asked Mr. McRea, the interpreter, to see what the Indians were doing. He went to the camp of Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox and found that the Indians were holding a war dance. They had the scalp of Mr. Bolen, 52 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the agent of the Yakimas, and another fresh scalp. My father came next day from his place on Houtami Creek, or McKay Creek as it is now called, to visit my mother. Mother told him that the Indians had held a war dance the night before. My father told her that the Indians were very restless but he doubted they were going on the warpath. A day or so later Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox and his warriors came to the trading post and demanded the key to the building where the powder and lead were kept. Mother said, am in charge here. You cannot have the powder and lead. You will have to kill me before you get the key.' They admired her courage and after holding a council they told her they would come back later and get it. However, when Mr. Sinclair came back he and Mr. Olney threw all the powder and lead in the river. That same year, father's store on the Boise-Salt Lake City road on McKay creek was burned by the Indians. In December 1855 the volunteers had a battle near Walla Walla. Nathan Olney in speaking of this battle said that the volunteers arrived near the camp of the Walla Wallas at about dusk on December 5. Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox with about 5o of his men came out with the white flag. They wanted to have a talk. The chief was asked what he wanted and he said he wanted peace. After some talk, he and four of the Indians decided to stay with the volunteers. While he and his comrades were being held as virtual prisoners, the Indians attacked the volunteers. The sergeant of the guard who had WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 53 charge of Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox and the other Indians told Colonel Kelly he was afraid the Indians might try to escape. Colonel Kelly told him to tie the prisoners and if they resisted, or attempted to escape, to kill them. The Indians resisted being tied and were killed. Dr. Shaw, assistant surgeon of the volunteers, exhibited the scalp and the ears of Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox a little later, when he came to The Dalles. Some of the volunteers cut strips of his flesh from his back and side to make razor strops. My grandfather, Thomas McKay, went to Astoria in 1811 with his father, Alexander McKay. My father, Dr. William McKay was the first. Then came Alexander, John and Donald. My grandfather, Thomas McKay, was the stepson of Dr. John McLoughlin; he always spoke of my father as his grandson. Dr. McLoughlin took my father to Fort Vancouver to be educated. His first teacher was John Ball. This was in 1833. When Mr. Ball went to the Sandwich Islands in 1834, Dr. McLoughlin employed an English sailor as a teacher. In 1836 father went to school to Cyrus Shepard, a member of the Methodist mission party, who taught school for a while at Fort Vancouver. Dr. McLoughlin had my father help in the dispensary so as to learn from the resident doctor how to put up prescriptions. My grandfather decided to send my father to Scotland to be educated. Alexander and John were to go to Wilberham to be educated where Jason Lee had received his education. On his way east, my grandfather 54 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS stopped to visit Dr. Whitman. From there my father was to go north by way of Fort Garry, thence to Montreal, where he would take a vessel for Edinburgh. Dr. Whitman said to my grandfather, 'This country is going to belong to the Americans. Why don't you send William to an American college?' My grandfather said, 'I have not the money to send William, as well as my other two sons, to an American college.' Dr. Whitman said, 'If you will send him to Fairfield, New York, where I received my schooling, I will pay his expenses and you can supply me goods, for what I spend. As you ship your goods up the Columbia River to Fort Hall, you can put off what I order at Fort Walla Walla.' My grandfather agreed to this so father went on across the plains with his two brothers and he put in five years at the academy and a medical college. He returned in 1843 with the yearly express for the Hudson's Bay Company. Father was 19 years old. Dr. F. H. Hamilton gave him a license to practise medicine till he was 21 at which time they would issue him a regular diploma. Later father attended the Willamette University, graduating from the Medical Department. In the late forties, father clerked for Mr. McKinley at his store in Oregon City. In 1849 he went to the gold diggings on Trinity River. He started a store on the Boise-Salt Lake road and McKay creek, in 1851. Vic Trevitt of The Dalles, who is buried on Memaloose Island in the Columbia River, not far from Mosier, was a frequent visitor at my father's WHEN ASTORIA WAS FORT GEORGE 55 store on McKay creek. After the Indians burned my father's store in 1855, he moved to The Dalles. Father and mother were married there in 1856, father's best man being Ben Stark, for whom Stark Street in Portland is named. The bridesmaid was Ruth Buckingham, later Mrs. John G. Campbell, who for many years, was house mother of the Bishop Scott Academy. When Governor I. I. Stevens was making the treaties with the Indians, he employed father as an interpreter. When father was attached to the United States Army, he was asked to recommend a good place for a proposed fort in eastern Oregon. He recommended a site about two miles from where the city of Walla Walla was later built. This fort was named Fort Walla Walla. Father served as scout and interpreter from 1855 to 1861. From 1861 till 1866 he was agency physician at the Warm Springs Indian Reservation. In 1866 father had command of the Warm Springs Indian scouts in the war with the Snake Indians. In 1868 father was transferred to the Umatilla Reservation as agency physician. In 1877 we moved to Pendleton, where father practiced medicine for many years. General Canby and my father were warm personal friends. General Canby wanted my father to go in charge of the Warm Springs scouts to the lava bed country at the time of the trouble with Captain Jack and his band of Modocs. Father could not get away, so his half brother Donald went in charge of the scouts. Donald spoke Shoshone and six or seven other 56 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Indian languages and had had a long experience as a scout. I was not only born at The Dalles but I spent a good part of my girlhood there, so I always have a very warm spot in my heart for The Dalles." Iv THE LONG, LONG TRAIL NARCISSA CORNWALL MOORE lives in Sellwood. When I interviewed her there recently, she told me of her trip in Captain Dunbar's company across the plains in 1846. With her parents she came by what was known as the Applegate route from Fort Hall, coming into Oregon by way of the Klamath Lakes and the Rogue River country. "When we reached Fort Hall," said Mrs. Moore, "we were met by Jesse Applegate, who had come from his farm home on Salt Creek in Polk county, to tell the emigrants of an easier road into Oregon than by way of The Danes. He met us in August and several wagon trains decided to take the Applegate cut-off. Among the members of Captain Rice Dunbar's wagon train were John H. Bridges, Daniel Goode, Rice Dunbar and his family, James Campbell with his family and a negro slave, J. Quinn Thornton and his wife, Mr. Shelby, a lawyer, James Smith and his family, Henry Smith and family, James Crump and family, Miss Adeline Social, Ira Farley and his mother, Widow Colwell with her children, 57 58 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Mr. Loveland and his family, Morgan Savage and wife, Henry Croisan with his wife and family, Henry Hall, Daniel Boone with his family,—one of his daughters married George D. Curry; Mr. Nye and Mr. Catos, bachelors, Grandpa Brisbon, Mr. Perkins and family, Mr. Hall and family, Daniel Culver, bachelor, Mr. Van Bibber and family, Mr. Kennedy, wife and grandson, William Smith and family (he died in the canyon), Mrs. Burns, widow and children (husband died on the plains), Mr. Newton and wife, (he was killed by Indians in canyon), Rev. J. A. Cornwall and family and three men as help. Israel Stoley and Richard Crisman drove the two ox teams and Lorenzo Byrd drove the loose cattle. He is the father of Dr. W. H. Byrd of Salem, Oregon, an old neighbor of the Cornwall family in Arkansas. Albert Alderman, father of ex-state School Superintendent Alderman, and William Brisbon. "The road was almost impassable in a great many places and we were oftentimes compelled to camp without water. And sometimes there were trees fallen across the road which the wagons could not pass under until they had let down the bows from the top of the wagons. And in some places there were logs which had to be cut away before the wagons could pass. We finally arrived at the Umpqua Canyon, which proved a terror to our company. "Our train arrived at the canyon in the afternoon. All were called to look down the hill at the head of the can- THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 59 yon. It seemed almost perpendicular and did not seem possible for a wagon and team to get down it but they did. The emigrants were almost entirely out of provisions ; all of their groceries were gone. There were several families who had small bands of cattle, mostly cows. They decided some person must kill a beef, and as father had the largest band of cows it fell to him to furnish the beef. Father told them to pick out one and kill it. They were to drive our cattle through the canyon which was about twelve miles as we were intending to start into the canyon next morning. We traveled until the middle of the afternoon through a drenching rain. We made up a fire and as we were thoroughly chilled, decided to camp for the night and go on in the morning, but when morning came, we found several of our oxen had died during the night. We were compelled to remain in camp, but the two wagons that were with us continued their journey through the canyon. The remainder of the company never attempted to bring their wagons into the canyon but abandoned them and started to bring their families through on foot. Some had a gentle horse or oxen on which they packed their small children but the most of them were afoot. "Our camp made a nice stopping place for the tired and hungry emigrants. There was plenty of wood and we kept up a rousing fire night and day and a great many stopped with us overnight. They were always cold and hungry and we often had to divide what little we had to 60 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS eat, which was not really enough for ourselves as we were entirely out of flour and all kinds of groceries. The starved emigrants would eat anything. We generally had plenty of meat but could hardly get a chance to cook it as they would beg for the beef when it was only put on to boil. We often would take the meat off the fire and hide it in the bushes when we heard a crowd coming. "We remained in the camp several weeks. Father and our hired men had taken several loads of our things out of the canyon on mules and we had given up all hope of taking our wagons any farther. This seemed a very unfortunate camp for us and to add to our troubles Father was kicked by a mule and had three ribs broken. By the time he was able to travel the water had risen until the wagon road was impassable and we were compelled to take the pack trail which ran along the edge of the bluff. We decided to leave this camp and father cached his books, thinking he would return in the spring and get them. "Early in the morning we all started on foot except mother. We had a good gentle mule and we got a side saddle and mother rode, carrying the baby, and a man walked by her side holding on to the saddle and helping her in any way she needed. The rest of us walked, each one carrying something. The road was very rough and steep in many places. We crossed streams of water often, which we found were very cold and deep. My brother and THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 61 I could not cross the streams alone and father was carrying such a load that he could not help us but told us to hold to him when the water was too deep for us. We crossed streams a number of times where our feet did not touch the bottom. I carried a coffee pot with a bail to it and would bring it out full of water every time we crossed a deep stream. We found walking in our wet clothing very tiresome and my brother thought he could not go any further. We sat down and rested and I told him I would take our cloaks and hang them on the bushes beside the road and some person would see them and take them into camp. We found this a great help about walking as they were very heavy and thoroughly soaked with water. In a few days our cloaks were brought into camp and were turned over to us. The rest of the crowd got far ahead of us and we did not see them any more until we reached camp. "It was nearly dark when we reached camp. The men had stretched our tent and built up a large fire and we warmed and dried ourselves. Supper was soon prepared by our sister, a girl of sixteen. We had given up all hope of taking our wagons any farther when a man who had left his wagons at the entrance of the canyon offered father a yoke of oxen if he would give him one of his wagons. Father accepted his offer and our wagons were brought out of the canyon and we were able to bring many things we expected to leave, among them our books. It was said father brought the largest library ever brought 62 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS across the plains. Only about four cows of our band ever came out of the canyon. "We soon started on our journey. Our two mules were only able to carry their harness and the oxen would only draw the wagon, and the family all walked except mother. I was nearly ten and my brother, two years younger than myself, walked every day through rain and snow. We finally decided to stop near where the town. of Oakland now stands. We remained some time undecided what to do. The snow was getting pretty deep. There were a lot of emigrants at this camp. Some were starting almost every day. They were mostly on foot, all trying to reach the settlements. Father decided to build a cabin and remain there until spring. Mother was not able to undertake such a trip as she was suffering with the mountain fever which she had caught from laying out persons who had died with it. "Our cabin was finished after Christmas and we moved in. It was real warm and we found it quite a change from camping out in the rain and snow. There was a large fireplace and a place for our beds, made after the style of the camp meeting scaffold running all the way across the end of the cabin. Under this we stored our trunks and things left by the emigrants. They were to return for them in the spring. Back of our cabin was a corral made of brush where we kept our mules and cows at night to keep the Indians from stealing them. There was a shed on one side under which our wagon stood. THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 63 The Indians had but few guns, in fact we only saw one among them and this one had belonged to a Mr. Newton, a member of our company who was killed by the Indians near the canyon. Israel Stoley slept in the shed with several loaded guns by his side. This Indian had Mr. Newton's horse and when the emigrants came for their things they bought the horse and took it into the valley and gave it to the widow. "A number of the Indians moved their camps near us. One morning we noticed unusual confusion in the Indian camps. Some of us ran over to the camps to see what the trouble was and we discovered they were all fighting among themselves, both men and women, and the little children were screaming. They made everyone large enough fight. They used the sticks with which they dug camas and some of them were terribly cut and bruised. We all stood and watched them through their battle but never knew why they did it. "It was after Christmas when we moved into our cabin. We were entirely out of groceries of all kinds. We did not even have salt. We had plenty of venison. Israel Stoley was a fine hunter and he seldom failed to bring in a nice fat deer. After our cows were fat father killed a young heifer. This gave us fat with which to cook our vension as well as beef. We had three mulch cows left. This gave us all the milk we needed. There was an abundance of camas, a vegetable which grew wild on the prairies and was used by the Indians about the same as 64 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS we use potatoes. There were two kinds, one kind the Indians told us was poison. They taught us how to dig them and then would assort them for us, picking out the poisonous ones. We baked them like potatoes but they were not so good as the way the Indians cooked them. They would heat rocks and dig a place in the hot ground and pour them in and then put in the hot rocks and cover them up with dirt and leave them in the ground for at least twenty-four hours. We would buy them from the Indians, wash and dry them and then eat them with our milk. "There was an old lady in our company who had taught us how to make blood pudding. The blood from the beef or deer was caught in a vessel and they cut up the little pieces of suet or fat in the blood and then added a little salt if they had it, and then they would bake it. It was considered very good by the hungry emigrants. "All of the families were entirely out of provisions and the men were not always successful in killing wild game. Sometimes they would eat crows and some cut meat from dead cattle. It seemed a shame when deer were so plentiful. We learned the country where we were was called the Umpqua Valley but there were about as many Calapooia Indians as there were Umpquas living there. I suppose the country really belonged to the Umpqua Indians, however. Father told the chief we wanted to stay there until spring and if he would not allow his men to steal our cattle and mules, or trouble THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 65 us in any way, in the spring when we were ready to leave we would make presents and have the emigrants who had left their things with us give them presents. "We were about ten miles from the Umpqua River and the Indians living there would often come and spend the greater part of the day. There was one who spoke English and he told mother the Rogue River Indians were coming to kill us. Mother told them if they troubled us in the spring the Bostons, the Indian name for the white people, would come out and kill them all off. Whether this had any effect or not I don't know, but anyway they did not come to kill us. But we always thought they came one day for that purpose. Father was busy reading and did not notice the house was being filled with strange Indians until mother spoke about it. Most all of them wore blankets or skins over their shoulders and we could not tell what they had concealed under these. As soon as father noticed them he got up and got his pistols and asked the Indians to go out and see him shoot. They followed him out but kept at a distance. The pistols were a great curiosity to them. I doubt if they had ever seen any before. As soon as they were all out of the cabin mother barred up the door and would not let them in any more. Father entertained them outside until evening when they got on their ponies and rode away. They never returned to trouble us any more. They seemed satisfied. "Israel Stoley concluded to go on a hunting trip and 66 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS camp out for the night. He took the two mules and an Indian who spoke some English; he was a Calapooia and very friendly to us. They returned next evening with the mules loaded with deer. When he dressed the deer he gave the Indian the skins and such parts as he did not care for himself. While Stoley was away the Indians took advantage of his absence and made a raid on our camp and stole everything they could carry off. We were drying a lot of deer meat for an old man by the name of Culver, whom we were going to send into the settlements for help. They took the meat. This caused him to give up his trip until later on. Father sent for the old chief and told him what they had done. He made them return some things but they kept all the clothing. They found Stoley was gone and no person in the wagon so they helped themselves. "We were getting anxious to start on toward the Willamette. We could have gone ourselves but many of the emigrants had left all their clothing with us and father would not go off and leave them, for he knew it would be a long time before they would be able to get any more. "We dried more deer meat and started our man on his way to the Willamette Valley for help. He had only been gone a few days when early one morning we saw him coming. We all ran out to meet him and hear the news. Mr. Culver told us he had met a man by 'the name of Joseph Hess and two young men, Josiah THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 67 Nelson and Clark Rogers, were coming for us. They were from the Chehalem Valley near where the town of Newberg, Yamhill County, now stands, and Mr. Nelson still lives there but the other two have long since passed to the other shore. "The emigrants who had left their things with us most all arrived that day or the next. Our preparations for our journey were short and we bade adieu to our neighbors the Indians. Some of them looked sorrowful with tears in their eyes when they saw us drive away. We were all delighted to start on our journey to the settlement. We had been a long time on our way. Mr. Hess had brought flour, coffee and salt. He had known father back in Arkansas. He was surely a friend indeed as well as a friend in need. We traveled through a beautiful country. We hardly ever passed a place where any person lived. We finally reached the home of Mr. Hess where we met his family. Mrs. Hess soon prepared us a good dinner, which we all enjoyed very much. "After dinner we moved into a cabin on the homestead of Josiah Nelson near the home of Mr. Hess. He continued to help us when we needed help. He would often kill a beef and we always got a piece, and when they cut a cheese we were always remembered with a generous piece. "We soon got acquainted with the neighbors and father was invited to preach in their houses where they 68 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS were large enough. Lewis Roberts, an old settler in the Chehalem Valley, had the largest house and he generally preached in his house. "There was a band of Spanish cattle in the valley which were a terror to the neighborhood. They belonged to a man by the name of Sidney Smith. They were brought from California by a man by the name of Ewing Young. "Father started out to hunt land on which to file a homestead, as all the good land in the Chehalem Valley was already taken up. He heard of the Tualatin Plains and went there to look at the country and became acquainted with the Rev. Harvey Clark, who was a Congregational minister and Alvin T. Smith, an elder in Mr. Clark's church. He was a very pious man and I have heard he would never let a traveler stay all night Saturday unless he would remain until Monday, and he whipped his cow because she bawled on Sunday. Anyway we found him to be an excellent man. They prevailed on father to move there and teach their school and preach. Mr. Smith came to help us move. We bade our Chehalem neighbors farewell and moved to the Tualatin Plains. We moved into a house in Mr. Clark's dooryard, but it was only partly finished. There was no fireplace and such a thing as a cook stove was hardly thought of in those days. We made a fire outside and cooked the same as we had in crossing the plains. "There was an old house standing nearby which we THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 69 decided to fix up for our winter residence. Father and my brother built a chimney and made a partition through the house and we were soon settled for the winter. Our cabin stood near where the Congregational church now stands in the town of Forest Grove, Oregon. While living there my youngest sister, who is now Mrs. A. C. Shinn, was born. A few days before moving into our new house my eldest sister, Elizabeth, was married to Dr. William Geiger, who owned a home about two miles from where we were living. Dr. Geiger had lived at the Whitman Mission. He was left in care of the mission while Dr. Whitman made a trip east of the mountains. This was the winter of forty-three. The Whitmans were killed by the Cayuse Indians in November, 1847. "While we were living at Mr. Clark's Dr. Marcus Whitman and his nephew, Perrin Whitman, called one afternoon for a short visit with Mr. Clark's family. My mother asked him if his wife was not afraid to live among the Indians. He said that Mrs. Whitman would say when any person spoke of being afraid that the Indians never killed women. "Father soon began teaching. I don't think he ever received a dollar in money but we were supplied with vegetables, meat and flour. Either father or Dr. Clark preached every Sunday, and they kept up a Sabbath school, Dr. Geiger being superintendent. "That Fall the news came that Dr. and Mrs. Whitman 70 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS had been murdered and a runner came to our house in the night and called father and asked him if he had a gun. He answered that he had a gun and two large pistols. He told him to keep them loaded and be prepared to protect his family, as they were expecting Indians to attack the settlers any night. "The cabin in which we were living had been used for a church house for a long time and a graveyard was nearby. There were a number of funerals during the winter. "Father dug a well a long ways from the house and I had to carry most all the water for the house and for washing. We had no barrel and only one pail, and our cooking utensils were an oven and two coffee pots, in one of which we made our wheat or pea coffee, in the other we cooked meat or vegetables. "The family all went to school during the day except me and my two little sisters. I was left at home to do the housework and cooking and take care of mother who was sick. It was a pretty hard task for a girl of eleven years who had never been used to work but when anything was to be done could call a darkey to do it. I was almost too tired when night came to sleep. Father kept a fire burning all night and I was always called to get up in the night to look after the baby. I had to get up before daylight to get breakfast so the folks could get off to school. There was a young minister who came to live with us ; he never helped about anything. I had THE LONG, LONG TRAIL 71 to wash his clothes, starch and iron his white shirts. We had no starch and I would scrape potatoes and put them in water and the starch would settle in the bottom. This made a very good starch. "We had three milk cows and I was expected to make enough butter for the table. I would save up the cream but we had no churn having thrown ours away on the plains. I would take the cream to a neighbor's and churn then carry it home and press the butter. I learned how to make squash pies and I often spent a whole afternoon baking pies, but I could only bake one at a time. I had no shoes. We started with several pairs apiece but did not make allowance for our growing feet. I set the only pair that I could wear too near the fire and they drew up so I couldn't get them on. Mrs. Joseph Gale made me three pairs of moccasins and I gave her my gaiters in exchange for them, as they fitted her eldest daughter. "By the next spring (1848) my father had found a location that suited him in Yamhill County on the South Yamhill River about three miles south of McMinnville. There was a cabin on the place. In the spring we moved to our new home but it was not finished enough to live in and we moved into William Rogers' cabin nearby and lived there until ours was ready. It was not long until ours was ready and we moved in. It did not seem like the lovely home we had left in Arkansas but it seemed better than moving from place to place. 72 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "We soon got seed-wheat, and potatoes. We had brought garden seed with us and we began making garden. "There was one thing we all had, and that was good health. My brothers began making rails and we soon had a garden and small field fenced and a good garden planted, and it really began to seem like home." V INDIAN GRATITUDE "MY maiden name was Martha Elizabeth Gilliam," said Mrs. Frank Collins, when I visited her recently at her home in Dallas. " My father was General Cornelius Gilliam, though they generally called him 'Uncle Neal.' Father was born at Mt. Pisgah, in Florida. My mother's maiden name was Mary Crawford. She was born in Tennessee. I was born in Andrew county, Missouri, the day before the Fourth of July in the year 1839. Father and mother were married in Missouri. I don't know the day nor the year. Missouri was the jumping-off place back in those days and they didn't have courts and court records and licenses like they do now-a-days. Any circuit rider or justice of the peace could marry a couple and no records were kept except in the memory of the bride. Father met mother in Tennessee when she was a girl; fact is she would be considered only a girl when father married her, by people of today, but in those days she was considered a woman grown. "The women worked hard when mother was a girl back in Tennessee and they had a lot of danger and ex- 73 74 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS citement thrown in with their hard work. My mother lived with her aunt. When I was a little thing I used to get mother to tell me about when she was a girl. When she was betwixt and between a girl and a woman she and her aunt were busy with the house work one forenoon when some Indians came to the house. My mother's aunt shut and barred the door. The Indians began hacking at the door with their tomahawks. They cut through one board and had splintered another when my mother's aunt fired through the broken panel of the door and shot one of the Indians through the chest. While mother's aunt was busy loading the gun my mother boosted one of the children through the back window and told him to run to the woods where the men were getting out timbers for a cabin and give the alarm. After quite a spell of hacking the Indians finally cut through the door and crowded into the cabin. My mother and her aunt had crawled under the four-poster bed and before the Indians could pull them out the men came on the run. The Indians heard them coming and ran away, all but the one mother's aunt had wounded. Just as he was going out of the door the men shot him and he laid down and died on the door step. "Nowadays a man most generally has only one job, like being a lawyer, or a preacher, or a politician, or a farmer, but when my father was a young man the men folks had to do whatever came to hand. When my father was in his 'teens he was a man grown and a good shot INDIAN GRATITUDE 75 and was good at tracking game, so he naturally took up tracking runaway slaves. They used to send for him all 'round the country, for a heap of slaves used to take to the swamps. He made good money at the business. He was so good at tracking them and bringing them back to their owners that when he ran for sheriff the people said, 'He is so successful catching runaway niggers, he will be good at catching criminals,' so he was voted in as sheriff. "When the Black Hawk war came on father enlisted and served through it, and when the Seminole war broke out in Florida where he was born they made him a captain and he fought through that war. When he had finished fighting he went back to the frontier of Missouri, for everything west of Missouri in those days was Indian country. He was a great man to make friends and so they elected him to the legislature in Missouri. He got interested in religion and was ordained a preacher. He was one of the Old Testament style of preachers. He wasn't very strong on turning the other cheek. If a man hit him on one cheek he would think he was struck by an earthquake or a cyclone before he got time to hit father on the other cheek. Father believed the Bible, particularly where it said smite the Philistines, and he figured the Philistines was a misprint for the Mormons and he believed it was his religious duty to smite them. He believed they should be exterminated root and branch. He was a great hand to practice what he preached so he 76 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS helped exterminate quite a considerable few of them. The Mormons had burned the houses and barns of some of father's folks. One of father's relatives was alone with her little baby when the Mormons came and she crept out of the window in her nightgown and had to walk through the snow four miles to a neighbor's while the Mormons burned her house and barn. That didn't make father feel any too friendly to the Mormons so they ran them out of Missouri and it wasn't long till they moved on and settled on the shores of the Great Salt Lake a thousand miles from anybody. "In the spring of 1843 the first party of emigrants started from Missouri for the Willamette Valley in the Oregon country. Next spring a lot more met at Capless Landing, near Weston, Missouri, and organized to cross the plains. Because father had been a captain in the Florida Indian war and because he had been a sheriff and had been in the legislature, and was a preacher, and because he was used to having people do what he wanted, they elected him the head officer. "They organized like a regular military expedition. Father was made general and Michael T. Simmons was made colonel and four captains were elected—R. W. Morrison, Elijah Bunton, Wm. Shaw and Richard Woodcock. Ben Nichols was chosen to act as judge and Joseph Gage and Theophilus Magruder were to serve as judges with him. Charley Saxton was the secretary. INDIAN GRATITUDE 77 Sublette, a trader among the Indians, and Black Harris, a mountain man, acted as guides as far as Fort Laramie. From Fort Laramie to Fort Bridger the train was guided by Joe Walker. I was five years old and I remember lots of incidents of the trip. "There were two other emigrant trains came across the plains that same season, one commanded by Nathaniel Ford and the other by John Thorpe. From the Blue Mountains on to the Willamette Valley we had a pretty hard time as we had been delayed till the fall storms overtook us. At Burnt River we were met by an old-time friend of father's James Waters. They generally called him General Waters. He took us to his cabin on Tualatin Plains where we stayed while father traveled over the valley looking for a land claim. Father found a place that suited him near what is now the city of Dallas ; in fact the western part of Dallas is built on our donation land claim. I guess there is no doubt of my being the oldest living settler in Dallas for I settled here more than 7o years ago. "After we had moved to our place in Polk county, Colonel Waters came and stopped with us for a while. I remember his visit because while he was staying with us he hunted up a broad smooth-grained shake, as we used to call the hand-made shingles, and whittling it perfectly smooth with his jack knife he printed the letters of the alphabet on it and taught me my letters. As we 78 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS had no pencils in those days they generally melted some bar lead or a bullet and ran it in a crack and used that for a pencil, but he had a better scheme than that. "In the creek near our house there were chunks of soft red rock called keel. He found a long splinter of keel and printed the letters on the shake and I had a mighty good substitute for a hornbook and in no time I could read my letters and he didn't stop till he had taught me to make them for myself and name every one of them. "Eugene Skinner stopped with us for a while. He took up a place at what is now Eugene. Skinner's Butte at Eugene is named for him and because he was the first settler there they named the town after his first name—Eugene. He had the first house there. He hired father to build it for him. You see he went back in the spring of 1845 to get his family. They came out the following, year and Mrs. Skinner stayed at our house. Mrs. Skinner gave me the only school book I ever owned. It was an A, B, C book. She called it a primer. I went to school altogether three months. I went for a month to Mr. Green's school. His school house was on our place and for two months I went to Alex. McCarty's log school on Rickreall creek. I learned my reading from a page torn from the Bible. He didn't have any sure enough readers, so he tore up a Bible and gave each scholar a page or so. Mrs. Skinner helped me to learn to read, for I took my pages home with me every night so I would have my lesson next day. INDIAN GRATITUDE 79 "There were six girls and two boys in our family. I was the next to youngest child and I am the only one of the family now alive. "When we settled here our neighbors were Solomon Shelton, Uncle Mitchell Gilliam, Ben. F. Nichols and Uncle John Nichols. "In 1845 the Provisional Legislature authorized Tom McKay to build a road for the emigrants across the Cascade mountains from what is now Albany, clear across the mountains to Fort Boise. He was to have it ready for travel by August 1846, so the emigrants that year could use it. The day before the Fourth of July, it was on my seventh birthday, my father took out a party of men to pick out the route for the new road. My father's old friend, James Waters, was along, and so were T. C. Shaw, Joseph Gervais, Xavier Gervais, Antonio Delore, George Montour, J. B. Gardipie, S. P. Thornton, and Mr. McDonald and Mr. Thomas McKay. They couldn't find a good route over the mountains so a road was built over the Barlow trail instead, but they didn't have anything to do with that road. "Next summer father headed a party to explore the Rogue River and Klamath River Valleys so emigrants could come in by that route. "The Postmaster-General was authorized to contract for a mail route to run from Charleston, South Carolina, to the mouth of the Columbia River. The boats were to come six times a year via the Isthmus of Panama. For 8o OREGON'S YESTERDAYS bringing the mail to Oregon once every two months the contractor was to be paid $100,000 a year. So as to make the service as near self-sustaining as possible Congress fixed the rate of postage on letters at forty cents an ounce. Father was appointed superintendent of postal matters for Oregon. Two postoffices were allowed for Oregon, one at Oregon City and one at Astoria. David Hill was appointed postmaster at Oregon City and John M. Shively at Astoria. Post routes were established from Oregon City by way of Fort Vancouver and Fort Nisqually to the mouth of Admiralty Inlet, and the other route ran from Oregon City up the Willamette Valley and through the Umpqua valley and on to Klamath river. The routes were to be in operation by July 1, 1847. The mail bags came by ship around the Horn and were delivered at our house. The postal keys were sent in care of some people coming across the plains and they were delivered at our house also, as well as father's commission as Oregon's first postal agent. I still have his commission. I am a great hand to save things of that kind. "Right after the Indians killed Dr. and Mrs. Whitman and the rest at Wai-il-at-pu the provisional legislature told Jesse Applegate, A. L. Lovejoy and George L. Curry to raise the money to buy arms and equipment for the settlers so they could go and punish the Indians for the massacre. The settlers enlisted as soldiers, but the committee couldn't raise the money to buy the guns and powder and lead and other things. Governor James INDIAN GRATITUDE 81 Douglas, the Chief Factor at Fort Vancouver, who had recently succeeded Dr. John McLoughlin, who had moved to Oregon City, told Jesse Applegate that he would furnish all needed equipment and take the signatures of Governor Abernethy, Jesse Applegate and A. L. Lovejoy as security, so that fixed that up. "The legislature elected my father to be colonel of the regiment and his friend, James Waters, to be lieutenant colonel. H. A. G. Lee was made major and Joel Palmer was elected commissary general. They appointed Joe Meek to act as messenger to go back to Washington and ask for help to suppress the Indians. They issued an appeal to all the citizens to help equip additional troops to be raised. "The day that Peter Skene Ogden reached Portland with the survivors of the Whitman massacre, whom he had bought for blankets and other trade goods from the Indians who held them captive, was the day that my father started with 5o men for eastern Oregon. The rest of the troops were to come as soon as they could get ready. At Cascade portage they established a fort which was named after father—Fort Gilliam. The stockade at The Dalles was named after Major H. A. G. Lee—Fort Lee. "Right after father got to The Dalles he took what men he had and went up on the Deschutes and had a fight with the Indians. He killed some and captured a lot of their horses and some cattle. The rest of the troops 82 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS soon reached The Dalles and they went out and had a fight with the Cayuse Indians and drove them on before them. The troops went up into the Walla Walla country. Father with two companies visited Wai-il-at-pu Mission, where the Whitmans were killed. The wolves had dug up the bodies so the soldiers reburied them. The soldiers met the Indians, mostly Palouses and Cayuses, on the Tucannon and defeated them, after which the soldiers returned to Fort Waters. The troops were short of ammunition and they were getting tired of eating horse meat, so the officers held a council and decided to send a strong escort to The Dalles to secure powder and lead and food. "On March 20 Captain McKay's company with Captain Maxon's company started for The Dalles. My father was with them, as he was going to the Willamette Valley to confer with Governor Abernethy. While they were camped at Wells Springs near the Umatilla river, my father went to the wagon to get his picket rope to stake out his horse. My father had given strict orders to the men not to put their loaded guns in the wagon on account of the danger of accidents, but one of the men had disobeyed the orders. When father pulled his picket rope out it caught on the hammer of the gun, drawing the hammer back and then releasing it, discharging the gun. The bullet struck father in the center of the forehead and killed him instantly. "Captain McKay brought father's body to our home INDIAN GRATITUDE 83 here on the Rickreall and the whole country turned out to his funeral. The following June special services were held for him by the Masonic order. Masons came from all over the Oregon country to do honor to him. "Father had come to Oregon not only to make a home but to help hold Oregon for the United States. Each family that came was promised a section of land. The husband was given a right to take up 32o acres and the wife had a right to take up 32o acres. Father and mother took a section, but because father went out in the defense of Oregon's settlers and was killed while in command of the troops fighting the Indians, he was not allowed to hold his 32o acres. When mother came to prove up she was only allowed to hold her half of our place. Father was not there in person to prove up on his half, so we lost it. She told them why he couldn't be there—be-cause he was killed, but they would only let her have her half of our farm. Mother always felt that father was not treated right, as he was punished for his patriotism by having his half section of land taken away and then he was killed before the money was available to pay the troops and he never received a cent for his services from the government at Washington. "I have always saved father's commission as special postal agent of Oregon, and I also have the glasses President Polk gave him. Mr. Polk and father had been good friends long before Polk ever thought of being president. When father told President Polk 84 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS he was coming out to Oregon, Mr. Polk gave him a pair of spectacles and said, 'Take these glasses with you, Neal. You don't need them now, but if the time comes when you do need them and you can't get any out there in Oregon they will come in handy.' Father and President Polk had worked together in politics and Polk was very friendly toward father. "Father was killed in the spring of 1848 and we had a pretty hard time to make out for a while, but mother was a hard worker and a good planner and we managed to get along. My oldest brother, Smith Gilliam, thought he could help most by going to the California gold mines, so, as pretty near every man in the whole country was either there or on the way, he pulled out for the gold diggings in the spring of '49. My brother Marcus and I had to do the farming. I was going on ten years old so I was plenty old enough to do my share of supporting the family. I drove the oxen and Mark held the plow. When the wheat was harvested we put the shocks in the corral and turned the calves and young stock in to tramp it out. We had to keep them moving or they would eat it instead of tramping out the grain. I enjoyed threshing the wheat out. I would go into the corral, catch a young heifer by the tail and while she would bawl and try to get away I would hold on like grim death and as she sailed around the corral trying to escape I would be taking steps ten feet long. This would start INDIAN GRATITUDE 85 all the rest of the stock going full tilt so the grain got well trampled. "We cut the wheat with a reap hook, tramped it out with the cattle and cleaned it by throwing it up in the air and letting the afternoon sea-breeze blow away the chaff. We had a big coffee mill fastened to a tree and it was my job to grind all the wheat for, the bread mother baked. It took a lot of grinding to keep us in whole wheat flour. "The summer I was fourteen we were milking 24 cows. We didn't have the money to buy American cows, so we broke the half-wild Spanish cows to milk. Many and many is the time they would tree me while I was trying to break them to be milked. They were thin-flanked, long-legged and long-horned and wild as deer, but night and morning I milked my string of twelve of them. We sold the butter for 5o cents a pound and it was sent to the California mines. We got so cents a pound for all the bacon we cured. We saved from our butter and bacon that summer better than $80o. "My brother Marcus and I were chums. I thought anything he did was just right. We fought each other's battles and were very devoted to each other. When the Yakima Indian war came on they wanted recruits, so he volunteered. I didn't want him to go, for father had been killed in the Cayuse war, and I thought our family had shown patriotism enough, but Mark felt that he 86 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS should go, so I did all I could to help him get ready. The young folks came in to bid him good-bye. I was feeling pretty bad about it, so he said, 'Don't you feel bad, Lizzie, bring you home an Indian's scalp.' Mark went and his company got into a pretty bad fight. A Klickitat warrior raised up from behind a rock and shot at Mark but missed him. The next time the Indian raised his head Mark put a bullet through it and then ran down to get his scalp. The other Indians tried to keep him from scalping the Indian he had killed and they all fired at Mark. My brother-in-law, Judge Collins, was there, and he said the gravel and dust was just fairly boiling around Mark as he stooped over and scalped the Indian. The bullets hit all round him, but nary a one hit him, and he brought the scalp back to me when he came back from the war. I kept it for years, but the moths got in it and the hair began shedding, so I burned it up. "I have always liked Indians. One of the prettiest Indian girls I ever saw was Frances, the Indian girl Lieutenant Philip H. Sheridan lived with. She was a Rogue River Indian girl. She was as graceful as a deer and as slender as a fawn. She loved Sheridan devotedly. Her brother was a fine looking Indian, too. He was named Harney, after an army officer. He was a teamster for the troops. When the Civil War broke out and Sheridan was called east, Frances was almost broken hearted. "After the war General Sheridan fixed it up for four of INDIAN GRATITUDE 87 the Indians to come back at government expense and visit the 'Great White Father,' as they call the president. Frances, her brother Harney, and two other Indians went. Frances came and showed me all her clothes. She had a fine outfit for the trip. Years later she lived at Corvallis and did washing. Any of the old-timers at Corvallis can tell you all about her. "When the soldiers would leave Fort Hoskins or Fort Yamhill their Indian wives would follow them to where they embarked for the east. Frequently they would have to say good-bye at Corvallis. The Indian women would feel awfully bad to have their soldier lovers leave, as they knew they would never see them again. "When we came here in 1844 our claim was a great camping place for the Indians. There would be scores of tepees along the creek. It was like a big camp meeting, only they were Indians in place of white people and instead of meeting to sing and pray they had met to race horses and to gamble. We children used to love to go to their camp and watch them gamble. They would spread out a blanket and put the stakes on the blanket. They would stake everything they had on the game, staking their beads and blankets and stripping down to their breech clout. The most exciting time, though, was when they were running their horses. First they would bet all the horses they had, then their guns and beads and blankets, and often an Indian would be stripped almost naked as the result of a close race. 88 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "One Indian family had their tepee near our house. They stayed all summer. There was a little girl just my age, eight years old. We loved each other like sisters. Sid-na-yah used to come at milking time and I would give her a cup of warm milk. We would drink from the same cup. She was my only playmate. She was near kin to the head chief. She was taken sick and they called in an Indian medicine man. They let my sister Henrietta and me in the tepee where he was beating sticks and hollering and trying to drive out the evil spirit. She died. The chief came and asked mother if my sister Rettie and I could go to her funeral. Mother let us go. The Indians took a milk pan full of beads and broke them up and scattered them all over her. After their ceremonies were over they buried her on the hillside near our house. They shot her horse and placed it near the head of her grave and her favorite dog they killed and put at the foot of her grave. They put poles around her grave on which they fastened all of her buckskin dresses and other treasures. Next year when her mother came back and saw Rettie and me, she cried as if her heart would break. She went out often to Sid-na-yah's grave. People think Indians don't love or have any feelings because they do not wear their hearts on their sleeves but I believe Indians feel as deeply and love as truly as white folks. "The emigrants brought the measles to Oregon. The Indians didn't know how to doctor them. They would INDIAN GRATITUDE 89 go in one of their sweat houses and then jump in a cold stream and it usually killed them. One season we heard frequent wailing from the Indian camp near us. Quatley, the chief, told my mother all their children were dying of the white man's disease. We children got the measles, but mother doctored us successfully. An Indian medicine man came to our house for protection. He said his patients all died, so the Indians were going to kill him for claiming he could cure them and not doing so. When he thought the coast was clear he started off, but just then Quatley rode up. The Indian whipped his horse and started off at a keen run. Quatley took good aim. and shot and the medicine man went over, his horse headfirst and only lived a little while. When Quatley saw that we children all got well of the measles he came to mother and said. 