CHAPTER I.
From the Mississippi to the Columbia.
My father was born in Lexington, Kentucky, my mother in East Tennessee, but from the time of my earliest recollection we had been living on the Osage river in Missouri. Our house stood in the edge of the woods which skirted the river bank. The prairie country from the house lay westward and up and down the river, and was vast in extent. Our house was of hewed logs closely joined together, and the spaces between were filled with limestone mortar. There were two buildings, one story and a half, under one roof, and a porch on the west side of the building; there was a hewn stone fireplace and a chimney for each building. There were two doors and probably four windows opening on the porch, and a door towards the river, opening on a short walk to the small house containing, a loom where cloth was woven. Near the river were several corncribs in a row, and sheds for stock. West of the house was a large corn field, cotton and tobacco patches, and garden. I have no recollection of any orchard, probably because as yet it had not supplied me with any fruit. Of forest trees, between the house and river, I can name the hickory of three kinds: black, shellbark, and pignut, the last producing a soft-shelled nut. This variety grew between the dwelling house and the corncribs. Several large walnut trees grew between the corncribs and the river; a very large bur-oak, also water oaks, persimmon and slippery elm, and sycamore trees, grew along the margin of the river. Of timber classed as brush, there were red-bud, sassafras, willow, line-bark and hazel. I saw red cedar, chinquapin oak, pawpaw, and pecan trees growing on the other side of the river. In the autumn season we always gathered several bushels of walnuts, pecan and hickory nuts. There was a wild plum of this country which for sweetness was equal to the petite prune, while its flavor was superior. When ripe it was pale yellow, but frosted over with a white, flour-like substance. It was a size larger than the petite prune. Wild grapes of good quality were plentiful; a wild vineyard of the kind called Summer Grape grew along the brow of a hill about a mile from the house and in a "ruff." The ripe berry was black, nearly as large as the domestic catawba, and as sweet and well flavored as that grape. But there was an herb growing in the woods, the root of which became so firmly fixed in my memory, that should I live to the age attained by Moses of old, I would not forget it. It was known as "Injun Fizic" (Indian physic), the technical name of the plant being epecaquane. Its usefulness as a medicine was learned from the natives. A dose of this physic brewed from the root, for a boy, was a tin cup full; it was brought to the patient at bed time steaming hot and as black as coffee; no cream, sugar or salt, or anything else was put into the liquid, lest it might modify its perfect nastiness. When the boy saw the cup, and a whiff from the odors of the contents took his breath, he was seized with a fit of trembling more or less violent, and cold sweat appeared on his forehead, hut kind hands now supported him, and encouraging words somewhat restored him, and it was considered that he was now prepared for the worst. Whereupon he was seized by the nose, and when, in gasping for breath, his mouth flew open, the physic was poured down his throat. The boy now, not being able to stand, was put to bed. I have thought that if Socrates instead of the cup of hemlock, had had to take a dose of "Injin Fizic," he would have concluded to take the advice of his friends, when they told him arrangements had been made, so that he could escape from Greece to another country where he could live in safety, and besought him to embrace this opportunity to save his life. The probabilities are that the old philosopher would have skipped, not to save his life, but to avoid the dose.
In those days nothing was accepted as medicine unless it were offensive to the taste, and disagreeable to the stomach, and the more offensive and nauseating, the greater its medicinal virtues were supposed to be, therefore there was no discount on "Injin Fizic" as a medicine. The opinion also seems to have been general that the surest way to cure a man of disease was to reduce him almost to the point of death; that the less life there was left in a man, the less disease there would be. Where the disease was said to he in the blood, the blood was to be drawn off, leaving enough blood in the body to keep the spark of life burning until new blood could be supplied. In those days I think it would have been difficult to find a man or woman without scars from the lance.