'Your children get well. All our children die. Your medicine is stronger than ours. My little girl is sick. I want you to cure her.' Mother said, `No, I won't try. If she dies you will kill me like you killed your medicine man the other day.' Quatley said, 'If you don't treat her she will die, so I will let you do what you will. If she dies I will not blame you.' Mother had the chief's daughter come to our house. She kept her out of the draft and gave her herbs and teas and soon she was well. Quatley drove up his herd of horses and said, 'You have saved my little girl for me. Take all the horses you want.' Mother told him she didn't want any. He kept us supplied with game as long as he 90 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS camped in that neighborhood. Anything he had he shared with us. He kept our loft full of hazel nuts and he had the squaws bring us all the huckleberries we could use. As long as Quatley was in the country we never lacked for deer meat. "In 1848 Dave Lewis was elected sheriff of Polk county. In the fall of that same year, 1848, he resigned to go to the California gold mines. My brother, W. S. Gilliam, or Smith Gilliam, as he was usually called, was appointed in his place. "In February, 1852, William Everman killed Seranas C. Hooker, a Polk county farmer. Hooker accused Ever-man of stealing his watch. My brother had the unpleasant duty of hanging Everman. His brother Hiram was tried for being an accomplice. He had helped his brother get away. Hiram was generally considered a good man. I believe that William Everman, who killed Hooker, was mentally unbalanced. Enoch Smith was sentenced to be hung for being an accessory to the crime, but was pardoned and David Coe, who was also tried for being an accomplice, secured a change of venue and was acquitted. Hiram Everman, the brother of the murderer, was sentenced to three years in the penitentiary ; but as there was no penitentiary and they didn't want to build one for the exclusive benefit of Hiram Everman, they decided to sell him at auction. Dave Grant, who was a brother-in-law of Sheriff Smith Gilliam, was the auctioneer. They put him up for sale here in Dallas. Hiram was INDIAN GRATITUDE 91 sold the day his brother was hung. Theodore Prather bought him. When he had worked out his three years Prather gave him a horse and saddle and twenty dollars. He went to Douglas county and raised a family and was a good citizen. "Frank Nichols, who married my sister Sarah, was the next sheriff. One of his first jobs was hanging Adam E. Wimple. Wimple had stayed for a while at our house in 1845. He married a 13-year-old girl in 185o and within a year killed her. They lived in Cooper Hollow, four or five miles from Dallas. My brother-in-law, Alec Gage, and his wife stopped at Wimple's house the morning he killed her. Mrs. Wimple's face was all swollen and her eyes were red from crying. Wimple saw they noticed it, so he said, 'Mary isn't feeling very well this morning.' My brother-in-law and his wife had not gone over a mile and a half when they saw smoke rising from where the Wimple house was. They hurried back and found the house in flames. It was too late to save anything in the house. When the fire had burned out they found Mrs. Wimple under the floor partly burned. Wimple had disappeared. He was more than double her age. She was 14 and he was about 35. A posse captured him and brought him to Dallas. I knew Wimple well, so I asked him why he had killed Mary. He said, 'Well, I killed her. I don't really know why.' "There was no jail, so Frank Nichols took Wimple to his house to stay. Frank swore in four guards, but 92 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Wimple got away and was gone four days before they found him and brought him back. They tracked him to the house where he had killed his wife. I went over to stay with my sister, Mrs. Nichols, while he was boarding there waiting to be hung and I helped her cook for him. Frank hung him early in October, 1852. Wimple sat on his coffin in the wagon when they drove to the gallows where he was to be hung. They passed the sheriff's father, Uncle Ben Nichols, while they were on their way to the gallows. Wimple was afraid Uncle Ben would be late and miss the hanging, so he called out, 'Uncle Ben, ain't you going to the hanging? Ain't you coming down to see me hung?' Uncle Ben said, 'I've seen enough of you, Adam. No, I ain't going.' Uncle Ben was the only man in Polk county to receive a personal invitation and he was about the only one who didn't take a day off to see the hanging. "Churches are plenty nowadays and folks don't seem to set much store by them ; but when I was a girl we drove 25 miles to church and were mighty glad to get to go. The church I attended was held in a school house and the preacher was old Doctor R. C. Hill, a Baptist minister. I met my future husband there. I was fourteen and Frank was nineteen when we first met. The name he was christened by is Francis Marion Collins, but I always call him Frank. He went to the California mines in the fall of '54. He mined near Yreka. In 1858 he took a drove of cattle down to the mines and INDIAN GRATITUDE 93 the following year we were married. We were married on August 29, 1859, by Justice of the Peace Isaac Staats. "There is one thing I have always been glad about and that is that Gilliam county was named after father. "Gilliam county was set off in 1885 with Alkali, now called Arlington, for its county seat. Two of my cousins, William Lewis and J. C. Nelson, were in the legislature that session. They were taking dinner with me one day and they began talking about cutting off a new county from Wasco county. W. W. Steiwer and Thomas Cartwright were lobbying to have the new county created. 'Cy' said the new county was to be named after the man who had surveyed it. I spoke up and said, 'Why not call it after my father'? He was killed up in that country while fighting for Oregon.' Lewis said, 'Your father was killed at Wells Springs, which is in Umatilla county; but I think it would be a good plan to name the new county after him.' Cy Nelson said, 'I'll introduce a motion to have the new county named Gilliam county.' He did so and so the new county was called after father." VI INDIAN MEDICINE MEN LONG before the coming of the white man to the Oregon country, Cathlamet had a population of not less than 1,000. It was the largest Indian settlement on the Columbia River west of the Cascades. Here at Cathlamet lived the Cathlamets, the Wahkiakums, the Coweliskies and the Chinooks. Among the first white settlers were Anderson, a former employee of the Hudson's Bay Company and later Birnie, Roberts and Allen, also former employees of the Hudson's Bay Company. Many years ago I talked to Alexander Duncan Birnie, who for 26 years served as postmaster at Cathlamet. In telling me of the early days of Cathlamet, he said "I was born in Astoria in 1843. My father, James Bir-nie, was born in Aberdeen, Scotland, in 1795. He entered the service of the Northwest Fur Company in 1817 when he was 22 years old. In 1818 he was sent to the Columbia River and he was stationed at Astoria. In 1820 he was sent to The Dalles to establish a trading post among the Indians. I think my father was the first white settler at The Dalles. He spent three years 94 INDIAN MEDICINE MEN 95 at The Dalles and in 1823 he was sent to Fort George at the mouth of the Columbia. He served at various other places but in 1840 was once more sent back to Astoria where he stayed for the next six years and during which time I was born. In 1846 father left the employ of the Hudson's Bay Company and moved to Cathlamet. My father never killed a bear, a deer or an elk in his life. He had no use for firearms. When I was a boy deer and elk and bear and water fowl were plentiful in the vicinity of Astoria and Cathlamet. Father was a good trader, a great reader and an expert at accounts, but when it came to shooting or rowing or other work of that nature, he let his employees take care of it. My father was a large man, broad-shouldered, deep-chested and six feet tall. I am one of 13 children. Father opened the first store in Cathlamet. This was in 1846, and he was the first postmaster there. He died at Cathlamet on December 21, 1864, and I took over the store and became postmaster. When father first joined the Northwest Fur Company, they had some pretty lively times, for the Northwest Company and the Hudson's Bay Company were bitter rivals. In 1821 the two companies were consolidated, so that after that father worked for Dr. John McLoughlin. When father was the Hudson's Bay factor at Astoria, he entertained William A. Slacum, of the United States Navy, who came to investigate conditions here in December 1836. Father sent an Indian messenger by canoe to Fort Van- 96 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS couver to notify Dr. McLoughlin of Slacum's arrival. Dr. McLouglin sent James A. Douglas, with nine French voyageurs at the oars, to bring Mr. Slacum to Vancouver. He entertained him royally at Vancouver and then sent him in charge of Duncan Finlayson to the French settlements at what is now Champoeg." Some years ago, I interviewed Judge Thomas Nelson Strong, who spent his boyhood at Cathlamet. Judge William Strong arrived in Oregon in August, 185o, to become supreme judge of Oregon Territory. In coming from his eastern home, Judge Strong and his family came on the United States storeship Supply. They arrived in San Francisco in November 1849. From San Francisco they came to Astoria on board the sloop of war Falmouth. Judge Strong took up a donation land claim at Cathlamet. At that time there was only one other white man living there—James Birnie. In speaking of their arrival in Oregon, Colonel Strong said : "In our party were Governor Gaines with his family, General Hamilton, who had come out to be secretary of Oregon Territory, and who had brought his family with him, Judge William Strong, who had come out to be territorial judge and who also brought his family. The Multnomah, the only steamer plying on the Columbia, was laid up for repairs. A Hudson's Bay employee, living at Scarborough Point said that if we would send word to Peter Skene Ogden at Vancouver he would send a bateau for us. Governor INDIAN MEDICINE MEN 97 Gaines wrote a letter and an Indian took it by canoe to Fort Vancouver. Governor Peter Skene Ogden sent a bateau for us and we stayed the first night at Cath-. lamet at the home of James Birnie. Judge William Strong was so much pleased with the country around Cathlamet that he returned and took up a donation • land claim there. At this time there were very few white men on the north bank of the Columbia River, from its mouth to the Cascades. Settlers began coming in the fall of 1851 and by the fall of 1852 there were enough residents north of the Columbia River to petition congress for the division of Oregon Territory and the creation of what is now Washington. I made numerous trips up the Cowlitz River as far as Cowlitz Landing, always going by canoe. From Cowlitz Landing I would go on horseback to Puget Sound, usually stopping the first night at Jackson's place and occasionally if the trails were good, getting as far as Ford's place. Judge Strong and myself each built a house at Cathlamet. I was employed to survey a road from Cathlamet to Bois-fort Prairie. Although Cathlamet was nominally my home, I spent much of my time at Fort Vancouver. I surveyed the upper end of Esther Short's land claim at Vancouver into city lots and streets. In 1854 I was appointed United States attorney and the following year I was elected prosecuting attorney for the First judicial district. I also served in the Washington territorial legislature from Pacific county. While at Fort Vancouver, 98 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS I became well acquainted with Captain U. S. Grant of the 4th U. S. Infantry and with Major Ingalls, quartermaster of the post there. Major Ingalls later became a major general in the U. S. Army and Captain Grant became general of the Union Army and later President. In speaking of his boyhood days at Cathlamet, Judge Thomas Nelson Strong says : "The earlier Cathlamet life was sometimes enlivened by the visits of strangers. Half way between the Hudson's Bay store and the Strong house was a little cove, in the low rocky bank, before which in high tide, floated the Indian canoes and behind which were the Indian lodges. Here in times past McLoughlin, McDougal, McTavish and many other notables had landed. In the fall of 1852 a canoe turned into the landing from the Columbia River. In it were an Indian crew and a young man of pink and white complexion, evidently one of the new United States officers at Fort Vancouver. He was a stranger in the country and was on his way to Shoal-water Bay. He was anxious to get some white man to go with him. He stayed at our house for several days, and prevailed upon my father to go with him. They were gone for a week or more. Twice the young officer came to Cathlamet, a welcome guest, and then, his short stay of a year in this country being finished, he went away to a career that time had in store for him. It was written in the book of fate that this obscure young officer, Captain U. S. Grant, should command the armies INDIAN MEDICINE MEN 99 of the Great Republic in the Civil War, that he should sit as a ruler of the nation in the national capital and should finally sleep in that great tomb that looks down upon the Hudson. It was fated that both host and guest should sleep at last at two Riversides, far apart, one in his stately tomb beside the Hudson, the other under the trees and grass in the dark forest he loved so well, looking down upon the Willamette. One rendered a great service to his country in its time of need and met with quick and great reward. The other at the fountainhead of the history of a great commonwealth —the Oregon country—after the fashion of the pioneers, expended his life and strength for a coming people and gave the best that was in him for future generations. "About the time of the great flood, came one of the coldest winters ever known in Oregon, the winter of 1861-62. Ice rarely forms at Cathlamet, but that winter the water along the shores of the Columbia was frozen so solid that horses and sleds could cross the river on the ice. Snow fell and remained on the ground to the depth of three feet. The little steamer Multnomah with the genial Captain Hoyt as master, was frozen in at Cathlamet, and so were quite a number of other people. The Indians had plenty of food and clothing and were happy, the whites were jolly, as pioneers always were if they had half a chance. The six weeks of intensely cold weather was filled in with sleigh riding, games and dancing and from the hills of Cathlamet to 100 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the Columbia River, the men, boys and women, white and Indian, coasted continually. Food with the white people grew scarce, but this made no difference for a young horse was shot for meat and served as roast beef. In the log houses and the lodges, great fires blazed and , there was nothing of sorrow or fear. "The Indian war of 1855-56 brought great anxiety to Cathlamet. There were a few more white men there than when we had settled, but the preponderance of the Indian was still overwhelming, and when it was whispered about that the Klickitat Chief, Kamiakin, head and front of the war, had sent messengers to Cathlamet, there was fear everywhere. The white men had no need to fear, had they but known it, for the Indians stood manfully by their white friends, who had helped them, and Mrs. Birnie and her husband held them with a steady hand. Here was one of the great advantages of the Hudson's Bay men having Indian wives. No plotting could go on without their knowledge and in times of stress the Indian wife could always be relied upon. No white person saw the messengers or knew who they were, but that they came was certain. Across the little creek in a small pasture stood two tall spruce trees, and in the top of one of these, placed on a limb trimmed off for the purpose, there suddenly appeared a box, red as blood. It was said to be Kamiakin's signal to war, but no white man knew how it got there or what was its message. This red box that appeared so mysteriously at Cathlamet INDIAN MEDICINE MEN 101 at the time of the Kamiakin war, it was said, was placed there by the son of the chief of the Skookum Tillicums, who had murdered a fellow Indian and was intended by him as a public confession of guilt and an expiatory sacrifice. I am inclined to believe that the elevation of the red box was made more in pride than in humility. This strange red box was possibly a confession, a boast and a call to war, all in one, and people as quick as the Indians in interpreting signs would easily have known its deeper import, though they might not tell it to their white neighbors. From 185o to 1862, pioneer life of Cathlamet went on, the white population steadily increasing, the red steadily diminishing. The order of burial of the book of common prayer was continually in use and was read over many a lonely little grave every trace of which has long since been swept away. One of the saddest of these burials was that of Indian George, an Indian boy of 16. He had been a slave of the northern Indians from Fort Simpson and on one of their war excursions to Puget Sound my father saw him and, moved with pity, bought him for $2.50 and brought him to our home in Cathiamet. Here he grew up in our household a strong and happy boy. Every now and then the wild instinct would come upon him and he would run away but in a few weeks he would return, ragged and thin, but happy to get back. Nothing pleased him so much as to salute the steamboats that came monthly from San Francisco, by dipping to them 102 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS his home-made American flag. When he lay dying at our home, his every wish was gratified by the promise that he should be buried wrapped in the flag. There was no doctor at Cathlamet and in pitiful dependence upon their superior skill, the Indians used to come to James Birnie and to my father, William Strong, the only white settlers there, to secure medicine and advice, but sickness in an Indian lodge was not to be checked by medicine. "Nowhere along the seacoast were there any war dances to speak of. The medicine dance was an entirely different matter and was at its best among the coast tribes. In an Indian lodge bo or 7o feet long, in case of sickness of some distinguished person, 100 or more Indians would gather. In a sunken place in the middle of the lodge, cleaned out for the purpose, between two end fires, would be placed upon a mat the sufferer, covered with furs. Around the sides and ends of the lodge, in double and triple ranks, each with a pole in his hand, would be placed every available man, woman and child. In Cathlamet we white children would join in and we were always welcome. At a given signal from the master of ceremonies, the dance would commence, at first slowly, but afterwards more quickly, everyone jumping up and down to a loud chant of yo-o-o, yo-o-o, yo, the first two long drawn out and the last sharply cut off and shouted explosively. No one stirred from his position, except to jump up and down with a pole held up- INDIAN MEDICINE MEN :103 right in both hands in front of him so that the movement brought it into contact with the roof of cedar boards in perfect time with the chant and the jumping, the movements being so timed that the poles struck the roof altogether with the final 'yo'. The noise was deafening and the lodge would shake in every timber. After this had gone on with increasing enthusiasm for a half hour or more, the patient was supposed to be sufficiently prepared and the evil spirit properly alarmed. A terrific noise would be heard in the darkness outside and the medicine man, with four or five of his assistants, would bound to the door with howls and yells, into the smoky interior. Their bodies were naked, their faces covered with hideous masks over which towered a frightful head-dress, and in their hands were rattles, large, cumbersome things, decorated with teeth and feathers. The idea of the head-dress and the rest of the costume was to make it as hideous and awe-inspiring as possible, so as to frighten the demons away, who had wrought witchcraft upon the sufferer. The medicine man circled with great leaps and bounds about his patient, howling dismally the while, endeavoring to get at close grips with the evil spirit. Finally his chance would come. The spirit, invisible to all but the medicine man, was caught off guard. The medicine man rushed in, seized the sick man and with his hands and teeth attempted to drag from this patient the demon that was tormenting him. The patient was tossed about and roughly handled, 104 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS for Indian devils are supposed to come out reluctantly. The performance took up the greater part of the night and the assemblage would be wrought up to frenzy. The demon was driven out, but the sick man also usually gave up the ghost. "The Indians had another device that for quick dispatch was superior to the personal treatment of the medicine man. This was the Indian sweathouse. No Indian man voluntarily or for the mere purpose of cleansing himself ever took a bath. He trusted to the rain, to the necessary swimming, or the passing through wet woods and grass to secure his personal cleanliness. It created a decided sensation in the highest social circles of the Chinooks when Duncan McDougal caused his Indian bride-elect to be thoroughly soaked and washed preliminary to the marriage ceremony. The fact was considered of so much importance that history has gravely recorded it as one of the unusual and notable circumstances that attended that notable wedding. The Indian woman, by instinct, was more decent than her Indian master and under favorable circumstances she was neat and clean. To her a bath, though rare, was not an altogether unknown thing. To an Indian man, a hot bath seemed the greatest sacrifice he could make to the deities that ruled disease and death. Far back in the history of the race some aboriginal genius with a talent for inventing great sacrifices invented the Indian sweat-house. On the Cowlitz and Lewis rivers, all along the INDIAN MEDICINE MEN 105 valley of the Willamette and on the upper Columbia and its tributaries, sweathouses were everywhere to be seen. They were mound shaped structures, like old fashioned beehives. They were about four feet high and five feet in diameter and were constructed on the banks of cold, swift streams. They were made of willow branches loosely intertwined, like a great basket upside down, with an opening in front just large enough for a man to crawl in. The willows were daubed with clay, making an almost impervious hut. After heating a number of large stones redhot, the Indian, naked as the day he was born, would crawl into the sweathouse, taking with him a vessel of water and the hot stones. Closing the door tightly, he would pour water on the hot stones until he was almost parboiled with the hot steam. He would then crawl out and plunge into the running stream. This treatment was taken for every kind of sickness or indisposition. Occasionally an Indian .would survive this treatment and even be benefited by it. With measles, smallpox and diseases of this character, the treatment usually caused speedy death, but the Indians took it for granted that if the afflicted one died, he was fated to die anyway so it didn't discredit the remedy. When an Indian medicine man failed to make good, occasionally a relative of the departed would kill the medicine man. A sorrowing chief of the Klickitats threw his rope around the neck of an Indian medicine man and with his lasso fast to his saddle bow, he rode his horse at full speed io6 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS till the medicine man had joined his victim in the land of the departed. "Lucy Quail's, a little Indian girl, was nurse in our family. She was carefully taught, clothed and cared for. In those days, though, you might just as well have put a pretty little tiger cat in pantalets and expect it to change its nature. With the very best intentions, she taught us the Chinook language, how to gamble in Indian fashion, and various other things of a similar nature. When she was 15 years old, after the fashion of the young girls of her age, she fled from our house with her lover and so began a life which ended a few years later in all that was mortal of poor Lucy, a battered body, being gathered up from the floor of the madhouse, and buried. The madhouse of the lower Columbia in pioneer days was not a lunatic asylum or a female seminary, but a combination of the two with unlimited whiskey thrown in. The Indian woman of the Northwest Pacific coast was not the light o' love that so many Indian romances depict her. There was in her from childhood, a certain gravity and sober earnestness, the natural result of her sober, hard-working life. For centuries the burden of the toil and the responsibility of her people rested on her shoulders. Hence, she was a thoughtful, earnest woman. Inarticulate in the expression of her feeling, she was in reality alive and earnest with great capacity for joy and suffering. In the tribe as a young girl, she obeyed without question the moral INDIAN MEDICINE MEN 107 code of her people. Married to an Indian husband, she was his slave. Married to a white man and made acquainted with his moral law, she would have passed through fire, torture and death before she would have gone one step out of the straight and narrow path in which he desired her to walk. There is not on record in Oregon history a single case of an unfaithful Indian wife of a decent white man. In view of this, one cannot recall the history of the early times without a shudder and without taking a firmer hold upon the belief in a future life in which the crooked ways of this world may be made straight, for God seemed to deal very harshly with the Indian women." VII WHEN GOLD DUST WAS LEGAL TENDER RECENTLY while in Mulino I spent an afternoon with B. F. Bonney. "I was christened Benjamin Franklin," said Mr. Bonney. "My father, Jarvis Bonney, was born in New York City on October 14, 1793. His people were from Scotland. My mother, whose maiden name was Jane Elkins, was also born in New York City on March 11, 1809. "My mother was my father's second wife. He had five children by his first wife and nine children by his second wife. I am the second child of the second brood. I was born in Fulton County, Ill., on November, 28, 1838. "My father was a millwright, carpenter, cabinetmaker and cooper. When I was a boy flour sacks were not used, flour being shipped in barrels. My father ran a cooper shop and manufactured flour barrels near what is now called Smithfield, Ill. "There was so much fever and ague in Illinois, father decided to move. He had heard of Oregon. The thing that decided him to come to Oregon was he had heard there were plenty of fish here. Father was a great fish- io8 GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 109 erman, and while he caught pike and red horse there, he wanted to move to a country where he could catch trout and salmon. "My father put in his spare time for some months making a strong, sturdy wagon in which to cross the plains. My father's brother, Truman Bonney, after talking the matter over with my father, decided that he also would come to Oregon. He had a large family. "My father and mother, with their children, Edward, Harriet, Truman, Martha Jane, Emily, Ann and myself, started for the Willamette Valley on April 2, 1845. There were over 3000 people who started for Oregon in the spring of 1845. "Presley Welch was captain of one of the trains, Joel Palmer and Samuel K. Barlow being his lieutenants. Samuel Hancock was captain of another train. Both of these trains left from Independence, Mo. Another company with over so wagons left from St. Joe. The captain of this wagon train was A. Hackelman. Still another wagon train left St. Joe, Mo., under command of W. G. T'Vault, John Waymire being his assistant. Sol Tetherow was in command of still another wagon train. "I was seven years old when we started for Oregon. I can well remember what a hullabaloo the neighbors set up when father said we were going to Oregon. They told him his family would all be killed by the Indians, or if we escaped the Indians we would either starve to death or drown or be lost in the desert, but father was not no OREGON'S YESTERDAYS much of a hand to draw back after he had put his hand to the plow, so he went ahead and made ready for the trip. He built a large box in the home-made wagon and put in a lot of dried buffalo meat and pickled pork. He had made over a hundred pounds of maple sugar the preceding fall which we took along instead of loaf sugar. He also took along plenty of corn meal. At Independence, Mo., he laid in a big supply of buffalo meat and bought more coffee. He also laid in a plentiful supply of home-twist tobacco. Father chewed it and mother smoked it. To this day I enjoy seeing some white-haired old lady smoking her Missouri meerschaum, as we used to call the old corn cob pipes in those days. It reminds me of my mother. "When we passed through Independence it was merely a trading post. The Indians were camped all around. and were anxious to trade buffalo robes for shirts, powder, lead and firewater, perferably the latter. Father bought four finely tanned buffalo robes of the Indians. "There were several stores in Independence, a number of blacksmith shops and wagon shops as well as livery stables and hotels. "At Independence we joined the Barlow wagon train. Barlow soon took command of the train. In those days you could size a man up, but you can't do it any more, there isn't the opportunity. Barlow had good judgment, was resourceful, accommodating and firm. "One man in the company by the name of Gaines had GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 111 a fine outfit. He had six wagons and was well to do. He settled in Polk County. "One of the things I remember very vividly was a severe thunder storm that took place in the middle of the night. The thunder seemed almost incessant, and the lightning was so brilliant you could read by its flashes. The men chained the oxen so they would not stampede, though they were very restive. Our tents were blown down as were the covers off our prairie schooners and in less than five minutes we were wet as drowned rats. Unless you have been through it you have no idea of the confusion resulting from a storm on the plains, with the oxen bellowing, the children crying and the men shouting, the thunder rolling like a constant salvo of artillery with everything as light as day from the lightning flashes and the next second as black as the depth of the pit. "At Fort Hall we were met by an old man named Caleb Greenwood and his three sons. John was 22, Britain 18, and Sam 16. Caleb Greenwood, who originally hailed from Nova Scotia, was an old mountain man and was said to be over 8o years old. He had been a scout and trapper and had married a squaw, his sons being half-breeds. He was employed by Captain Sutter to come to Fort Hall to divert the Oregon-bound emigrants to California. Greenwood was a very picturesque old man. He was dressed in buckskins and had a long heavy beard and used very picturesque language. He called 112 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the Oregon emigrants together the first evening we were in Fort Hall and made a talk. He said the road to Oregon was dangerous on account of the Indians. He told us that while no emigrants had as yet gone to California, there was an easy grade and crossing the mountains would not be difficult. He said that Captain Sutter would have ten Californians meet the emigrants who would go and that Sutter would supply them with plenty of potatoes, coffee and dried beef. He also said he would help the emigrants over the mountains with their wagons and that to every head of a family who would settle near Sutter's Fort, Captain Sutter would give six sections of land of his Spanish land grant. After Greenwood had spoken the men of our party held a pow-wow which lasted nearly all night. Some wanted to go to California, while others were against it. Barlow, who was in charge of our train, said that he would forbid any man leaving the train and going to California. He told us we did not know what we were going into, that there was a great uncertainty about the land titles in California, that we were Americans and should not want to go to a country under another flag. Some argued that California would become American territory in time; others thought that Mexico would fight to hold it and that the Americans who went there would get into a mixup and probably get killed. "The meeting nearly broke up in a mutiny. Barlow GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 113 finally appealed to the men to go to Oregon and make Oregon an American territory and not waste their time going to California to help promote Sutter's land schemes. "Next morning old Caleb Greenwood with his boys stepped out to one side and said : 'All you who want to go to California drive out from the main train and follow me. Yon will find there are no Indians to kill you, the roads are better, and you will be allowed to take up more land in California than in Oregon, the climate is better, there is plenty of hunting and fishing, and the rivers are full of salmon.' "My father, Jarvis Bonney, was the first one of the Oregon party to pull out of the Oregon train and head south with Caleb Greenwood. My uncle, Truman Bonney, followed my father, then came Sam Kinney of Texas, then came Dodson and then a widow woman named Teters, and some others. There were eight wagons in all that rolled out from the main train to go to California with Caleb Greenwood. "The last thing those remaining in the Barlow train said to us was, 'Good-bye, we will never see you again. Your bones will whiten in the desert or be gnawed by wild animals in the mountains.' "After driving southward for three days with Caleb Greenwood, he left us to go back to Fort Hall to get other emigrants to change their route to California. He left his three boys with us to guide us to Sutter's Fort. 114 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Sam, the youngest of the three boys, was the best pilot, though all three of them knew the country as well as a city man knows his own back yard. "We headed southwest. I never saw better pasture than we had after leaving the main traveled road. Our oxen waxed fat and became unruly and obstreperous. After two weeks traveling we struck a desert of sand and sage brush. "Breaking the way through the heavy sage brush was so hard on the lead team of oxen that their legs were soon bruised and bleeding, so each wagon had to take its turn at the head of the train for half a day, then drop to the rear. On this sage brush plain we found lots of prickly pears. We children were barefooted and I can remember yet how we limped across that desert, for we cut the soles of our feet on the prickly pears. The prickly pears also made the oxen lame, for the spines would work in between the oxen's hoofs. "One day Sam came riding back as fast as he could ride and told us to corral the oxen for a big band of buffalo were on the way and would pass near us. Whenever oxen smell fresh buffalo they go crazy. They want to join the buffalo. We got the wagons in a circle and got the oxen inside. The buffalo charged by, not far off. The Greenwood boys killed a two-year-old and a heifer calf. We had to camp there for a few hours, for our guides told us that if our oxen crossed the trail of the buffalo they would become unmanageable. It is an odd GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 115 thing that when oxen smell the fresh trail of the buffalo they stop and paw and bellow as if they smelled fresh blood. If you have ever tried to stop a runaway ox team you know what hard work it is. I remember seeing on the plains a stampede of oxen which were hitched to the wagons. They tried to stop them but they had to let them run till they were tired out. Two of the oxen were killed by being dragged by the others. The men cut the throats of the two oxen, bled them and we ate them, though the meat was tough and stringy. "While we were crossing the sage brush desert, one of the men in our party named Jim Kinney, who hailed from Texas, came upon an Indian. Kinney had a big wagon and four yoke of oxen for his provisions and bedding. He also had a spring hack pulled by a span of fine mules. His wife drove the mules while Kinney himself always rode a mule. He had a man to drive his wagon with the four yoke of oxen. Kinney was a typical southerner, as to looks. He had black hair, black mustache, heavy black eyebrows, and was tall and heavy, weighing about 225 pounds. He had a violent temper and was a good deal of a desperado. "When he saw this Indian in the sage brush he called to his driver to stop. Kinney's wagon was in the lead, so the whole train was stopped. Going to the wagon he got a pair of handcuffs and started back to where the Indian was. The Indian had no idea Kinney meant any harm to him. My father said, 'Kinney, what are you 116 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS going to do with that Indian?' Kinney said, 'Where I came from we have slaves. I am going to capture that Indian and take him with me as a slave.' My father said to him, 'The first thing you know, that Indian will escape and tell the other Indians and they will kill all of us.' Kinney said, 'I generally have my way. Any man that crosses me, regrets it. I have had to kill two or three men already because they interfered with me. If you want any trouble you know how to get it.' Kinney was an individualist. He would not obey the train rules but he was such a powerful man and apparently held life so lightly that no one wanted to cross him. "Kinney went to where the Indian was, jumped off his mule, and struck the Indian over the head. The Indian tried to escape. He put up a fight but was no match for Kinney. In a moment or two Kinney had knocked him down and gotten his handcuffs on him and dragged him to the hack, fastened a rope around his neck, and fastened him to the hack. Kinney told his wife to hand him his black-snake whip, which she did, as she was as much afraid of him as the men were. Then he told his wife to drive on. He slashed the Indian across the naked shoulders with the black-snake whip as a hint not to pull back. The Indian threw himself on the ground and was pulled along by his neck. Kinney kept slashing him to make him get up, till finally the Indian got up and trotted along behind the hack. "For several days Kinney rode back of the Indian, GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 117 slashing him across the back with the black-snake to do what he called 'break his spirit.' After a week or ten days Kinney untied the Indian and turned him over to his ox driver, telling him to break the Indian in to drive the ox team. "Kinney had a hound dog that was wonderfully smart. He had used him in Texas to trail runaway slaves. After two or three weeks Kinney did not tie the Indian any more at night, as he said if the Indian ran away the dog would pick up his trail and he would follow him and kill him to show the other Indians the superiority of the white man. He said he had killed plenty of Negroes and an Indian was no better than a Negro. "After the Indian had been with Kinney for over three weeks, one dark windy night he disappeared. Kinney called the Indian his man Friday. In the morning when Kinney got up he found the Indian had taken a blanket as well as Kinney's favorite Kentucky rifle—a gun he had paid $100 for. He had also taken his powder horn, some lead, and three hams. Kinney was furious. I never saw a man in such a temper in all my life. Every one in the train rejoiced that the Indian had escaped but they all appeared to sympathize with Kinney for they were afraid of being killed if they showed any signs of satisfaction. Kinney saddled his mule, took his dog along, and started out to track the Indian. The wind had blown sand in ridges and hummocks, covering the Indian's trail. So after hunting for half a day in all 118 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS directions and being unable to track him, Kinney returned to the wagon train and we started on. "In our party were four or five young men who used to ride ahead with the Greenwood boys, sometimes in front and sometimes by the side of the wagons as a body guard. One day when John Greenwood was acting as pilot, an Indian suddenly raised from the sage brush, frightening John's horse. John had a fine riding horse, one of the best I have ever seen. As his horse reared he jerked it savagely. It nearly unseated him. Several of the young men laughed. This made John Greenwood furious. He declared he would kill the Indian for scaring his horse. John took the gun from in front of his saddle and pointed it at the Indian. The Indian threw up his hands. The young men with John remonstrated with him and told him that the Indian meant no harm and not to shoot. One of the young men called to the Indian to run. The Indian obeyed and started to run away at full speed. This was too much for John, who drew a quick bead and fired, shooting him through the back. The Indian fell forward face downward in the sand. "The men on horseback waited there till the others rode up, but John rode on as fast as he could go. My uncle, Truman Bonney, who was a doctor, examined the Indian, who was gasping for breath, and said he had been shot through the lungs and that it was a fatal wound. "My mother took a quilt from our wagon and laid the GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER ,119 dying Indian on it; she also brought him a drink of water but he shook his head and refused to drink. We drove on a mile or so and just about dusk, Caleb Greenwood and his son Sam, who were escorting some other emigrants, rode into our camp. They had come across the Indian, who was still living. Caleb Greenwood told his son Sam to shoot the Indian through the head to put him out of his misery, which he did, and they dug a hole in the sand and buried him. When Caleb Greenwood came into our camp he said, 'The man who killed that Indian must die.' He thought Kinney had killed him. My father said, 'Your son John shot him.' Greenwood told the men of the party to meet and state the full facts. When he found that his son John had not shot in self defense but had shot the Indian wantonly, he said : 'I will act as judge of this trial. I order that the murderer of the Indian be killed.' He told the men of the party that whoever saw John was to shoot him on sight as they would a wild animal. "John, who was mounted on a fine horse, rode on as fast as he could and fell in with a Mexican and in a quarrel with this Mexican over a game of cards, was stabbed and killed, so our party did not have an opportunity to carry out the orders of execution. "At the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains we were met by ten Mexicans with a pack train consisting of flour, potatoes, dried beef and other provisions. "We camped at the foot of the mountains for several 120 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS days, waiting for other emigrants, who had turned off at Fort Hall, to join us. After a day's traveling we came to a rim rock ledge where there was no chance to drive up, so the wagons were taken to pieces and hoisted to the top of the rim rock with ropes. The wagons were put together again, reloaded, and the oxen, which had been led through a narrow crevice in the rim rock, were hitched up and we went on. Once again in the Sierras we came to a rim rock that could not be mounted, and repeated the process of hoisting the wagons up. It took us four days to reach the summit of the mountains. In going down the side of the mountains in the Sacramento Valley the mountains were so steep in places that we had to cut pine trees and hitch them to the ends of the wagons to keep them from running forward on the legs of the oxen. "At the foot of the Sierras we camped by a beautiful, ice-cold, crystal-clear mountain stream. We camped there for three days to rest the teams and let the women wash the clothing and get things fixed up. "My sister Harriet was 14, and with my cousin, Lydia Bonney, daughter of my father's brother, Truman Bonney, myself and other boys of the party, we put in three delightful days wading in the stream. It was October and the water was low. In many places there were sand and gravel bars. "On one of these gravel bars I saw what I thought was wheat, but when I picked them up I found they GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 121 were heavy and the color of dull yellow wheat. I took one of the pieces about the size of a small pea into camp with me. Dr. R. Gildea asked me for it. That evening he came to my father and, showing him the dull yellow metal I had given him, said : 'What your boy found today is pure gold. Keep the matter to yourself ; we will come back here next spring and get rich.' My father thought Dr. Gildea was a visionary and did not pay much attention to him. "Dr. Gildea asked me to pick up all the nuggets I could find. He gave me an ounce bottle and asked me to fill it for him. The next day we hunted along the edge of the rocks and crevices and soon filled his ounce bottle with little nuggets ranging in size from a grain of wheat to the size of a pea. "When we arrived at the fort, Captain Sutter made us heartily welcome. He told my father the fort would accommodate twelve families and the first twelve families joining his colony would be furnished quarters there. He furnished us quarters in the fort and also gave us plenty of fresh beef, potatoes, onions, coffee and sugar. The families who joined the colony received the regular rations in accordance with the number of children in the family. He gave work to all the men who cared to work. Some of the men helped break the wild Spanish cattle to plow. "The native method of farming was by means of crude plows drawn by two yoke of oxen. Instead of yokes, 122 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the cattle had poles lashed to their horns. They used rawhides for chains and their method of plowing was to have one man lead the oxen and one man on each side with a long sharp stick to goad the oxen. Captain Sutter engaged my father to make ox yokes to replace the native rigging. Our men had a busy and strenuous job, breaking the native cattle to plow. They would put one of our well-broken teams in front, then put a yoke of wild steers in the middle and a well-broken American yoke of oxen in the rear. In this way our men broke twenty yoke of oxen during the winter. "There was a large cookhouse at the fort, where we children liked to watch them doing the cooking. They cooked here for a large number of Indian laborers. In addition to the Indian workers, there were a lot of Indian boys who were being trained to work. Sutter had to keep getting new workers, as many of the Indians would die each winter of mountain fever. "These Indian boys were fed in a peculiar way. They ground barley for them, made it into a gruel, and emptied it into a long trough. When the big dinner bell rang the Indian boys would go to the trough and with their fingers would scrape up the porridge and eat it. "In the middle of the fort was a big oven where the bread was baked. Near by was a well from which we all drank water. At the east end of the fort there was a pile of oak lumber. Here the Indians and other servants were punished for any infraction of the rules. The GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 123 man or boy to be punished would be strapped face downward to one of the oak logs and would then be flogged on the back with a five-tailed raw-hide. Out near the gate a large bell was hung. One of the servants rang this every hour so people would know what time it was. "So many emigrants were crowded into the fort that winter that as a result there was a good deal of sickness. In those days it was called mountain fever; now it is called typhoid fever. A large number of the natives died of this, as well as some of the emigrants, mainly children. Among those who died was Dr. Gildea. He was the one who was going back the next spring with my father to get rich picking up the gold nuggets at our old camping place. He died January 22, 1846, and as you know, two .years later gold was discovered in the mill race at Sutter's Fort. My uncle, Truman Bonney, who had gone north to Oregon, remembered where we children had found the gold, so he and some others returned to our old camping place to stake out claims, but it had already been staked out, and proved to be very rich ground. "The fall we arrived at Sutter's Fort there was a good deal of trouble about the coming of Americans to California. A Mexican officer named Castro brought up the question of the legality of foreigners coming to California without passports. The authorities at Mexico City had issued instructions that the Americans from the Sandwich Islands could come to California even though 124 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS their passports were not regular, but that the emigrants who came from Missouri or who came south from Oregon must have proper passports. The order, which was published in California on September 12, 1845, said that the coming of American families from Missouri into California was apt to cause subversion of order and complicate foreign relations with California as well as create much embarrassment, and as a consequence positive orders were issued that no more families should be permitted to come into California unless they become naturalized. Castro and Castillero came north to ask the American emigrants as to their intentions in settling in California. Castro explained to them that friendly relations had been broken off between the republic of the United States and the republic of Mexico. The emigrants promised that if they were allowed to remain till spring they would go away peacefully. Vallejo was put in charge of the Americans to see that they kept good order. Vallejo was very good to the American settlers, supplied them with provisions, and did not require them to give bonds to keep the peace. "Sutter himself was more than kind to the emigrants. He was anxious to build up an American colony there and he did everything possible for the Americans. "In the spring of 1846 a Mexican general with thirty soldiers came to the fort and said all Americans who did not care to become Spanish subjects must leave California. Late in April a meeting of the emigrants was called GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 125 and the question was discussed. Most of the emigrants decided that they preferred going to Oregon rather than losing their American citizenship. Captain Sutter urged my father to stay, and told him he would give him six sections of land, but he refused. Captain Sutter gave him horses and wagons in exchange for his oxen. "Captain Sutter wanted to have as many Americans settle there as he could get, and planned to furnish them land so they would raise wheat. He wanted to buy all the wheat from them, as he planned to sell it to the Russian government at Sitka, Fort Wrangel and other points in Alaska. He was a man of vision. The Russian government had given up its settlements in California; the Hudson's Bay Company was retiring from Oregon to British Columbia, and he believed he could exchange wheat for furs with the Russians in Alaska and make a fortune. He probably would have done so if gold had not been discovered in California. "Those Americans who were unwilling to renounce their native country were required to move in the spring. We had always traveled by wagons and it was a problem how to move our families and our possessions on horseback. In the party to Oregon there were fifteen small children. Father and mother were unusually anxious to go to Oregon because my oldest brother and my sister Ann had died and were buried at Sutter's Fort. So they regarded California as unhealthy. Among the Americans were some single men who were unwilling to 126 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS take the oath of allegiance to Mexico and wanted to stay in California, so they took to the hills and decided to stay anyway. "Among the young children to be taken to Oregon was my sister Ellen Francisco, who had been born at Sutter's Fort and who was only a few months old. There were no roads to Oregon, so the children had to go on horseback. An old Scotchman solved the problem by making pack saddles with arms fifteen inches high. He wove rawhide strands around this framework, making a regular basket. Two children could be placed in each one of these pack saddles without any danger of their falling out. I will never forget the exciting forenoon we spent when we started from the fort. Many of the horses were not saddle-broken and when the children were put in these high pack saddles the horses would run and buck. At first many of the children set up a terrible clamor, but when they found they were not spilled out, they greatly enjoyed the excitement. Their mothers were frantic. After running for miles the horses were rounded up by the Mexicans who were to accompany us part of the way northward. "Captain Sutter furnished each family with a fat beef animal and he also sent ten Mexicans with us to drive our loose stock and to teach our men to pack. The Mexicans were supposed to go with us about 25o miles to where Col. Fremont was camped. When we reached the camp we found Col. Fremont had gone to Southern GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 127 California to join the American forces there. We camped at Fremont's camp while the Mexicans killed our beeves and dried the meat for us. They told us we could follow the old Hudson's Bay trappers' trail northward to Oregon. "After traveling a few days northward from Fre-mont's camp we came to a beautiful lake beside which was a clover meadow. We camped there for the night. The young man who took the horses out to pasture found near the lake an Indian girl about eight years old. The little girl was perfectly nude, her long black hair was matted and she was covered with sores from head to feet. She could only make a pitiful moaning noise. Dr. Truman Bonney, my uncle, examined her and said she was suffering from hunger and that the flies had almost eaten her up. Near by we could see where two tribes of Indians had fought. She had apparently crept to one side out of danger and had been left. She had been living on clover roots and grass. A council among the men was held to see what should be done with her. My father wanted to take her along; others wanted to kill her and put her out of her misery. Father said that would be wilful murder. A vote was taken and it was decided to do nothing about it, but to leave her where we found her. My mother and my aunt were unwilling to leave the little girl. They stayed behind to do all they could for her. When they finally joined us their eyes were red and swollen from crying and their faces were wet with 128 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS tears. Mother said she had knelt down by the little girl and asked God to take care of her. One of the young men in charge of the horses felt so badly about leaving her that he went back and put a bullet through her head and put her out of misery. "A few days later we came to an Indian camp. The Indians were subsisting on dried acorns and crickets. The crickets were very large. The way they prepared them was to catch the crickets, pull off their legs so they could not hop away, pile them in the sun and let them dry, then mix them with the acorns, put them all together in a stone mortar and make a sort of bread out of them. The Indians gave us some of this black bread which looked like fruit cake but had a different taste. Some of us children ate it, while others were rather squeamish about it and did not care for it. "That evening an Indian came to camp bringing an Indian boy about twelve years old. Allan Sanders traded a pinto pony for the boy. He cut the Indian boy's long hair, bought him clothing from one of the other members of the party, and named the boy Columbus. The first night Columbus was very unhappy, but after Sanders had given him a sound thrashing he seemed more contented. He reached Oregon safely but a few years later died from the measles. "A few days' travel northward from where Sanders had bought Columbus, we were attacked by the Indians. When night had fallen our party moved back into the GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 129 brush about fifty yards from where we had camped. The men put the packs in a circle to protect the women and children. The nine men who had guns crept out to the bank of the stream where they believed the Indians would cross. When everything was still the Indians started to cross the stream. Our men gave them a volley and the other men, who had cut clubs, with a loud yell splashed into the stream after the Indians, and the Indians disappeared. The next morning the men found plenty of blood along the trail where they had gone but did not find any bodies of Indians. "We reached Rogue River valley in southern Oregon, early in June. I never saw a more beautiful valley. The grass-covered hills were dotted with deer and elk. The streams were full of trout, and there was not only plenty of wood and water, but there were many little open spots and prairies. Several of our party decided to settle right there. "Captain Levi Scott settled on the Umpqua and founded the town of Scottsburg. Eugene Skinner built a cabin at the foot of a butte now called Skinner's Butte, and by it the town of Eugene now stands. The rest of our party continued on down to the Willamette Valley and reached Oregon City on June 16, 1846. My father, who was a cooper and millwright, got a job coopering for Mr. Fellows, while my mother secured work from Governor Abernethy. "The missionary association in the East had sent a 130 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS large amount of clothing and other goods for the Indian students. The dresses were cut out but not made. The boys' clothing was also cut out but not sewed, the intention being to have the Indians in the manual training school do the work. The mission school, however, had been abandoned, so Governor Abernethy had the goods. He told my mother if she would finish knitting the stockings, make the dresses and finish the boy's clothing, she could have one-half of all she finished. Mother soon had all her children outfitted with new clothing and also made other dresses and suits, which she sold, Governor Abernethy of course selling his half. "Dr. John McLoughlin of Vancouver employed my father to go to Champoeg to repair a grist mill there. He furnished father a bateau with eight Indian oarsmen to take his family to Champoeg. We landed near the old Indian landing near where the monument to the provisional government now stands. We stayed there that winter while father worked on the mill. The winter of 1846 was one of the coldest that the oldest settlers of Oregon could remember. Hundreds of head of wild cattle and Indian horses died, as they couldn't get at the dried grass beneath the snow. "In the fall of 1847 we moved to our donation land claim two miles east of where the town of Hubbard now stands. "Among my pleasant memories of our stay in Oregon City was playing with a playmate, a son of Col. W. G. GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 131 T'Vault, the first editor of the Oregon Spectator at Oregon City, the first paper to be published west of the Rocky Mountains. One day young T'Vault and I were walking along the streets of Oregon City when we met Dr. McLoughlin and Mr. Barlow. Barlow had a plane bit in his hands. Dr. McLoughlin put his hand on my head and said : 'Don't you boys want to earn some candy? If you will go with Mr. Barlow and turn the grindstone while he sharpens that plane bit, I will give you each a handful of candy.' As soon as Mr. Barlow had pronounced the bit sharp enough we hurried back to Dr. McLoughlin and he gave us each a handful of plain candy hearts with mottoes on them. That was the first store candy we had ever eaten, or for that matter had ever had in our hands. "Another recollection of Oregon City is going with my cousin, Wisewell Bonney, sand young T'Vault to the building which was used as a mint. The men there would melt the gold dust on a blacksmith's forge, pour it into molds, roll it through a roller and keep rolling it till the bars were thin, when they would stamp $5 and $10 gold pieces out of the gold bars. They had a beaver on one side and were called Beaver money. They manufactured about $30,000 worth of $ o coins and $25,000 worth of $5 coins. By accident they made them too heavy, so they were worth more than five or ten dollars, so when the people got them they would melt them up or send them to the mint. That is why they are so scarce now. 132 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "My uncle, Truman Bonney, settled at Hubbard. He was what was known in those days as a calomel and quinine doctor, as that is what he prescribed for everything that ailed people. "My father died in 1854. Shortly thereafter my mother married Orlando Bidwell. Our claim joined A. R. Dimick's claim. John Dimick, father of Grant Dimick, and I went to school together. The first time I ever saw the inside of a school house was when I was 14 years old. "In those days they used to have big times at the barn-raisings. When Dimick's barn was built it was christened the Queen of the French Prairie because it was the biggest barn on the prairie. Neighbors, with their ox teams, came for twenty miles around to help at the barn-raising. One incident of that barn-raising I remember very distinctly. There was a man there named Zack Fields who offered to bet a $5 Beaver coin that no one could raise his head from the ground by his ears. It looked as if it would be easy, but when a man put up a five-dollar gold piece Zack greased his ears so the man's fingers would slip off, and Zack won the bet. "Father paid $12 each and sent five of us children to school there. The teachers didn't have to know much about books, but had to be able to whip the big boys. I saw a teacher tackle George Dimick, who was 18 years old. It was a battle royal, for George put up a big scrap. The teacher wore out a six-foot hazel rod on him. GOLD DUST LEGAL TENDER 133 "I put in most of my time making cedar shingles. My father's donation land claim on the Pudding River bottom had forty acres of fine timber on it. We split out cedar timbers for both Ford's and Kiser's houses. We got $ o per thousand for the cedar shingles. People came from all over Mission Bottom and French Prairie to buy shingles of us. "The first time I was married I was married to Catherine M. Rhoades, who was fifteen years old. We were married on February 11, 1864, at Champoeg, by Rev. T. B. Lichtenthaer of the United Brethren church. We had nine children, seven of whom are still living. You will know we shifted around a good bit when I tell you that these nine children were born in seven different houses. "My second wife was Louise Coats. We were married at Tygh Valley in eastern Oregon by Rev. Roland Brown. My third wife was a widow with five children. Her name was Mrs. Emma J. Lamb. We were married at Oregon City by County Judge Grant Dimick, the son of my former schoolmate. "When I was a young man I worked as a carpenter and bricklayer. Then I got into a sort of peculiar business. I would take up a squatter's right on a piece of land, build a good house on it, and sell it to someone who wanted a homestead on the land. "In 1861 I went to the Orofino mines in Idaho and had fair success. Some little time after the Civil War I decided to be a preacher. For eleven years I preached 134 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS on the circut from Dufur in eastern Oregon to Golden-dale, Washington. Later I preached in British Columbia, and still later I had a circuit in the Puget Sound country. "When I tell my grandchildren about the old days, about the plains being dark with vast herds of buffalo, about the Indians and the mining camps, they look at me as if they thought I could not be telling the truth. Those old days are gone forever and the present generation can never know the charm and romance of the Old West." VIII TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN 147 JEPTHA T. HUNT, county commissioner of Marion County, Oregon, comes of pioneer stock. His father, G. W. Hunt, crossed the plains by ox-team in 1847. "I was born on my father's old donation land claim in the Waldo Hills, east of Salem, February 12, 1862," said Mr. Hunt. "Father took up a square mile of land on which Whitaker is now located. He took up his claim in 1851. My father was born in Wayne County, Indiana, February 8, 1831. His father, John S. Hunt, was also born in Wayne County, on April 11, 1803. My father's father, J. S. Hunt, married Temperance Estep on May 8, 1823. She was born January 10, 1804. My father was one of their nine children. He was 17 years old when he crossed the plains with his parents. When my father was 19—this was in 1849—he went to California to try his luck in the gold diggings. He came back late that winter and with his father started the first store in the Waldo Hills. "My father's mother died October 29, 185o, and next 135 136 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS spring my father returned to California, prospecting and mining in the various camps in northern California. On July 1, 1851, my grandfather married Mrs. Nancy Smith, the widow of Dr. Smith. Dr. Smith had been the captain of a wagon train and died on Green River in the summer of 1847. "About a month after my grandfather married Mrs. Nancy Smith, my father married her daughter, Elizabeth N. Smith. This was on August 3, 1851. Father was 20 years old and my mother was 17 at the time of their marriage. They had six children. "My grandfather and my father not only established the first store in the Waldo Hills, but they also ran the first brickyard there, and my father imported the first Shropshire sheep that came to the Willamette Valley. He bought a pair of Shropshires in England, paying $700 for them. The transportation charges were $225. When the ship was crossing the Columbia River bar the buck died and the sailors threw him overboard. The agent of the ship would not deliver the ewe to father unless the freight on both sheep was paid, so father was out not only the buck but also $112.5o for its transportation, so he really paid $925 for the ewe. Father at once sent back to England and bought another buck which in due time arrived safely, and that pair of Shropshires became the ancestors of the celebrated strain of black-face sheep of the Willamette Valley. "I went to school as a boy at the Rock Point school- TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 137 house in the Waldo Hills. When I was 19 years old, I came to Salem and put in a year attending Willamette University. "On June 18, 1886, I was married to Myrtie E. White. We have four children. "You have often heard of the famous old Bennett Hotel, which in Salem's early days entertained most of the distinguished men of Oregon as well as the big men who came here from the states. In the early fifties my grandfather moved into Salem and ran this hotel. Later he bought the Cook Hotel in North Salem, which he ran until his death in the fall of 1860. He was 57 years old at the time of his death. "My father was very much interested in geneaology. He kept track of our kinfolks through correspondence. In fact, he was so much interested in the subject that something over thirty years ago he got out a little booklet giving the result of his investigations as to our family history. As far back as he could trace the family history, we seem to have been adventurers, pioneers, soldiers and farmers. The earliest Hunt of whom we could find any record was given an estate in the north of England for his services at the Battle of Hastings. You will find many of the descendants of this old progenitor of ours still living in the north of England. The Hunts threw in their lot with Cromwell and saw plenty of hard fighting in the strenuous days of conflict between the Commoners and the privileged classes. 138 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "About 300 years ago three brothers came from the north of England and settled in America. One of these brothers settled on the Hudson River and it is from this one that Wilson Price Hunt, who came to Oregon and helped establish Astoria, descended. "The other two Hunt brothers settled in North Carolina, their descendants later settling in Kentucky, Tennessee and Virginia. One of these North Carolina Hunts in i800 moved from Rowen County, North Carolina, and settled in Ohio, while another member of the family settled in Wayne County, Indiana. It was this branch of the family that founded the Elkhorn Baptist church in Indiana. Stephen Hunt, a brother of my great-grandfather, was the first school teacher in Wayne County, Indiana. Later he built the first grist mill on the Elkhorn. "A relative of ours, Colonel George Hunt, had command of a militia regiment under Governor Harrison when Harrison was governor of the Northwest Territory. Later Governor Harrison became president of the United States. A son of Colonel George Hunt, named James Hunt, crossed the plains by prairie schooner in 1843 to Oregon. In 1845 he recrossed the plains and settled in what was then the frontier but is now thickly-settled Kansas. James Hunt couldn't stand it to see the emigrants leaving the jumping-off place at Weston, Independence or St. Joe for the Oregon country, so he yoked up his oxen to his prairie schooner and came back to TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 .139 Oregon, taking up a place near Oakland in southern Oregon. "Charles Hunt, my father's great-grandfather, was the one who moved from Ohio to Indiana. His son Jonathan settled at Smithfield, Indiana. Jonathan's eldest son, John S. Hunt, was my father's father. He was one of twelve children and was born in Harrison township, Wayne County, Indiana. He married Temperance Estep on May 18, 1823. My grandfather, John S. Hunt, was a gunsmith and a millwright. He lost his property during the wildcat money panic in the middle thirties. Later he built a saw mill and grist mill in Union County, Indiana. He happened to meet General Joel Palmer, who had come across the plains from the Willamette Valley in far-off Oregon to secure a charter for a Masonic lodge at Oregon City, the first lodge west of the Rocky Mountains. General Palmer told him of the wonderful possibilities and the resources of Oregon. He told him of the ideal climate of the Willamette Valley, of the snow-capped peaks, of the grass that was green all the year around, of the abundant ice-cold and crystal-clear streams and springs, of the game and the fish and of the fertility of the soil and that, best of all, a man and his wife could take up a mile square of free land. My grandfather wrote to Thomas Benton, who was very much interested in having Oregon settled. Senator Benton wrote that Congress was contemplating the passage of a bill which provided that every family 140 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS should have a square mile of land as their donation land claim. Grandfather also wrote to Henry Clay, asking his advice, and he, like Benton, thought favorably of the Oregon country, so grandfather determined to go to the Willamette Valley. This was in the fall of 1846. "When a person decides to make a trip from Indiana to Oregon nowadays, all he has to do is to telephone down to the depot to have a berth reserved and a ticket laid aside, and a few days later, after a safe, pleasant and comfortable journey, he arrives at his destination Seventy years ago, when a person decided to come to Oregon the procedure was somewhat different. My grandfather, John S. Hunt, and my father, G. W. Hunt, spent the fall and winter of 1846 preparing for the trip across the plains. They built two strong wagons, smoked plenty of bacon, ran enough maple sugar to last for the six months' trip, gathered ten bushels of hickory nuts, ordered two good buffalo guns to be made by a gunsmith at Abington, visited the various relatives in Wayne County, Indiana, and on March 5, 1847, they started on the long, toilsome and dangerous trip for Oregon. "At Cincinnati they took passage aboard the steamer Fort Wayne for St. Louis, at which point they transferred to the steamer Meteor for St. Joseph, Missouri. Near Lexington the Meteor's boilers exploded, so they landed their outfit, purchased oxen and went overland to Independence, where the emigrants were gathering to form TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 141 wagon trains to cross the plains. Grandfather bought a supply of bar lead at 3/2 cents a pound and of gunpowder at 19 cents a pound. They stopped at Blue Mills, where Colonel Owens operated a grist and flour mill, where they purchased sufficient flour for the trip across the plains. "At Independence grandfather met a young man, Elijah Patterson, who was anxious to go to Oregon but did not have sufficient money to outfit himself for the trip. An arrangement was made whereby Elijah Patterson would furnish a yoke of oxen and a yoke of young cows in exchange for his board while crossing the plains. At Indian Grove a wagon train consisting of 21 wagons was organized and Elijah Patterson was elected captain of the train. "One of the members of the wagon train died on the Little Vermilion. They killed their first buffalo on the South Platte. On the North Platte they overtook a large company of Mormons enroute for the Great Salt Lake. G. W. Hunt, my father, while out hunting with John Thomas near the headwaters of the Sweetwater, was captured by the Crow Indians, who were going to hold them for ransom. After being held prisoners all day, they eluded the vigilance of the Indians and made their way to where their wagon train was camped. The Indians followed them, hung around their camp and during the night stole some of their stock. "They stopped and exchanged news and visited for a 142 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS while with General Kearney, while making the Hams Fork cutoff, who, with his dragoons, was returning to Fort Leavenworth from California. "Not far from Fort Boise they overtook Stephen Coffin of Brookville, Indiana, who was destined to take a very prominent part in the political and commercial life of Portland and Oregon. "After crossing the Blue Mountains, my father traded his buffalo rifle to an Indian for a fine riding horse, which the Indian stole two nights later. Stephen Coffin and the Hunt family traveled together from the second crossing of the Snake River through the Grand Ronde Valley over the Blue Mountains and down the Umatilla River, to its junction with the Columbia. They crossed the Deschutes River by ferry, meeting there the Temple-tons, who later became prominent in Linn County. "Ours was the last family to cross the Cascade Mountains by the Barlow route in the Fall of 1847. While crossing the summit of the Cascades they encountered a heavy snowstorm and the cattle, weakened by the long trip and lack of forage, gave out. Only three of the oxen were strong enough to cross the mountains, the others being left behind. Eight months after starting from their home in Indiana, they drew up to the cabin of L. A. Byrd in the Waldo Hills. "The five dollars paid for toll on the Barlow Road had left grandfather with only fifty cents in cash to his name, and with a family of six sons and three daughters TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 143 to provide for. Fortunately, Harrison H. Hunt, grandfather's brother, had crossed the plains in 1843, bringing with him a set of mill irons. He had built a sawmill at the head of Cathlamet Bay on the Columbia River, and was shipping lumber to the Sandwich Islands, through which he had become fairly well-to-do. Learning of his brother's arrival in the Waldo Hills, he loaned him money until he could become established. Ralph Geer, one of the best known and best loved pioneers of the Waldo Hills, who was a near neighbor of our family, was very helpful while grandfather was getting established on his place. "I have heard my father talk about his early experiences in Oregon so much when I was a boy that sometimes it almost seems as if I had been there. Since father's death I have read and reread his little booklet so that, although but a small part of his experiences are mentioned, yet what he has told can be depended upon as being accurate. I will go ahead and tell you about my father and you write it in your words." Pursuant to Mr. Hunt's suggestion, I have condensed the story of the coming of the Hunt family to Oregon and of some of their experiences after they arrived here and have told it in my own language. A relative of Mr. Hunt's, Wilson Price Hunt of Trenton, New Jersey, came to Oregon in 1811. When John Jacob Astor organized the Pacific Fur Company he kept for himself so of the 100 shares of stock in the company, 144 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS dividing the remaining shares among his partners, Alexander McKay, who had visited the Northwest coast of America in 1789 and 1793, Duncan McDougal, Donald McKenzie, David and Robert Stuart and Wilson Price Hunt. On September 8, 181o, the Tonquin, a ship of 290 tons burden, armed with ten guns, left New York with a number of the partners and clerks as well as the trade goods for the trip around the Horn to the mouth of the Columbia, where it arrived March 22, 1811. The goods were landed and . a site selected for the fort and trading post, which was named Astoria in honor of Mr. Astor. Meanwhile Wilson Price Hunt was put in charge of the overland expedition to the mouth of the Columbia. Going to Montreal, he enlisted some French-Canadian voyageurs and secured a light but strong Canadian canoe having a capacity of four tons. They proceeded up the Ottawa River through the Great Lakes to Michilimackinac, at the head of Lake Huron, where he enlisted a number of trappers and additional boatmen and an experienced trader named Ramsay Crooks. They reached St. Louis in September. He found at St. Louis orders from Mr. Astor putting him in sole command of the overland expedition. The party wintered at Nodaway, not far from the present city of St. Joseph, Mo. At Nodaway they were joined by Robert McLellan, a former partner of Ramsay Crooks, and by John Day. Here too Mr. Hunt engaged as guide and interpreter, Pierre Dorion, the half-breed son of Pierre Dorion, who had TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 145 guided the Lewis and Clark party a few years before on their trip to the mouth of the Columbia. Dorion brought his Sioux wife and two children with him. After eleven months of fatiguing travel beset by hardship, privation and danger, Hunt and his party reached Astoria on February 15, 1812. In every record and account of the founding of Astoria and of its transfer to the British, who renamed it Fort George, you will note that Mr. Hunt's courage, steadfastness and integrity of character are mentioned. in the spring of 1848 the settlers in the Waldo Hills and those living in the vicinity of where the town of Silverton was later built—the town that Homer Davenport made famous—experienced much annoyance and inconvenience from thieving Indians, members of the Molalla and Klamath tribes. These Indians were camped on the Abiqua River. Most of the able-bodied men of the country had enlisted for service against the Cayuse Indians who had murdered Dr. Marcus Whitman, Nar-cissa Whitman, his wife, and other members of the Whitman mission at Wai-il-at-pu. The Klamath and Molalla Indians, taking advantage of the absence of the men folks, became insolent and demanded food of the women who had been left at home to run the farms. The Klamath Indians, who were visiting the Molallas, seemed to have been the aggressors in most of the depredations committed. In the spring of 1848 R. C. Geer had organized a home guard company. A man named Knox, 146 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS of Linn County, while carrying the United States mail, passed Richard Miller's farm, and seeing a large number of Indians gathered there, learned that they had demanded a steer, which had been refused. He at once spread the alarm and Captain R. C. Geer and Sergeant Wilbur King sent riders out to gather the members of the home guard company. By Morning about sixty settlers had gathered at Miller's home, among them being Daniel Waldo, L. A. Byrd, William Parker, Jim Harpole, G. W. Hunt, Jim Brown, S. D. Maxon, Israel and Robert Shaw, King Hibbard, Will Brisbane, Port Gilliam, William, Thomas and George Howell, Leander Davis, Will Hendricks, James Williams, J. W. Thomas and Henry Schrum, Jacob Caplinger, Cyrus Smith, J. Warnock, T. B. Allen, Len Goff and some others. Daniel Waldo was elected colonel. The men who had horses under Colonel Waldo crossed the Abiqua and went up the north side where the Indians were camped, while Captain Geer, with part of the company on foot, went up the south side. The Indians, seeing themselves surrounded, charged the men on foot. The chief of the Klamaths, being in advance, was instantly killed. The Indians were armed with bows and arrows. As they hesitated, another Indian was killed, which persuaded the Indians to change their plan of attack into a retreat. It was decided to wait till next morning, when more men could be summoned, and the Indians wiped out. Next morning Sergeant King, with a number of men, TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 147 overtook the Indians and fired on them. Seven of the warriors and two of the squaws were killed. When the white men discovered that they were attacking the rear guard only, which consisted of the older Indians and the squaws, the warriors having escaped, they returned to their homes. Levi Scott, for whom Scottsburg is named, was appointed sub-agent of Indian affairs and was instructed to raise a company of rangers. Captain Levi Scott, with his rangers, served that summer and fall as an escort to the emigrants who came to Oregon by way of the southern route. Felix Scott, who was a Virginian, emigrated to Missouri, where he served as lieutenant-governor of that state. He crossed the plains from Missouri to California, to Sutter's Fort. When the Mexican government, in 1846, demanded that all Americans settled in California swear allegiance to Mexico, he moved to Oregon. He it was who built a road across the Cascade Mountains by way of the McKenzie pass. He took over this newly constructed road across the Cascades, eight heavy wagons and a drove of 700 cattle. These were the first wagons and the first drove of cattle to cross the Cascades by the McKenzie pass. In the summer of 1848 G. W. Hunt built a log school house on his place. This also served as a church. In this log school house, in 1851, the children of the Waldo Hills were taught by B. F. Dowell, a native of Virginia and a graduate of the University of Virginia. Prior to 148 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS coming to Oregon he had practiced law in Tennessee. In 1852 he left the Willamette Valley, settling at Jacksonville, from which place he ran a pack train to Yreka, Scotts Bar and other mines in northern California. He took part in the Rogue River Indian war of '53 and in the Yakima Indian war of '55. He later became one of the prominent attorneys in southern Oregon and editor and publisher of the Oregon Sentinel at Jacksonville. In the spring of 1848 G. W. Hunt paid his father for his time till he became of age and struck out for himself. He landed a job at $20 a month in a logging camp run by his uncle, H. H. Hunt, at what is now Clifton, on the Columbia River. While working in the woods near his uncle's mill, he took up a claim on Cathlamet Bay, on which Napa was later located. In the fall of that year, 1848, the brig Honolulu anchored near the mill to take on lumber. A man named Wilson came ashore and showed to the men working in the mill, a number of nuggets. He said that gold had been discovered in the mill race at Captain Sutter's saw mill in California and that a man could pick up a fortune in a few months. H. H. Hunt, who owned the mill, employed 16 white men and 15 Kanakas. Many of them at once decided to go to California. G. W. Hunt's uncle, Harrison H. Hunt, had built at his saw mill some time before, a small schooner named the Wave. He at once began fitting it out and loading it with lumber, as he believed he would find a ready sale for his lumber in TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 149 the new mining camp of San Francisco. G. W. Hunt received permission from his uncle to go to California in the schooner, but before the schooner sailed a letter was brought to him from his father, which asked him to come home at once and run the farm, as his father had started overland for California. In those days there was no money in the country, so G. W. Hunt received orders on Dr. John McLoughlin, who ran the Hudson's Bay Company store at Oregon City, for the wages due him. His father had started a blacksmith shop on the Waldo Hills farm, and during the winter of 1848, G. W. Hunt shod the neighbors' oxen, repaired their wagons and did other blacksmithing work. Iron was scarce, so old wagon tires were used to make harrow teeth and for other jobs of this kind. In the spring of 1849 G. W. Hunt's father, John S. Hunt, returned from California and G. W. Hunt, in company with his uncle, William Hunt, L. Woodworth and a man named York, started for the gold diggings in California. Enroute to California they joined a company of gold seekers hailing from Polk County, among whom were Isaac and Stephen Staats, William Martin, later Sheriff of Umatilla County, Oregon, and some others. They passed through Rogue River Valley, crossed the Siskiyou Mountains, crossed the Sacramento River by way of the Devil's Backbone, and camped on a creek near Sacramento. While camped here an Indian stole William Martin's 150 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS horse. The next morning the Indians attacked the party and Jons Williams, one of the party, killed one of the Indians and wounded another. They camped for a while on Rock Creek, near where Shasta was later located. One of the party, a man named Forrest, who had gone down to California in the fall of '48, and who had taken up a claim on Feather River, showed Mr. Hunt how to pan gold and pointed out what he believed might prove a good claim. The first day Mr. Hunt panned out $ o8 worth of coarse gold dust, so he decided to stay there. The other members of the party thought they could find richer diggings on Feather River, so they went on. Within a day or two Mr. Hunt was joined by a number of other Oregonians, among them Samuel Gardner from Polk County, Tom Clark, John Megginson and Charlie Eaton and Owen Bush of Bush Prairie. They prospected Rock Creek, Salt Creek, Olney Creek and French Gulch. Where they had their claims the town of Shasta was later built. In this district they struck some very rich pockets. John Megginson found a pocket one day from which he took out, in a few hours, $1800 in nuggets and coarse dust. The largest amount taken out in any one day by Mr. Hunt was 32 ounces of gold, which ran about $16 to the ounce. Late that fall several members of the party, including Mr. Hunt, took the mountain fever from drinking impure water. They took liberal doses of whiskey and quinine, but this not proving effective, they decided to TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 151 go back to the Willamette Valley for the winter. They packed their outfit and moved to the Oregon Trail, where they joined John Sappingfield and some others who were going back to winter in the Willamette Valley. Before leaving the Shasta district, Mr. Hunt and his comrades had been joined by Nathan Olney, whose name is perpetuated by Olney Creek. They were also visited by Captain Ben Wright, who hailed from Richmond, Indiana, and who later gained considerable fame as an Indian fighter. John Sappingfield, G. W. Hunt and the rest of the Oregon-bound miners, traveled north till they came to the base of Mt. Shasta, where Mr. Hunt was so sick with the mountain fever that he could no longer stay in the saddle. They camped for a while at the soda springs there and while waiting for Mr. Hunt to recover, Mr. Sappingfield made a litter of two poles, to which was fastened a blanket. Putting Mr. Hunt in this litter, they fastened the litter to two horses with Mr. Hunt swinging between. The party was joined by other miners to prevent attack by the Indians while crossing the Siskiyou Mountains. The newcomers wanted Mr. Hunt left by the side of the road to die as they had to travel slower if he was to be taken along in the litter. John Sappingfield, with one or two of the others, refused to abandon him and they crossed the Siskiyou Mountains successfully and reached Cowan's place in the Umpqua Valley. They stopped there till Mr. Hunt had so far recovered that he was able to ride over the Callapooia 152 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Mountains. Word was sent ahead to Mr. Hunt's father and Mr. Hunt was met near Eugene Skinner's place, on which the city of Eugene is now built, by his father and mother with a wagon and an ox-team and taken to his home in the Waldo Hills. That winter, 185o, John S. Hunt and his son, G. W. Hunt, started the first store in the Waldo Hills. They brought their goods from Oregon City to Butteville by canoe or bateau and hauled them by ox-team from Butte-yule to to their home in the Waldo Hills. In the fall of 185o, G. W. Hunt sold his interest in his store in the Waldo Hills to his father and with the money secured an outfit to trade with the Indians in eastern Oregon. With Henry Williamson and Thomas Boggs, whose father had been governor of Missouri, and with Jonathan and Sam Center, Mr. Hunt went by the old Barlow Trail to Five-mile Creek, not far from The Danes. Here they established a trading post, trading flour, bacon and other supplies to the emigrants for their worn-out stock. A large band of Indians were camped at the mouth of the Deschutes River. These Indians traded their horses for tobacco, powder and other supplies. When Mr. Hunt learned that they would have to winter their stock on willow bark or drive them over the Barlow Trail that fall, he decided to sell out to a German who was anxious to become a member of their firm. The winter of 185o was a very severe one and Wil- TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 153 liamson and his partners lost all of the cattle and horses which they had secured during the summer and fall. G. W. Hunt worked that winter on a claim which he had taken up in the Waldo Hills. In the spring of 1851, with his brother, John Hunt, Sam Hart from St. Louis, John Fresh and a man named Owens, he started once more for California. In the Callapooia Mountains they joined a party of miners, among whom were George and Len Eoff, William Martin, Hy English, John Downing, Pep Smith, Professor Vernon and some others. Incessant rains delayed the party greatly. Most of the streams were out of their banks and they had to swim not only the regular streams but many gulches which were roaring torrents. Some of the party turned back at the South Umpqua and others turned back at Myrtle Creek. G. W. Hunt, with his companions, pressed on till they came to Rogue River, where they found two brothers by the name of Wheeler who were rocking out some gold. They stopped on Applegate Creek, near where Jacksonville was later located, and prospected. Finding plenty of color, they decided to stay there and turned their horses out on the range. The day after establishing their camp they went out to see how their horses were doing and found their bell mare had been killed by being shot with arrows. They also found that the rest of their stock, with the exception of four horses, had been driven off. G. W. Hunt, who understood jargon, visited the camp 154 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS of Sam, one of the chiefs of the Rogue River Indians, to secure his help in recovering the horses. Sam claimed he did not know who had stolen them and that he could do nothing about it. They then went to Perkins Ferry and talked with Joe, an Indian chief who had been named after General Joseph Lane. Joe, the chief, accompanied by three of his braves and Perkins, the ferryman, went with Mr. Hunt to his camp on Applegate Creek. Chief Joe, with his three Indians and G. W. Hunt, accompanied by Hart and Keys, started out on the trail of the 70 stolen horses. After two days of hard riding, Mr. Hunt and his party overtook a few of the Indians, who had 12 of the stolen horses. Chief Joe sent two of his braves with some of the Indians with the stolen horses to bring in the Indian horsethieves and the stolen horses. Several days later a number of the Indians came in with 20 more of the horses. Eight days later, Wolfskin, one of the sub-chiefs of the Rogue River tribe, came in with the rest of the stolen horses. The Indians held a council for two days, Chief Joe demanding that the horses be turned over to the white men, while Wolfskin argued that it would be better to kill the white men and keep the horses. The council finally broke up with Wolfskin in an ugly mood. Chief Joe and Perkins rode ahead while Keys and an Indian rode in the center of the band of horses and Mr. Hunt and Mr. Hart and two Indians brought up the rear. They finally reached their camp on Applegate Creek after being gone 16 days and having TO OREGON BY OX-TEAM IN '47 155 lived for most of the time on squirrels and grouse. Hart, who had been a trapper with Sublette and knew considerable about Indians, advised that they push on over the Siskiyous for the newly discovered diggings at Yreka. When the party reached there they found 20 miners, operating eight rockers, had taken out a large amount of gold. Many of the nuggets taken out at these diggings ranged in size from as large as a prune pit to the size of a walnut. Shortly after they had joined the miners at Shasta, Pit River Indians stole William Martin's horses. A number of the miners organized a posse, pursued the Indians, recaptured the horses and killed a number of the Indians. Colonel Ross, who later became distinguished in the Modoc Indian war, was a member of the miners' posse that killed the Indians. While the Hunt party were camped at Shasta Diggings a rich strike was made on Smith River. Mr. Hunt, with Mr. Shively, one of the owners of the townsite claim at Astoria, started out to see if the Smith River diggings were richer than where they were. At the crossing of Smith River, a party of prospectors had just had a fight with the Indians in which three Indians and one white man had been killed. Mr. Hunt and Shively followed William Greenwood, who hailed from Howell Prairie, near Salem, to where they had discovered good diggings on Humbug Creek. While working on Humbug Creek, Mr. Hunt, in mov- i6 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS ing a boulder, had his hand crushed so that he could no longer work with a pick or shovel, so he decided to go home. When he reached the ferry at Rogue River, he learned that Captain Stewart, while leaning over his horse to kill an Indian, had been shot and killed by the Indian with an arrow. He also learned that General Joseph Lane was raising a company of volunteers to subdue the Indians. In company with Rogers and Savage, Mr. Hunt decided to attempt going through the country of the Rogue River Indians in spite of the fact that they were on the warpath. After several narrow escapes from the Indians who pursued them, they finally reached the settlements and Mr. Hunt rode on to his home in the Waldo Hills, and on the third of August was married to Elizabeth N. Smith and shortly thereafter moved onto the claim he had taken in the Waldo Hills. IX A PIONEER FLAPPER WHEN I dropped in to see Mrs. Kate Morris, who is visiting her daughter at No. 226 12th street, I put out my hand to shake hands. She shifted her lighted match to the other hand, and then said : "Sit down, young man. As soon as I can get my pipe lit we can shake hands and have a visit. If these young flappers can smoke cigarettes I don't see why I shouldn't smoke a pipe. I like to keep in style ; that's why I bobbed my hair. How does it come I am not smoking a Missouri meerschaum? I don't have to smoke a corncob pipe. My eight children, 35 grandchildren and 45 great-grandchildren keep me supplied with good briarwood pipes. "I am afraid if I give you an interview people will think I am not very well educated ; but, after all, I've seen a lot of educated people that were fools. You can't put a polish on some kind of people, any more than you can on some kinds of lumber. I never was much of a hand to sit back and not do my share because I didn't have a good education. It's what you know that really 157 158 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS counts, whether you get your knowledge in school or out of it. When I belonged to the grange I occupied every position in the grange except master of the grange. Yes, I even served as chaplain. Sixty years ago, when I belonged to the Good Templars, I took all the chairs. I had three little children at the time and I had to take them with me to the meetings. Maybe some folks thought I was a little forward, but I never had what they call in these days an inferiority complex. If I thought I could do a thing I pitched in and did it, and if I thought I couldn't do it I pitched in and learned how and did it anyway. "I suppose I really ought to start this interveiw by tell. ing you where and when and why I was born. My name before I was married was Catherine Thomas, and I was born in Noclaway county, Missouri, on June 27, 1841. That makes me 87 years old. I suppose I ought to begin feeling like an old woman, but I don't. In spite of all the scolding and lectures my children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren give me, I go along serenely and do about as I please. It's pretty hard to improve 'a person and make them change their ways after they are my age. As far as that goes, I can't see that the present fashions or ways are any improvement on the times when I was a girl, 75 years ago. The flappers of today have their necking parties, compared to which our play games, as we young folks used to call 'Drop the handkerchief,' playing Postoffice and other kissing games, were inno- A PIONEER FLAPPER 159 cent. However, I am not much of a hand to tell other people how to live their own lives. That's a job each person has to decide for himself or herself. "You want me to get back to the time we crossed the plains'? First, I'm going to tell you about my father and mother. My father's name was Turpen T. Thomas. He was born in England. My mother's maiden name was Nancy Curl. They were married in Indiana and I am the fifth of the nine children. My brother, William G. Thomas, lives at Wrangel, Alaska, and is a circuit judge. My sister, Mrs. Susan Bateman, lives at Huntsville. I went to school for two short spells before we crossed the plains to Oregon, 77 years ago. I didn't get much chance to go to school, for I spent quite some time, when I was a girl, on the go. In the spring of 1849 father hitched up the oxen to our prairie schooner and we took the old Santa Fe trail and went down into Texas, where we visited my mother's sister, for about a year. In the summer of 185o he headed north again and went back to Missouri. Next spring—that would be the spring of 1851—father yoked up the oxen again and we started for the Willamette valley. We had two well built wagons. The fact of the matter was, we had to, because there were eight children in our family, so it took one wagon to hold our family and the other wagon to carry our provisions and bedding. Because father had considerable experience in traveling on the plains the other folks in the wagon train elected him captain. 160 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "There were around ioo wagons in our train. About 25 young chaps got jobs with the different emigrants driving a team for their board. There were lots of young girls in the train, to say nothing of the children. I was only 10 years old, but I certainly can remember vividly the skylarking and good times the young folks enjoyed around the campfire. There was one young chap, along about 20 or thereabouts, whose name was Steve Deven-ish. He was an awfully jolly, likable chap. All the girls liked him. He was quite a cut-up and a great hand at joking. One day some Indians came to our wagon train and, like most Indians, they were very anxious to get hold of some of the white girls for wives. When Steve found what the chief wanted he pointed to one of the prettiest girls in the bunch and asked the chief what he would pay for her. The chief offered io horses. Steve and the chief bargained back and forth and finally the chief raised his bid to 20 horses. Steve said, 'Sold; she's yours.' All the girls and young fellows thought this was a great joke. Next day the chief caught up with us and turned 20 head of horses into our loose stock and demanded the girl. Steve explained he was only joking; that white people didn't sell their women for horses ; that a white man didn't have to pay anything for a wife, and sometimes she was dear at that price. The Indian couldn't see the joke. He became angry and demanded that Steve carry out his bargain. Finally the girl's father and my A PIONEER FLAPPER 161 father, the captain of the train, sent the Indian about his business, and we went on. "That night the Indians swooped down on us and stampeded our stock. Father was left with two wagons and not an ox, a mule or a horse to move a wheel. The father of the girl that Steve had jokingly sold also lost his stock. The men made up a party and started out to overtake the Indians. When they caught up with them the Indians met them with a volley of arrows and one of our men was badly wounded, and as the Indians outnumbered our party the men came back. After rounding up all of the cattle, horses and mules in the party, they found they would have to abandon at least half of the wagons. The women-folks certainly felt bad to see their treasured possessions left. Mother had taken along a big stock of linen, but all we could carry in one wagon was enough food for the rest of the journey. The men-folks drew the 5o wagons close together, set fire to them and burned them all up so the Indians wouldn't get them. "Mother had to leave, in the wagon that we abandoned, all of her treasured possessions, including her linen tablecloths, napkins, bed quilts and towels and other things that she had spun and woven for herself. The only keepsake that mother was able to sneak out of the wagon was a six-pound flatiron that her mother gave her for a wedding present. "The father of the girl who had been sold to the In- 162 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS dian chief as a great joke by Steve Devenish, was furious. He got his gun and was going to kill Steve, because he and his wife lost all their stock and had to abandon one wagon with most of their heirlooms and keepsakes. The men-folks held the father of the girl so he wouldn't kill Steve, but he swore that the first chance he got he would kill him, as the world would be better off to be rid of a fool that would play such a joke on the Indians and cause the loss of the livestock and more than so wagons. The men had a meeting and decided not to kill Steve, because he had not intended to bring such a calamity on the wagon train through his practical joke. They figured that another such joke would wipe them clear off the map, so they had better not take any chances. They passed a sentence of banishment on Steve and told him he would have to strike out alone and that if he tried to return to the wagon train he would be killed. "The loss of more than half of our wagons meant that every child over 10 had to walk. I was one of the ones that had to walk, and we walked for the next two months, nearly choked by dust, as they made us walk about in the middle of the wagon train, so the Indians couldn't swoop down and get us. "When Steve struck out from the wagon train the morning we moved out, after we had burned the so wagons, all the girls gave him their lunch so he would have provisions for the next few days and wouldn't starve. We all cried, because we liked Steve. The men-folks A PIONEER FLAPPER 163 held the father of the girl that Steve had sold till Steve got out of sight, and he went away at a good lick. The hostile Indians were all around, so we knew we were seeing Steve for the last time. The men that had tried him for his practical joke told him he would have to head south for California and not to come to the Willamette valley, as there was no room in Oregon for him. We all felt pretty bad for a few days after Steve had left. We hoped that he wouldn't fall into the hands of the chief that he had played the joke on, for fear Steve would be tortured. We hoped the Indians would kill him quickly. In a week or two our shoes and stockings were worn out. The country was full of crickets. Somebody told me that they could sting like bees, and every time one lit on my bare legs it made me jump like a jackrabbit. "A good many years after we had reached the Willamette Valley my brother went up to the Idaho mines. Just about dusk one evening he stopped at a miner's cabin and asked if he could stay all night. The miner invited him in and after he got a good look at him he said, 'Isn't your name Thomas?' My brother told him it was. The miner said: "'I crossed the plains with you and your people—at least, I came part way across the plains with you. After the Indians stole our stock they made me leave the train and strike out alone for California. Naturally, I expected the Indians to kill me, but by traveling off the road and watching like a hawk I dodged the Indians and 164 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS overtook a wagon train that was bound for California. They took me in and I mined for a few years in California.' "After the Indians had stolen a good part of our stock another bunch of Indians rode up to us and demanded a beef, flour, bacon and coffee as rent for the grass our stock ate while passing through their country. Father had the men corral the wagons and get out the guns. We had very heavy canvas on our wagon—so heavy that when the Indians shot arrows into it the barb of the arrow would stick in the canvas and not go clear through. While the Indians and the men were disputing, one of the Indians thrust his hand under the wagon cover to steal some bacon from our wagon. Mother saw his hand and came down as hard as she could with the butcher knife, across his knuckles. He let out a yell, and a moment later our wagon cover was in flames. Another Indian had set fire to it. The men and mother put the fire out, so it only burned one corner. One of the men struck the Indian over the head with his gun, and, I guess, broke his skull. They dragged the Indian to one side of the road and got ready to shoot the other Indians, but they lit out, and after awhile we pulled out. For several nights after that the Indians would shoot at our stock, and quite a few arrowheads buried themselves in the canvas of our tent, but the guards ran the Indians off every time they came around, so they finally gave it up. "Pretty soon we ran out of food, so we sent word to A PIONEER FLAPPER 165 the soldiers at The Dalles. They sent a pack train to meet us. They issued to each person four pounds of flour and some bacon, and to the older folks coffee. At The Dalles we found, in addition to the government troops, a blacksmith shop, a store and two saloons. It wasn't much of a place in those days. Ours was the first wagon train that season to go over the Barlow pass. The men had to cut away the down timber from the road and repair the road. The Hood River Loop is a pleasure trip now, but I wish you could have seen it when we came down Laurel Hill 77 years ago. "We tied a heavy rope to the back axle of the wagon, wrapped the rope around a tree and the men who were holding the rope inched the wagon down Laurel Hill by letting the rope out a little at a time. Each wagon had a single yoke of oxen with a man at the head of each ox to keep shoving back on its face or by its horns, so they would hold the wagon back. When we got to Foster's, which we reached on August 20, the man whose oxen father had hired had to have his oxen, so father got an Indian pony and rode down into Linn county to see my mother's brother, Jim Curl, who had settled in Linn county in 1847. He had raised three good crops of grain and had some fat young oxen. He drove up and got us and took us to his place, six miles from Scio. He had picked out a land claim for us, about a mile and a half from his place, so we moved on it and father soon had a cabin up. i66 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "I can't hope to explain to you how happy we all were. Father and mother and all eight of us children had crossed the plains in good health. We children were particularly happy, for instead of having to strike out each morning and walk barefooted in the dust, where we stubbed our toes, stepped on cactus and watched out that we didn't step on any rattlesnakes, we were in a country where grass was belly-deep for the cattle and when the sea breezes made it wave it looked like waves of changeable green silk. We didn't have to worry about the Indians running off our stock. No longer did we have to eat bacon, beans and camp bread, and not get as much of them as we wanted, for here we had found a country of beauty, where we could have all the vegetables we wanted, where the hills were full of deer and the streams full of trout, where, when we looked to the westward, instead of seeing nothing but a long winding train of prairie schooners with a cloud of dust hanging over all, we saw waving grass and vividly green fir trees. We looked up at a blue sky with white clouds, and to the eastward we could see Mount Hood, clean and clear and beautiful and so wonderful that it almost took your breath. Just before sunup father would go out on one of the game trails and would be back in time for breakfast with a deer slung shot-pouch fashion over his shoulders. All the settlers around the forks of the Santiam used to go out in the fall and kill wild hogs. The hogs had got away from the early settlers and lived on A PIONEER FLAPPER 167 mast wherever there were oak trees. We girls soon found we had to be careful about going out on the prairie unless we were on horseback, for the country was full of wide-horned Spanish cattle as wild as deer and as savage as wildcats, but within a few years the men-folks had killed off most of these wild cattle. "For my 13th birthday I was given a spinning wheel. This was in 1854. Mother was a good hand at carding wool. People used to bring in their wool, and we washed, carded, spun and wove it on shares, so we soon had plenty of clothes. Mother used alder bark to dye the cloth brown and oak bark to dye it butternut color. We had no nails, so the men-folks used an auger, and pegs made out of oak, to build the house. "The first school I went to was at the home of Mrs. Delphine Hamilton. She was a New York lady who had brought out some schoolbooks. She took 12 of us children and taught us in her home. Later the settlers got together and put up a regular schoolhouse out of logs. Professor Easop A. Mclnish taught school for several years. He charged $ o a term for each pupil. The children came from as far as 10 miles away. Some of the young men were 20 years old and the girls 16 or 17. I think they did as much sparking as studying. He kept a bunch of heavy hazel switches in the different corners of the schoolhouse, so wherever he was he could get one right away, and he sure knew how to use it. In the summer time the opening that served for a window was 168 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS left open, but in winter time the window was covered with oiled foolscap paper in place of glass. I remember one day an Englishman came to visit our school. The teacher invited him to make a talk. He said, 'I don't 'old with girls going to school. All the heducation a girl needs is to know enough to go into the 'ay and gather heggs and all the figgering she needs is to know enough to weigh butter.' "No, my folks wouldn't let me go to dances—they held that the devil was in the fiddle and that if a girl danced she was dancing her way to hell. I guess human nature hasn't changed much—the girls of that day liked to pick out their own husbands as well as they do today, in spite of parental objection. One of my girl chums had a fellow that her folks thought was a kind of harum-scarum chap that wasn't good for anything but hunting and fishing. They liked each other, though, so he arranged to bring a couple of saddle horses and hide them in a grove near her place. She watched her chance, sneaked out, and they rode lickety-clip to the Willamette river, where they caught a boat, intending to go up into Washington Territory and get married. When the folks on the boat learned they were eloping one of the passengers said he was a preacher and would marry them, so they didn't have to go to Vancouver, but got married right on the boat. They came back, settled down, and after their first baby came someone told them the pas-sencier that had married them wasn't a preacher at all A PIONEER FLAPPER 169 but was just a practical joker, so they hunted up a sure-enough preacher and got married again. "I was 16 when I was married. My husband's name was Lee Morris. Becky Morris, who was crowned queen of the Linn county pioneers at Brownsville recently, is my sister-in-law. She and I married brothers. My husband and I were married on Sunday at my parents' home. The Rev. W. R. Bishop performed the marriage ceremony. We didn't have to have any license in those days and some folks tried to argue with me that any contract entered into on Sunday is illegal, but our contract of marriage turned out pretty well, for we had 1 o children, nine of whom are still living, to say nothing of 35 grandchildren and 45 great-grandchildren. We were married in 1857 and in 1859 we moved up east of the mountains. We lived the winter of 1859 in a blockhouse in Wasco county. We took up a place on Three Mile. My husband and my brother, Newton Morris, hauled the first load of freight for the government to the Warm Springs Indian agency. "Each generation thinks that it is a great improvement on past generations. In a way I suppose this is true or we would make no progress, but in some ways I cannot help thinking that, busy as they were, the pioneers of Oregon had more time to be kindly, thoughtful and considerate than the people of today. When I was a girl, if a woman got sick she didn't have to hire a trained nurse. Her neighbors came in, did the house- 170 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS work, took her children to their homes to care for till she was well, brought her home-made bread and jellies and other things, and if a man met with an accident or was sick, all the men in the neighborhood would put in his crop for him or reap his grain, making it a day's picnic, just as if they were going to a house-raising. If he was out of wood they would haul wood and cut it up, and in every way the neighbors showed a spirit of helpfulness and service. "In these days many families have no children and others have one child. In those days there were usually from 10 to 15 children in the family, so that children had no chance to grow up spoiled and selfish. They had to learn to share their things and to help each other. Both the boys and the girls had certain duties that they had to perform, so they had very little time to get into mischief. Because we were so busy with our work we appreciated all the more the occasional social gatherings and parties we went to. It seems to me that the children of today are blase—so much is done for them. "After my husband and I had been married a few years we moved east of the mountains. This was in 1859. In 1862 my husband wanted me to go back to my folks in Linn county, so he could go to the mines at Bannock City, Idaho. After he had tried his luck mining awhile he came back to the Willamette Valley, bought some emigrant wagons and for the next four years freighted to the mines. He built a store at Bannock City. He did not A PIONEER FLAPPER 171 make what would be considered big money in these days, but nevertheless we were able to save a good deal of it, for there were less things to spend money on. We didn't buy any radios nor automobiles and we didn't feel it necessary to turn in our old prairie schooners for a new model. Our oxen weren't six-cylindered but if you gave them time enough they usually arrived where they started for. If you will look back over an account book kept by some old pioneer you will not find any payments made for rent, gas bills, electric lights, milk, butcher bills, fuel bills nor many other such expenses as the housewife of today has to meet. I used to cook over the fireplace and I have cooked many a meal and darned many a sock by the light of a grease light. We used to save the bear fat or elk grease and with a twisted bit of rag and a teacup of grease, we had a light that might not have been very stylish but it served the purpose. "After my husband quit freighting to the mines we lived in the Willamette valley for a while and then moved back to eastern Oregon and ran sheep and horses on Juniper Flat in Wasco County. It hardly seems possible, when I look around my home in The Dalles now, that I knew it 77 years ago, when there was only one store, a couple of saloons, a blacksmith shop and some soldiers." X CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW, WAGON TRAIN MASTER "WHEN my father, Job McNemee, moved to Portland there were only three houses here," said Andrew Jackson McNemee, when I interviewed him recently at the home of his niece, Mrs. C. A. Morden, in East Portland. "My father built the fourth house in Portland, a good-sized log cabin. I was born two years later, 76 years ago last spring. "I was born in a cabin made of shakes, located on the southwest corner of Yamhill and Front streets, March 5, 1848. My people spent the winter of 1845 on Dick Richard's place at Linnton. Boiled wheat and salmon was their staple diet that winter. Next spring father bought a couple of lots of A. L. Lovejoy in his newly laid out townsite, Portland. Father put up a log cabin and brought the family from Linnton to Portland. He traded two thin oxen for a fat young steer, which he killed. With this meat he started the first butcher shop in Portland. People going from Vancouver to Oregon City usually tied up their canoes at the clearing on the river bank near our house. Father sold meat to these travelers, as well as to settlers in the vicinity of Port- 172 CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 173 land. Father also started the first hotel in Portland. He called it the Ohio House after his native state. Father made the first pumps used in Portland. He bored a hole through the center of a log and fixed up a handle and plunger. Later he took the contract to make the pipes for Portland's first water system. Later my father worked for Leonard & Green, when they bought the city water department. "When gold was discovered in California in 1848 every able-bodied man in Portland went to the gold diggings. My father was among the first to go. My oldest brother, Francis, who was not yet 12 years old, chopped wood for many of the women who were left husbandless here in Portland. I was a baby in arms at the time. Mother had no money to buy feed for our cow, so she took the straw from the ticks on our beds, mixed flour with it and fed it to our cow, so the cow could give milk for myself and the other children. "Father made big money in the mines but invested it in other claims, so he came back broke. Later he went into the stock business and became well-to-do, having at one time over a hundred Durham cattle. "My father, Job McNemee, was born near Columbus, Ohio, October 14, 1812. My mother, Hannah Cochrane McNemee, was born near Chillicothe, Ohio, January 29, 1815. Her father, David Cochrane, was born in Virginia, but went to Kentucky with Boone and Kenton and the other pioneers of Kentucky. He moved from 174 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Kentucky to Ohio. Father was 21 and mother 17 when they were married. They struck out for themselves, going first to Indiana and later to St. Joe, Missouri. Father bought 16o acres of land on the edge of St. Joe. When he took the Oregon fever he traded his quarter section for $400 in cash and eight horses. Today his farm is in the heart of the residence district of St. Joe. "Fred Waymire married my mother's sister. Fred's brother, George Waymire, was elected lieutenant of the wagon train when my people came across the plains in 1845. Colonel W. G. T'Vault was captain of the wagon train. "Dr. Elijah White, who was on his way East, met the wagon train of which my father was a member and told them of a more direct route. The T'Vault wagon train, with others, swung south to take this cut-off. Stephen Meek, a brother of Joe Meek, said he could guide the immigrants to the Willamette valley by this cut-off. Mountain men and Hudson's Bay trappers, in former days, had crossed the Cascades by this cut-off and he was confident he could follow the old trail. He became confused and bore off too far to the south. They struck the desert country in Central Oregon, where the cattle suffered severely from lack of pasture and lack of water. In place of saving 200 miles as they had expected, and having an easier way, they suffered severe hardships, lost three weeks, and finally made their way to The Dalles. "Stephen Meek guided them by the old trail for some CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 175 time, but when they got into the foot-hills of the Malheur Mountains all signs of the old trail had disappeared. The alkaline water was the cause of many of the immigrants becoming sick with mountain fever. My sister Emaline, who was a babe in arms, died, and for three days they carried her body in the wagon until they could find a good place to bury her. "The cattle became restless and tried to take the back track. The wagon train would have to halt while the immigrants hunted for the lost cattle. While Dave Herron was out looking for his lost cattle, he noticed in the bed of a small stream, a piece of metal that looked like copper or brass. He picked it up, put it in his pocket and took it with him to camp. Another member of the party also brought a lump of dull yellow metal to camp. They were unable to determine whether it was gold, copper or brass. This was in 1845, before the discovery of gold in California. One of the gold nuggets was given to a member of the party, who hammered it flat with a hammer on his wagon tire. He threw it into his tool chest and paid no more attention to it. The immigrants were more interested in finding the lost trail to the Willamette valley and securing water for their thirsty children than in discovering gold, so no attention was paid to the stream on which the nuggets had been found. The stream ran in a southwesterly direction, but whether it was a branch of the Malheur river or not the immigrants did not know. 176 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "A few years later, when gold was discovered in California, the finding of these nuggets was recalled. When my brothers went to the Oro Fino mines in Idaho, my father said he believed he could guide them to where the gold had been found, in what was called the Blue Bucket mine. One of the immigrants, when asked about finding the gold there, said he could have picked up his blue bucket full of nuggets if he had known it was gold. Several parties were later organized to find the Blue Bucket mine, but they were unable to locate the place. "While the immigrants were camped in 'Stinky Hollow' many of the oxen lay down and refused to get up, for when an ox is all in he quits. An ox will stay with it as long as he can, but when he finally gives up it is almost impossible to persuade him to get to his feet again. For three days, while the men were out hunting for the lost oxen, the party camped there, suffering from thirst. My father rode three horses till they were beat out, looking for water. Upon his return to the camp he found three wagons had been placed facing each other in the form of a triangle, their tongues raised and tied together at the top. The sullen and angry men of the party had put a rope around Steve Meek's neck and were about to hang him. My father, pointing his gun at the men, said, 'The first man that pulls on that rope will be a dead man. Steve Meek is the only man who has ever been in this part of the country before. If you hang him, we are all dead men. If you give him a little time CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 177 he may be able to recognize some landmark here and find a way out.' The men agreed to give Meek three days. Meek left during the night and made his way to The Dalles, where he appealed to the missionaries for help. The missionaries there were either unwilling or unable to do anything, so Moses Harris, or the 'Black Squire' as he was usually called, an old mountain man and a companion of Joe Meek, secured supplies from the Indians and started out to rescue the lost immigrants. "The party did not reach The Dalles until the middle of October. More than twenty of the immigrants had died from mountain fever while wandering about the headwaters of the Malheur and in the Malheur mountains in search of the cut-off. My father, having no money to hire a bateau, cut some trees near the river bank, made a log raft, on which he put the family and the household goods, and on this raft they floated down the Columbia river to Fort Vancouver. "At Fort Vancouver he bought a bateau and plied for the next few months on the river, transporting passengers and freight from The Dalles to Fort Vancouver. Dr. John McLoughlin furnished wheat and salmon to father on credit on which they lived during the winter of 1845 while staying at Linnton. "In the spring of 1846, when my father built the fourth house in Portland, he learned that Lovejoy and Pettygrove had only a squatter's right to Portland. They had never surveyed the land. Father hired a sur- 178 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS veyor and filed a claim on 640 acres. For years this case was in the courts and, finally, the supreme court of the United States, in 1858, decided against my father. Salmon P. Chase, Montgomery Blair and William Gar-dinour were my father's lawyers. They were to receive one-third of the No acres if they won the case. Ben Stark, D. Lownsdale and W. W. Chapman were the ones contesting my father's claim to Portland. "In 1849, the year after I was born, Rev. J. H. Wilbur built the Taylor Street Methodist church. Settlers had very little money, but Rev. Wilbur would go into a saloon and make his appeal ; and very frequently the men who were gambling would say 'You can have the next jackpot.' Frequently Rev. Wilbur would come out of a saloon with a double handful of money in his hat, and not all of it was silver by any means, for times were flush in '49, and there were lots of $5 and $10 Beaver gold pieces in circulation, as well as fifty-dollar gold slugs." There are not many pioneers who crossed the plains to Oregon in 1845 left. Among the interesting survivors of this immigration is Sam Tetherow of Dallas, whose father, Solomon Tetherow, was captain of one of the wagon trains that came to the Willamette valley in 1845. While in Dallas recently I decided to interview Mr. Tetherow. When I asked a fellow-townsman of Mr. Tetherow's CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 179 at Dallas how to find Sam, he said : "Follow the road out toward the fair grounds till you come to a large house with a big walnut tree in front of it. That's Sam's place.. Sam is apt to be there or thereabout. You will know Sam when you see him. You can tell a Tetherow as far as you can see him." I drove to the house with a widespreading black walnut tree in front of it, and found Sam piling his winter's wood in the woodshed. "I was just hoping some one would come and drag me away from the woodshed," said Sam. "Piling wood is too much like work on a day as pretty as this." We walked around to the front of his house and sat on the front porch. Sam's most visible and evident trait is good humor. "I have heard a lot from the old pioneers about your father, Sol Tetherow, and what a good man he was. Are you as good a man as your dad?" I asked. Sam gave a dry chuckle, and said, "That's a pretty hard question to start off with. Can't you lead off with a few easy ones and sort of work up to that one? It won't look well if I brag about what a good man I am, and, on the other hand, nobody likes to knock himself. As a matter of fact, my dad was a pretty good man. He was capable as well as popular. They elected him captain of the wagon train when we came to Oregon in 1845. If you think it's any snap to run a wagon train of 66 wagons with every man in the train having a different idea of what is the best thing to do, all I can say is that some day you ought 18o OREGON'S YESTERDAYS to try it and you'll change your opinion. Nearly 3,000 people came across the plains in 1845. Two wagon trains left from Independence. One of them was captained by Presley Welch. Joel Palmer and Sam A. Barlow were his assistants. Another, of about 40 wagons, was in charge of Samuel Hancock. Three good-sized wagon trains left St. Joe. One of them had A. Hackle-man as captain. Another, of something over 6o wagons, chose W. G. T'Vault as captain, with John Waymire and James Allen as assistants. My father had charge of the other wagon train that left St. Joe. Nearly 200 families of the emigration of 1845 left the main road at Hot Springs, near Fort Boise, and took what was said to be a cut-off for Oregon. Stephen Meek acted as their guide. They followed an old trail of the Hudson's Bay trappers, but they got off the trail in the Malheur country and had all sorts of grief. It was the members of this party, near the head of the Malheur river, who found gold known as the Blue Bucket diggings. "Three of the iç children in our family were born after we reached Oregon. We reached what is now Dallas on November 16, 1845. My father bought Sol Shelton's squatter's right to a section of land. He traded him a brindle ox named Bright for a square mile of land. The city of Dallas is located on that claim, but it's worth a lot more than a brindle ox today. In 1847 father found a claim that he liked better than the Shelton claim. It was located where the two forks of CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 181 the Luckiamute come together; so he took up 640 acres thui as his donation claim. "I enlisted in Captain A. N. Armstrong's company. There were 104 men in our company and we were enrolled on October 15, 1855. Two weeks later Captain Armstrong was elected major and Ben Hayden became our captain. Our lieutenants were Ira S. Townsend, Francis M. Goff and David Cosper. "While I was at The Dalles word came that two companies of volunteers were surrounded by Indians and were nearly out of ammunition. A detail of eleven men was selected to go from The Dalles to the Walla Walla country with 600 pounds of ammunition. Captain Hembree, who was on his way to join his company, joined us, and a French Canadian, who was familiar with the country, served as guide. We pushed forward as hard as the horses could go. This was in November, 1855. Quite a number of men from the companies of Captains Cornelius, Bennett and Hembree had been discharged at The Dalles by Colonel Nesmith, as there were no horses for them and the men couldn't do anything as foot soldiers. Major Chinn, with about 15o volunteers, had been sent to the mouth of the Touchet to protect the baggage and pack trains. Colonel Kelly, at the same time, with 25o men marched higher up on the Touchet, where Chief Peu-Peu-Mox-Mox, with several of his tribe, came in under a flag of truce. In the battle that took place a day or two later, this chief, with the other 182 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS prisoners who had come in with the flag of truce, were killed while they were trying to escape. "In the four days' fight that took place I got two Indians. One of them was hidden in some brush and kept shooting at our men. My gun didn't carry very far, so I had to crawl out quite a distance to get into good range, and when he rose to shoot I got him. I crawled out and scalped him and brought his scalp in to prove to the boys that I had made a good Indian of him. The other Indian I killed was where I couldn't get his scalp without losing my own scalp, so I let him keep his. "In the fight near the LaRoque farm, a lot of us on the fastest horses had got ahead of the others. The Indians barricaded themselves where they could shoot us and where we couldn't get at them. Several of our men had been killed and wounded. Captain Wilson, of Company A, soon arrived, and a little later Captain Bennett with Company F came up. We drove the Indians away from where they were. They fell back and went into a farmhouse, from which they kept picking away at us. Captain Bennett came to the major and asked for permission to charge the farmhouse and dislodge the Indians. The major was against it, and told him it would only result in the needless loss of men ; that we could surround the place and capture the Indians. Captain Bennett came back again and asked permission to charge the farmhouse. The major said, 'I am against it, but do as you please about it. If you think best, go ahead.' CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 183 Captain Bennett was a brave officer, but hadn't been trained to fight Indians as the Indians fight, by taking advantage of every bit of cover. The volunteers had enlisted to kill Indians and not to salute officers and to be taught to act pretty with a gun. Captain Bennett was strong for drill in the manual of arms, and so he wasn't very popular with the volunteers. When he had obtained permission to charge the farmhouse, instead of scattering his men out he had them charge in company front, as if they were at drill. As they started forward toward the fence around the farmhouse one of the Indians in the farmhouse picked off Captain Bennett, and a private in Company A was also killed. The Indians had all the fighting they wanted at the 'Four Day Fight' there, and skedaddled. "The next spring, while we were out scouting after Indians, we went up into the Yakima country. On Canon creek, early in April, we ran across the Indians. Captain Hembree, with several of the volunteers, started for the top of the ridge to see if he could locate the Indians and find out how many there were. Not far from the camp they ran across some horses, and as they approached them the Indians, who had seen Captain Hembree and the volunteers coming, attacked them. From camp we could see everything that happened. Captain Hembree fought bravely and killed two of the Indians, but he himself was killed and scalped. Major Cornoyer followed the Indians, overtook them and 184 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS killed six of them. They took *the body of Captain Hembree to The Dalles and fi orn there they shipped it to his home in LaFayette, where they held a big funeral. "In the spring of 1856 we were mustered out. You can make up your mind we were pretty glad to get home where we could get something fit to eat, for a good deal of the time when we were chasing Indians we lived on horse meat straight, without salt, coffee or bread. "After I came back from Walla Walla I went to work on the farm. When I was 22 I married Henrietta Griffith, daughter of John W. Griffith, who came across the plains in 1842. We had four children, all boys. My oldest boy, Columbus M. Tetherow, has a farm on the Luckiamute. My next boy, King Solomon Tethe-row, lives in Spokane. Kane Tetherow lives at Northport, to the northward of Spokane. My youngest boy, Sammy, is a farmer and lives about five miles east of Dallas. My first wife died in 1887. After her death I married a widow named Isoline Holman. "When I was younger, I used to do a good bit of running around. I packed into the Caribou mines from Dallas. We weren't much on speed, but we were strong on distance. I traveled on horseback with a pack horse over 1 mo miles before I struck a claim that suited me, and at that I just about broke even on the trip. In 1862 I bought up a lot of bacon here in the valley at 10 cents a pound and packed it to the mines at Bannock City, where I sold it for 48 cents a pound. I also tried my CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 185 luck at Canyon City and John Day. Some years later I took up a claim in Harney valley, about a mile and a half from Burns. I had to leave it for a little while to come back to the valley, and while I was gone someone stole all my barb wire and tore down my cabin and carried off the lumber. That made me kind of peeved, so I sold my claim and decided to stay here in the Willamette valley. "I was 9 years old when we started for Oregon, so I remember our trip across the plains very clearly. One of my brothers, David Atcheson, a twin brother of William Linn, died while we were crossing the plains. "My father, Sol Tetherow, was born in Tennessee, March 25, i800, so he was 45 years old when he headed westward with his prairie schooner for the Willamette valley. My mother's name before she married was Ibbie Baker. She was born September 15, 1806. They were married in 1823. They had 15 children and raised 10 of them, five boys and five girls. Yes, i5 children are quite a few, but in those days big families were the rule, not the exception. Now it's the other way around. A family of 15 gives you quite a chance to pick out names. "Sometime you must interview my niece, Mrs. L. 0. Cottel, in Portland. She was born here in Polk county when Oregon had a provisional form of government. She has my father's journal, kept while crossing the plains." Not long thereafter I visited Mrs. Cottel at her home in East Portland. In answer to my questions, -she said: 186 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "My father, Paul Hiltibrand, came across the plains to Oregon in 1845. He was born in Ohio, June 7, 1823 -102 years ago. His father, John Hiltibrand, came to America in 1798, served in the war of 1812, and was wounded in the battle of New Orleans. My grandfather, John Hiltibrand, settled in Kentucky, but later moved to Ohio, where my father was born. When my father was eleven years old, his father went back to Kentucky, where they lived until 1842, when they moved to_Mism_ souri. In 1845, when father was 22, he started across the plains for Oregon, in company with Stephen and Isaac Staats. My father was one of ten children. When he came to Oregon he took up a donation land claim five miles south of Monmouth. On July 3, 1846, my father and mother were married at the home of my mother's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Sol Tetherow. My mother, whose maiden name was Evaline Tetherow, crossed the plains in 1845. Her father was captain of the wagon train. My uncle, Sam Tetherow, of Dallas, who is 88, is the last of the children now living. "I was their first child and was born March 26, 1847. I believe I was the first white girl baby born in Polk county, and I am the oldest native born daughter of Polk county now living. When I was nine months old my father sold his squatter's rights to the place he had taken up and paid $30o to Porter Lock for 640 acres a mile to the south of his first place on the Luckiamute. He later bought an adjoining piece of land consisting CAPTAIN SOL TETHEROW 187 of 466 acres; so it gave him a good sized place. He raised stock and engaged in mixed farming. I attended Christian college at Monmouth. Later I attended Dallas Academy. "When I was 18 I married Professor John P. Outhouse. We were married March 27, 1865, by Rev. H. M. Wailer. My husband was born in Nova Scotia in 1828, so he was 19 years older than I when we were married. My husband was one of a family of twelve children, all of whom stayed in Nova Scotia or New Brunswick except himself. He went to California in 1849, when he was 21. From there he came up to Portland, and when the public school was organized here in Portland he was employed at 100 a month as the first teacher of the Portland public schools. He commenced teaching December 15, 1851, and taught until the summer of 1853. He served as county school superintendent of Polk county and also of Union county. My husband weighed about 15o pounds. He was 5 feet 8 inches in height and had light hair and blue eyes. "After our marriage my husband taught school at Amity, Dallas, Union and La Grande. We went to La Grande in 187o. He taught there for the next five years, and then took a school at Union." XI • THE OLD FIREPLACE IF you have nothing better to do, draw up your chair in front of the fireplace and spend the evening with us. Through the broad front windows one can see a tremulous ribbon of light where the surf is breaking on the sandy shore as though the vibrant sea were molten silver and the surf, luminous and iridescent, were overflowing the edge of the cauldron. There are three of us sitting in front of the crackling fire. Danny, his arms as brown as a gypsy's, is sitting forward in his chair, with his hands clasped around his knees, the firelight lighting up his eager, shining eyes, as he tells me that he is soon going to be 10, and after that it won't be long till he is grown up and then he is going to be the champion airplane racer of the world and maybe champion fighter of the world, like Dempsey. He rolls up the sleeve of his right arm and has me feel his biceps and tries hard not to show how pleased and gratified he is when I tell him that in proportion to his size, he has as much muscle as Dempsey. Poor little chap ! I can't help feeling sorry in THE OLD FIREPLACE 189 to think how soon this rough old world will make him lose his illusions. On the other side of the fireplace sits Danny's "Aunt Amelia," sewing a narrow edging of lace on a linen handkerchief. Three score years ago, when she was a little slip of a girl, she, too, sat by the fireplace and, like Danny, dreamed of what the future had in store for her, but now her thoughts are of the past. Strange tongues of flame, blue and green and red, flicker above the wave-washed, water-worn driftwood. The crackle of the blazing driftwood mingles with the subdued murmur of the surf on the nearby shore. Presently Aunt Amelia puts a record on the phonograph, and by manmade magic we are transported to a curving shore where blue waters caress the sun drenched sand and where palms murmur in the sea breeze. As the plaintive cadences of the Hawaiian music rise and fall they are merged with the murmur of the surf and the crackling of the driftwood. Nine o'clock strikes. Danny is nodding. He is navigating the wondrous sea of sleep in a fairy boat of dreams. Aunt Amelia looks up from her sewing and says, "Bedtime, Danny." Danny wakes with a start, saying, "Let me stay up a little longer, Aunt Amelia. I ain't a bit sleepy yet." Aunt Amelia shakes her head, so Danny reluctantly goes upstairs to finish the voyage he has started on the uncharted sea of sleep. "Almost every place, no matter how small, is a world 190 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS in miniature," said Aunt Amelia. "If you should trace out the records of the lives of the people here along Tillamook beach you would have a better book than many a 'best seller.' I can see, as I look at the flames of the driftwood, so many pictures of the past. For instance, when you think of where that wood was grown —possibly on the headwaters of the Snake or the Columbia—and how it has drifted out to sea and been battered and worn and traveled up and down the coast and finally, rounded and whitened, thrown ashore here, it makes me think of shipwrecks—shipwrecked lives as well as shipwrecked boats. "Speaking of shipwrecks reminds me of something that happened to my mother before I was born. I have heard her tell it so many times that sometimes I almost think I was there and saw it. My people came across the plains in 1844. They settled near the mouth of the Columbia river. In 1849, when my father was at the gold fields in California, a ship anchored in front of our farmhouse. Presently a boat put out with the first officer and several soldiers. The first officer asked my mother if there was a doctor anywhere around, saying that one of the sailors had fallen from the mast to the deck and they thought his back was broken. My mother told them she knew of no doctor at the mouth of the Columbia, but that she herself was a practical nurse and would be glad to go aboard the ship and see if she could do anything. The sailors went back to the boat and presently the THE OLD FIREPLACE 191 captain came ashore. They had the injured sailor in the boat. The captain told my mother that if she would take him and keep him till he died he would pay her well for it. They took the sailor into our house. "The first week mother was up night and day with him. After that his pain eased a little and in about two months he was able to get around. In those days, shotguns were hard to get. They had put the sailor's things ashore with him, among which was a shotgun. He told mother he had no money to pay her for her nursing, but he would be glad to give Henry, her eldest son, his shotgun. Henry was delighted. The sailor went away. Mother heard nothing of him for a week or two. The Schwatka family had come across the plains with my mother. You remember that their boy, Fred, afterwards achieved fame as an Arctic explorer. Fred's sister Amelia, for whom I am named, was staying at our house, teaching school. Mother was out milking one evening a week or 1 o days after the sailor had left. When mother came in Amelia told her the sailor had come back and got his gun and gone away. My mother was a woman of great decision of character. She said, 'I want you to go with me, Amelia. We will go down to the Indian camp, where that sailor is probably staying. I am going to get that gun. Henry will feel bad if he loses it.' My mother and Amelia went to the Indian camp. Going to the chief, mother told him, in jargon, what she had done for the sailor and how the sailor had stolen the gun. 192 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS The Indians called my mother 'the medicine woman,' because she had cured some of the Indian children of scarlet fever. The chief had the sailor brought before him and asked him if what mother said was true. He acknowledged it. The chief said, 'A dog would not be so ungrateful. Bring the medicine woman her gun and leave the camp.' "Mother used that gun to good advantage later in killing a bear that was trying to steal our pigs. We had a sweet apple tree that the bears would not leave alone. Almost any time after sunset when the apples were ripe, you could go out there and see one or more bears in our orchard." XII WHEN THE DALLES WAS AN ARMY POST IN writing of early days at The Dalles, Mrs. Elizabeth Laughlin Lord, who arrived there in the fall of 185o, said, "My father's name was William C. Laughlin. My mother's maiden name was Mary J. Yeargain. Father and mother were married on April 8, 1840, in Illinois. We started across the plains on April 29, 1850, and reached The Dalles on October 4, which was a soft, balmy, sunshiny day. Father had not the remotest idea of stopping at The Dalles, but man proposes and God disposes. Father found that two flatboats were going down the river. Eleven wagons were waiting to be loaded on the flatboats. When these wagons were loaded onto the boats, the flatboats had settled nearly to the water's edge and the boatmen said that they had all it was safe to carry, so they put out into the stream and floated away. The land at The Dalles was unsurveyed. The reservation or military post was five miles square, the camp being in the center. The only houses in the garrison at that time were long log barracks with six or 193 194 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS eight rooms, used for many years as officers' quarters, and a commissary and guardhouse. The soldiers were quartered in tents waiting for a mill to be built so they could secure sawed lumber. Over 100 emigrants and others were employed that winter to build the mill and erect quarters for the men, a barn for the horses and a mess house and cottage for the commanding officer. The pines, which are now large trees, were then more like bushes. There are very few of those now standing that we could not have driven the wagon over at that time. "Father, while hunting ducks and geese, had noticed Crate's Point and thought it was about five miles from the post. He had decided to stay there for the winter, so he moved camp down there. He began cutting trees and shaping logs '.for a house. He cut small trees so with what assistance mother could give him, he could lay them up, as there was no man he could get to help him. This work was interspersed with hours in which he had to hunt for game to supply the table and an occasional trip to Olney's store for supplies. The supply of money was running pitifully low. Once father went to buy salt. He came home with a little wet mess of rock salt out of a pork barrel for which he had to pay 12% cents a pound. Somewhere on the plains mother had come into possession of a wagon cover made of hickory cloth. Mother took this cover, ripped it up, washed it and made shirts of it, which she sold to the Indians. She used up everything she could possibly spare to make shirts, so as THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 195 to make our money hold out longer. One day mother washed and hung out to dry a patchwork quilt. Some Indians saw it and wouldn't leave till she set a price on it. They paid her price and took the quilt. At last our money came to an end as did our flour also. One day we had no -bread. Mother made a stew of some birds and had just enough flour to thicken the gravy. Just as dinner was ready, two men who had been down the river hunting horses came up and asked if they could have dinner with us. Father said they were welcome to such as we had. They ate with us and seemed delighted with the stew. Father refused the $2 they offered in payment. They emptied their pockets of hardtack, which they gave to the boys, and they gave me a gold dollar. After they were gone I cried, because I would rather have had the crackers than the money. "John C. Bell, sutler to the camp, was having a log building put up for a store. He wanted a man to go into the timber to make shingles, and father got the job and on the strength of it flour for our immediate use. Father hired an emigrant boy, 17 years of age, to help saw the cuts off the logs. He cut the shingles on the mountain about four miles away. Mother became nervous as men frequently rode by and stopped and asked where her husband was, whether she would sell the cattle, and other questions. She not only feared for her own safety, but also she was afraid they might drive off the cattle. Father thought best to take us with him, 196 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS so he gathered up the cattle, packed the wagon and then and there ended our settlement of Crate's Point. We pitched our tent among the open pine trees, where father was getting out the shingles, and we stayed there till Christmas day. After about a week father let the boy go and mother helped father saw the logs. After he had finished getting the shingles out for Mr. Bell, he got a contract to make shingles for the government. "On Christmas morning it began to snow. Father had gotten work in the sawmill as a carpenter and was to begin the first of the year, so we moved down onto Mill creek. Father pitched our tents between two large pine trees. We had two tents, with a wide space between them. Father took the wagon box and put it in one of the tents for a bedstead. He made a table for the other tent, which we used for a dining room and sitting room. After locating on Mill creek, father, who had saved money from his two months' work, bought a few cows and yearlings. Father sold milk at the fort. Mike, the commissary sergeant, said he couldn't get a pair of good gloves for love or money and he asked father if mother could make a pair for him. He sent mother some buckskin and an old glove for a pattern. The sergeant was so delighted that mother got many other orders from the soldiers and she and father worked every evening making gloves. She also began making buckskin money belts, which sold well. This led to the officers coming to mother to remodel their uniforms. I remember in THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 197 the spring of 1851 mother made Lieutenant Wood a coat out of navy blue flannel. "While we were living on Mill creek in the tents, our neighbors, the Herberts, lost their son Ambrose, 14 years old, who died of typhoid pneumonia. Mother and father assisted in nursing this boy and they helped bury him in the military cemetery. He was the first one to be buried there. "In March, 1851, the rifle regiment was ordered away. Their departure threw 200 men out of employment, as the government decided not to build any more buildings there, the buildings which had been completed being ample for the 16 privates, 2 non-commissioned officers and the lieutenant, who were to take their place. The exodus of soldiers and civilians left quite a number of cabins vacant. Our neighbors, the Herberts, moved into a cabin in a row of slab houses, but father chose the log cabin across Mill creek, where Sunset Cemetery now is. This cabin had a dirt floor and on one side two bedsteads were built in. There was a bunk or upper bed, in which we children slept. We children learned to scale the wall like squirrels, to get up into our bunk. This cabin had a cat and clay chimney, such as we had in our first cabin in Missouri. "We boarded a man name Slaughter. In those days there was no place for anyone to stop while traveling and no one refused to put up travelers overnight. One night someone called father and said he had two Indians 198 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS under arrest but couldn't find the proper officer at that time of the night, so as to have them put in the guardhouse. This officer was tired, cold and hungry. Father got up, made a light, brought them in, made up the fire, gave them something to eat and told them to lie down in their blankets and sleep. Mother had put her cream by the fire so that it would be ready to churn next morning. The Indians were tied. They squirmed around and overturned the churn on the dirt floor. When mother heard her churn go over, she said to the man, 'Take those dirty creatures out of here.' She would never allow another Indian to sleep in her house. "One afternoon Mrs. Herbert came to our house and mother served as nice a supper as was possible with the materials at hand. This was the day the lieutenant brought his coat to be made over. After he had gone, I said, 'Mother, that man looked at the supper like he wanted some—I think he was hungry.' Mother told me to keep still. A few days later, he offered father the mess house to live in with the use of the furniture, cook-stove, dishes and everything and offered to pay board for himself, Mr. Gibson the sutler, and Charlie Jabine the clerk. Mother accepted his offer. Mother had anything she wanted from the commissary and also an orderly who set the table in the dining room and who served the meals and waited on the table. All mother had to do was to be the cook. Never in the year and a THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 199 half she boarded them was there a word of dissatisfaction. "After we were settled in our new home, father went to what was then called Government Springs, where the Methodist mission had been. Father discovered a small spring and got the mission to fence it and had a garden of his own. Mother had brought a supply of seeds. It was wonderful how much that garden produced. "In June, 1851, as soon as the snow had gone out of the mountains, the Herberts packed their wagon and struck out for the Willamette Valley. They drove by our house to say goodbye. Mother looked pretty serious when they drove away, for there wasn't another white woman in eastern Oregon until that fall's emigration came in. As soon as the emigration began arriving, father began butchering his beef and selling it to them and buying their thin cattle at low prices. Some of the cattle were so poor they could hardly be driven out to grass. The people were crazy for a change of diet. Everything we could spare, butter, milk, buttermilk, vegetables, pickles, eggs, were all bought at whatever price mother asked. They soon learned that mother would rob herself and her family for sick people. One day several women came in while we children were still at the dinner table. Mother went out to the milk house to get some milk. One of them asked me if she might have a piece of pickled beet from the table. I said she 200 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS might. They all started to see which could reach the beets first. I never witnessed such a scene. They fought like squaws for everything on the table. Mother came in and was so surprised she could hardly believe her eyes. Father made pickles of the seed pods of the radishes, of little cucumbers, small onions and bean pods, all of which were eagerly bought. Mother made bread, pies and cookies to supply the demand. "In the summer of 1852 Lieutenant Wood was ordered away and Lieutenant Gibson, with a small company, took his place. In the fall of 1852 a number of officers and soldiers came—I think three companies, with Major Alvord, Captain Maloney and several lieutenants. Dr. Craig came as hospital steward and surgeon's assistant. . "The second summer we were better situated to make money than the first. Father had accumulated so many cattle that he killed beef regularly all summer. After the emigration began arriving, he and Frank Camp started a trading place on Ten Mile Creek, where they sold beef,.. flour, dried fruit, pies, cakes, pickles, coffee, tea and candy to the emigrants, or traded them for thin cattle or horses. Father also took cattle to herd for the emigrants who didn't wish to drive them over the mountains. By fall he owned over 1 oo head of cattle, nearly as many horses and had twice that many cattle to herd. "In the fall of 1852, Dr. Farnsworth, an old-time neighbor of ours from Missouri, stopped at The Dalles. Father persuaded Dr. Farnsworth to go in with him THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 201 and take up land at what is now Hood River, and raise cattle. We took all of our household goods on a barge from the mouth of Chenoweth creek to Hood River. Father drove the stock down there. Father selected a place for our cabin near the spring where the old Coe house stood. Dr. Farnsworth took a donation land claim, later owned by Dr. W. L. Adams. Early in November there came a deep snow, then a cold rain, which formed a crust on the snow. The snow stayed on the ground till March. We had no feed for them, so father cut down trees for them to browse on, but in spite of all of his efforts, most of his own cattle and those he was herding died during the winter and of his big herd of horses, only 17 were alive next spring. Of the several hundred head of cattle he had driven to Hood River, only 14 pulled through. "We went back to The Dalles next spring. By 1853 there were several houses in the village, or the Landing, as it was called. Gibson had moved his store down to where Mrs. E. M. Wilson later had her place. Allen and McKinley had a store near where the Umatilla house was later built. Perrin Whitman, nephew of Dr. Marcus Whitman, was a clerk in this store. We lived in tents all summer and that fall father built a house, putting in a rough stone fireplace. In the fall of 1853 there was a heavy emigration, many stopping at The Dalles, while other settlers came back from the Willamette Valley to trade with the emigrants. It was a regular 202 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS city of tents, with restaurants predominating. Stores and cattle buyers were plentiful. Some of these people took up land, built houses and stayed here. Charlie Denton was one who stayed. Dr. Shaug located on the George Snipes place. A family named Mathews settled below them. "After father was elected county judge, or judge of probate, as they were then called, he secured some law books and read them a great deal. In 1854 father got an assortment of fruit trees from the Luelling nursery at Milwaukie. There were pears, apples, grapes, currants, gooseberries and peaches. He could make anything grow. He also had a row of beehives and had good success with bees. "In the summer of 1852 a crude hotel was built by a man named Thompkins. There were several grown sons and one daughter, Minerva, who married Mr. LaBauso-dier. Owing to his being one too many in the family, he died from loss of blood and his wife married E. R. Button. "R. R. Thompson was appointed Indian agent and came to The Dalles about 1854. One of the settlers who saw the Thompsons coming said, 'Here comes a new family to The Dalles, with a drove of sheep and a drove of children.' At that time there were about seven children in the family, five of them being girls. R. R. Thompson's hair was blue-black, as glossy as a crow's THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 203 wing; it hung to his shoulders in thick curls. The children used to herd the sheep on the nearby hills. "I think it was in 1856 that I attended my first ball, which was given in the Forsythe building. Mrs. Aldrich was the hostess. The ladies who attended were, Mrs. R. R. Thompson and her daughters, Eliza and Sally, Mrs. Whitney and her daughter, Mrs. Amity from Three Mile creek, Mrs. Cornelius McFarland, Minerva Button, Mrs. Harbough, Mrs. Charles Denton, Lydia Gates and myself. There were so many more men at that ball than women that the women had to dance every dance, while the men danced when they could get a partner. "The soldiers tore down the old Methodist Mission buildings that had been used by Rev. Daniel Lee and other Methodist ministers during the forties. Not long before the Whitman massacre, Dr. Marcus Whitman bought the Methodist Mission at The Dalles. The logs from these old buildings were used by the soldiers when they put up the commissary building and the guard house. The next spring they plowed the ground where the buildings had stood and put in a garden. "The Catholic Mission consisted of two log cabins, one used as a church and the other as the home of Father Russeau, the priest in charge, and Mr. Callahan, a lay brother. The Church was burned in the spring of 1852, but a new log church was soon erected on the same site. A few years later a frame church with a belfry was put up near the log church. 204 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "Rev. Kelly, the Methodist minister, came to The Danes in 1855, and built a small church of rough lumber. The first preaching we attended was in 1854, when Rev. James Gerrish preached in a cottage just back of Judge Bennett's home. That summer we attended church and class meeting in the log school house back of Academy Park. When Father Wilbur, Rev. Gustavus Hines, Rev. James Gerrish or other Methodist ministers came to The Dalles, they usually stopped at our home. Rev. John B. Devore built the second Methodist church at The Dalles. This was in 1862. "The Congregationalists organized their church in 1858. They used the old Court House for their services for several years. Later W. T. Abrams built a Congregational church. Rev. Thomas Condon was, I believe, the first pastor of the Congregational church. "The Indian War of 1855 and 1856 resulted in the formation of the first Sunday School at The Dalles. The settlers from the surrounding farms came to stay at The Dalles while the Indians were on the warpath. For weeks our house was crowded to capacity by refugees. The Snipes family, who lived in a log cabin at Rowena, camped in our back yard for several months. The Coe, Benson, Jenkins, Joslyn, Marsh and Mosier families stayed with us for a while. Later the Coe family took the old Gibson store for their house. The Joslyns later went to Portland. Mrs. Coe and Mrs. Joslyn organized THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 205 the Sunday School. Sunday was always a turbulent day at The Dalles in early times. We only attended the Sunday School one Sunday. On our way home, just as we got opposite the saloon at the foot of Washington street, a lot of drunken men came out of the saloon, swearing and talking very excitedly. Two men had come out of the saloon to settle a quarrel, and one man killed the other as we were passing by. Father said that we received more harm than good by being on the street Sundays, so he wouldn't let us go to Sunday School any more. Next Sunday they started down the river with the murderer to Oregon City to be tried for murder, but he was drowned at Mitchell's Point. "Father kept missing his cattle in 1855. One day passing the slaughter house, he looked at the fresh hides hanging on the fence and found the hides of seven of his cattle. The butcher told him that he had bought the cattle the day before from Jack Hurley. Dr. Shaug was sheriff. Father went with Dr. Shaug to arrest the man. The sheriff and father separated, and father overtook Jack Hurley and arrested him. Father searched him and finding no gun on him, started back to town with him. Hurley dropped back of father, drew out his revolver, and father heard him raise the hammer of his revolver ; father turned and both shot at the same time. Hurley's gun failed to go off, but father's bullet wounded Hurley badly and he fell from his horse. Dr. 206 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Shaug, the sheriff, took Hurley out to his home and by careful nursing saved his life, so he could be sent to the penitentiary. "On November 1, 1856, a school district was organized. C. R. Meigs was the teacher. The school was taught in a log house just back of where the Academy Park school was later built. Prior to the organization of this school district there had been several private schools conducted in The Dalles. A soldier taught school for a while in 1854. Mr. Sconce taught two terms of private school in 1854, and in 1855, M. R. Hathaway taught two terms. In about 1859 a school house was built near Dr. Rine-heart's home. "Father took my brother James and me to Vancouver in 1858. James attended the boys' school, taught by Professor Ryan and Mr. Callahan, while I went to the convent. My teachers were Sister Mary Peter, a refined English lady, and Sister Mary of the Precious Blood, a beautiful Irish girl, 22 years old. I used to go with the Sisters when they did their shopping at the Hudson's Bay store. Mr. Work, who married Victoria Birnie, waited on us. "Nancy Crate and Sarah Whitney, both of whom came from The Dalles, were, my schoolmates at the convent. Phillomen, a daughter of F. X. Matthieu of French Prairie, was a schoolmate of mine in Vancouver, as was also Anna McTavish, who lived at the home of Dr. McLoughlin in Oregon City. Other students that I re THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 207 member well were, Anna and Mary McFadden, Carrie Birnie, of Cathlamet, Mary Skidmore, of Portland, Cerito Gordon, whose mother was an actress. Cerito Gordon took part in the first theatrical performance that I ever saw at The Dalles. In fact I think this was the first theatrical troupe that came to The Dalles. Professor Risley had charge of the company. They gave their show in a canvas pavilion. They had acrobatic acts, some songs, and they gave a dramatic production entitled, 'The Lady of Lyons.' Lizzie Stewart, whose husband built a theatre in Portland in 1858, was one of the stars of the show. Mrs. Gordon, who was known as Madame Louise, and her daughter, Cerito, had an acrobatic act. The next theatrical performance I remember was given by the Graves girls. Mr. Graves was the landlord of the Umatilla House. Louise Graves married Lawrence W. Coe. In 1859 W. C. Moody built a theatre, known as Moody's Hall, and after that we had frequent theatrical performances. "In 1858 Captain Jordan started a newspaper at the garrison. This was the first newspaper to be published in eastern Oregon. Two soldiers who had had newspaper experience ran the paper. Before long it was bought by W. H. Newell, who continued its publication, calling it the Mountaineer. He moved the paper to the corner of Main and Union streets. Mr. Newell was very deaf. One day he stood at the case setting type, when a high wind came along and blew the entire front 208 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS of his building away. Someone hurried over to see if Mr. Newell was hurt, and found him quietly setting type. They shouted to him, 'Didn't you know that the front of your building was blown away ?' He looked up from the case and said, 'I thought I heard something, but I didn't know what it was.' "Allen and McKinley had charge of the Hudson's Bay store in The Dalles in 1852. W. R. Gibson also ran a store in 1853. Sims and Humason later bought out Allen and McKinley. Those who ran stores in The Dalles in 1854 were W. B. Biglow, James McAuliff, and Cushing and Low. The first drug store we had was kept by Dr. Polhemus Craig. In the late fifties a number of stores built of stone were put up. M. M. Cushing was one of the first to build stone buildings. H. P. Isaacs built a stone building in 1858. Newman was the next man to put up one. Mr. Elfelt and Greenleaf and Allen later put up stone buildings. Later a brick yard was put up here, and a number of brick buildings were erected. "Billy Chinook arrived at The Dalles in 185 1, coming up from California. He lived in a cabin just across Mill creek from our home. Nathan Olney came to The Dalles in 1847. He married an Indian woman, the daughter of Scuckups. Captain Olney was intelligent, congenial, fine-looking, and a general favorite with the men, but the women rather looked askance at him on account of his Indian wife. A lady of uncertain age THE DALLES AN ARMY POST 209 came to The Dalles once. We never learned whether she was a widow or an old maid; in any event, she was very romantic and susceptible. She decided to marry Captain Olney. In those days Indian wives had no status or legal rights under the law. Captain Olney decided to cure this lady of her desire to marry him, so he brought Annette, his Indian wife, and her baby to the hotel where the love-sick lady stayed. He ushered his Indian wife and her baby into the ladies' parlor and said, 'Meet Mrs. Olney.' Pulling out a handful of twenty dollar gold pieces and some silver, he dropped them into An-nette's lap, telling her he would be back later. The squaw tied the money into a large handkerchief and gave it to the baby to play with. At supper time Captain Olney returned, pretending to be very drunk. This was too much for the maiden lady, who took the boat the next morning for Portland. In the spring of 1857 Nathan Olney and both of his brothers brought their Indian wives to The Dalles, and were married by the justice of the peace. "In 1855 William McKay took a claim on Umatilla river. During the Indian War of 1855 and 1856, Mr. McKay came down to The Dalles. Mrs. Jonas Whitney kept house for Mr. Sims. Mr. McKay boarded there. Miss Campbell had come down from Fort Walla Walla, and she and William McKay were married there in 1855. This was the first marriage to be recorded at The Dalles. The McKays lived at The Dalles for a year or 210 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS two. Mr. Sinclair, the Hudson's Bay agent at Fort Walla Walla, was killed when the Indians attacked the Cascades. Mrs. Sinclair was a sister of Mrs. McKay, and when Mrs. Sinclair married Captain Olney, the marriage took place at the home of Dr. and Mrs. William McKay. "In 1854 Nathaniel Coe with his wife and four sons took up the place that we had abandoned on what was then called Dog River. They changed the name to Hood River. W. B. Biglow, who came to The Dalles in 1854, was a very interesting character. He discovered that there was a long V-shaped piece of land between father's donation land claim and the military reserve, so he filed on it under the donation land claim act. Vic Trevitt was another early day pioneer of The Dalles, where he lived for more than 3o years." XIII VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS COLONEL HENRY Doscx is one of Oregon's most useful citizens. I spent several recent afternoons with Colonel Dosch and the more I talked to him, the more I was impressed with the versatility of his knowledge. He is not only an authority on horticulture, but he has a profound knowledge of history, literature and of the traditions of the Old West, of which he was a part. "I was born at Meinz-on-the-Rhine, June 17, 1841," said Colonel Dosch. "My father's name was John Baptiste Dosch. My mother's maiden name was Anna Busch. There were seven childen in our family, of whom I am the eldest. I was named Ernst after my father's brother, Colonel Ernst Dosch, who was Colonel of the Hungarian Blue Hussars. Another brother of my father's, my uncle Anton, was Colonel of the Red Hussars. My uncle was a government official of the Customs Department. My father was a classmate with ,, Bismarck, which later proved to be a most fortunate thing for him, for in 1848, during the German Revolution, 211 212 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS my father organized a regiment to resist the Prussians. When the revolution was ruthlessly suppressed by the Prussians, the revolutionists had to run for their lives-some went to Switzerland, while a great many emigrated to the United States. My father on account of having been a classmate of Bismarck's was allowed to stay in Germany. Many of the revolutionists, the best blood of Germany, came to the United States and settled at Belleville, 20 miles east of St. Louis. During the Civil War there were at least 10,000 German turners from St. Louis, Belleville and the country thereabouts who enlisted in the Union Army and gave a good account of themselves, as they kept Missouri in the Union. "I came to America in 186o, when I was between 18 and 19 years of age. My father was well-to-do, so when I was a boy I had a private tutor. Later I went to the College of Commerce and Industry for four years. I graduated from the engineering department. At that time it was the custom to pay for apprenticeships, so my father paid for an apprenticeship for me in a commercial house. The honor men in the schools and colleges were compelled to serve but one year instead of three in the German Army. As I was an honor man, I was only required to put in one year of service. I wanted to come to the United States, but on account of the requirements for military service, I could not leave unless I could pass the examination for reserve officer. I passed this examination successfully and secured a passport which en- VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 213 titled me to be absent for one year, after which I was required to come back and serve in the German Army. "I had not been in the United States long till the Civil War broke out and I at once enlisted in Fremont's bodyguard. In the early days of the Civil War, the military service was honeycombed with political intrigue and favoritism. An intrigue was formed against Fremont, and General Hunter was sent to relieve him. This was just on the eve of an attack on the Confederate General Price. Price in the mix-up escaped, and Hunter was superseded. Fremont's bodyguard was discharged after our fight at Springfield, October 25, 1861, in which I was wounded, and I went to St. Louis and re-enlisted in the sth Missouri Cavalry. Captain Nathaniel Lyon, a loyal and able officer, was in command of the St. Louis arsenal. St. Louis was full of Southern sympathizers. The Confederates were seizing arms, ordnance and supplies wherever they were located in the South, and as the governor of Missouri favored the secessionists, had it not been for the energetic action of Captain Lyon the arsenal at St. Louis would have fallen into the hands of Southern sympathizers. Governor Jackson ordered the militia into camp in the vicinity of the arsenal. These men were armed with guns sent up from Baton Rouge. Many of the militiamen wore badges of the Confederate Army. Captain Lyon, learning that they were going to try to seize the arsenal, surrounded the militia and demanded their surrender. The next day after the surrender of 214 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the state troops, Captain Harney arrived in St. Louis and assumed command. Shortly after this Captain Harney became Brigadier General of the First Brigade of Missouri Volunteers. Among the officers who distinguished themselves in the operations in Missouri at this time were Colonel Sigel and Colonel Osterhaus. After the bloody battle of Wilson's Creek, in which General Nathaniel Lyon was killed, I was ordered to take a squad of men there to bring back his body. We served as the honor guard. Before long I became Sergeant-Major and was acting adjutant of the regiment. When our Colonel resigned, I commanded the regiment. "After receiving my honorable discharge at the end of my enlistment, a comrade of mine, Fred Keisel, told me that there was a freight train at Omaha, belonging to Kimball and Lawrence, loading supplies to take to Salt Lake City. Henry Lawrence wanted a bookkeeper and also a drygoods clerk for his store in Salt Lake City. I was engaged as the bookkeeper and Fred as the clerk. When we got to Omaha we found that the wagon boss was short of drivers. He offered Fred and me $20 apiece if we would serve as bullwhackers and drive four yoke of oxen. We accepted the job. At that time Omaha had about 40 buildings, my recollection now being that most of them were saloons, livery stables or blacksmith shops. I will never forget our trip across the plains. About 100 miles out of Omaha we came across a store kept by a half-breed French-Canadian. For the next 400 miles there VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 215 was no settlement of any kind. The prairie, covered with wild flowers, stretched unbroken in all directions to the far horizon. In all directions we could see countless herds of antelopes, while at times the buffalo seemed to blacken the rolling land waves in the distance. Prairie chickens and sage hens were abundant. We were 58 days making the trip to Salt Lake City. We reached there in the summer of 1863. Fred settled in Salt Lake City, became a state senator, built up a large business in Salt Lake City and Sacramento and became wealthy. Salt Lake City did not appeal to me, so with six other young men, I decided to go on to California. We bought a wagon and a yoke of oxen and headed westward. "On the way out from Omaha, near Laramie, we met Jim Bridger, a very likable and reliable man. I also met Bill Hutchinson and Bill Hickman. Bill Hickman is the author of a book in which he tells his experiences while serving as one of Brigham Young's 'destroying angels.' He was a fanatic, and being quite ignorant, he believed anything and everything that Brigham Young told him. Just ahead of us there was a wagon train which was traveling fast. We were rapidly overtaking them but we never saw them, that is, alive. At the head of the Humboldt Divide, we found where the members of this party had dug trenches to resist attack. The horses, women and girls had all been taken, the men had been killed and we found their bodies lying beside the burned wagons. The massacre had evidently occurred a couple 216 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS of days before, and all that was left to tell the tale was a lot of wagon tires, thimble skeins and chains and mutilated bodies. Three days before this massacre 300 Indians in war paint had overtaken us, stopped us and looked through our wagon and then gone on. Evidently they were after the wagon train ahead, which they overtook and destroyed. "When, on my trip westward from Salt Lake City, I got to Virginia City, I landed a job at road building, and some time later I became a Wells-Fargo express rider. "Probably there never was a town which was more wide open than Virginia City. The saloon men, barkeepers and gamblers were the aristocrats of the community, and their vassals were blacklegs, road agents and thugs. When I struck Virginia City, my money had about run out, so I took the first job that offered, which was a pick-and-shovel job. They were building a road over the Pass and I was put on as one of the workmen. Having graduated from an engineering course in a technical school in Germany, I showed the foreman how to lay out the road so we could go over the hill on an easy grade. Pretty soon the supervisor came along and asked who had laid out that road. The foreman pointed me out, so Mr. Moore came to me, and when he found out that I was a college man he said, 'We can find plenty of men to do pick-and-shovel work. You should have a better job than this. If you were only a good rider I could get you a job on the pony express.' VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 217 I told him I had served in the cavalry so I could qualify as a rider. He told me to report to the Wells-Fargo Company in Virginia City to take the run from Virginia City to Friday Station on Lake Bigler, as Lake Tahoe was then called. I rode from Virginia City to Gold Hill, Silver City, Pioneer and to Carson, where I changed horses, then to Mormon Station and over the hill to Friday Station. I changed horses three times on this thirty-three mile run and was required to make the run in three hours. I carried letters only, for which the Wells-Fargo Company received 25 cents each. The regular stage left at 7 :oo A. M., for Placerville. We left at 4 :oo P. M., overtaking the stage at Placerville. A narrow gauge railroad ran from Placerville to Sacramento. By using the pony express the business men gained one day in time, thus speeding up their correspondence. "I became well acquainted with Samuel Clemens, better known to the general public as Mark Twain, who was a reporter on the Virginia City Enterprise at that time. He was a likable chap. He used to come around and say, 'What do you know in the way of news today? Anything exciting happen on the run today?' Once in a while I would have a good item of news for him, though as far as that goes, there was no shortage of news in Virginia City, as they had a man for breakfast almost every morning. One night as I was making my run, my horse shied out to one side and would not pass a clump of several juniper trees along the road. I finally forced him 218 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS back into the road and then I discovered why the horse had shied. From each of these small trees was suspended a man with a rope around his neck, and on each of their chests was pinned a notice from the Vigilance Committee. You should have seen the clearing out of Virginia City after that lynching bee. At another time as one of the saloon men in Virginia City came to his door to see me start out on my run, a man stepped out and shot the saloonkeeper through the heart. Instantly the barkeeper shot the murderer, who also fell fatally wounded, but before he cashed in his checks, he shot the barkeeper and also killed him, so inside of sixty seconds there were three dead men. "The alkali dust on my run from Virginia City to Friday Station was so bad that I began bleeding from my lungs, so I had to give up the run. I went to Sacramento and took passage on the Cosmopolitan for San Francisco. This boat, the Cosmopolitan, is now at Seattle and is used as the Bluebird is here, for dancing. I tried to land a job at San Francisco, but jobs seemed hard to land. For three days I slept on the wharf and lived on crackers and cheese. Finally I became desperate and decided to enlist on the frigate Saranac, which was in the bay and which had a recruiting office in the city. I passed the recruiting office at least a score of times and every time I stopped to go in I would shy off and think, 'Maybe something will turn up,' and sure enough, when I had just about reached the end of VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 219 my string, I ran across Henry Garth, who had come across the plains with me. Henry didn't have much more money. than I had, which was none at all, but he had an uncle at Petaluma. He suggested that we go to Petaluma, as he knew his uncle would give us both a job. We made our way there and Henry asked his uncle for a job for us both. Henry's uncle threw him out bodily and told him to beat it, so we had our walk for nothing. I went to the hotel and told the proprietor I was broke and wanted to stay with him and would pay as soon as I got a job. He told me that he could get me a job and that I could board at his hotel. He sent me to the manager of a match factory there, which manufactured these old-fashioned sulphur matches, you remember the kind—there were 100 of them in a block. The manager gave me a job and told me to report for work next morning. That night I was awakened by a lot of excitement, and getting up I found there was a big fire. I dressed hurriedly and when I got out on the street, I was told that the match factory was on fire. It was a total loss and I was out of a job. I went down to the wharf, where I found a sloop called the Harriet Lane was about to sail for San Francisco. I asked the captain for a chance to work my way to San Francisco. He said that he was loaded with potatoes and that I could go to San Francisco with him and that he would give me a job unloading the potatoes and pay me for it, so I got aboard. When we reached San Francisco an officer was waiting for the boat and attached 220 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS it for debt, so that job went glimmering. I began to think I never would be able to get work. I began a systematic campaign for a job and finally landed a job with a pick and shovel on the site now occupied by the Palace Hotel. We were paid $1 a day for ten hours work. A Chinaman brought us our lunch in a big pan, which we set on the sidewalk and each man dipped in and helped himself. The sand we were shoveling away was loaded on cars and hauled off to make a fill. A rather interesting thing in connection with my job here was that the engine used in hauling the sand away that I was shoveling onto the cars, was later sent to be used as the first engine on the portage road at the Cascades. It was a small engine and the rails used on the portage road were wooden rails with iron straps. When the Lewis and Clark Exposition was held here in Portland I met Mr. Hughes. He introduced me to Mr. Elliott, who had been the engineer when I was working for $1 a day in San Francisco. He was a brother-in-law of Leland Stanford. The little engine used at the Cascades had been shipped back to San Francisco as an historic souvenir of the early days of San Francisco. I told him that we would like to have this engine exhibited at the Lewis and Clark Fair, as it was the first engine used in Oregon. He fixed it up in fine shape, gave it to me with his compliments and paid the freight on it to Portland. You probably remember seeing it standing beside the 120-ton engine of the Union Pacific at the Lewis and Clark Fair. As it was my per- VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 221 sonal property, I turned it over to the Oregon Historical Society when the Lewis and Clark Exposition closed and I understand that it was allowed to go to rack and ruin. It is too bad, as it should have been preserved because of its historic interest. "After working ten days at this job in San Francisco at $1 a day, I couldn't stand the hotel off any longer, so I applied for my money. I was told that they paid off at the end of the month and not before, and that if a person didn't work a month he received no pay, so I quit then and there. I met an old-time acquaintance named Bendel of the firm of Tilman & Bendel, wholesale grocery merchants, who nearly laughed himself sick when he saw me, for my clothes were pretty well shot to pieces. He handed me $20 and told me to come around to his store. The merchants at that time had an agreement not to employ men who had not been passed upon by the secretary, of the employment association. I invested my $20 in clothes and went up to see the secretary. He talked with me a few minutes and offered me my choice of seven different positions. It was a case of 'it never rains but it pours.' Here I had been running my legs off for a job without being able to land one and now I could have my choice of jobs. He told me that A. Cohn & Company were operating seven stores and he advised me to accept a position with them. H. F. Block was the head of the firm. He put me to work making out bills. Their store in San Francisco was known as A. Cohn & 222 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Company. They also operated one in Portland under the same name on the corner of Pine and Front streets. Their store in The Dalles was known as Bloch, Miller & Company. They operated one in Walla Walla under the name of Schwabacher Brothers and the name of their Boise store was Schwabacher Brothers & Frank. They also had a store in Placervile and one in Colville. Mr. Bloch, after trying me out for a short time, told me to report to Bloch, Miller & Company at The Dalles. "At that time there were two steamers a month plying between San Francisco and Portland. I came on the Panama, of which Captain Connor was the master. It took us seven days to make the trip. At that time there was only 15 feet of water on the Columbia Bar and as the Panama was fairly heavily loaded, it bumped on the bar three times in crossing. I landed at Portland on Sunday, April 9, 1864, getting off at the Allen & Lewis wharf at C street. I stopped that night at the New York Hotel. Their rooms were 25 cents a day. In those days it was well known up and down the coast as the 'two-bit' house. Next morning at 5 o'clock, I took the boat for The Dalles of which Captain John R. Wolf was master. In 1864, when I started to work for Bloch, Miller & Company, they had the only stone building in Oregon and also the largest store in the state. We handled general merchandise and miners' supplies and we also operated a warehouse for transferring goods by pack train to the mines. The Dalles had a population at VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 223 that time of not less than 2,700, and it was always thronged with transients on their way to and from the mines. There was more life in The Dalles in a day than there was in Portland in a month. I was put in charge of buying the gold dust. This doesn't sound as if it would be a very responsible job, but it was, for it wasn't merely a matter of weighing out the dust—it was a matter of deciding how much we could pay for it and make a reasonable profit. Gold dust from districts where there was silver, in which the gold dust had a certain alloy of silver, was worth $ o an ounce, while the gold dust from Canyon City or Florence was worth $17 an ounce. If the gold dust came from a district where there was copper, it had a different color and commanded a lower price. I averaged to buy $5o,000 worth of gold dust a month, which was sent direct to the mint in San Francisco. Most of the saloons and merchants at The Dalles accepted gold dust in payment for their wares and sold the dust to us. In those days The Dalles was a wide open town. It never was a tough town like Virginia City. George Clayton ran the biggest gambling house in eastern Oregon there. You could get action on your money through poker, faro, three-card-monte, or you could bet your money on the small horses. Cigars were fifty cents and drinks two-bits. In fact, a quarter was the smallest coin used. Mary St. Clair, who was known from British Columbia to Old Mexico, was one of the famous characters of The Dalles in those days. She would charge you $20 224 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS a bottle for champagne, but she would hand the money over to anyone who needed it just as cheerfully as she took it. She had a heart as big as an ox, and if anyone was sick, she was the first one to offer help and the last one to leave. Vic Trevitt ran the Mt. Hood saloon just across from Mary St. Clair's place. Vic really ran a sort of gentleman's club. He wouldn't allow a drunken man in the place, neither would he allow gambling. He wouldn't stand for a rough house nor rough talk. In fact, you saw very few drunken men in The Dalles in those days. Everyone went heeled, so there was very little fighting, for in case of trouble it was a case of who was quickest on the trigger. It made people a little cautious about starting anything. So much gold dust was coming in that the citizens started an agitation for a mint, and in 1865 Congress appropriated $100,000 and a contract was let for the building of the mint. The rock was brought from Mill Creek, about five miles from The Dalles. After the first story was completed, Congress decided that the mint at San Francisco was sufficient and sold the site and the building for a song. In 1864 The Dalles was the trading center for a large part of Idaho, Montana, and eastern Washington. Merchants came from Boise, Walla Walla, Missoula and many other points to secure their supplies from the merchants of The Dalles. While The Dalles had a permanent population at that time of over 2,500, its floating population frequently was two or three times that num- VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 225 ber. Among the well-known men in The Dalles in that day were Joseph Wilson, Z. F. Moody, Judge Huma-son, Judge Gates, Judge D. D. Hidden, Dr. Shackleford, Dr. Bryan, Dr. Hoffman, Frank Dodge, agent of the 0. S. N. Co., Nick Sinnott, who with Hanlay kept the Umatilla House, and by the way, the Umatilla House in those days was a regular mint. They took in more money over their bar than all the other hotels in The Dalles put together. Those were the days when the Oregon Steam Navigation Company also made money hand-over-fist. They charged $6o a ton on freight from Portland to The Dalles. Fare was $20 and meals were $1.00. The boats were always crowded to capacity with passengers, so that meals were being served continuously, and, of course, the bar on the boat was busy all day long. They don't serve meals any more such as were served in those days. They used to serve ham and eggs, tenderloin steak, fried potatoes, venison, hot cakes and coffee for breakfast. The Oregon Steam Navigation Company had a monopoly on the Columbia River. Frequently a steamer would make • from $3,000 to $5,000 on a single trip. The record profit was made on May 13, 1862, when one boat made a profit of over $ o,000. The principal stockholders of the Oregon Steam Navigation Company were W. S. Ladd, R. R. Thompson, Simeon G. Reed, Jacob Kamm, J. C. Ainsworth, B. F. Bradford, L. W. Coe, Benjamin Stark, Richard Williams, George W. Hoyt, Josiah My- 226 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS rick, and some others. Captain John H. Wolf, with whom I made my first trip to The Dalles, was one of the best-known mariners on the Columbia River run. In the middle 'sixties he was in command of the New World. Among the well-known steamers of the day were Wilson G. Hunt, the Carrie Ladd, the Express and the Cascades. The New World ran from Portland to the Cascades and the Hassalo from the Cascades to The Dalles. "After putting in a year at The Dalles, I went to Canyon City. This was in 1865. I went into partnership with John Snively, who ran a pack train, and William Claflin. My partners furnished the capital and I furnished the experience. We carried a $25,000 stock and we complied with the universal custom of those days of selling our goods at double what they cost us. This rule did not hold good in the case of flour, for we sold flour sometimes as low as 55 cents a pound, and when you know that the freight from The Dalles to Canyon City was 55 cents a pound, you will realize that we sold it for the cost of transportation and were out the original cost of the flour. However, we made up the loss on other things. When I went there Grant County had recently been organized. Canyon City was largely settled by the left wing of Price's army. They had left Missouri and most of them had been Southern sympathizers. W. Lair Hill was county judge and Tom Brents was county clerk. At the next election Mike Goodwin, a VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 227 saloonkeeper, was elected county clerk, and as he knew nothing about the duties and could not afford to neglect his saloon, he made me his deputy. C. H. Miller had been elected county judge. He had been an express messenger, a miner, had tried his hand at running a newspaper, had lived with the Indians, and when I knew him first, he was a devoted admirer of Byron. He tried to imitate Byron in every way, even to limping like Byron. I was his unwilling victim. He was constantly writing poetry and coming into my office to read it to me. He was a picturesque character, for he wore his hair long and wore high boots, tucking the trousers in one boot and letting the other trouser leg cover the boot. He was really a pretty able lawyer and a very genial man, but I wasn't very crazy about his poetry. He sent his verses to the Times-Mountaineer at The Dalles, publishing it under the name of John Smith, Jr. Later he ran a good deal of his verse in the Blue Mountain Eagle at Canyon City under his own name of C. H. Miller. Still later he adopted the name of Joaquin Miller, and when he went to England, his picturesque attire and his western manners made a big hit. His wife, Minnie Myrtle Miller, to my mind, was a better poet than her husband, but her verse has never been published except in newspaper form. "On July 10, 1866, I was married to Marie Louise Fleurot, who was born in France and who came to Portland in 1857. She attended St. Mary's Academy in Portland for eight years. Her father and mother ran the 228 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS French Hotel at Canyon City. This hotel was next to my store and there I became acquainted with my future wife. We were married by Father Macklin, a fine, bighearted Irish priest. After having been in Canyon City for about five years, one August day—and it was 104 in the shade—one of the buildings caught fire. Canyon City, as its name indicates, is in a canyon, and the flames swept from building to building and within a short time the city was like a roaring furnace. Two hundred and fifty-five buildings were reduced to ashes, among them our store. In 1870, when I was burned out at Canyon City, I came to Portland. Having had no insurance on my store or stock of goods, I was broke and had, to get something to do. At that time Judge Otto Kramer's father ran a store here. He gave me a job as porter and janitor at $40 a month. After a while I was promoted to salesman at $75 a month, and later my salary was raised to $100 a month. When Mr. Kramer sold out I became head bookkeeper at $15o a month. Still later I became manager of the store at $300 a month. Eventually I became one of the partners of the firm with Ben Selling and Frank Aiken. We sold out in 1890. "For 21 years I had worked steadily without taking a vacation and my health had become greatly impaired. I bought the ranch on which I now live, and drinking the water from the iron spring here and working outdoors restored my health completely. I had always been fond of nature and so took up horticulture as a hobby. I sent to VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 229 France, Germany, England and to various other places for walnuts, as I believe that the Willamette Valley was adapted to growing walnuts, although all my friends thought I was crazy. I bought 17 acres here at Dosch Station on Dosch Road 36 years ago. It is part of the old Clinton-Kelly donation land claim. When I was a boy in Germany the students of our school made two walking trips a year, spending a week at a time studying botany, horticulture and forestry. We stopped overnight at farmhouses or slept in barns. When I came to my place here, I remembered how greatly I had enjoyed studying horticulture and botany as a boy, so I began experimenting along horticultural lines. I made my vegetable garden support my family while I experimented with various fruits and nuts. I discovered that the reason that English walnuts had not done well in Oregon was that the right variety had not been brought here—that in many cases the male walnut blossom had bloomed and the bloom had dropped off before the female walnut flower blossomed. For 15 years I worked away at developing best types of walnut trees for the Willamette Valley and finally introduced the Franquette and Mayette walnuts. Then I began talking walnut growing. Charlie Ladd put out a lot of walnuts and so did Mr. Prince at Dundee. Then the McGill & McDonald nursery commercialized it and introduced them widely. Today California is sending to Oregon to secure Franquette walnut trees. From the few acres I planted for experimental 230 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS purposes, the industry has grown until we now have 4,000 acres here in the Willamette Valley set to walnuts. No, I didn't make any money on it—in fact, I didn't expect to make money. I did it for the love of it and to introduce a new industry to Oregon. I helped organize the Oregon Horticultural Society 40 years ago. Dr. J. A. Cardwell, an enthusiastic horticulturist, became the first president of the society and continued as president for 20 years. E. R. Lake, now of Washington, D. C., was the first secretary. I am the sole surviving member of the State Horticultural Society of Oregon, organized 20 years ago. I am also the only member of the State Board of Horticulture appointed 34 years ago by Governor Pennoyer. I am now serving my fourth term as secretary of the State Board of Horticulture. My first term was served as successor to George Lambertson. I next succeeded John Minto. H. M. Williamson was then elected and served for ii years. In 1888 I served as post commander of Garfield Post G. A. R. This post was organized 42 years ago and there are only three of the 36 charter members now living—Judge J. H. Northrup, H. F. Lamb and myself. "Prior to the World's Fair in Chicago I went to Salem and secured the passage of a law authorizing the appointment of a commission to represent Oregon at the World's Fair. Governor Pennoyer had no use for commissions. He told me that he would appoint a commissioner, but that I would have to serve alone and he could thus place VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 231 responsibility. When the legislatwe passed the law which I had urged, Governor Pennoyer vetoed it. Once more I went to bat with the legislators and the bill was passed over his veto, and I was authorized to name the commissioners. One of the first men I named was Dr. J. A. Cardwell, for no one in Oregon was more entitled to a place on the commission than Dr. Cardwell. Oregon took sweepstakes for the entire United States on grain. Look up the records of the World's Fair and you will find that we took 17 gold medals, receiving the highest awards along many lines. I handled Oregon's exhibit at the Omaha Exposition. Not only did I receive no salary for this work, but it cost me $1,200 of my own money, but I was glad to contribute not only my time but my money towards advancing Oregon's interests. "While at Omaha some railroad men were attracted to Oregon's exhibit of timber. Later they bought timber from Oregon to build 20 miles of trestles. Some boat builders, who operated on the Susquehanna River, were also greatly attracted by our timber exhibit and they later sent to Oregon and bought lumber for the building of 200 river barges. We also made a very decided impression on eastern markets with our shingles and dried prunes. "From Omaha I went to Buffalo in 1900, and if you will look up the records of that exposition you will find that no other state took as many prizes as Oregon. "The next place where I was installed and was in charge of Oregon's exhibit was at Charleston, South 232 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Carolina. We had there a timber 74 feet long and 3 feet square which came from the Eastern & Western Lumber Company's mills. Originally it had been n5 feet long and 3 feet square, but they had to cut it down to 74 feet to get it through a tunnel which was built on a curve in Montana. I also had there a timber 20 feet long and 9 feet in diameter. This had 365 rings, showing it was 365 years old. A prominent official of the German government thought these two big timbers had been specially prepared and he tried his best to see where they were joined together. He couldn't believe it possible that we grew timbers of this size. I told him that he could place an order for a thousand such sticks and the Portland mills would fill his order. I gave him a letter to a Portland lumberman. He came out to Portland, discovered that I had been telling the truth, and purchased a cargo of bridge timbers. He has been back to Portland several times since and has been one of our best customers. "In 1903 I went to Japan to see if I could persuade Japan to make an exhibit at the Lewis and Clark Fair. They had appropriated $800,000 for an exhibit at St. Louis and I wanted them to appropriate a further sum of $200,000 to bring their exhibit to Portland. I found that it would be hopeless to have the measure passed by the Japanese Diet. The only thing left to do was to use a little diplomacy. I had a warm friend and advocate in one of the Japanese officials, and succeeded in securing the appropriation. VIGILANTE DAYS AND WAYS 233 "As an indication of their appreciation of my work, I had conferred upon me the Order of the Sacred Treasure which is a military decoration and at that time very few had been bestowed upon foreigners. "In 1903, while in Japan, I met Baron Chinda and Baron Komura. They told me of the trouble they were having from Beni-Ben. The Japanese soldiers and peasants were eating rice from Cochin-China. This rice cost two and three-fourth cents a pound. I said, 'Why do you not buy Louisiana rice'? You can get it at the same price and your soldiers and citizens will not get Beni-Beni from it.' Possibly a year after that I was sent to New Orleans to invite Louisiana to take part in our exposition, and as I went into the St. Charles Hotel I noticed three Japanese sitting in the lobby. As they caught sight of me they rose, bowed low, and one of them said, 'Are you not Colonel Dosch?' Looking at him closely I recognized him and remembered his name, which was Watta Napa. I said 'Yes, my name is Colonel Dosch and you are Watta Napa. You are chief clerk in Baron Ko-mura's office.' He said 'Do you remember, Colonel Dosch, telling Baron Komura about Louisiana rice?' I had almost forgotten the circumstance. I thought a moment and said, 'Yes, but nothing ever came of it.' He said, 'Oh, yes; very much came of it. I have just dispatched a shipload of rice from here and am planning to contract for the entire crop.' As a matter of fact, they did purchase that year's crop of Louisiana rice, and the 234 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Japanese-Russian War was fought on Louisiana rice. Not only that but the price of rice advanced from 24 cents to 7 cents a pound, so it brought a great deal of prosperity to the planters of Louisiana. The high price of rice also caused the introduction of rice growing into Texas. So you see that no man liveth unto himself alone. "Once more, I had almost forgotten the incident when I was notified that I had been given the title of Baron and the Japanese government was bestowing upon me the Decoration of the Rising Sun. The first man to receive this decoration in the United States was President Eliot of Harvard. I was the second one to receive the decoration. Colonel Roosevelt was the third, President Taft the fourth, General Pershing the fifth, and a few months ago it was bestowed upon W. D. Wheelwright, so there are only six men who have had this decoration bestowed upon them in the United States—so I am in good company. The decoration carries with it many immunities and privileges in Japan. At the time I had charge of the Oregon exhibit in Japan I was fortunate in making many warm friends among the Japanese. "At the Lewis and Clark Fair I was a director of exhibits and privileges and was also in charge of the Oregon exhibit at the Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Exposition, and I helped prepare and organize the Oregon exhibit for the Panama-Pacific Exposition." XIV WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK "MY father, W. H. Gray, came to Oregon in 1836," said Captain William P. Gray of Pasco. "I was born in Oregon City in 1845. My father named me William Polk Gray. I remember when I was about four or five years old someone asked my father what my middle initial stood for. Father said, 'I named him for President Polk. When I named him the president had taken a strong stand on 54-40 or fight. Polk reversed his attitude on that question and I have been sorry I called my boy after him ever since. Sometimes I have a notion to wring the youngster's neck, I am so disgusted with President Polk.' I was about five years old, and when I heard my father say that he sometimes had a notion to wring my neck, it scared me pretty badly. My father was a man who usually meant what he said and always did what he said he was going to do, so every time I saw him look stern I ran like a rabbit and hid, for fear he might be about to wring my neck. "My father was one of the early day expansionists. He was really the prime mover and originator of the 235 236 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS agitation for making Oregon American territory. He got one or two others together and first discussed the advisability of holding the Wolf meeting that led to the movement to organize the provisional government at Champoeg on May 2, 1843. "He was greatly in favor of our owning not only Alaska, but all of Canada. He thought the United States should take in all the continent of North America. When Secretary Seward went up to Alaska he took my father with him, on account of father's familiarity with the Indian customs and languages. "Father came back from Alaska greatly impressed with Seward's statesmanship. At that time Thomas Nast and others were cartooning Seward and showing Alaska as an iceberg with a solitary polar bear guarding it. I remember hearing father say when some one criticized Seward's purchase of Alaska that his only error was that he didn't also buy British Columbia at the same time. "I guess few families are more typically western than our family. My oldest brother, John Henry Dix Gray, was born in 1839 at Lapwai, while father was building the mission building there for Dr. Spalding. "The next child, my sister, Mrs. Caroline A. Kamm, now of Portland, was born at Whitman mission when father was building the flour mill for Dr. Whitman. Father was one of the most resourceful men I ever saw. If he wanted to make something and had no tools, he WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 237 would make the tools and then go ahead and make what he wanted. After he had built the mill for Dr. Whitman, though he had never in his life attempted making mill stones, he quarried them out successfully, shaped them up and installed them. "My father's father died when my father was only eight years old. His older brother was a Presbyterian minister. He bound out my father to a cabinet maker. "The next child to be born was Mary Sophia, who later became Mrs. Frank Tarbell. She also was born at Whitman station. Her husband at one time was the treasurer of Washington Territory. "The next child to be born was Sarah Fidelia, who married Governor Abernethy's son. She was born at Salem when father was organizing the Oregon Institute. "My father took up a donation land claim where the town of Salem now stands, but traded it to J. L. Parrish for a location on Clatsop Plains not far from Astoria. "I was the next child to be born, being born in Oregon City in 1845. "The next child, Albert Williams Gray, was born on their Clatsop Plains farm. "The next boy was Edwin Hall, and the next child, Truman Powers. "The next child, James T. Gray, had charge of the Tanana division in Alaska for the Northern Navigation for many years. He married General 0. 0. Howard's daughter, Grace. Their home is near Milwaukie. 238 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "When I was four years old we were living at Clatsop Plains, so my father decided I had better go to school. I had to walk two miles each morning and night to school. My first teacher was Miss Rebecca Ketchum. I went to this school for two or three terms. "When we were at Clatsop Plains the first Presbyterian church in that whole district was organized at our house. After the church was organized one of the people there donated the ground and my father built the first church in Clatsop county. "When I was eight years old my parents moved to Astoria. I went to school there to a Scotchman named Sutherland. The only part of the Bible that he knew well was the part where it says, 'If you spare the rod, you will spoil the child.' There was no danger of any of us getting spoiled, for he put in the major part of his time using the rod. "Our next teacher was Miss Lincoln, who later married Judge A. A. Skinner. "When I was ten years old, I took my first contract. Father had a theory that it was a pretty good scheme for his boys to get to work as early as possible and as a matter of fact, we never had much time to get into mischief. General John Adair, the collector of customs, had enough pull to move the custom house and the post-office to upper Astoria. Lower Astoria had the sawmill, the stores and the bulk of the population. "Dr. 0. J. Trenchard fixed up a subscription paper WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 239 and I went around to all of the stores and residences of lower Astoria and got the people to agree to pay me to deliver their mail before I said anything to my father about it. I was to go twice a week for the river mail and make two extra trips a month for the steamer mail that came from California and brought the mail from the East. The stores paid from 75 cents to $1.5o a month, while the private individuals paid 25 to 5o cents a month. I guess that was about the first city mail delivery in Oregon, as that was back in 1855. I started for the mail in the morning, summer and winter, at 5:30 o'clock. It kept me busy until school time distributing it. I often had from twenty-five to forty pounds of mail and for a ten-year-old boy, climbing around the cliffs, that was a pretty good load. How I used to hate the people who took papers. Some of them took bulky papers and to bring four or five bulky papers to some one, and only get 25 cents a month for it, I thought was pretty tough. I made from $30 to $35 a month. My mother wanted me to save my money. Father said, `It is Willy's money. Let him spend it as he pleases. He will have to learn for himself.' Peaches in those days were ten cents and oranges 25 cents apiece and I was the most popular boy in school with all of the big girls. I never was much of a hand at saving and when a pretty girl or two or three of them wanted oranges, and I had the money, they generally got the oranges. "When I was 13 years old we moved to British Colum- 240 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS bia. This was in 1858. I began working with canoes and bateaux on the Fraser river. A good many people got drowned on the Fraser river as it is a dangerous stream, but father used to say that danger was all in a day's work and one must take what comes. We ran from Hope to Yale. Father was an expert woodworker, having learned the cabinet-maker's trade and I worked with him in the building of sloops and river boats. "In the summer of 1860 we crossed the mountains to the Similkameen river to prospect for gold. We found gold on the south fork. Father built two rockers, and for the next two months we kept busy. At the end of that time our supplies were running very short. I was 13 years old, and father decided I was old enough to assume responsibility, so he sent me to Fort Hope to secure supplies. There was only an Indian trail, but I knew the general direction. I had to ford streams and cross rivers, but I had learned to swim when I was 8 years old, so that didn't bother me. As we were short of provisions, I only took two sandwiches, thinking I could make the 140 miles within two days. I had a good riding horse and I was going to ride from daylight to dark. I had not gone over 20 miles when a rather hard character in that country called 'Big Jim' met me in the trail. He stopped me and said, 'Have you got anything to eat?' I told him I had only two sandwiches. He said, 'I haven't had anything to eat for two days. Hand me those sandwiches.' I looked at him and concluded that WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 241 it was safest to give him the sandwiches. He bolted them down and grumbled because I had no more. He was on his way out to Fort Hope but his horse was almost worn out. I wanted to go by, but he wouldn't let me. He said, `Oh, no, you don't—we will stay together for company. Your horse is a good deal fresher than mine and I may need him.' "As we made our way across a high cliff, his horse lost its balance and fell, striking the rocks more than 200 feet below. He made me get off my horse and mounted mine. We rode and tied from there on in to Fort Hope. It took us four and a half days, and all we had to eat during that time was a foolhen that he knocked down. My clothes were almost torn to shreds." "When I got home, I went in the back door. My mother saw me. She raised her hands above her head and said, 'Oh, Willie, what has happened to your father?' I told her my father was all right, but I was nearly starved. I secured two horses and loaded them with bacon and beans, rice and other supplies, and started back for our camp. When some prospectors in town learned that we were making $io a day to the man, they followed me to our camp. "When I returned father thought that he could strike richer diggings, so he left a man and myself to work with the rockers while he went down to Rock Creek, now the site of Roslyn, B.C. I averaged $8 a day while father was gone. The bedrock was a white clay. We threw the 242 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS clay out on the tailings. A few years later some Chinamen came to our old abandoned diggings and made $15 to $20 a day apiece from our old clay tailings. The clay had rolled back and forth in our rockers and the gold had stuck to it. When it had weathered and disintegrated the gold was released and the clay washed away in the Chinamen's sluice boxes. "While father was on his trip he looked over the country, and decided to locate on Asoyoos Lake, at the head of the Okanogan River, across the British Columbia border in American territory. He went back to Fort Hope, and securing riding horses and pack horses, my father and mother, my two sisters and two brothers and myself started for our new home. This was in October, and winter had begun. We traveled day after day through the rain or snow, camping at night, usually in the snow. Timber was scarce where father had selected his ranch, so we hauled logs down the mountains, split them and built our cabin by standing the split logs on end. We chinked the cracks with moss and mud. "After looking over the ranch more carefully, father found that it was not as good as he had thought, so he decided to build a boat, go down the Okanogan and Columbia river to Deschutes Falls, now called Celilo, and bring supplies up the river for the miners. We had practically no tools, and of course no nails. We went into the mountains, whipsawed out the lumber, hauled it down to the water, and father, with the help of us boys, WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 243 built a boat, fastening it together with trunnels or wooden pegs. We could have secured nails possibly, but the freight from Fort Hope was $1 a pound, and father decided that the wooden pegs would do equally well. We built a boat 91 feet long with 12 foot beam, drawing empty 12 inches of water. The next thing was calking her, but I never saw my father stumped yet. He hunted around and found a big patch of wild flax. He had the children pick this and break it to use as oakum to caulk the cracks in the boat. We also hunted all through the timber and found gum in the trees, which we melted up for pitch to be used in the calking. He had no canvas for sails, so he made some large sweeps. Father christened her the Sarah F. Gray, for my youngest sister. He launched her on May 2, 1861, and started on his trip down the river on May 10.. "To give you an idea of the determination of my father, he sent that boat, without machinery, sails or other equipment except the sweeps, through the Rock Island rapids and through the Priest rapids, both of which he negotiated successfully. He arrived on the Deschutes on May 23. He left me to bring the family down and I certainly had a very exciting time doing so. "Father left Asoyoos Lake, at the head of the Okanogan river, with the boat we had built there, for his dangerous trip through the Rock Island rapids and the Priest rapids on May 10, 1861. "A. J. Kane had joined our family to go with us 244 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS from our ranch to The Dalles. My mother, sisters and brothers, with Mr. Kane and myself, started July 4., 1861. The first day out Mr. Kane's horse became restive and threw him against the saddle horn, rupturing him badly. We bound him up, but for the rest of the trip he could hardly ride and was practically helpless. This threw the responsibility of bringing the family through safely on me, but I was 16 years old and felt quite equal to it. "We swam the Columbia at the mouth of the Okanogan, came through the Grand Coulee and arrived at what is now White Bluffs. We planned to go to The Dalles by way of the Yakima and Simcoe valleys. We crossed the Columbia and camped on the Yakima side. That night a cattleman came to our camp. He said that a man and his wife had just been killed at Moxee Springs the night before and that it would be almost certain death for us to go by way of the Yakima and Simcoe valleys. We at once recrossed the Columbia and started down the east bank. We camped opposite the mouth of the Yakima. "During the day we had met a couple of prospectors who warned us to look out for the Indians at the mouth of the Snake river. The Indians had charged them $20 to take them across in a canoe, while the three horses swam the river. "That night I staked my riding horse as usual, near camp, and turned the others loose to graze, knowing WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 245 that they would not wander away. During the night the Snake River Indians drove our horses off. We were stranded with my one saddle horse and no way of continuing our journey unless I could recover the horses. Mr. Kane, the only man in the party, was helpless with his injury. My mother was greatly alarmed but she realized as I did that the only thing to do was to follow the trail of the stolen horses and try to get them back. "I followed their trail for 12 miles, when the trail was covered by the tracks of several hundred Indian horses. I followed the new trail to near where Pasco now stands. There was a big Indian camp with many tepees near the river. I rode up to the big tent where I heard the torn-torn and the sound of Indians dancing. "Some years before General Wright had inflicted severe punishment upon the Indians by killing a large band of their horses. On the spur of the moment I decided to put on a bold front and demand the return of my horses. I rode up to the tent, dismounted, threw the tepee flap back and stepped into the entrance. The Indians stopped dancing and looked intently at me. I talked the Chinook jargon as well as I did English, so I said, 'Some of you Indians have stolen my horses last night. If they are not back in my camp an hour after I get there I'll see that every horse in your band is shot.' There was utter silence. "I dropped the flap of the tent, mounted my horse and started back for camp. I had not gone far when I heard 246 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the thud of running horses. Four Indians were plying the quirt, riding after me. They were whooping and howling and just before they got to me they divided, two going on each side. I never looked around. One of the Indians rode his horse square across the trail in front of me. I spurred my horse and raised my quirt. The Indian gave way and I rode on. I knew the Indian character well enough to know that the only way I could carry my bluff out was by appearing perfectly fearless. "When I got back to camp my mother was crying and said she had been praying for me all the time I was gone. I had started out for the horses without breakfast and had ridden over 3o miles, so I was pretty hungry. As I sat down to my delayed breakfast we heard the thud of running horses and our horses charged into camp covered with lather. I hurried out, caught the horses and staked them, came back, finished my meal and then saddled up, packed the pack horses and went down to the mouth of the Snake river. I again rode up to the large tent, opened the flap and said in Chinook, 'I want one canoe for my women and children to go to Wallula and three canoes to swim my horses across. You have delayed us by driving my horses off, so I want you to hurry.' The Indians looked as impassive as wooden statues. One of the chiefs gave some command to the others. Several of the younger men got up, went down to the water and got out the canoes. My mother and the children got in and the Indians put in our packs WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 247 to take to Wallula, 11 miles distant. My brother Albert went in one canoe and I went in the other, while one of the Indians went into the third canoe, and we swam our horses across the river. When I got to the other side I said to the Indian in charge, 'How much?' He answered, 'What you think?' I handed him $5, which he took without a word, got into the canoe and started back. Albert and I rode on toward Wallula, where we arrived at 10 o'clock that night and rejoined the rest of the family. "Having brought my mother and the children to Wallula, on horseback from Asoyoos Lake, I put them aboard the steamer Tenino in charge of Captain Leonard White, and they proceeded to Portland. "I stayed at Fort Wallula, living in the adobe fort. I herded stock for J. M. Vansyckle until father returned from the Snake river. Father had gone to Deschutes in the Sarah F. Gray, the boat he had built on the Okanogan, with the idea of securing some machinery for her. He found, however, that he was unable to raise the money to purchase the machinery, so he rigged her with a mast and sail and secured a load for the nearest landing to the newly discovered mines at Oro Fino. "The nearest point by boat to the new mines was the mouth of the Clearwater, now the site of the city of Lewiston, Idaho. On farther's return on board the Sarah F. Gray, I joined him at Wallula and we went to Deschutes, a point which at that time seemed to have the 248 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS making of a city but which is now merely a memory. I stayed in charge of the boat while father went to Portland to secure a cargo for Lewiston. It was now late in the summer and the rumor had gone about among the merchants that it was impossible to navigate the Snake river, even by small boats. Father was unable to secure a cargo. As you know, my father was a very determined man and if he once set out to do a thing he would not stop short of its accomplishment. He had decided to take a cargo of goods to the mines and if the merchants would not give him the freight, he determined to take a cargo of his own. He mortgaged his horses, his Astoria property and his boat and with the assistance of personal friends who advanced him money, he bought a stock of goods for the mines. "The goods were shipped to the Cascades, hauled around the Cascades by the portage tramway on the Oregon, side, reshipped to The Dalles and from The Dalles hauled to Deschutes by wagon. We were loaded and ready to leave Deschutes in the latter part of August. We arrived at Wallula on September 15. When we got to Wallula our entire crew deserted. They declared it was too dangerous to attempt to navigate the Snake river. "Father finally secured a new crew of seven men and on September 2o, 1861, we left Wallula. It took us three days to reach the mouth of the Snake river, a distance of only ii miles. The prevailing winds were WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 249 directly across the current, so that it was necessary for us to cordelle the boat almost the entire way. "Another boy and myself took ropes in a skiff up the stream and found a place where a rope could be made fast. We would then come down stream bringing the rope to our boat, where the rope was made fast to the capstan and the rope would be slowly wound up. We had a difficult trip to Lewiston and before we got there my comrade and myself in the skiff had demonstrated that there was not a single rapid in the Snake river that could not be swum. We were both strong swimmers and perfectly at home in the water. Our boat was overturned on the rapids scores of times in cordelling up to Lewiston. Our skiff was small and we had to carry a full coil of rope an inch and a half in diameter as well as a coil of smaller rope and oftentimes when the line was wet we had a bare two inches of free board to go through the rapids in. Not content with being wet all day long and being tipped out of our skiff, Jim Parker, my comrade, and I would dare each other to swim dangerous places in the river. "Jim Parker was from Parker's Landing, where Washougal, Washington, now is, and like myself, was raised on the water. I remember one place in the Five Mile rapids that was not only very dangerous but it seemed impossible for us to find a place to make a fastening. My father thought we could find some rock in mid-current to which we could attach the rope. I said, 250 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS 'It can't be done.' Father turned to me and said, 'My son, can't isn't in my dictionary. Anything can be done if you want to do it badly enough.' I told him the rapids were full of whirlpools and that we would certainly be overturned in making the attempt to make a fastening. He said, 'If you are overturned, you and the skiff will both come downstream. You may not come down together, but you will both come down. You will then go back and make another attempt and continue to do so until you have succeeded.' "After that experience there never has been any combination of wood, iron or water that has ever scared me, though I will acknowledge I was scared upon that particular occasion. "We took the rope up and succeeded in getting a loop over a rock. No sooner had we done so than the skiff was caught, dashed against a rock nearby, overturned and Jim and I were in the water. We went through the rapid at a terrific rate, sometimes under water, sometimes on top. We finally got through, swam to the overturned skiff and succeeded in getting back to the boat. We had fastened a piece of wood to the end of the line so that it floated down the river. We clambered aboard the boat chilled through and pretty badly scared. Father said, 'Where are you going?' I told him I was going to get some dry clothes on. He said, 'There will be time enough for that when you have gone and secured the end of the line.' So Jim and I got into the skiff again, WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 251 recovered the end of the line and brought :it to the boat. "It was October 3o when we finally arrived at Lewiston. Many a time on the trip up I had been so worried I didn't know what to do, for fear that we would wreck the Sarah F. Gray, for we took some desperate chances and I knew that if it was wrecked my father would not only lose his boat but he would lose all of his property and be in debt to his friends. "Provisions were getting short in the mines and father sold his flour for $25 a sack or 5o cents a pound. Beans also brought so cents a pound. Blankets were eagerly bought at $25 a pair and we sold all of our bacon at 6o cents a pound. Father had made a very profitable voyage and had not only carried out his plan but came out with handsome profit. We left Lewiston on November 2 with several passengers, and came down the river to Deschutes in seven days. "I spent the winter of 1861-2 in Portland. I attended public school in Portland that winter. The school was located where the Portland Hotel now stands. Professor George F. Boynton was the principal. "The winter of 1861-62 was one of the most severe the west has ever seen. The Willamette was frozen over at Portland so that teams could cross on the ice between Portland and East Portland and of course the mule ferry was out of commission. Possibly an adventure I had that winter on the Willamette helped to impress the severity 252 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS of the winter upon my memory. My brother, J. H. D. Gray, and my cousin, P. C. Schuyler, and myself were skating on the river at what was called Clinton Point in those days. It is just about where the new 0. R. & N. steel bridge crosses the river now. We were playing tag and I took a short-cut across the thin ice near an airhole. My skates cut through, tripped me and down I went into the water. The thermometer was standing at about zero. My brother and my cousin could not come near me on account of also breaking through the thin ice. I finally broke the thin ice with my fist until I got to where the ice was so thick I could not break it. My brother and cousin lay down, one holding the other, and, tying the sleeves of their coats together, threw me one end. I caught the end of the coat sleeve and they pulled me out. The instant the air struck me my clothing froze and by the time I had got to the river bank near Ankeny's dock, my trousers were frozen stiff, and when I bent my knees my trousers broke off at the knee. I walked to the corner of Third and B streets, now Burnside, where we lived, and got thawed out. "Portland in those days was a pretty small town, all of the business being on the streets near the river. Mr. Robert Pittock had a store on First street, between A and B streets (Ankeny and Burnside), where we traded. "I had to quit school in April of 1862 as father needed my help on the river. We began boating, carrying WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 253 freight between Deschutes and Wallula, operating our boat by sail. There were several competing sailboats, steamboats at that time not being very numerous. After making a few trips father decided he would build a steamboat. He picked out Columbus on the Washington side, a few miles above Celilo, as the best point at which to build his boat. The reason he picked out Columbus was that it was the landing for the entire Klickitat valley, and it was the point through which all of the pine timber growing on the Simcoe mountains came to the river. "I was sixteen years old at this time and father wanted someone who knew the river and some one whom he could trust to take charge of the Sarah F. Gray, our sailboat. • He put me in charge. In the latter part of June he sold the boat, but the purchasers, Whittingham & Co., of Wallula, stipulated that I must remain in charge of the boat or they would not buy it. Father told them he needed my help to build a boat, but they insisted and told him they would pay me $150 a month for my services. "They told me that what they wanted was to make as many trips as possible while the prevailing winds were good. They gave me a mate, two deckhands and a cook. They paid big wages, paying my father $150 for my services, paying the mate $90, the cook $75 and the deckhands $6o a month each. "This was the first boat that I ever had command of 254 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS and you can imagine how anxious I was to make a record. During the month of July I didn't get very much sleep, as I was on deck to take every advantage of the coast breeze which swept up the Columbia. During the month of July I made five round trips between Deschutes and Wallula, which was not only a record up to that time, but has never been broken by sailboats on the river since. I took up from 25 to 28 tons each trip. We had the boat in operation for the full 24 hours each day. Father had sold the boat for $1200. Not only did I take advantage of the wind by night and day, but I rigged up a water sail to help us drift down the river with the current against the upriver wind. In that one month that boat not only paid the wages of myself and all the crew but cleared in addition more than the price of the boat. "To give you an idea of what we did to make five round trips within a month, I not only personally took charge of the boat at every bad rapid we came to, either by day or night, but I crowded on all sail, even when more cautious captains were reefing their sails. Three times during the month I had my main boom carried away. The crew soon were inspired by my enthusiasm and worked just as hard as I did to make a record. "In the early part of August the coast breeze failed us entirely and we came pretty near making a record for the slowness of a trip. It took us 39 days to make one trip. Father was anxious for me to join him and hurry WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 255 forward the work of building the Cascadilla and after running the /sloop for five months the owners laid it up for the rest of the season and I joined father and helped finish the Cascadilla. She was 110 feet long, 18-foot beam and drew 20 inches. "Our family moved from Portland to The Dalles in the fall of 1862. We lived in The Dalles that winter. Father launched his steamboat, the Cascadilla, in December, 1862. Next spring we took the Cascadilla up to Lewiston, plying on the Clearwater and the Snake rivers. We carried wood from Lapwai and lumber from Asotin to Lewiston. "That spring father had trouble with A. Kimmell, his purser. He found the purser was not turning in all the money. Father put him off the boat and told him what he thought of men who were crooked. What he told him was plenty. Shortly after the purser had been put ashore, we were laid up cleaning the boilers. The Cascadilla was a half-deck boat. Father was lying on his back on a pile of cordwood repairing the steering wheel ropes. I was in the cabin aft. Looking out I saw Kimmell take an axe from the wood block and start towards father, whose head was toward him. Father had both hands in the air splicing a rope. Kimmell drew back the axe and as he brought it down to split father's head open, I jumped for him. I had no time to do anything but to launch myself at him. I struck him like a battering ram in the back and shoulders. The axe's blow was deflected 256 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS and the axe missed father's head. It also overbalanced Kimmell and he fell overboard. Kimmell, wild with anger, clambered ashore, pulled a pistol from his pocket and began shooting at us. The first shot he fired struck me in the hand, cutting the flesh on my third and fourth fingers. The second shot struck me in the foot. I did the only thing possible under the circumstances. I ran down the gangplank and, stooping, I picked up several rocks and threw them at him as I closed in on him. By good fortune I hit him with one of the rocks, in the stomach, and knocked him breathless. He grabbed his stomach with both hands. I closed in on him and hit him in the chin. The blow knocked him down and I took the pistol away. Some of the crew came ashore, tied him up and turned him over to the authorities at The Dalles. "Father was always a peaceful man when it came to the law. He said he was able to settle his own troubles. When the trial came, father refused to appear against him, so he was turned loose. "Kimmell bought a sailboat. It got loose from the bank at Celilo and went over the falls. Kimmell could have gotten ashore, but he had money in the cabin and while trying to recover the money the boat went over the falls and Kimmell was drowned. "Father sold the Cascadilla in the summer of 1864. "I went on the river as a cub pilot with Captain Charles Felton on the steamer Yakima. At that time, WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 257 the steamer Yakima was the most palatial boat on the river. It plied between Celilo and Lewiston. Umatilla Landing, which had been started by Z. F. Moody, was growing rapidly. There was an active demand for lumber, which sold for $55 a thousand. Alonzo Leland, with a man named Atwood, owned a sawmill 10 miles from Asotin. He could find no market for his lumber. It was worth only $15 per thousand at Lewiston, while if he could deliver his lumber at Umatilla he could readily sell all he could deliver at $55 a thousand. This market was worth trying for. They tried repeatedly rafting the lumber down the Snake river, but each time the raft was broken up in the rapids, and the lumber was a total loss. As we were going up the river Atwood hailed me from what is now called Atwood's Island. He had landed there with a raft in the attempt to go down the river. We took Mr. Atwood and the crew aboard. We asked him how he had happened to come to grief. Atwood said, 'It is impossible to raft lumber down the Snake. We will have to give it up. We have never succeeded in taking a raft down yet.' He turned to me for confirmation of this statement. I said, 'You can take a raft through all right if you will get the right man.' He said, Van you take one down?' I told him that I could. He made no comment of any kind but turned on his heel and went below. About half an hour later he came up to the pilot house and said, 'I am willing to risk the loss of another raft if you will agree to take it down. 258 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS If we can once get a raft down the Snake river and get it to Umatilla Landing it will pay for the loss of all the others.' I told him I was willing to take charge of the raft, but I doubted whether Captain Felton would let me go. He said he thought he could arrange it with Captain Felton, as he knew him well. "He said, 'I realize it is dangerous work. Tell me what you are going to charge me.' I told him I would charge $10 a day while running the raft and $5 a day for any time we had to lie at the bank. He saw Captain Felton, who came to me and said he was anxious to accommodate Atwood, and he would spare me for a trip. "Atwood and I went to his mill at Asotin, where he built a raft containing 50,00o. feet of lumber. When we came to the big eddy above Lewiston (where Atwood had always had trouble, and had missed landing at that place with several rafts and as a consequence lost the lumber as there was no market farther down the river), I threw the raft into the center of the eddy. Atwood protested, believing that we certainly would miss the Lewiston landing, but when the raft returned up the eddy and shot out towards the Lewiston shore, his face was wreathed with smiles. "We took on 10,000 additional feet of lumber here. Next morning at 2 o'clock I cast loose and started down the river. Whenever we came to a rapid I sent the raft into the center of the rapid. The rapid would give the WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 259 raft such impetus that it would carry us through the slack water. Atwood said, The very thing we have been trying to avoid—getting the raft in the rapids, seems to be the reason for your success.' We were averaging nine miles an hour. I told him we would get along all right until we came to the Palouse rapids and we were going to have a serious time of it there. The water pours through a narrow chute and empties into the eddy, which boils back toward the current from the south shore. "When we got to the Palouse rapids I sent the raft into the center of the rapids. The current was so swift it shot us into the eddy. The forward part of the raft went under water and the current from the chute caught the back end of the raft and sent the raft under water. We stayed on the raft until the water was up to our knees. The skiff which he had on the raft started to float off, but I caught the painter and we got aboard the skiff. We brought the skiff over where the raft had been and felt down with the oars but we could not touch the raft. "We floated down with the current. All I attempted to do was to keep the skiff in its course. Atwood said, 'I knew you couldn't do it. With such rapids as the Palouse it was foolish to expect we could.' I felt pretty serious for I was afraid the eddy had broken the fastenings on the raft and we would soon run into the wreckage of floating boards. About half a mile below the rapids 260 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS our skiff was suddenly lifted out of the water by the reappearance of the raft. Our skiff and the raft had both gone with the current and, oddly enough, it had appeared directly under us, lifting the skiff out of the water. This may sound 'fishy' but it is a fact. "You never saw a man more surprised or delighted than Atwood, for the raft was uninjured. As a matter of fact, before leaving, I had taken special pains to see that it was strongly fastened, for I knew what kind of treatment it would get in the rapids. "We went through the Pine Tree rapids without accident, but a little way below there we struck a wind strongly upstream, so we had to tie up. Next morning at 3 o'clock, just before daybreak, we started again, arriving at Wallula at 10 o'clock in the forenoon. "The steamer Yakima was just pulling in from below. From Wallula to Umatilla was plain sailing, so I left Atwood to go the rest of the way alone and rejoined the Yakima. "In the past they had tried to manage the raft by side sweeps, while all I had used had been a steering oar at the rear. Atwood paid me $20 for carrying the raft successfully through the rapids. He told me that he would have been just as glad to pay me $soo if I had asked that much. This was the first lumber raft ever taken down the Snake river, but it was the forerunner of scores of other rafts. "For this lumber, which was worth only $900 at WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 261 Lewiston, he got $3300 at Umatilla, or in other words, he made a profit of $2400 on the $2o investment in my service. "That, by the way, is a fair sample of my financial ability, but what could you expect of the son of parents who thought so little of money that they made a trip across the desert and gave up all prospects of financial return, to become missionaries among the Indians with Dr. Whitman? An indifference, too, and a disregard for money is bred in my bone. "After working for three months as cub pilot with Captain Charles Felton on the steamer Yakima in the upper river, I secured a position as assistant pilot with the 0. S. N. Company. I was eighteen years old at the time. That summer—the summer of 1864—the Oregon Steam Navigation Company made an effort to take a steamboat up the Snake river canyon to ply on the upper waters of the Snake between Olds Ferry and Boise. Olds Ferry is just above where the present town of Huntington is located. "Boise Basin in those days was a wonderful prosperous mining camp. Olds Ferry was also a good point, as most of the emigrants crossed the Snake river by that ferry. The steamer Colonel Wright was elected to make the attempt and Captain Thomas J. Stump was chosen to take her through. I was assigned to her as assistant pilot. Alphonse Boone was the mate. Peter Anderson was the chief engineer. JOhn Anderson was 262 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the assistant engineer and my father, W. H. Gray, and J. M. Vansyckle, of Wallula, went along as passengers. We went up the river to about twenty-five miles above Salmon river. In attempting to make a dangerous eddy at this point, the boat was caught in a bad eddy, thrown into the current and upon a sharp rock reef jutting out from the Idaho shore. It carried away eight feet of her bow, keel and sides to the deck. Things looked desperate for a moment. Captain Stump gave an order from the pilot house to get out a line on shore. You never saw such a universal willingness to get on shore with that line. Every deckhand, the mate, the chief engineer, the fireman and our two passengers, who were standing forward watching the boat, seized the line by both ends, the middle and wherever they could get hold of it and jumped ashore. The only people left on the boat were Captain Stump and myself in the pilot house, the second engineer, who was below, and old Titus, the cook. Before they could make the line fast the boat was caught by the current and went down the river half a mile. Here Captain Stump succeeded in beaching her. We were joined here by the ambitious line carriers, who walked down the shore to where we were beached. "Captain Stump set the mate and crew to work to repair the forward bulkhead, which had been strained and showed signs of leaking. While the boat was being worked upon, Captain Stump, Mr. Vansyckle, my father and myself crossed the river in a small boat and started WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 263 to climb the hill in an effort to see what the back country was like. We expected to be back at the boat within two hours, but it was a steady climb of four hours before we reached the crest of the hill. It was just sundown when we looked over into the beautiful Wallowa Valley. Darkness overtook us before we could go very far down the bluff. The rocky slopes were too dangerous to try in the dark, so we stayed all night long on the sidehill without blankets or food. Father was an old campaigner, however, and he showed us how to sleep with our heads downhill resting on a rock. This prevented our working downhill while asleep. Natural inclination is to wiggle forward and the rock at our head prevented us going downhill and we could wiggle all we wanted up-hill—we wouldn't wiggle very far. "When the bulkhead was finished, we ran back to Lewiston, covering the distance it had taken us four and a half days to come up, in three and a half hours. "In the summer of 1865, when I was 19 years old, I secured, a job as watchman on the steamer John H. Couch, running from Astoria to Portland. I was young and ambitious, and did not like to complain. I had to sit up all night as watchman, and then was made to work as a deckhand during the day. After a week or so of almost continuous night and day service, I finally rebelled and stretched myself out on the boiler and went to sleep. I was reported for being asleep while on duty. The captain had taken a dislike to me, so when he re- 264 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS ported the matter Captain Ainsworth suggested that in place of firing me, the captain had better take a vacation. It happened that Captain Ainsworth was acquainted with the circumstances through having asked some one else about it. Snow, the mate, was promoted to captain, and I was made mate. "After being the mate of the John H. Couch for a short time, Captain Ainsworth sent for me and told me he wanted me to go on the upper river as a pilot. I could not leave the Couch without securing another man to take my place, so I hired a horse and rode to the Red House tannery near Milwaukie and secured Granville Reed to take my place as mate on the Couch. Later both Snow and Reed became captains of river steamers and later branch pilots on the lower river between Portland and Astoria. I went to the upper river and acted as pilot on the boats plying between Celilo and Lewiston. I served as pilot on the Nez Perce Chief, the Owyhee, the Tenino, the Webfoot, the Spray, the Yakima and the Okanogan. "I stayed on the upper river as pilot until 1867, when I was engaged by Colonel R. S. Williamson, of the United States engineers, to act as captain of a sailboat employed by the government in taking a party under Lieutenant W. H. Heuer to make a hydrostatic survey of the Columbia river rapids between Celilo and the mouth of the Snake river. My duty was to navigate the boat, a 40-ton schooner, but at the very first rapids the WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 265 men engaged in the hydrostatic survey, who were deep water sailors and who were unused to swift water, made so bungling a job of the work that I volunteered to take charge of the small boats in the swift water. I had, been so accustomed to being tipped out of the boats and swimming out and taking all sorts of chances that the deep water men were scared nearly to death when I would make straight runs through the rapids or across dangerous places in the river. "The government paid me $15o a month in gold. At this time greenbacks were worth 37 cents on the dollar, so I was getting big wages for a boy. We surveyed that year as far as the Umatilla rapids. We did a job that I was proud of, too, for we made an accurate and thorough survey. "We laid up that winter. Next spring I ran on the U. S. Grant between Astoria and Fort Stevens and Canby, for my brother, J. H. D. Gray, who had shot his ramrod through his hand. An army surgeon named Sternberg, who was stationed at Walla Walla at that time, amputated his hand. There was no necessity whatever for doing so, but it was the easiest way to do it. Sternberg stayed with the army, and under the seniority rule finally reached the position of chief surgeon. "This accident to my brother incapacitated him for further service on the upper river, in the opinion of the authorities of the Oregon Steam Navigation Company. They considered that it required a perfect body as. well 266 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS as mind to guide steamboats safely through the dangerous and intricate channels and rapids. J. H. D. Gray, however, was not the man to give up because of this physical handicap. He secured a contract in a short time to carry government supplies and mail between Astoria, Fort Stevens and Canby, oysters and mail from Shoalwater Bay and purchased the steamer U. S. Grant for that purpose. Later he purchased the Varuna on Puget Sound and brought her around to Astoria. "After running the Varuna for a while, I was asked to take charge of the sailboat again and complete the government survey. We spent that summer and finished the survey to the upper end of Hummely rapids near Wal-lula. When the survey was completed I again went to work for the Oregon Steam Navigation Company on the upper river. After about a year or so on the upper river, I went to Astoria, where I ran the Varuna, whose work was to take the mail and supplies to the forts at the mouth of the river. During the time I was there with my brothers, we made private surveys of the bar and piloted ships across the bar. "One incident of this time I remember very distinctly. We picked up a brig whose captain had been in the lighthouse service and who had surveyed the bar. The channel was familiar to him but he was unfamiliar with the fact that the channel had changed a week before and that my brother and I had just surveyed the new channel inside WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 267 the breakers and just outside Sand island. We knew there was six feet here at low water. We started through this new channel with a long tow line on the brig. It was high tide and there was a strong east wind beginning to blow. Knowing it would be impossible to tow the brig up the main channel against the east wind on a strong ebb tide, I signaled to the pilot that I was going across the sands. I squared away for Cape Disappointment. Captain Sherwood, who was in charge of the brig, went down into the cabin, got his rifle and came on deck. He told the pilot that if that crazy fool on board the tug struck the brig on the sands he would never turn another wheel nor wreck another ship. It didn't give me a very comfortable feeling to look across to the brig and see the captain with a rifle trained on me. He kept it pointed at me until we had crossed the sands and run up above Cape Disappointment and were safely anchored in Baker's bay. Then he sent me a handsome apology and complimented me on my seamanship. "I stayed on the lower river as a captain and pilot until 1873, when I engaged in business in Astoria. In July, 1875, Frank T. Dodge, who had been the purser on the upper river and was later agent of the Oregon Steam Navigation Company at The Dalles and who was later superintendent of the Portland water system, but who was at that time the superintendent of the Willamette Transportation & Locks Company, gave me a 268 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS job with that company. My run was from Portland to Dayton on the Yamhill. I had charge of the old steamer Beaver, whose machinery had been brought from the Enterprise, which had been wrecked on the Umpqua bar. I later had charge of this same steamer, the Beaver, on the Stickeen river in Alaska. While on the Willamette river run, I was captain of the Orient, the Fannie Patton and the Governor Grover, the latter boat running from Portland to Corvallis. "In 1877 I went to Victoria, B. C., as captain of the Beaver. I took the Beaver from Victoria to Fort Wrangel, Alaska. I ran on the Stickeen river between Fort Wrangel and Telegraph creek, a distance of 165 miles. "In the spring of 1878 I came back to the upper Columbia as captain of the Annie Faxon. I stayed on the upper river, having charge at different times of the John Gates, the Almota, the D. S. Baker, the Spokane and the Harvest Queen. The Harvest Queen had been built at Celilo a short while before. She ran for three years on the upper river and then was taken over the Celilo falls by Captain James W. Troupe, now general superintendent of the water lines of the Canadian Pacific. I know this is a feat requiring some skill, as I myself during the extra high water of 1866 took a sail boat over Celilo falls. "I was married on October 27, 1868, at Portland, Oregon. My wife's name was Oceana Falkland Bush. WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 269 She was the adopted daughter of Mrs. Hawthorne of Portland, a pioneer family after whom Hawthorne avenue and Hawthorne Park are named. "My wife was born on her father's brig, the Rising Sun, just off the Falkland Islands while on a voyage around the Horn. I met her for the first time at the celebration over the driving of the first spike in the Oregon & California railroad in East Portland, April 16, 1868. "I came down one trip and was staying at 'Muck-a-Muck' Smith's hotel, the Western, on the corner of First and Morrison. In those days it was a high class hotel. Captain Ainsworth sent a messenger to find me, with word to see him at once. The messenger located me at 10 o'clock in the forenoon. I went to see Captain Ainsworth and he offered me a much better position than I had, with a year's contract on a steamer on the upper river. 'You will have to go at once,' he said, 'as the steamer is waiting to make a trip and every day's delay means loss.' I told him that I would take the job, if I could have a couple of days, as I was planning to get married. 'You can have all of the rest of the day to get married in,' he said. "I went to the river to take the ferry. I happened to meet my wife's adopted mother, who had just come over. I told her that I was going over to see Ocea and asked her to save me the trip by having Ocea get ready as soon as possible, so that we could be married that evening. She said it was impossible. I told her I was used to doing 270 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the impossible and I would make all arrangements and be there that evening. The ferry quit running at 8 o'clock. I arranged with them to make an extra trip for us and promised them ten dollars an hour for whatever time it took after 8 o'clock. I hurried down town where I bought a wedding ring, hired the necessary cabs, secured a license, arranged with a preacher to be there and got Bob Bybee to stand up with me as best man. I went out to see how Ocea was getting along. I asked her if she was all ready to be married that night. I never saw any one more surprised. Her mother had thought it was a crazy notion of mine and decided not to tell Ocea anything about it. At first she said she couldn't possibly be married that night but when I told her that the preacher would be there, the cabs were hired, the ferry would take us over and it would be very awkward to stop the proceedings, she decided we had better be married at once. She got Hannah Stone, who is now Mrs. Dr. Josephi, to act as bridesmaid. "I had worked all summer at $150 a month and I never have had any use for money except to spend it. I always look at it in the same light as the manna that the Israelites had in crossing the desert, 'that it will spoil if you keep it.' I gave the preacher twenty dollars for tying the knot. I gave each of the hackmen a five dollar tip. I saved enough money to pay our hotel bill and next morning we started at 5 o'clock on the steamer WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 271 Wilson G. Hunt for Celilo. When we got to The Dalles, I discovered I had just $2.50 left. The Umatilla House ran a free bus, but. I didn't think it would look well for a newly married couple to go in the free bus, so I called a hackman and when he let us off at the Umatilla house, I gave him the $2.50. There I was with a new wife and absolutely not a cent in my pocket, but the absence of money has never bothered me any more than the presence of it, so I signed the register and engaged a room at the Umatilla House for my wife at $6o a month. "I at once reported to my steamer and for the next year I plied on the upper river. "Thirty-three years ago the Northern Pacific Company built a transfer boat to carry their cars across the Snake river at Ainsworth. They built a craft 200 feet long with 38-foot beam, having a square bow and stern, with a house 25 feet high and 165 feet long. They called the craft the Frederick Billings. Ten cars could be carried across at one time. Her huge house made her very unwieldy. When she had no load aboard she drew nothing forward and two and a half feet aft. She was a curiosity to all of the pilots and captains on the river. They commented on the ridiculous lines and the unnecessary deck house, 165 feet long. It was the consensus of opinion that it would be impossible to handle her in strong winds. No one was anxious to tackle the job. 272 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS The very difficulty of handling such a Noah's ark of a boat appealed to me and I applied for the position and was given the job before I could change my mind. "The boat took the cars from Ainsworth to South Ainsworth, where the Northern Pacific Snake river bridge is now located, about three miles from Pasco. The Billings had two 20-inch cylinders with a 1o-foot stroke, and in spite of her unwieldiness, I have transferred as high as 213 cars in one day. The Snake river bridge was completed in 1884. I took the Billings to Celilo to be overhauled. It was planned to use her between Pasco and Kennewick. They gave me permission to make whatever alterations I thought best, so I had her big deck house cut down and a small house put up just large enough to cover her pipes, boiler and engines. "While the Frederick Billings was being repaired, I made a reconnoissance of the Columbia river from the mouth of the Snake river to Rock Island rapids. In my report, which I sent to C. H. Prescott, president of the 0. R. & N. Co., I said I thought it was possible to run a boat through the Rock Island rapids. My report was forwarded to the chief of the board of engineers of the United States army. "I went up with the Billings and continued to run between Pasco and Kennewick, transferring freight and passenger cars until the Columbia river bridge was completed. "When I went to Pasco to begin my work there I de- WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 273 cided to have a home. D. W. Owen had homesteaded a tract of land where now the city of Pasco is located. He offered to relinquish a fraction containing 19 acres on the bank of the Columbia for $100. I thought $ oo for 19 acres of sagebrush land was highway robbery, but as I needed some ground for a home, I accepted his offer and built a home. Though I was born in Oregon City and brought up in the West, and though my father was one of the earliest pioneers of Oregon, I had never before owned land. I became quite enthused with the idea of owning land. I secured a relinquishment from Henry Gantenbein of 8o acres, which extended from the river to the railroad section where Pasco is located. I filed a pre-emption upon it. I paid $2.50 an acre for it and as soon as I had secured the receiver's receipt I platted so acres of it as an addition to Pasco. "I remember they thought it very peculiar to file an addition to Pasco before the plat of Pasco itself was filed. I never was much busier than I was then. I was the local land agent for the Northern Pacific. I had charge of the selling of their lots and acreage. I was county commissioner, I had a dairy with 10 cows, I had 100 hogs, and had over 200 horses, and was feeding over 400 of the Northern Pacific employes. In addition to this I was attending every Republican state convention. My purpose of attending the conventions was to be appointed on the resolutions committee. That was all the office I wanted. Each time I secured the adoption of a 274 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS resolution demanding of Congress the immediate opening of the Columbia river to unobstructed navigation. "The railroad wanted to cross my land. I told the graders they could not cross without my permission. They sent their attorney, who told me if I didn't let them cross I would lose my contract for feeding the Northern Pacific employes and would also lose my position on the transfer boat. I told him where he could go, but it wasn't a health resort that I recommended. In fact, it was a place where the climate was pretty tropical. I demanded $5oo for permission to cross my place. The graders were instructed to go ahead any way. I took my shotgun and went out and had a little talk with the foreman and he decided not to do anything. He telegraphed to the officials and by return wire they telegraphed they were sending me a draft for $5oo. I would have been glad to let them go across, but didn't like the way they went about it. "By the summer of 1886, I had 45 different kinds of trees growing on my place at Pasco, without irrigation. In addition to a large number of vegetables usually grown in the Northwest, I successfully matured peanuts, cotton and sugar cane. That will give you some idea of the possibility of fruit growing and the growing of vegetables in this district. "You remember I told you about reporting that I believed the Rock Island rapids could be successfully negotiated'? On the strength of my report, the O. R. & N. WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 275 Company fitted out an expedition consisting of two boats to go as far as the Priest Rapids. The Almota and the John Gates were the two boats. The Almota was to accompany the John Gates to Priest Rapids and the John Gates was to endeavor to go the head of navigation on the Columbia, the Almota's part of the contract being to act as tender and carry fuel and extra equipment as far as Priest Rapids. C. H. Prescott and some of the other officials of the 0. R. & N. as well as General Gibbon, commander of the Department of the Columbia, with his staff and 120 soldiers from Fort Vancouver, were taken along on the trip. The soldiers were to assist the boat in overcoming the rapids by lining the steamer through the rapids. The ascent of Priest Rapids was made without much difficulty. This gave to the steamer John Gates the honor of being the first steamboat to pass over the rapids. The Almota remained below Priest Rapids. The formation of the Rock Island Rapids consists of a number of dangerous reefs through which the current makes short and difficult turns, making navigation of the Rock Island Rapids a matter requiring care and skill and making the rapids dangerous unless the navigator thoroughly understands his work. After working nearly all day to lay lines to get the boat safely around Hawksbill Point, night overtook them. The line was put ashore and the boat was tied where it was so that it would not lose what way it had already made. The turbulent currents and eddies dashed and pounded the boat 276 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS all night. It bobbed around as if it were a cork in rough water. The officials of the railroad as well as the military officials didn't get much sleep. Next morning one of the head officials came to the captain of the boat and said : 'Let go your lines and get out of this hell-hole as quickly as you can.' The trip was abandoned and Rock Island Rapids was reported unnavigable. "The steamer John Gates was named after John Gates the chief engineer of the Oregon Steam Navigation Company. He succeeded Jacob Kamm in that position. He was born in Maine and came to California in 1849. In 1853 he came to Oregon. He is the inventor of the Gates hydraulic steering gear as well as many other valuable inventions. He supervised the building of both the Almota and the John Gates as well as the Harvest Queen, the Henry Villard, the Occident, the Orient, the Hassalo, and many other boats. He started his career in Portland as an engineer of a sawmill at the foot of Jefferson street. He died 35 years later while the mayor of Portland. "The Almota was launched at Celilo, September 27, 1876, Captain E. W. Baughman was her first master. Captain Samson was her next commander and he was followed by myself, George Gore and John F. Stump and a number of other well known river captains. The Almota was one of the greatest money makers that ever plied the Columbia. She cleared over $14,000 on one trip, the bulk of the freight being government supplies to be used by the soldiers under General O. 0. Howard, WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 277 who were engaged in the pursuit of Chief Joseph and his horde of Nez Perces. "A number of friends of mine from Ellensburg were interested in the development of a mine in the Okanogan district some years ago. They conceived the idea of establishing a line of communication between Ellensburg and their mine. This required a trip across the mountains from Ellensburg to Wenatchee. They thought if they could haul their supplies to Wenatchee, they could put a boat on the river and take their supplies from Wenatchee to the Okanogan much more cheaply by boat than to haul by team. They looked the matter up and found I had reported it feasible to take boats over Priest Rapids and also Rock Island Rapids. Acting on my report, made some years before to the 0. R. & N. Company, they built a boat at Pasco to navigate the Columbia from Point Eaton, at the mouth of Johnson's canyon, to the site of their mines in the Okanogan. They secured the services of Captain Jones, a Mississippi steamboat man, to plan and build a boat suitable for use on the upper river. "Shortly before the boat was completed, I had a talk with him and urged him to make a personal examination of the Rock Island Rapids. He told me he was able to navigate water, no matter how swift it was. However, in a rather lofty way, he consented to go up and look at the rapids before making the trip. He visited the Rock Island Rapids and by a roundabout way he got back to the railroad and went back to the Mississippi. Neither 278 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the stockholders of the boat company nor any one else in this part of the country ever saw him again. "This left the Ellensburg miners in a rather bad way. They were out the expense of the boat and had no one who would tackle the job of operating it. They came to me, but I told them I could not afford to neglect my own interests for the sake of running their boat. "They put it up to me, however, that it was on the strength of my report that the boat had been built; so, to the neglect of my own interests, I agreed to take charge of their steamer, The City of Ellensburg, and demonstrate for them that the rapids could be overcome. "In July, 1888, we left Pasco with 45 tons of freight and several passengers on board for the Okanogan. The steamer was a stern Wheeler, 120 feet long, 22 feet beam and drew four feet when loaded. "After sizing up the boat and its equipment, I didn't blame Captain Jones for disappearing. However, I had promised them to make the attempt, and I didn't intend to back out. You know they say, 'A poor workman always quarrels with his tools,' so I decided to do the best I could under the circumstances. "At Priest Rapids we attempted to lay a line along the shore and fasten it above the lower riffle and attach it to the boat below. I found we couldn't carry the line clear of submerged reefs. The only thing I could do was to sink a dead man to fasten to, so as to pull the steamer over the lower riffle. To do this it was necessary to lay WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 279 the line down through a rough channel between the reefs. It was a dangerous proposition, and if the small boat was encumbered with the extra line the probability was that the men, who were not experienced, would be drowned. I decided to make a test trip. I put men enough in the boat to weigh about the same as a line. I had the mate put out extra boats to pick us up below the rapids if we capsized. Naturally, I didn't tell the crew of the boat that I expected it to capsize. After completing the placing of the dead man I ordered the crew I had selected into the small boat, telling them I wished to make a trip across the channel to see if there wasn't a better place to ascend on that side. After ordering the men to take their places, I took the bow of the skiff, shoved it into the current, stood on the shore myself and held to the stern until it swung across the current, and then jumped in and caught up the steering oar. I ordered the men to row hard, and I headed her for the rapids. "A Dane named C. E. Hanson, who was one of my deckhands, but who has since been made captain of a steamer on the upper Columbia and who is now in. charge of the government work of improving the Okanogan river, gave me a steady and resolute look, braced himself and began to pull at his oar. I had picked out a Frenchman who was used to rafting driftwood, and who I thought had unlimited nerve. He dropped his oar and began praying and crying : Trenchy will surely die. He is going over Priest Rapids.' It seems that his cus- 280 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS torn had been to let the raft go through by itself and take his skiff around by portage. I was steering. Frenchy had the midship oars, big John Hanson had the after oars, the other two men, who were deckhands, were in the bow of the boat. Hanson pulled out into the current, giving Frenchy, who was kneeling in the bottom of the boat praying, a contemptuous look. We passed over the break and I swung the skiff quartering into the swell. In a moment we were in the midst of the turmoil of water. Big John kept at the oars and I watched like a hawk with my steering oar. For a moment the waves were higher than the boat but we went through safely. "My experiment proved the boat would carry a line through, so we came down with the line and negotiated the Priest Rapids successfully. As we lined the steamer into the rapids the water poured over the buffalo chocks. Next day we arrived at Rock Island Rapids. "The only point at which Rock Island Rapids is really difficult or dangerous is at Hawksbill Point. It juts into the river at an acute angle from the island, on the left hand side of the island as you go up the river. It required delicate calculation to overcome this difficulty. I put out three lines at the same time, one to line her up and the others to keep her from swinging either way. It took us two hours to pass Hawksbill Point. We had another cluster of reefs near the head of the island to pass. Here the current turns in strongly toward the bluff, 40 feet high, which projects from the WHEN BOYS DID MEN'S WORK 281 mainland on the right hand side at an acute angle. We had no line long enough to fasten to the right point to take us around this bluff. The boat's power was insufficient to hold it in place, let alone making headway across the current. The current drew the boat in at the head. We bucked the current for over an hour without success. I finally decided a desperate remedy must be taken. I threw her head across the current toward the island and swung almost against the island. It was necessary that I should let the stern wheel of the steamer go within four feet of the rocks and directly above them, to get out of the main strength of the current. If the current here was too strong, the boat would go on the rocks, break her wheel and leave us disabled in the current. For a moment the boat hung where she was. It was a mighty anxious moment for me, for with all steam on, she seemed only able to hold her own. She was neither going forward nor back, but slowly, inch by inch, she pulled away from the rapids and out into the open river. That was the first time a steamboat had ever been through Rock Island Rapids. "The president of the company owning the boat was on board. His enthusiasm had ranged from fever heat to zero on most of the rapids. When I swung the boat over in the last effort, he wrung his hands and sobbed, 'You'll wreck her, you'll wreck her sure !' But when we began to gain headway and he was sure we were over Rock Island Rapids, he threw his arms around my neck 282 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS and yelled, 'You've saved us—I knew you would !' Then I thought, what a narrow line divides failure and success. Failure is 'I told you so' and success is 'I knew it !' "We continued on up the river, gathering driftwood for fuel, using lines to help us over Entiat, Chelan, Methow and other rapids, and ran six miles up the Okanogan river to Lumsden's ford and stuck on the bottom of the river. Then we unloaded freight and passengers and went back through Rock Island and the other rapids to Port Eaton at the mouth of Johnson's canyon, where the people of Ellensburg had constructed a wagon road to the river in order to avoid the Wenatchee mountain. The road descended to the Columbia river over a cliff where the teamsters were obliged to cut large trees and hitch them by the tops behind the wagons to keep them from sliding on to the teams. The trees were left at the bottom of the cliff, and when the accumulation became so great as to obstruct the way they were burned. The use of the timber for brakes in the manner indicated had denuded the summit of the mountain for quite a distance. "I made four more trips up and down through Rock Island and the other rapids between Port Eaton and the Okanogan river, but when the water fell Rock Island rapids became impassable and a route was established from above that point to Bridgeport, ten miles above the Okanogan. When the Great Northern Railway was built the lower end of the route was established at Wenatchee and steamboat service has continued there since." xv OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS OF YESTERDAY AND TODAY IT is not to be wondered at that the first newspaper in Oregon was started in Oregon City, for Oregon City was the headquarters of all those who came to the Oregon country from 1843 on for the next ten years. The Oregon Spectator was discussed for a long time before it finally started. In the early forties both books and newspapers were very scarce. A group of men, many of whom later became distinguished, formed a debating club, which was named the Pioneer Lyceum and Literary Club. The club met at frequent intervals during the winter and discussed literary and scientific subjects. Charles E. Pickett, a relative of President Polk, was secretary of the club. Among the members were Francis W. Pettygrove, A. L. Lovejoy, John H. Couch, J. M. Wair, Sydney W. Moss, Jesse Applegate, Dr. Robert Newell, J. W. Nesmith, H. A. G. Lee, Ed. ()tie, F. Prigg, William C. Dement, Hiram Straight, Medorum Crawford, Philip Foster, J. Wambaugh, William Cushing, Ransome Clark, John G. Campbell, H. H. Hide, T. Magruder, Willard 283 284 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS H. Rees, Mark Ford, Noyes Smith, Henry Saffron, Dan Waldo, P. G. Stewart, Isaac W. Smith, Joseph Watt, Frank Ermatinger, A. E. Wilson, Jacob Hoover, S. M. Holderness, John Minto, John B. Brooks, General Hus-ted and Barton Lee. At these meetings, the pioneers discussed and settled many questions later taken up by the provisonal government, Jesse Applegate being the leader in the political discussions. Out of these meetings grew an organization known as the Oregon Printing Association. W. G. T'Vault was elected president, J. W. Nesmith vice president, John T. Brooks secretary, George Abernethy treasurer, and Robert Newell and John E. Long and John H. Couch directors. The editor, Colonel W. G. T'Vault, was Postmaster-General of the provisional government. H. A. G. Lee was the first choice for editor, but he wanted a salary of $5o a month while Colonel T'Vault offered to do the editorial work for $25 a month and hence was selected. A printing plant was secured in New York, by George Abernethy, the treasurer of the association. The constitution of the Oregon Printing Association read, in part, as follows : "In order to promote science, temperance, morality and general intelligence; to establish a printing press; to publish a monthly, semi-monthly or weekly paper in Oregon—the undersigned do hereby associate themselves together in a body, to be governed by such rules and regulations as shall from time to time be adopted by a majority of the stockholders of this corn- OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 285 pact, in a regularly called and properly notified meeting." One of the articles declared : "The press owned by, or in connection with the association, shall never be used by any party for the purpose of propagating sectarian principles or doctrines, nor for the discussion of exclusive party politics." In the salutatory, Colonel W. G. T'Vault said: "The printing press, type and materials are owned by the Oregon Printing Association and that association has adopted a Constitution to govern the concerns of the Association as well as the publishing of the newspaper ; consequently the Spectator will have to keep within the pale of that Constitution, otherwise it violates the commands of its owners. A large majority of the citizens of Oregon are emigrants from the United States and for the last twenty years politics have there been the order of the day. . . . Hence it is to be presumed that a portion of the citizens of Oregon have brought with them their views of policy, entertained while residing in the United States. It might also be expected that the Oregon Spectator would be a political paper; but reason and good sense agree differently. Situated as we are—remote from the civilized settlements of the United States, and at this time having a protection by the Provisional Government of Oregon and having but one interest, the welfare of Oregon and the citizens unanimously . . . . it would be bad policy to break open old wounds in so doing to create new ones, to discuss politics in the columns of the Spectator—not- 286 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS withstanding we are now, as we have always been, and ever shall be, a Democrat of the Jeffersonian School." The first number of the Spectator was issued on February 5', 1846. It motto was "Westward the Star of Empire takes its Way." John Fleming, who came to Oregon in 1844, was the printer. It was a four-column, four-page paper 11/2 x 17 inches in size. Colonel W. G. T'Vault proved too much of a firebrand for the directors and in the issue of April 2, 1846, he printed his valedictory, having been editor but two months. On June 4,1846, he was elected a member of the legislature of the provisional government. He was elected a member of the first territorial legislature and served as speaker at the special session of the legislature from May 16 to June 4, 1859. He moved to southern Oregon, where, in 1851, he ran an express line between Winchester, not far from the present town of Roseburg, and Yreka, California. He served as aide to General Joseph Lane in the Rogue River War. With two partners, Messrs. Taylor and Blakely, he established the first newspaper in Oregon south of Salem, the Umpqua Gazette, whose first number appeared at Scottsburg in 1855. When it was seen that Scottsburg was not going to prove the metropolis of southwestern Oregon, he moved the paper to Jacksonville, changing the name to the Table Rock Sentinel. He was editor of the Table Rock Sentinel from November 24, 1855, until 1859, when the name of the paper was changed to the Oregon Sentinal. In 1862 D. W. Douth- OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 287 itt started the Civilian at Jacksonville, which was the successor to the Gazette. In November, 1862, W. G. T'Vault acquired the Civilian and changed its name to the Oregon Intelligencer. The paper was strongly Democratic and was in favor of secession. Its last issue appeared late in 1864. Colonel T'Vault died during the smallpox epidemic in Jacksonville in 1869. When he retired as editor of the Oregon Spectator on April 2, 1846, he was succeeded by H. A. G. Lee. Mr. Lee hailed from Virginia. He had been educated for the ministry, but, because some of his views were not considered altogether orthodox, by his fellow ministers, he followed literary rather than theological work. He crossed the plains to Oregon in 1843. He spent the winter of 1843 and the spring of 1844 at Waiilatpu, teaching at the mission school established by Dr. Marcus Whitman. When Dr. Whitman, his wife and the others were killed by the Indians on November 29, 1847, he helped to raise the first company of volunteers. He was elected captain and was soon thereafter promoted to major. When Colonel Cornelius Gilliam was killed, he became colonel. Later he served as peace commissioner and still later he became superintendent of Indian affairs. In the fall of 1848 he went to the California gold mines, where he met with excellent success. He had married a daughter of Sidney W. Moss, pioneer hotel keeper of Oregon City, so he became a partner of Mr. Moss and bought a stock of goods in San Francisco which he ship- 288 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS ped to Oregon City. In the fall of 185o he went to New York City to buy a large stock of goods for their Oregon City store. On his way back he took the Panama fever and died on board the ship. When H. A. G. Lee became editor of the Spectator, it had 155 subscribers. He resigned on August 6, 1846. He was succeeded by George L. Curry. In the issue of January 20, 1848, Mr. Curry published his valedictory, saying that he refused to continue as editor if his editorials were subject to censorship of one man and by this "one man" he referred to George Abernethy. Judge Aaron E. Wait became editor of the Spectator in 1848 and continued for one year. Judge Wait was born in Massachusetts on December 26, 1813. When Judge Wait was 14 years old, he was apprenticed to a broom maker and worked at this trade till he was 18. When he was 20, he taught school at Flatbush, Long Island. In 1837 he went to Michigan, where he studied law and was admitted to the bar in 1842. He served as secretary to Governor John S. Barry of Michigan. In 1847 he crossed the plains, arriving in Oregon City in September, 1847. He at once began the practice of the legal profession. During the Cause War he served as first assistant commissary general. He went to the California gold diggings in 1849. He mined on the American Fork and Feather Rivers. He and his two partners struck pay dirt, on some days washing out as high as $1 oo to the man. Judge Wait audited the Cayuse war claims and OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 289 was later elected to the Supreme Bench and was the first Chief Justice of the State of Oregon. He was employed to make the deed for 32o acres of land, now in the heart of Portland, at that time owned by Francis W. Petty-grove, who sold it to Daniel H. Lownsdale for leather valued at $s000. John Fleming, the original printer of the Spectator, was succeeded by N. W. Colwell, who came to Oregon in 1845. John Fleming served as postmaster at Oregon City from 1856 to 1859. The next printer was W. P. Hudson. In addition to printing the Spectator, he issued a spelling book which was dated February 1, 1847, and which was the first book to be printed in English on the Pacific Coast. In the fall of 1847 Mr. Hudson printed an almanac for the year 1848, this almanac being compiled by Henry H. Everts. The almanac consisted of 24 pages, 5 x 7 inches, and contained a list of the officers of the provisional government, and much interesting information about the eight counties of which the Oregon country was then composed. Like most of the other men in Oregon, Mr. Hudson went to the California gold fields in the fall of 1848. Within a few months, he had washed out $21,000 in nugget and coarse gold dust. He returned to Oregon but did not apply for his old job as printer of the Spectator. In December, 185o, he started back for San Francisco but died on the way and was buried at sea. The Spectator suspended on September 7 when John 290 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Fleming went to the gold mines, but on October 12, it resumed publication, S. Bentley being the printer. In explanation of its non-appearance, the editor of the Spectator, in the issue of October 12, said, "The Spectator, after a temporary sickness, greets its patrons and hopes to serve them faithfully as heretofore, regularly. The 'gold fever' which has swept about 3000 of the officers, lawyers, physicians, farmers and mechanics of Oregon from the plains of Oregon to the mines of California, took away our printer also, hence the temporary nonappearance of the Spectator." On February 10, 1848, the Spectator was enlarged to 24 columns. Judge Wait resigned as editor on Washington's Birthday, 1849. The paper suspended publication until the following fall, when it was once more issued, the Rev. Wilson Blain, United Presbyterian minister, being the editor and George B. Goudy, printer. The first number to be issued under the editorship of the Rev. Wilson Blain was on October 4, 1849. George B. Goudy, the printer, came to Oregon in 1849. From the Spectator, he went to work on the Oregonian. In 1853 he went to Puget Sound and became one of the publishers of the Poineer and Democrat of Olympia. He was captain of Company C of the Washington volunteers, during the Yakima War of 1855-56. He was 29 years old when he died on September 19, 1857. On February 7, 185o, the paper 'was reduced in size to 16 columns, on account of the shortage of paper. OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 291 Robert Moore, Oregon's first territorial printer, and the proprietor of Linn City and one of the charter members of the First Presbyterian Church at Oregon City, bought the Spectator on April 18, 185o. Mr. Moore retained the Rev. Wilson Blain as editor. On July 25 the paper was increased in size to 24 columns. On July 25, 185o, notice is given in the Spectator that a new publication, to be called the Statesman, will be published at Oregon City, by Henry Russell and A. W. Stockwell. Two weeks later, in the issue of August 8, notice is given in the Spectator, that a new paper is to be established at Portland, to be called the Oregonian, T. J. Dryer being the publisher. The Rev. Wilson Blain, the editor of the Spectator, was born in Ohio, February 28, 1813. He graduated from the Associate Reformed Theological Seminary at Allegheny, Pennsylvania, and was ordained on October 7, 1839, by the presbytery of Chillicothe, Ohio. He was pastor of the church at Hebron, Indiana, until the spring of 1847. In the spring of 1848 he started as a missionary for the Oregon country, arriving at Oregon City on November 29. He was elected to the territorial legislature on June 6, 1849. In the fall of 185o, he moved to Union Point, Linn County, where he established Union Point Academy, of which he was the principal till 1856. He resigned as edit9P of the Spectator on September 5, 185o. He died on February 22, 1861. Robert Moore employed D. J. Schnebly as editor of 292 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the Spectator after the resignation of the Rev. Wilson Blain. In the fall of 1850 T. F. McElroy was printer. On September 9, 1851, D. J. Schnebly purchased the Spectator and employed C. P. Culver as associate editor. The printers at this time were T. F. McElroy and C. W. Smith, but they were succeeded a few weeks later by T. D. Watson and G. D. Boyd. At this time the mail was carried between Portland and Oregon City twice a month and as the Spectator was a weekly paper, the semimonthly mail caused serious inconvenience as the subscribers got two papers at once. Mr. Schnebly made the Spectator the organ of the Whig Party. In March, 1852, the Spectator suspended publication until August, 1853, at which time it was taken over by C. L. Goodrich, who ran it till March, 1855, when it was once more discontinued, this time for good. The second paper to be published in Oregon was the Free Press. After Mr. Curry had been forced from the position of editor of the Spectator, he had a press made at Oregon City, a crude affair, and purchased 8o pounds of type from the Catholic Missionaries, and in March, 1848, he issued the first number of the Free Press. Mr. Curry was born in. Philadelphia on July 2, 182o. When he was four years old his parents took him to South America, where he lived for the next five years. They returned to the United States, settling in Boston when he was nine years old. His father died, so he was taken by his uncle, who apprenticed him to a jeweler. OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 293 While still a young man, he became president of the Mechanics' Apprentice Library in Boston. He moved to St. Louis in 1843 and became a partner of Joseph M. Field, with whom he published the Reveille. He started for Oregon by ox team and prairie schooner in the spring of 1846 and arrived in the Willamette Valley on August 30, 1846. Not long thereafter, he became editor of the Oregon Spectator. The first number of the Free Press was issued in March, 1848. Its slogan was : "Here shall the Press the people's rights maintain, Unawed by influence, and unbribed by gain." It was a four-page paper 7/2 x 15 inches, two columns to the page. At about the time Mr. Curry issued the first number of the Free Press, he married Miss Chloe Boone, daughter of Colonel Alfonzo Boone, who was a great-grandson of Daniel Boone. In May, 1849, Mr. Curry was appointed the first secretary of Oregon Territory. When General Joseph Lane resigned as governor on May 19, 1853, Mr. Curry succeeded to the office of governor, serving in this position till December 2, 1853, when John W. Davis of Indiana, the newly appointed governor, arrived. Governor Davis resigned on August 1, 1854, and once more Mr. Curry succeeded to the gubernatorial office. President Franklin Pierce appointed Mr. Curry governor of Oregon Territory on November 1, 1854, and he retained the 294 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS office until Oregon became a state, at which time John Whiteaker took over the office, on March 3, 1859. On January 1, 1861, Mr. Curry became a partner of S. J. McCormick and served as editor of the Portland Daily Advertiser for the next two years. The Advertiser was first issued on May 31, 1859, and was the second daily to be started in Portland. Mr. Curry died on July 28, 1878. The third paper to be published in Oregon Territory was the Oregon American and Evangelical Unionist. This paper was edited and published by the Rev. John S. Griffin and was printed on the press which had been sent from the Mission Press in the Sandwich Islands to Dr. Marcus Whitman and Rev. H. H. Spalding, the missionaries to the Indians in the Oregon country. This press was sent by the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, which was controlled by the Congregational and Presbyterian churches, to Oahu in the Sandwich Islands in 1821. The first printing done on this press was on January 7, 1822, Elisha Loomi§, who had gone as a missionary to the Sandwich Islands in 1819, being the printer. The first book to be printed on this press was a spelling book in the Hawaiian language. By 1825 Mr. Loomis, who had charge of the mission printing plant, reported that th,000 spelling books, 4,000 scripture tracts, 4,000 cathechisms and 2,000 copies of a hymn book of 6o pages had been printed. In 1835 Edwin 0. Hall became a printer in the mission press in the Sandwich Islands. The first native church OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 295 of Honolulu, wishing to do some missionary work, decided to send their first press to the missionaries in the Oregon country, on which to print books in the Nez Perce and Spokane languages. Edwin 0. Hall was delegated to take the press and supplies to the Oregon country. The press, type, paper, binding equipment and other fixtures, were estimated to be worth $500. They were sent to Vancouver, where they arrived on April 10, 1839. On April 13, Mr. and Mrs. Hall, with Frances Ermatin-ger of the Hudson's Bay Company as guide, with the press and equipment, started up the Columbia River in a canoe for the Whitman Mission at Waiilatpu. They reached the Whitman Mission on April 27 and ten days later they started for Lapwai, carrying the press on a pack horse. The press was set up on May 16, and two days later the first proof to be printed in the Oregon country was printed. On May 24, 400 copies of a small book in the Nez Perce language were printed. It was decided to adopt a different style of alphabet, so on August 1, another book was begun and within two weeks soo copies were completed. The intention was to keep the press part of the time at Lapwai at the Nez Perce Mission, and part of the time at Waiilatpu, at the Whitman Mission. On December 3o, the press and equipment were placed on a packhorse but the horse fell from the trail down a precipitous cliff and the press and equipment were abandoned. Cornelius Rogers, who had learned to set type and had helped to print some of the Nez Perce 296 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS books, rode to where the accident had occurred, found that the press was not seriously injured, and picked up most of the type. The equipment was returned to Lap-wai and Mr. Hall put the pied type in the cases and fixed the press so it would run. Mr. and Mrs. Hall left for the Sandwich Islands on January 28th and Cornelius Rogers was hired, at a salary of $ so a year, to take charge of the printing. About a dozen different booklets were issued in the Nez Perce, Cayuse, Flathead and Spokane languages. The first tramp printer to apply for a job at Lapwai was a man named Turner, who in 1839 stopped there while on his way afoot from Canada to the Willamette Valley. Mr. Turner worked as compositor and pressman from the fall of 1839 to the spring of 1840. The next printers who dropped in at Lapwai for a job were M. G. Foisy and Charles Saxton. Mr. Foisy was born in Quebec in 1816 but had moved to Vermont when a young man. He worked in a French printing office and later worked on the Louisville Journal and still later on the St. Louis Republican. Mr. Foisy worked from the fall of 1844 till December, 1845, at the Lapwai Mission, setting up and printing numerous pamphlets. Later he went to California, became alcalde of Monterey and helped set up and print the Californian, the first issue of which was printed on August 15, 1846. From 1850 to 1879, at which time he died, he was a resident of French Prairie, in the Willamette Valley. When Dr. Marcus Whitman OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 297 bought the Methodist Mission at The Dalles, the Rev. H. H. Spalding sent the press and equipment to Wai-ilatpu, from which place Dr. Whitman sent it to The Dalles, to his nephew, Perrin Whitman. Dr. Whitman planned to set it up at The Dalles, but shortly after he sent it there, he, with his wife and 12 others, was killed by the Indians on November 29, 1847. In March, 1848, the Rev. H. H. Spalding turned the press over to the Rev. J. S. Griffin, who took the press and equipment to his home on Tualatin Plains near Hillsboro, in the Willamette Valley, and on this press he printed eight numbers of a 16-page publication entitled the Oregon American and Evangelical Unionist. In his prospectus Mr. Griffin said : "It is devoted to American principles and interests,—To evangelical religion and morals,—To general intelligence, foreign and domestic,—To temperance and moral instrumentalities, generally,—To science, literature and arts,—To commerce and internal improvements,—To agriculture and home manufactures,—To the description and development of our natural resources,—To the physical, intellectual and moral education of rising genera-tions,—And to such well defined discussions generally, as are calculated to elevate and dignify the character of a free people. "Edited by Rev. J. S. Griffin and printed by C. F. Putnam. Issued once in two weeks." In his first issue, which appeared on June 7, 1848, 298 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Mr. Griffin says : "A train of unavoidables has prevented our first number appearing as early as intended. We have much confidence in the young gentleman, Mr. Putnam, our publisher, who being disappointed in obtaining a new ink roller, as expected, was left on the first number to the daubing of a dried ink ball. Those acquainted with the difference in the execution of the two instruments, know how to appreciate the apology. Terms, $4 in currency, or $3 in cash. Companies of ten subscribers may pay in merchantable wheat at merchant prices, delivered at any time at any principal depot for wheat, in the several counties, being themselves responsible for its storage and delivery to our order. Due bills issued by solvent merchants taken at their currency value. We will not declare our days of issuing until the next number, hoping some mail opportunity may be secured, and if so, we will issue on the day most favorable for our circulation." The first few numbers of the magazine are devoted to the history of the Whitman massacre, the Rev. H. H. Spalding and Peter H. Burnett of Oregon City, later the first American governor of California, taking part in the discussion relative to the massacre. After the seventh number was issued C. F. Putnam, the printer, went to the California gold diggings and the magazine suspended till May, 1849, when number 8 of the magazine was issued. This was the last issue. The Rev. John Smith Griffin, the publisher of the OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 299 Oregon American and Evangelical Unionist, was born in Castleton, Vermont, in 1807. He graduated from Oberlin College and was ordained a minister in the Congregational Church and he volunteered as a missionary to the Indians. The Litchfield, Ccnnecticut, Congregational Church took upon itself the task of equipping him for his trip, to what was then the foreign mission field, in the Oregon country. He started from Connecticut in February, 1839, in a light wagon. At St. Louis Mr. Griffin met, wooed and won, Desire C. Smith, of Boston. She had answered the call to go to the frontier and teach. Three days after they had met, they were married, their marriage occurring on April 10, 1839. From St. Louis, they traveled to Westport, Missouri, where they joined the caravan of the American Fur Company, going with it to the Rocky Mountains. Mr. and Mrs. Griffin spent the winter of 1839 at the Lapwai Mission among the Nez Perces, with the Rev. and Mrs. H. H. Spalding. They spent the winter of 1840-41 as guests of Dr. John McLoughlin at Fort Vancouver. In 1842 Mr. Griffin became pastor of the Congregational Church on Tualatin Plains. He was one of the men who met on May 2, 1843, at Champoeg, to establish the provisional government of Oregon. Charles F. Putnam, the publisher of Mr. Griffin's magazine, was a Kentuckian, having been born in Lexington, July 7, 1834. He came to Oregon in 1846 and married Miss Rozelle Applegate, who came with her 300 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Jesse Applegate, across the plains in 1843. Mr. Putnam taught his bride to set type on this publication, so to her belongs the honor of being the first woman compositor on the Pacific Coast. The fourth paper to be issued in the Oregon country was the Western Star, issued at Milwaukie about midway between Portland and Oregon City. The first number was issued on November 21, 1850. Lot Whitcomb, the founder of Milwaukie, was the owner of the Western Star. John O. Waterman and W. D. Carter were the printers, J. 0. Waterman serving as editor. Both of these men had come from Montpelier, Vermont, having gone to the California gold mines in 1849 and from California they had come to Oregon in the spring of 185o. Lot Whitcomb came from Illinois. He became a partner of Seth Luelling and Captain Joseph Kellogg and together they started the town of Milwaukie, which they planned to make the commercial metropolis of the Willamette Valley. He built a sawmill at Milwaukie and shipped lumber to San Franciso in 1849 and '5o, selling it at such high prices that he was able to buy the bark Lausanne, on which the "Great Reinforcement" to the Methodist missions of Oregon had come to Oregon in 1840. In the hold of the Lausanne Mr. Whitcomb found two engines that had been sent out from New York to be installed in a boat, to ply on western waters. Mr. Whitcomb shipped the engines to Milwaukie, employed Jacob Kamm, a skillful young engineer, to come to Oregon with him, to install OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 301 the engines in a boat he planned to build. W. L. Hans.. corn was hired to build the boat. The boat was launched on Christmas Day, 185o, W. H. H. Hall being employed as pilot and Jacob Kamm as engineer. On December 7, 185o, a public meeting was called, in the legislative hail at Oregon City, at which meeting it was decided to call the new steamboat the Lot Whitcomb of Oregon. At this meeting Governor Gaines, Samuel Parker and Hector Campbell presented a stand of colors to Lot Whitcomb. Governor Gaines was selected as the man to christen the steamer when it was launched on Christmas Day. A salute was fired on the schooner Merchantman as the Lot Whitcomb was launched. The cannon on board the Merchantman exploded when the salute was fired, killing Captain Morse, commander of the Merchantman. It looked for a while as though Milwaukie was going to outdistance her rival, Portland, for Milwaukie had a newspaper and a steamboat and Portland was without either of these evidences of municipal enterprise. The Western Star, Lot Whitcomb's paper, was a four-page paper having 24 columns. Lot Whitcomb had become so heavily involved in building the steamer Lot Whitcomb, that he was having difficulty in meeting his bills. Not being able to pay his printers, J. 0. Waterman and W. D. Carter, he gave them a bill of sale for the plant. Because of the intense rivalry between Portland and Mil-waukie, Waterman and Carter put the press, type and other equipment on a flatboat late one night, and dropped 301 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS down the river to Portland, to the great indignation of the citizens of Milwaukie. 0. W. Nixon, author of "How Marcus Whitman saved Oregon" and "Whitman's Ride through the Savage Lands," and also literary editor of the Interocean for more than 25 years, was teaching school at Milwaukie at that time. He helped in moving the plant of the Western Star from Milwaukie to Portland. On June 5, 1851, the Western Star was issued under a Portland date line, its name having been changed to the Oregon Weekly Times. On June 13, 1853, Carter sold to Waterman, and on May 29, 1854, Waterman sold to R. D. Austin and his former partner, W. D. Carter. He continued as editor till the fall of 1856. In 1859 Carter sold his interest to Austin. He worked at the case as a printer till 1864, when he started a job office in Portland, which he ran for some years. He died in Portland in 1898. R. D. Austin changed the Times from a weekly to a daily on December 19, 1860. Among the editors of the Times were A. C. Gibbs, who later became governor of Oregon, W. Lair Hill and Henry Shipley. The next paper to be started in Oregon was the weekly Oregonian. This paper was started by W. W. Chapman and Stephen Coffin. It was to offset the efforts being made by Lot Whitcomb to steal the prestige of Portland for his city, Milwaukie. In the summer of 1850, Colonel W. W. Chapman and Stephen Coffin went to San Francisco. Early in July they met Thomas J. OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 303 Dryer, the city editor of the California Courier. They interested him in their plans and a Ramage press was purchased from the Alta Californian and a second-hand outfit of cases and type and other material was purchased. The material was shipped on board the bark Keoka on October 8, and after about six weeks, it arrived in Portland. Colonel W. W. Chapman named the new paper the Weekly Oregonian. The first number was issued on December 4, 1850. Arthur and Thomas Chapman and Stephen Coffin's stepson, Henry C. Hill, were employed as carrier boys. A. M. Berry came with T. J. Dryer from San Francisco, as printer for the new paper. Henry Hill was the first printer's devil. Thomas J. Dryer, the first editor of the Oregonian, was born in New York State, January 10, 18o8. He died at Portland on March 3o, 1879. He came to California in 1849, and went to work as city editor of the California Courier. Mr. Dryer served in the territorial legislature in 1856 and 1859. He was a member of the state constitutional convention in 1857. He was a presidential elector in 1860 and took the vote to Washington, D. C. President Lincoln appointed him Minister to the Hawaiian Islands. He returned to Portland in June, 1865. In the spring of 1851, the press and plant ordered from the East for the Oregonian, arrived. The new press was a Washington hand press. The Ramage press, which had been used to print the first issues of the Oregonian, and the old type, were sold to T. F. MacElroy 304 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS and J. W. Wiley and taken to Olympia, where, on September 11, 1852, the first issue of the Columbian was printed. This was the first newspaper to be printed in the Oregon country north of the Columbia River. This old Ramage press was taken to Seattle in 1863 and on it was printed the first copy of the Seattle Gazette, which was the first paper to be printed in Seattle. It was also used in printing the first daily to be printed in the state of Washington. It was used for printing the Intelli-gencer at Seattle, for some time. It was used in Mexico for printing government proclamations, and in 1834, was sent to Monterey, California, where it was used by the Spanish officials in printing government documents and proclamations. The first paper in California, issued on August 15, 1846, was printed on this old Ramage press by the Rev. Walter Cotton and R. Semple. After being used in printing the Californian for some time, it was taken from Monterey to San Francisco and on it was printed the first issue of the Star, in January, 1847, the first paper to be printed in San Francisco. Later the Californian and the Star were consolidated and in the fall of 1848 the first issue of the Alta Californian was printed on this press. Certainly this old press is a press with a history, for it is the first press used in Monterey, the first used in San Francisco, the first press in Portland, the first in Olympia and the first in Seattle. In November, 1853, H. L. Pittock, who at that time was 17 years old and who had crossed the plains to Ore- OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 305 gon that summer, applied for a job at his trade as printer at the Spectator office in Oregon City and at the Times office in Portland, and not finding work at either place, he applied to Mr. Dryer, editor of the Oregonian. Mr. Dryer gave him work and after a few months, in spite of his youth, he was made foreman. On November 8, 1856, H. L. Pittock and Elisha T. Gunn, who was born in Connecticut in 1827 and who had gone to California in 1849, later drifting up north, were taken in as partners of Mr. Dryer's. Mr. Gunn on May 19, 1855, had started the Puget Sound Courier at Steilacoom, Washington. When it suspended in the spring of 1856, he came down to Portland and secured work on the Oregonian. Pittock and Gunn continued as partners till the fall of 1858, when Mr. Dryer bought their interests. On November 24, 186o, Mr. Dryer, being unable to pay Mr. Pittock the wages due him, turned the paper over to him, Mr. Dryer continuing as editor for about six weeks. On February 4, 1861, the first issue of the Morning Oregonian appeared on the streets. It was a four-page paper, 11% x 18 inches in size. Simeon Francis succeeded Mr. Dryer as editor of the Oregonian. He was succeeded by Henry Miller when Mr. Francis was appointed paymaster in the United States Army by President Lincoln. Mr. Miller was succeeded by Amory Holbrook, United States District Attorney. John D. Damon was the next editor and he was succeeded by Samuel A. Clarke. H. W. Scott became editor on May 15, 1865. 306 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS In 1872 he was appointed Collector of Customs, and for the next five years W. Lair Hill was editor. In 1877 Mr. Scott bought an interest in the paper and once more became editor. The Oregon Statesman was started at Oregon City by Henry Russell and A. W. Stockwell. The first paper was issued on March 28, 1851. Just prior to the appearance of the first issue of the Statesman, there had been much bitter and acrimonious discussion between the governor and the territorial legislature over the location of the state capital. By a vote of 6 to 11 the territorial legislature made Salem the capital of Oregon Territory, awarded the penitentiary to Portland and the territorial university to Corvallis. Governor Gaines criticized the action of the legislature. Governor Gaines was a Whig and many of the Whigs stood with his contention that Oregon City should be the capital. The Democrats, with Asahel Bush, the editor of the Oregon Statesman, were for Salem as territorial capital. After a bitter fight, the capital was moved to Salem, and the Statesman followed the capital from Oregon City to Salem, moving there in June, 1853. It became the official paper of the territory. When the question of the state capital once more became a live issue, Corvallis was chosen as the capital, and the legislature met there. The Statesman moved from Salem to Corvallis in April, 1855. In December, 1855, while assembled at Corvallis, the territorial legislature passed OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 307 a bill relocating the capital at Salem, so the Statesman once more moved back to Salem. Asahel Bush, the editor of the Statesman, was a man of great force of character and political foresight. His political associates at Salem were Judge R. P. Boise, Governor Lafayette Grover, Colonel James W. Nesmith and Benjamin F. Harding. This group of men were called the. "Salem Clique" and for years they dominated the policies of the Democratic party in Oregon. James W. Nesmith was a partner of Asahel Bush in the Statesman. In March, 1863, they sold the Statesman to C. P. Crandall and E. M. Waite. In November of that same year, the Radical Republicans and the Douglas Democrats, wanting an organ, formed the Oregon Printing and Publishing Company and purchased the Statesman and consolidated the Oregon City Argus and the Statesman. The directors of the Oregon Printing & Publishing Company were Rufus Mallory, D. W. Craig, C. P. Crandall, C. W. Terry and J. W. P. Huntington. This company ran the Statesman for three years and then sold it to Benjamin Simpson and his two sons, Samuel and Sylvester, both of whom were graduates of Willamette University. They sold it to William A. McPherson, the state printer, who consolidated it with the Unionist and dropped the name of Statesman. Mr. McPherson sold it to J. W. P. Huntington, who later sold it to S. A. Clarke, who restored its original name and published it under the name of the Statesman. 308 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS The Oregon City Argus issued its first number on April 21, 1855, W. L. Adams being the editor and publisher. Dr. Adams was a man of unusual literary ability combined with great force of character. He was a minister of what was then termed the Campbellite church, he was a poet of no mean ability, he wielded a vitriolic pen, he was an educator and a popular platform speaker and writer. He was the author of a booklet entitled "Brake-speare, or Treasons, Stratagems and Spoils." In this booklet were published the first cartoons to appear in Oregon Territory. This booklet was issued in the spring of 1852 and it caricatured the leaders of the Democratic party, Asahel Bush, the editor of the Oregon Statesman; J. 0. Waterman, editor of the Oregon Weekly Times ; General Joseph Lane, Colonel William M. King, Judge Matthew P. Deady and Judge 0. C. Pratt. Some years later Asahel Bush came to the financial assistance of Dr. W. L. Adams in an emergency so, in gratitude, Dr. Adams advertised for, bought up and destroyed every copy of Brakespeare that he could obtain. Dr. Adams was born in Ohio, February 5, 1821, both of his parents having come from Vermont. He graduated from Bethany College, Virginia, crossed the plains to Oregon in 1847 and settled in Yamhill county, where he taught school. He it was, more than anyone else, who organized the Republican party in Oregon, and the Argus was the first Republican paper to be published in Oregon Territory. He was chairman of the Committee of OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 309 Three of the Free State Republican Convention, which met on February 11, 1857, and prepared an address to the people of the Territory of Oregon. It was largely due to his efforts as a writer and speaker that Oregon declared for Lincoln as President. The first man Lincoln appointed from Oregon was Dr. W. L. Adams. He appointed him Collector of Customs at Astoria. While at Astoria he served as editor of the Marine Gazette. D. W. Craig, the foreman of the Oregon City Argus, was born in Kentucky on July 25, 1830. With his parents he went to Hannibal, Missouri, in 1841, where he became a printer's devil on the Hannibal Journal. Orien Clemens and his brother, Samuel L. Clemens, better known as Mark Twain, both learned their trade on the Hannibal Journal. Later D. W. Craig worked on the Illinois State Journal at Springfield, of which Simeon Francis was editor. Simeon Francis was appointed Indian Agent for Oregon by President W. H. Harrison in 1841, but he resigned and did not come to Oregon till some years later, D. W. Craig read law in the office of Lincoln and Herndon at Springfield. He took his examination for the bar before B. S. Edwards, John T. Stewart and Abraham Lincoln, and was licensed on September 15, 185o. He came to Oregon in 1853, after having served as foreman of the Panama Daily Star for some time, on the Isthmus of Panama. He worked on the Oregon Statesman at Salem in the late fall of 1853. On April 16, 1859, Mr. Craig purchased the Argus from 310 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS W. L. Adams, and on October 24, 1863, the Argus and the Statesman were consolidated, the paper being published under the name of the Statesman. When the Statesman and the Argus were consolidated, the Argus plant, with the exception of the press, was sold to a group of printers in Portland who started the Daily Union, W. Lair Hill being editor. The press, which was the original Oregon Spectator press on which the first paper in the Oregon country was published, had been purchased by W. L. Adams when the Spectator suspended in March, 1855. This press was sold, when the Statesman and Argus merged, to H. R. Kincaid of Eugene, who, in December, 1863, issued the first number of the State Journal, at Eugene, on this old press. The first daily to be printed in Oregon was the Daily News. The first paper was issued on April 18, 1859. Alonzo M. Leland, S. A. English and W. B. Taylor were the owners. After a few months Judge E. D. Shattuck became its editor. Judge Shattuck was born in Vermont, December 31, 1824. He graduated from the college at Burlington in 1848, after which he became a teacher in Bakersfield Academy in Vermont. He was later teacher in the Newman Seminary in Georgia. Still later he taught school in Maryland. He was admitted to the bar in November, 1852, in New York. He came to Oregon in February, 1853, and became professor of ancient languages in Pacific University. He was principal of Tualatin Academy at Forest Grove for two years. In OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 311 1855 he was elected superintendent of public schools in Washington county. In 1856 he was elected probate judge of Washington county. He served as delegate to the state constitutional convention in 1857. That same year he came to Portland and became a law partner of David Logan. He represented Multnomah and Washington counties in the last session of the Oregon territorial legislature. He was one of the organizers and charter members of the Portland Library Association. In 1862 he was elected judge of the supreme court and held office for five years. In 1874 he was again elected judge of the supreme court and was judge until the courts were organized in 1878. W. D. Carter succeeded Judge Shattuck as editor of the Daily News. The News, not finding the publication of a daily a financial success, became a weekly and after the suspension of the weekly, the plant was moved to Salem. The Pacific Christian Advocate was first issued in Salem. The first number was printed on September 1, 1855. In 1854, after much discussion, as to the need of a religious paper in Oregon, articles of agreement were drawn up, and the following men subscribed for the stock of the proposed paper : George Abernethy, Alexander Abernethy, James R. Robb, Alanson Beers, Joseph Holman, Calvin S. Kingsley, the Rev. J. L. Parrish, the Rev. Gustavus Hines, the Rev. A. F. Wailer, the Rev. J. H. Wilbur and the Rev. T. H. Pearne. Mr. Pearne wrote to Francis Hall, publisher of the New York Com- 312 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS mercial Advertiser, who was a relative of his, asking him to purchase a newspaper plant and to send it to Portland. This plant was sent around the Horn and arrived at Portland six months later. It was decided to call the new paper the Pacific Christian Advocate and to publish it at Salem. After a few months, however, it was moved to Portland. Within a year it had a circulation of 1,800 copies. A number of those who had subscribed for stock were unable to pay, so Mr. Pearne borrowed money to pay for paper and current expenses. The Methodist Conference, which met at Indianapolis in 1856, came to the rescue of the paper, paid all outstanding obligations and took it over. Mr. Pearne was elected editor at a salary of $700 a year and remained as editor till 1864. Among the well known editors of the Pacific Christian Advocate have been the Rev. H. C. Benson, the Rev. Isaac Dillon and J. H. Acton. The Portland Commercial was a semi-weekly publication that was published for the first time in the spring of 1853, S. J. McCormick being its editor. Mr. McCormick, one of Portland's pioneer book dealers, was a publisher and served as mayor of Portland in 1859. The Daily Advertiser issued its first number on May 31, 1859, and was the second daily to be issued in Portland. Alonzo Leland was the first editor. He and A. L. Davis and R. P. Boise, were directors of the first public school of Portland, which was opened on December 15, 1851. This school was held in a hall built by OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 313 William King and Stephen Coffin in 1849, and it was located on First Street, between Pine and Oak. Alonzo Leland had already started a newspaper in Portland, the Democratic Standard, the first copy of which was issued on July 19, 1854. He sold the Democratic Standard in 1858 to James O'Meara. It suspended publication January 4, 1859, but resumed publication a little later, running for, a few months, after which the plant was moved to Eugene. S. J. McCormick succeeded Leland as editor of the Advertiser and he in turn was succeeded by Governor George L. Curry, who became editor on January 1, 1861. It was suppressed by the government in 1862 on account of its strong stand in behalf of secession. Alonzo Leland was at one time editor of the Times, of Portland. His predecessor as editor on the Oregon Weekly Times was E. C. Hibbens. Alonzo Leland was the editor of the Oregon Weekly Times when it became a daily on December 19, 186o. His successor as editor, A. S. Gould, upon going to Idaho, started The Golden Age at Lewiston in 1868, one of the first papers to be published in Idaho. Papers were started and discontinued in Portland in early days so frequently that it is rather hard to keep track of them all. The Metropolis Herald had a brief existence in 1855. The Franklin Advertiser which was a semi-weekly and which was published by S. J. McCormick, also gave up the ghost after a short struggle. The Daily Evening Tribune made its initial bow to the pub- 314 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS lic on January 16, 1865, under the ownership of C. Van Cleve and Ward Latta. After running one month it suspended. The first issue of the Evening Commercial appeared on August ii, 1868, N. P. Bull being its editor. The Evening Call, which was started in January, 1870, also had a brief existence. The Evening Bulletin, an independent paper, was first issued on January 16, 1868, by J. F. Atkinson. He came to Portland in 1867 working for a while as a compositor on the Oregonian. He served as editor, business manager and foreman of the Evening Bulletin, but he found that the time was not yet ripe for another daily paper in Portland, so, after seven months, the paper suspended for lack of support. In February, 187o, with H. L. Herman as a partner, he started the Catholic Sentinel. He sold to his partner two years later. Later he worked on the Bulletin, which was owned by Ben Holladay. In July, 1874, he took over the Commercial Reporter which he edited and published for the next seven years. In March, 1875, he put out the first Sunday paper to be issued in Portland. He named it the Sunday Welcome. On June 6, 186o, he added to his newspaper ventures the Daily and Weekly Bee and also the Northwestern Newspaper Unic;n.. On August 23 lie changed the name of the Bee to the Bulletin. In addition to the numerous papers he was publishing, in the fall of 188o he started a livery stable on. the corner of Front and Taylor Streets. He had overworked and his eyes became affected, resulting in the OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 315 loss of the sight of one eye. During his illness, the Evening Bulletin suspended. On February 13, 1881, he started the Sunday Chronicle, which he published for some time, selling out to R. C. White, to go into another enterprise. The Deutsche Zeitung, of which, A.. A. Landenber-ger was editor, was first published in 1867, and suspended publication in 1884. The Portland Letter Sheet began publication in August, 186o, but did not live long. Another brief-lived paper was the Oregon News Budget, which was started on September 3, 1869. The Oregon Churchman was started in 1861 and the Northern Monthly, which was devoted to civil and military affairs, ran from March to December, 1864. The first issue of the Oregon Herald appeared on St. Patrick's Day, 1866. M. H. Abbott and N. L. Butler were editors and proprietors. Three months later the Oregon Herald was taken over by the Oregon Herald Company, which was composed of a group of the Democratic leaders of the state, among them being Judge A. E. Wait, W. Weatherford, Judge J. K. Kelly, Governor L F. Grover, Dr. J. C. Hawthorne, J. S. Smith, and N. L. Butler. Beriah Brown was appointed editor on June 10, 1866, the day after the joint stock company took charge. A week later the paper began the publication of a Sunday issue. In 1868 Sylvester Pennoyer purchased the paper and became its editor. On July 1, 1869, Pen-noyer sold the paper to T. Patterson & Company. Eugene Semple was employed as editor. On December 1, 1871, 316 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the paper was sold to a stock company. It suspended on May 25, 1873. Beriah Brown, its first editor, was a newspaper man of much experience. He was born in New York State, February 21, 1851, and learned his trade on the Batavia Advocate. He was a fellow apprentice of Horace Greeley in the Observer office at Erie, New York. In 1835 he established the Tecumseh Democrat in Michigan. Later he was one of the publishers of the Intelligencer at Niles, Michigan. In 1845 he purchased the Democrat at Mineral Point, Iowa, which he moved to Madison, Iowa. He established the People's Press at Milwaukie in 186o. In 1862 he was employed as editor of the Republican at Stockton, California. The paper was moved to Sacramento in 1863. On April 21, 1863, the plant was raided and the type and other materials thrown in the street, on account of the sympathy of the editor with the South. Brown went to San Francisco and became the editor of the Democratic Press. His vitriolic attacks on President Lincoln resulted in a mob's attacking the Democratic Press and four other newspapers, which they sacked. Brown fled to Mexico. Later he became one of the partners in the Santa Rosa Democrat. In June, 1866, he became editor of the Oregon Herald, continuing as editor until November, 1868, when he went to Salem and established the Democratic Press. In 1870 he went to Olympia as editor of the Washington Standard. The following year he went to Seattle and, with OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 317 Charles H. Larabee, ran the Territorial Dispatch. On December 4, 1871, he started the Puget Sound Dispatch, the second daily newspaper of Seattle. The Dispatch was later bought by the Intelligencer, which later merged with Post to form the Post-Intelligencer. N. L. Butler, one of the proprietors of the Oregon. Herald, was a young man, a recent graduate from Willamette University. His father, J. B. V. Butler, came to Oregon in 1849, settled at Oregon City and in 185o moved to Portland and ran a store here. J. B. V. Butler, put up over $5,000 to buy the plant of the Oregon Herald. The plant of the Oregon Herald was sold at public auction and bought by H. L. Pittock. Sylvester Pennoyer, who owned the Oregon Herald for a while, was born in New York State July 6, 1831. He came to Portland in 1855 and was engaged as a teacher in the public schools. He was governor of Oregon from 1887 to 1895 and mayor of Portland from 1896 to 1898. The Oregon Forum, which was published by W. B. Taylor and edited by Albert G. Walling, ran from August, 1858, to February, 1863. Albert G. Walling for many years was in the printing business in Portland. He issued the history of Jackson, Josephine, Douglas, Coos and Curry Counties and also a history of Lane County. The Oregon Monthly Magazine, one of the first magazines to be published on the Pacific Coast, was issued in Portland, the initial number being January, 1852. S. 318 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS J. McCormick was the editor and publisher. The North Pacific Rural Spirit was established in 1869. W. W. Baker was the first editor and he was succeeded by M. D. Wisdom. The Portland Daily Plaindealer was started in May, 1863, A. C. Edmunds being the editor. The Portland Daily Union ran from January, 1864, to May. H. R. Kincaid was the publisher and W. Lair Hill was the editor. The Portland Daily Republican began publication July 18, 1870, James O'Meara being the first editor. The Bulletin was owned by Ben Holladay. It ran till September 4, 1875, having been a very expensive newspaper venture. Later another paper of the same name was started, but it suspended on January 31, 1881. Ben Holladay ran the Daily Bulletin for the first two years, at the end of which time the Bulletin Printing and Publishing Company was incorporated by J. N. Dolph, 0. N. Denny and H. W. Scott. The plant cost $37,000, and in addition to this, the paper lost during its brief life, $96,000. It was sold at auction on August 16, 1876, for $7,510.25. The first editor of the Portland Daily Bulletin was James O'Meara. He was succeeded by Harvey W. Scott and he in turn by T. B. Odeneal. T. B. Odeneal crossed the plains to Oregon in 1853 with eight companions, the oldest of whom was 21 years old. William Waldo, later state senator from Marion county was captain of the group. They arrived in Salem on September 27, 1853. OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 319 Mr. Odeneal secured work the day after he arrived, in the Statesman office. He was chief clerk of the house of representatives of the Oregon legislature in 1855-56. He was county clerk of Benton County from 1856 to 186o. He founded the Corvallis Gazette in 1863, publishing it till July, 1866. He served two terms as county judge of Benton county, his last term ending in 1870 when he was appointed assistant assessor of internal revenue. He resigned this office in April, 1872, to accept the office of superintendent of Indian affairs for Oregon. On August 1, 1880, he was appointed clerk of the Supreme Court of Oregon. It would be too large a task to trace the history of the newspapers of Portland to the present date. All that can be attempted is to tell something of the early newspapers of the city and state. To bring the record of Portland's newspapers up to 1878, 5o years ago, the following papers were being published in Portland at that date: The Bee, the Commercial Reporter, the Evening Telegram, the Mining and Irrigation Journal, the New Northwest, published by Mrs. Abigail Scott Duniway ; the Deutsche Zeitung, the Oregonian, the Pacific Christian Advocate, the Standard, the Sunday Welcome, and the West Shore, an illustrated monthly magazine published by L. Samuels. Anthony Noltner, who was publisher of the Standard 50 years ago, came to Oregon in 1857 and learned his 320 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS trade as a printer in Corvallis. Two years later he became a partner of James H. Slater, later United States Senator from Oregon, in the publication of the Corvallis Union. In 1862 they sold the Union and Mr. Noltner moved to Eugene, where he published the Register till 1865. In 187o he bought the Oregon City Enterprise, which he ran till the fall of 1875. He started the Portland Daily and Weekly Standard in January, 1876. L. Samuels, who in 1878 was publishing the West Shore, of Portland, started in life as a newsboy in Sacramento, California. His first newspaper venture was the Travelers' Guide, which he published for three years. In 1875 he began publishing the West Shore, which did much to attract attention to the resources of Oregon. The first paper to be started in Astoria was the Marine Gazette, which was started by H. R. Kincaid in August, 1864. Mr. Kincaid was succeeded by W. W. Parker. For a while Dr. W. L. Adams, who had started the Argus at Oregon City, served as editor of the Marine Gazette. The Gazette was printed from the type brought over from the Sandwich Islands for use with the mission press. From this type was printed the first newspaper west of the Rocky Mountains, the Oregon Spectator, at Oregon City. The next newspaper to be established in Astoria was the Astorian. It was started by D. C. Ireland. Further reference to the papers of Astoria will be found in the chapter devoted to Astoria. The papers that were started in Oregon City prior OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 321 to 1870 included the Oregon Spectator, the Argus, the Free Press, the Oregon Statesman and the Oregon City Enterprise, the latter of which was started on October 17, 1866. D. 0. Ireland was the editor and proprietor. It was purchased in 1869 by Noltner & Slater. The first paper to be published at The Dalles was The Dalles Journal, which began publication in March, 1859. W. H. Newell bought it in April, 186o, and changed the name to the Mountaineer. The Mountaineer was started by Captain Thomas Jordan on February 6, 186o. Two months later the Mountaineer and The Dalles Journal were consolidated. In 1862 the Mountaineer began the issue of a daily. At that time The Dalles was the outfitting point for the miners going to the recently discovered gold mines in eastern Oregon and Idaho. Money was plentiful and at first the daily was a financial success. On June 3, 1866, Cowne & Halloran bought the Mountaineer and abandoned the daily issue, returning to a weekly. They ran it for about a year and sold it to W. M. Hand, who ran it till 1881. In 1901 The Times and the Mountaineer were consolidated under the title of the Times Mountaineer. The Dalles Republican started in 187o and ran for 31 years when it suspended. It might not be amiss to give a brief list of the papers published in Oregon prior to 1870. At Albany, the Oregon Democrat was first issued on November 18, 1859, by Delazon Smith and Jesse M. Shephard. In 1861 the name was changed to the Inquirer, P. J. Ma- 322 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS lone being the editor. The paper was excluded from the mails because of its support of the Southern Confederacy. The paper was revived in February, 1863, under the name of the Oregon State Democrat. It was once more suppressed and was again revived on August 1, 1865, under the title of the States Rights Democrat. The Journal was established at Albany on March 12, 1863. It was discontinued for a while and revived in April, 1865. It ceased publication in March, 1868. The Albany Register was first issued on September 12, 1868, under the management of C. Van Cleve. The first paper to be published at Baker City was the Bedrock Democrat, established by M. H. Abbott, who had been one of the owners of the State Rights Democrat in Albany. His partner on the Bedrock Democrat was L. L. Baker. The first paper published in the Coos Bay country was the Bumble Bee, which was started in 1869. The first paper published at Empire City was the Monthly Guide, which started in October, 1879, and which became the Coos Bay News in March, 1873. The Occidental Messenger was started in June, 1857, at Corvallis. It was financed by J. C. Avery, the founder of Corvallis. T. B. Odeneal was the editor for a while. The Messenger was the avowed advocate of slavery in the West as well as in the South. Another pro-slavery publication in Corvallis was the Frontier Sentinel, whose editor declared that it was published OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 323 "to give an ardent and unwavering support to the introduction of slavery in Oregon." L. P. Hall was its publisher. The Democratic Crisis issued its first number on February 2, 1859. T. B. Odeneal was the editor. Before long he found a crisis in his own financial affairs and traded the paper to J. H. Slater for his store, whereupon Mr. Slater changed the name of the paper to the Oregon Weekly Union and came out as a strong advocate of Breckenridge and Lane for president and vice-president. After Fort Sumter had been fired upon the Union upheld the side of the south. It was suppressed by the government in 1863. For a short while the Oregon Statesman was published in Corvallis in 1855. In the summer of ,1868 J. H. Upton began the publication at Corvallis, of the Willamette Valley Mercury. At Dallas, the county seat of Polk county, the Polk County Itemizer was founded in 1866. The Polk County Signal began publication in the spring of 1868 and lasted one year. The Times issued its first number in 1869. The first paper to be published at Eola, just across the Willamette River from Salem, was the Religious Expositor, which was published by C. H. Mattoon. The first issue was on May 6, 1856. It moved to Corvallis in July, 1856, and died in October. At Eugene, Alexander Blakely started the Democratic Herald in March, 1859. The paper was later purchased by Anthony Noltner. It was debarred from 324 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS the mails on account of its upholding the side of the South, so the delivery had to be made by carrier and private rig. It changed its name in March, 1862, to the Democratic Register. In September, 1862, it was suppressed. Two months later it came out under the name of the Review. While it was being published under the title of the Democratic Register in the summer of 1862, C. H. Miller, better known as Joaquin Miller, the poet, was its editor. Joaquin Miller resigned on February 14, 1863. The last issue appeared on September 16, 1865, at which time it was merged with the Washington Democrat and the Arena and moved to Salem, where it was published under the title of Democratic Review. The Eugene Guard was first published in March, 1867, J. B. Alexander being the owner. It had various owners till 1878, when it was purchased by Ira and John R. Campbell. The Pacific Journal was started in 1858. That fall it was purchased by B. J. Pengra, who changed its name to the People's Press. The Eugene News was issued in March, 1856, and ran till November. The Herald of Reform, which succeeded the Union Crusader, was started in January, 1863, by A. C. Edmunds. After the suspension of the People's Press, the plant was used in publishing the State Republican, which ran from January 1, 1862, till March 12, 1864. The Republican suspended in the spring of 1864 and, with the Argus, was taken over by the Statesman of Salem. OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 325 The Oregon State Journal was the next paper to be published in Eugene. It was established on March 12, 1864, the owners being Harrison R. Kincaid, Joel Ware, and William Thompson. On February 14, 1865, Mr. Kincaid became the sole owner, and published the paper for 45 years. The first paper published in Klamath Falls was the Reveille, which was started in 1868. The first paper to be published in Forest Grove was the Forest Grove Monthly, issued in June, 1864. In 1865 J. W. Johnson started the Courier at Lafayette. After the suspension of this paper, the Pacific Blade of McMinnville was published with its equipment. The Pacific Blade of McMinnville was started in 186o and the McMinnville Reporter in 1870. The first paper to be published at Monmouth was the Christian Messenger, whose first number was issued in October, 1870. It was discontinued in 1887. There were four papers published in Roseburg, prior to 1870. The Roseburg Express was started in 1859 and suspended a year later. The Roseburg Ensign issued its first number in May, 1867. In a fire that occurred in September, 1871, the plant was destroyed and the publication of the paper was not resumed till January, 1872. This plant was later sold to R. Tyson, owner of The Dalles Republican. The News Review was started in 1868 and the Plaindealer in 1870. The first paper to be published in southern Oregon 326 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS was the Umpqua Gazette, published at Scottsburg, the first paper being issued on April 28, 1854. This paper suspended in September, 1855, the plant moving to Jacksonville and the equipment being used on the Table Rock Sentinel. The first paper to be published at Union was the Mountain Sentinel, established in 1868. The Columbia Press, which was later renamed the Umatilla Press, was published by T. W. Avery and A. C. Dow at Umatilla Landing in 1866. Later the name was changed to the Index, Judge L. L. McArthur being the editor. The Umatilla Advertiser was started in 1865. It later absorbed the Index. It suspended in 1869. The Blue Mountain Times, at La Grande, was started on April 18, 1868, and the Grand. Ronde Sentinel in May, 1868. Jacksonville, at one time the metropolis of southern Oregon, saw ten different papers started before 187o. The Table Rock Sentinel was started on November 24, 1855, W. G. T'Vault being editor and publisher. In 1858, when he took in W. G. Robinson as partner, the name was changed to the Oregon Sentinel. In 1859 James O'Meara bought it. In May, 1861, the paper was purchased by William H. Hand and Henry Denlinger, who made it a Union paper. Orange Jacobs became editor. In July, 1864, it was purchased by S. F. Mac-Dowell, who published it for the next 14 years. The OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 327 Southern Oregon Gazette was started on August 14, 1861, James O'Meara being the editor. It was so disloyal that the government refused it admission to the mails and it suspended publication. The Herald was started on August 1, 1857. It advocated slavery. The Civilian was started in March, 1862, by D. W. Douthitt. The Southern Oregon Press succeeded the Oregon Reporter. It was published from January 5, to August 21, 1867. The Oregon Reporter, of which P. J. Malone- was editor, started in January, 1865. Frank R. Stuart succeeded Malone. When W. W. Fiddler took over the paper in 1867, he changed the name to the Southern Oregon Press. The Reveille was started in September, 1867. The Oregon Intelligencer, of which W. G. T'Vault was publisher, was started in November, 1862, as a secession paper. It expired in 1864. The Democratic News was,started on May 1, 1869, and later became the Democratic Times. Nearly a score of papers were published at Salem, the capital city, prior to 187o. The Oregon Statesman, which was founded by A. W. Stockwell and Henry Russell, issued its first number at Oregon City on March 28, 1851. In June, 1853, it moved to Salem. A. Bush was the editor for the first ten years of its existence. It has had many owners and has been published under various names. The Pacific Christian Advocate was started at Salem but soon moved to Portland. The Salem Recorder was started in 1861. One of the most 328 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS interesting newspapers published in Salem was the Vox Populi. It was the first newspaper published in Salem. Its first issue was published on December 16, 1851. This paper was frankly and unequivocally published for the purpose of having the capital of the territory located at Salem. The last issue was published on January 16, 1852. The Democratic Review of Salem began publication in September, 1865, C. B. Bellinger, Anthony Noltner and Urban E. Hicks being the publishers. The Plowman, an agricultural paper, was started in 1864 by E. M. Waite. The Oregon Agriculturist was started in 1865, A. L. Stinson being the publisher. After a few months E. M. Waite purchased the Oregon Agriculturist and consolidated it with the Plowman under the title of the Agriculturist and Plowman. The Willamette Farmer was started in March, 1869, with A. L. Stinson as publisher and John Minto as editor. In 187o A. J. Dufur became editor. The Oregon Arena was started in 1862 by C. B. Bellinger, A. Noltner and U. E. Hicks. C. B. Bellinger, later a well known jurist of Oregon, was the editor until 1865. On August 21, 1867, the first issue of the Capital City Chronicle appeared. It was published by A. Noltner and J. H. Upton, the former being editor. In October Mr. Upton bought out his partner and the next month began the publication of the daily. The Salem Daily Record was started in June, 1867, and the Salem Daily Visitor in September, 187o, J. Henry Brown, author of "Brown's OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 329 Political History of Oregon," being the editor. The Salem Press was started on February 10, 1869, Beriah Brown being editor. The Salem Mercury was started in 1869 and after a few years moved to Portland. The Daily Democratic Press was started in 1870 and the Daily Democratic Tocsin began publication in January, 1868. The Oregon Medical and Surgical Reporter, which was one of the earliest medical journals to be published on the Pacific Coast, began publication in 1869, Dr. E. R. Fiske being its editor and publisher. The Oregon Unionist was first published in 1866. William McPherson and William Morgan being the publishers. In 1866 McPherson purchased the Salem Statesman, merging it with the Unionist, under the title of the Unionist. McPherson sold his interest in the paper because his duties as state printer would not allow him to give it his attention. Later William Morgan, who had bought the Unionist, sold it to S. A. Clarke, who changed the name back to the Statesman. Since 187o hundreds of papers have been started in Oregon, many of them having waxed, waned and passed into history. It is a far cry from the Oregon Spectator, with its 115 subscribers and its little hand press, to the Oregon Journal, with its battery of presses which includes a quadruple, a sextuple, two octuples and a four unit super-high-speed press, which prints 48,000 32-page papers per hour. The first edition of the Oregon Journal appeared on the streets on March 11, 1902. In 33o OREGON'S YESTERDAYS those days Portland was the happy hunting ground of political bosses and tricksters. Vice flourished and political corruption was the order of the day. From the very first, C. S. Jackson turned his guns on the political corruptionists. C. S. Jackson had come down from Pendleton, where he had published the East Oregonian, a paper characterized by the fearlessness of its attitude and vigor of expression. Mr. Jackson had a vision of an Oregon freed from the grip of political bosses, and when he was told of the hopelessness of fighting long-entrenched foes in Portland, the very magnitude of the task intrigued him, so on July 23, 1902, he purchased the Journal and on that date, on the editorial page, appeared his confession of faith. This statement of his purpose and the hopes he had for the paper read as follows : "The paper will be conducted on lines of greatest benefit to Portland, to Oregon and to the great Northwest, and in many ways conducted different as to men, measures and methods from those of its contemporaries which follow narrow grooves of newspaper habit. The Journal, in head and heart, will stand for the people, and be truly democratic and free from political entanglements and machinations. It shall be a fair newspaper and not a dull selfish sheet." This creed is not dissimilar to the professed policy of many other newspapers. The difference is in the manner in which this creed has been followed. Sam Jackson and the Journal have kept the faith. OREGON'S NEWSPAPERS 331 The history of the Journal's 25 years is the history of the progress of Portland, of Oregon and of the Northwest. Wherever there was need for publicity, the Journal was in the forefront of the battle, as the voice and interpreter of the people. It gave freely of all its resources. It took a leading part in the passage of the initiative, referendum and recall measures, the corrupt practises act, the direct election of United States senators, the exposure of the land frauds, the pure milk campaign, the outlawing of open vice. The Journal has been the leader in the fight for favorable freight rates, for the development of navigation in the Columbia River and for adequate harbor facilities. The growth and prosperity of the Journal prove that it represented the views of the right-thinking majority. It enjoys to a high degree, reader interest and reader confidence. XVI EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD EDWIN MARKHAM, author of "The Man with the Hoe," was born at Oregon City on April 23, 1852. When I asked him to tell me of his boyhood in Oregon, he said : "My father and mother, with their children, came across the plains to Oregon by ox team in 1847. They had heard of the land of promise by the shores of the sunset sea and started, with a number of their neighbors, for the long, toilsome and wearisome trip across the desert, to the far-famed Willamette Valley. One night the wagon train camped not far distant from a stream and drew the wagons into a circle to be prepared to defend themselves in case of an attack by Indians. My mother, taking two pails, went to the spring nearby to get some water. Hearing a noise like subdued thunder, she looked up and saw a herd of buffalo charging toward the river. She turned and ran toward the wagons, but before she could reach the protection of the wagons, the buffalo were upon her. She was 332 EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 333 knocked down and trampled and rolled over and over. Father and the other men ran toward her. The buffalo swerved, so they were able to rescue mother. Her clothes were torn from her and she was unconscious. A number of her ribs were broken in and her right shoulder blade was broken. They fixed up a mattress in a wagon and for the next six weeks mother directed the household and camping activities from her bed in the wagon. "Our family settled at Oregon City. They had been there five years when I was born. I was the twelfth and last child. My mother was intensely practical, yet she had a window in her soul, open to the stars. She ran a store at Oregon City and also conducted a nursery, doing the budding and grafting herself. My father, Samuel Markham, got work running a ranch in the mountains, so mother was left to run the store and operate the nursery. My mother was a strangely silent woman. When she spoke, she had a curious originality in her utterances. The one thing that stirred her to speech was injustice. She simply could not tolerate wrong and injustice, and it stirred her to scathing spcech in defense of those who were dear to her. "My earliest recollection is of playing on the banks of the Willamette, overlooking the falls. We also used to go down to the water's edge to hunt for flint arrowheads, which we found by the hundred. One incident which made a vivid impression upon my memory was of seeing my father striding down on a woodland path 334 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS to the heavy timber with a deer slung shot pouch fashion across his shoulders. I must have been about four years old at the time. I have always carried this picture of my father in my mind, for it seemed to me that he was like a modern Hercules,—stepping down so lightly and easily with the deer slung over his shoulders. One experience which I had as a child left an indelible impression upon my memory. I believe it brought me more pleasure than anything that ever happened in subsequent years. With several playmates I was exploring an abandoned building that had been used as a store. Covered with dust and cobwebs on an upper shelf, I came upon a lot of lead soldiers. The children of the Oregon pioneers had few playthings. I can still vividly remember the tears of joy I shed at my wonderful discovery. The painted uniforms of these lead soldiers were dim and tarnished, but what pleasure I took in playing with them ! "I can still remember charming little Maggie Kilbourne, who lived near the banks of the Willamette. I worshipped her with pure devotion. Her father was a retired sea captain. She and I used to build houses and play at housekeeping. We furnished our house with bits of flint and shells and I think that we also built castles in the air. In our yard there was an apple tree. I think it was a Gravenstein. Years and years have passed since I have tasted one of those apples, but I have never tasted one that would compare with it. EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 335 There may have been such apples in the Garden of Eden. I doubt if ever again on this earth I shall taste of an apple with the fragrance and flavor of those apples of my childhood. Occasionally mother would take me with her to the nearby foothills, to gather wild strawberries, which gleamed redly amid the green on the hillside and made the whole air fragrant. Later in the year she would take me out to gather hazelnuts. "The impact of innumerable new sensations, the crossing of the plains, the coming to a land of promise that proved to be a land of fulfillment, the meeting of new people, the discovery of gold, all these stirred my mother deeply. The discovery of gold in California not only stirred the imagination of the whole people of the Pacific Coast, but stimulated them to open many new lines of endeavor, in addition to farming. In 185o Lot Whitcomb launched the steamer Lot Whitcomb at the town of Milwaukie between Oregon City and Portland. It was launched on Christmas Day, 185o. Milwaukie, at that time, was big with hope of being the metropolis of Oregon. It is hard to make you realize how much the launching of the steamboat meant to Milwaukie. Portland had no steamboat. The citizens of Milwaukie felt that the destiny of their city was assured. When I was five years old, the Lot Whitcomb, which plied between Oregon City and Portland, went on a sandbar and remained there for some days. Finally news reached us that the Lot Whitcomb had been pulled off the bar 336 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS and was on her way to Oregon City. The editor of the Oregon Spectator, Oregon's first newspaper, rushed into my mother's store in his shirt sleeves and in great excitement said, 'Mrs. Markham, the Lot Whitcomb is coming —the Spectator is ready to go to press. I want you to write a poem in honor of the Lot Whitcomb getting off the sandbar. I will wait for it. Can you have it done in half an hour ?' My mother had a reputation as a poet to sustain, and so, perched on a stool at the counter in her store, she wrote the following poem, in honor of the Lot Whitcomb's ascent of the rapids below Oregon City. Lot Whitcomb is coming, Her banners are flying— She walks up the rapids with speed; She ploughs through the water, Her steps never falter— Oh that's independence indeed.. Old and young rush to meet her, Male and female to greet her, And the waves lash the shore as they pass. Oh she is welcome, thrice welcome, To Oregon City. Lot Whitcomb is with us at last. Success to the steamer, Her captain and crew; EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 337 She has our best wishes attained. Oh that she may never While running the river, Fall back on the sand bar again. "You often, these days, see signs in a shop about doing things while you wait. I think my mother was the original exponent of writing poetry while you wait. When the passengers from the Whitcomb landed at the wharf at Oregon City, the editor was on hand with an armful of Spectators with my mother's poem in the middle of the editorial page. "I started to school when I was five years old. My teacher was a tall, solemn, gaunt old gentleman. The school, as I remember it, was under the auspices of the Congregational church. One of my first adventures was climbing to the top of the tall rock in the schoolyard. I reached the dizzy height of twelve feet successfully but when I fearfully peered over the edge of the rock, it was too much for me and I came down much quicker than I went up. For the next six or eight weeks I carried my arm in a sling, for in falling I had lit on a rock and broken my shoulder blade. When I was about five years old, I climbed to the top of the bluff above the falls at Oregon City. Like wild horses with white manes flying, the wild and whirling waters dashed over the falls, making a tremendous impression on my mind. For years afterwards, whenever I thought of any 338 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS resistible force, I could see the swift moving water over the falls. "I was not yet six years old when in 1857 mother sold her property in Oregon and we packed our things and went by boat to Portland. We were met at the boat by a carry-all and taken to the house of a friend. As we drove through the deep mud of one of Portland's business streets, I saw a group of convicts working on the road. They wore striped uniforms and each of them had attached to his leg a ball and chain. One of the convicts was cursing horribly as we passed. I had not known until then that the men ever wore striped clothes and had balls and chains fastened to them. I did not know that men were ever chained like wild animals. It was years before this shocking sight grew dim. I would wake up at night and see them and wonder about them. "From Portland we went by steamer to San Francisco. This trip stands out in my mind like a nightmare because innumerable ladies that I had never seen before insisted on my sitting in their laps while they kissed me and called me a black-eyed darling. On this trip, in addition to my mother and myself, there was my sister Louise, who was six years older than myself, and my brother, who was a deaf mute and was three years old. In California mother sent him to the deaf and dumb asylum, where he stayed for some years and learned to read and write and draw. He lost his hearing and his EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 339 speech when he was three years old. He had the scarlet fever. He was a very religious boy. I can remember how fascinated I was when I was a little chap, seeing him kneel by the side of his bed and say his prayers on his fingers. He was a good worker; in fact he did most of the work on our farm. The animals all liked him. As he milked, he would croon a curious lullaby to the cows. "Mother bought a farm in the Suisun Hills. The house had a single large room. Mother curtained off two of the corners for bedrooms and one end for a kitchen. My mother seemed to have no conception of fear. She was stern, silent, self-reliant, self-contained and she seemed able to meet and conquer any and every obstacle. In fact she had the air of rather enjoying meeting difficulties and conquering them. "When I was seven years old, mother bought a band of sheep. It was my job to go with them and care for them and keep them from wandering away. Our ranch was in the • foothills and back of it were uncounted leagues of back range. I would stay out with the sheep all day long as they grazed, sometimes many miles from the honse. I would usually sit on a hillside or projecting rock, where I could watch the sheep. I was a great hand for day-dreaming and sometimes I would suddenly awake to the fact that my sheep were nowhere in sight and probably had wandered away hours before. Then I would have to follow their tracks till I came upon them, sometimes several miles distant. 340 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS "When I was ten years old, I became fascinated with books. I never went out with the sheep without carrying a volume with me. From the time I was ten until I was 13 I spent most of my waking hours with the sheep. When I was 13 mother sold our sheep and bought cattle and I graduated from shepherd to cowboy. If you will look through my various books of poems, you will see the influence of this outdoor life. My poem, 'The Joy of the Hills' reflects my boyhood feelings of pleasure in riding for countless miles across the unfenced range. I took to horseback riding, so that it was not long before I could ride anything on four legs and never have to pull leather. Our cattle would drift across the Sacramento Valley to the rolling Montesume Hills. Sometimes they would drift among the high tules along the Sacramento river. Occasionally I would be unable to locate a few of our steers and with my slicker and blanket, tied behind my saddle, and with food enough for several days, I would follow the cattle trails in the high tules, through the swamps along the Sacramento. When night overtook me, I would stake my horse, cook my supper and with the scented earth for my bed and the star-strewn sky for my cover, I would spend wonderful nights alone with nature. I was much alone for five years,—that is, from the time I was 13 till 18, for I was with our cattle in the foothills of California practically all of that time. "One of the picturesque events that I looked forward EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 341 to was the annual roundup held each fall, when the men from the nearby ranches would round up the cattle, and brand the calves. Occasionally at these roundups I would see desperate battles between two massive bulls for the leadership of the herd. "I was a natural student. I felt a natural hunger and thirst for knowledge. One of the first books I ever read was Peter Parley's 'Universal Knowledge.' During the years I spent on horseback with the cattle, I would often dismount, let my horse graze, and while I ate my lunch, I would take out Bullion's Grammar and become absorbed in the ablative absolute. During the winter I usually had a chance to put in two or three months at the Black schoolhouse, five miles from our ranch. We had a donkey which I frequently rode. He was such a wise and silent creature that I named him Aristotle, for I felt that silence was a form of wisdom. "One school year that stands out in my memory was the year when a young man named Samuel D. Woods was my teacher. He took a special interest in me and after school he would give me special lessons. He saw that I loved poetry. He taught me to love the Thana-topsis. He taught but one term, but he left an influence on my whole life. When he left, he wrote me a letter in which he said that if I would work on and cheerfully and courageously overcome all difficulties, I would succeed. That letter became as sacred to me as the sacred scriptures. I still have it among my 342 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS treasured possessions. He believed in nobility and integrity of character. He wrote a book, 'Lights and Shadows of the Far West,' and he did me the honor of dedicating this book to me. I met him in San Francisco in 1915. We decided to take a trip back to our well loved Suisun Hills and visit once again the old Black school house. We were to go in a few days. I was shocked to learn a day or two before our proposed journey that he had died suddenly. "I was a shy and thoughtful boy. William H. Hill, another school teacher who left a deep impress on my life, realized how diffident I was, so he took every opportunity to talk to me and he went out of his way to cultivate my acquaintance. He himself was a man of extreme sensibility, as well as having a profound knowledge of the best in literature. He introduced me to Tennyson and taught me his immortal lyric, 'Tears, Idle Tears.' I begged mother to send to San Francisco for some books of poems, but mother had no money to buy books of poetry. What money we had was needed to purchase the necessaries of life. A neighbor offered me $20 if I would plow 20 acres for him. I was 14 years old, but was small for my age. It took me three weeks to plow the 20 acres, but every day's work was a delight, for I felt that as the sod turned before my plowshare I was trading my strength and labor for sweetness and beauty. I still remember the triumph with which I took the $2o goldpiece he gave me for EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 343 my work home to mother and asked her to invest it all in books of poetry. Mother made a yearly trip to San Francisco to buy supplies for the ranch. A few months later she went to San Francisco on her annual trip and bought for me the works of Tennyson, Bryant and Moore. I almost wore them out reading them. I still have my copy of Tennyson with the marginal notes I made at the time. "In the midst of my great happiness over securing these books of poetry, there came to me an even greater happiness. One day, on looking through an old cupboard I ran across some old books. My brother Henry, who was a printer, had gone back to Oregon to get a job on a newspaper and had left his books in a cupboard. Among these books I found Pope's Iliad, a stray volume of Scott and—greatest joy of all—a copy of Byron's poems. Thereafter Byron and I were inseparable. I carried him wherever I went. I used to steal away and lie on the sloping roof of our barn, so I could be alone and revel in the beauty of Byron's works. I shall never forget how impressed I was by his wonderful 'Apostrophe to Darkness.' It was not long before I reacted to the impact of these wonderful poems, and wrote my first. poem, 'A Dream of Chaos.' During the next few years, I wrote literally thousands of brief poems, some, mere fragments. These were my apprenticeship to the muse. When I was 28 years old my first poem was published in the Californian. It was entitled The Gulf of Night.' " 344 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS Edwin Markham's religion is one of service. He has a passion for the common welfare. He believes we should live for one another and not on one another. He believes that only by forgetfulness of self can we attain true happiness. He believes in a world where each works for all and all for each. He would have a world of wisdom and love. We spent an hour together recently and he told me of the unveiled mystery of life and the veiled mystery of death. Without attempting to quote him exactly, here is the spirit of what he said : "You ask me about the pathetic mystery of our world, and if our loved ones live, and if so, where is their abode and how fares it with them. We do not leave our dear ones at the grave. They are invisible to us, and so we think of them as unreal; yet the invisible is not the unreal. Almost all of our great forces are invisible. The all-compelling law of gravitation cannot be seen. When we look at the rainbow we think we can distinguish all of the colors, yet there are rays of light below the red that are invisible to the physical eye, just as there are rays above the violet that are also invisible ; yet science tells us that they exist, and we believe it. We see colors from red to violet in the spectrum, and then our eye suddenly fails us and the colors disappear to nothingness ; yet we know that they are there. There are sounds too high for the human ear ; there are sounds that are too low to register with us. We are surrounded by invisible realms and invisible forces. It behooves us to be very humble in EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 345 the presence of the universe. We do not know enough to be dogmatic and to deny the facts we cannot prove. "Once I stood on the summit of the Rockies in Colorado looking by turns to the west and to the east. Looking down toward my feet I saw a crevice in the rocks. It was about two feet long, two or three inches wide at the bottom, and possibly six inches wide at the top. At one end was a smooth, round stone as large as one's doubled fist ; at the other end was a smooth wall. In the bottom of the crevice was a worm. He crawled to the end where the smooth round stone was and tried to climb up it, but each time he fell back. After repeated efforts he crawled to the other end of the crevice and tried to climb the wall there. He would mount an inch or two and fall back. Finally he crawled midway of the crevice and paused and pondered—for this worm was a philosopher. He said to himself : 'One end of my world is a smooth round stone ; at the other end is a vertical cliff. Directly above is a patch of blue. This is all there is to the world. I know, because I have investigated.' Science has gone but an inch deep in a mystery that is miles in extent ; yet we say we know it all—we have investigated. Compare with this worm's tiny world all the glory, the mystery, the majesty and the wonder of the world beyond that tiny crevice and you have a comparison of the invisible realms of which man knows nothing. 'If there is another world,' you ask, 'where is it?' There is another world—that world 346 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS will set this sad world right. Paul says, 'There are two substances, the material and the spiritual.' Science says that matter is only a mass of whirling atoms. Science knows no other world than the world it can see, can feel, can weigh and can prove ; yet the material world is the lower reality. Spirit is the real substance. Every day our scientific beliefs are overturned. We believe the eye cannot see through solid substance, and along comes the X-ray and we see the bones, the pulsing heart and a world of which we little dreamed. There are two worlds here—the material world and the spiritual world. We have two bodies—the material body and the spiritual body. The spiritual eye sees through the physical eye as the spiritual ear uses the organ of the flesh for its purpose. The envelope in which the spirit is clothed is ever changing, is subject to the mutations of time, to change and decay, to injury; but the real ego, the real you that inhabits this envelope of flesh, is the one that lives after the earthly envelope has gone back to its original elements. The spirit life is the only life. The universe is alive ; the world is alive ; all forces are spiritual ; the soul is an organism the spirit is the substance that thinks. Spirit is the man; the spirit builds the body. In this physical land exists the spirit land. Though we feel through the physical hand, though we see through the physical eye, though we think through the physical brain, yet it is the spirit back of it all that is dominant. "When the sculptor removes the scaffolding, he reveals EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 347 the completed image in its perfection. Death takes down the scaffolding and reveals the soul. We cannot through our physical eye see the spiritual body ; hence when death takes down the scaffolding of mortality the spirit of man becomes invisible. You ask, 'Where does spirit man go?' He doesn't go anywhere. He has no spiritual world to enter. There is no far country in the skies or deep in the earth to which the spirit goes. He stays right here in this world. He merely becomes conscious of the spirit world that, during what we term life, has been invisible to his earthly eyes, which his earthly senses have been unable to comprehend. As the baby passes from the placental life to the earth life, so the earthborn casts off the husk of mortality and becomes a spirit. The spirit world is within this dead material world. It is the soul of the globe ; it is the earth's inward world of living substance. All life proceeds from that inward spiritual world. It is the spirit of life that causes the acorn to become a tree. All forces are spiritual forces. "In a like manner, at death the soul of a man passes on into the spiritual world. He shells off his physical body, and as he does so the physical world drops away from his consciousness and the spirit man, which is the real man, becomes a citizen of the spiritual world, the real world. It is as natural as breathing. This spiritual world is a counterpart of the world we know, except that it is more vital than the material world ; it is more beautiful and nearer to the divine center of radiant life. We 348 OREGON'S YESTERDAYS pass into the spiritual world retaining qualities we develop here, and that is why it is important to develop character here. 'Their deeds do follow them,' we are told. Are we cultivating honor and nobility here? We shall not be sexless creatures in the world to come. We shall not carry our infirmities with us, but in the spirit world we shall know as we are known. Sex is a part of the identity of the human soul, and we cannot retain our individuality without retaining our sex. "This is a dream world we are in, a world that has gone sadly astray, a world of wrong and injustice, a world of defeat and disappointment, a world of sorrow and frustrated plans. But, remember, this is not the real world; the spiritual world is the real world. Here we struggle upward and fall back; we battle with evil. The social chaos of this world brings our best endeavors to naught, but in the next world, in the invisible world beyond us, we shall see the fruition of our dearest desires and the development of our dormant powers. We could make heaven here on earth if we could make the law of love universal. The unselfish life is the heroic life. In heaven there will be no square pegs in round holes. "You ask me what will be the conditions in the spiritual world. I believe the forces that exist in this world will persist in the spiritual world. Men will be drawn together, there as here, by spiritual affinities; each one will go to the realm of his own choosing. A world of EDWIN MARKHAM'S BOYHOOD 349 unselfishness would be a hell to a self-seeking, wicked man. Here on earth we create our own heavens and hells. We choose wisdom or ignorance. We choose love or hatred. Heaven will be where the loving dwell. The present is the seed of the future. In the old days men taught their children of a God of what they call justice, but which was really a God of vengeance. They threatened their little ones with the terrors of hell fire. The only fires of hell will be the fires of remorse and the fires of regret and the pangs of conscience for the deeds committed or omitted in this life. They pictured God to their children as an old God, a God with gray hair and flowing white beard. They told their children to fear God and keep his commandments. Their God was a man-made and earth-born conception. They did not get it from the Bible. Just as the creative force is young, so our God is an heroic God, a God of virility, a God of youth, a God of love, a God that will not grow old. We can choose here whether we wish to live the selfish life or the brotherhood life. We have three needs here, needs that must be gratified—bread, beauty and brotherhood. In the old sense of the word, there is no hell in the hereafter. Heaven is the abode of the noble and the unselfish. What shall we find there? We shall meet and greet our friends there. There will be no longer tears and sorrow there. "It is no misfortune for the good to die. Our gospel should be a gospel of joy. The passage of time in the 35o OREGON'S YESTERDAYS hereafter does not make us grow old, and those whom we term old here enter into eternal youth. The law of life in heaven is service and youth and doing the will of the God of heaven, for God is youth and the universe is young. We speak of the romance of life, and we think that with death life's romance is ended, but after the romance of life comes the romance of death and the romance of life eternal, lived with kindred spirits and with a God of love, of youth, and of infinite power." OUTWITTED He drew a circle that shut me out— Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout. But Love and I had the wit to win: We drew a circle and took him in! UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON LIBRARY Date Due . ... ip. ,.= ,-, • 4 ...... ..._ , , nCtIV154e7- r.'"•-• "".7.1 - , i 4 , "...„Z...jrr— lieugi971,,:--s.J suv AUG 1 i9it EQ. j . t, ry.7.r•!, , •,,,,, , , ,.-,r...-7,1,rt - . .. . .. ......‘ ...,-;"- I ,3 er`..u, _1.) 4*i-- l i i Di! : .i,,..,..i , 979.53 L8lor 1 1111 11111 I III 1[11 3 9352 011710 5 7 F880 .L83 1928 Suzzallo/Allen Stacks