Wild turkeys were plentiful in the woods and we often heard them calling and gobbling near the house; they were highly prized as a game bird and a hunter could generally bag all he wanted in a few hours. I often trapped for quail and other small game; the trap was a small box made of boards set up on triggers in such a way that pulling at the bait, which was attached to one of the triggers, would allow the box to fall and enclose the game. One morning I found a rabbit had been in the trap but had gnawed out and made its escape. What surprised me though, was the great size of the hole he had cut in one side of the trap to crawl out at; it was large enough for a coyote. He doubtless considered himself much larger than he was. I knew it was a rabbit by the tracks on the snow. At another time I visited my trap, and looking through the cracks from the top of the box, discovered I had caught a red bird, about the size of a jay bird. I was delighted when I saw what I had caught, for it is a very pretty bird and I had often wished I had one; so I raised one side of the trap just enough to allow me to put my right hand under and seize the bird. The bird, though, was quicker than I, for he seized me first with both his feet and made a swipe at my thumb with his beak, taking out quite a slice. His claws were like crooked thorns, his bill was as sharp as a tack, and cut like a pair of scissors. I took hold of the bird with my left hand, but could not get it to let go of my right. While it dug its claws into my hand, it worked with its bill on my thumb and fingers, but I soon stayed the havoc he was making with his beak by securing his head with my left hand, grasping very lightly though, so as not to aggravate him. This much accomplished, I could do no more. The situation had become desperate. I would have gladly surrendered and given the bird his freedom, but the fight was on and I could not get the enemy off my hands. Realizing now that I must have help, I ran to the house, which was not over a hundred and fifty yards away, holding the bird up as if for exhibition. As soon as I got into the house the folks seeing my bloody hands and agonized pose of countenance, came promptly to my assistance, and by carefully withdrawing each talon, as though it had been a thorn in the flesh, succeeded in separating me and my prize. I was told afterwards that they managed to give the bird its freedom without it causing further bloodshed. That ended the sport.
My brothers, Elisha and Warren, the first about four and the second about two years older than I was, and James, a cousin about the age of Warren and myself, were often about the river fishing, wading, wallowing in the mud, and sand, and trying to swim. And yet I think we were often advised and even commanded not to go in swimming, as there was danger of being drowned.
One early spring day, the snow and ice were melting, and a rivulet which poured into the river near the house, was full of roaring and foaming muddy water, of course about as cold as ice itself. But the sun was shining quite warm and we boys were having a jolly time, wading and floundering around in the angry waters. The excitement had thrown us off our guard, and we were taken with a sudden surprise and almost overcome with a feeling of wretchedness when we discovered mother standing on the bank among our clothes, with a long switch in her hand. No threat or punishment or cry of despair was heard above the dashing waters, but every boy, blue and numb as he was with cold, stuck his toes and fingers into the muddy bank and made a dash for his clothes. But I do not think we were much afraid of actual punishment, although fairly caught in an act of disobedience, for I had never known mother to cause a child to suffer pain, however alarming her threats might have been. If she had been stern enough to punish us, as she probably believed she would, surely this was her great opportunity, for we were naked and, being thoroughly wet, could not get into our shirts. My brother Elisha had thrust his head and hands into his shirt, and though he made frantic efforts to get under cover, the garment stuck fast. Mother probably considering him the most responsible party, thought she would make an example of him and actually gave him a swipe across the shoulders with the switch, which made him dance around and redouble his comical efforts to get his shirt on. But the ridiculous and pitiful spectacle had now overcome her resolution, and a smile was seen to start at the corners of her mouth, a harbinger of mercy our eyes were not slow to detect. She finally assisted us in getting into our clothes, and then warned us that the NEXT time we would be punished to the full extent of the law.
My mother bribed me with wild plums to go to school. I rode to school on the teacher's shoulders, sitting astride of his neck. I was wearing my first trousers with suspenders; it was play time at school, and the teacher happened to be a fiddler as well as a pedagogue. I never had seen or heard a fiddle before. While he was playing I ventured to approach very near the instrument, thinking I would be able to account for the wonderful and strange voice issuing from the flat box with the crooked neck; but I could not, and trembling with fear said, "Where does the noise come from?" Some one answered, "The devil makes the noise." Frightened almost into fits, I fled from the house, and running down the hillside probably thirty yards, took refuge in a small cave where was a spring. Some of the children came after me and by assuring me that the devil was gone, persuaded me to return to the house.
The school house was a rough log cabin, and had a fire place and flue built of rocks, clay, and sticks. The children used to pick clay out of the logs and eat it. When I came out of the cave, I looked up, and on the top of the little hill, about thirty feet above the cave, I saw a man standing. He was not a white man nor a negro; as I see him now in memory, he was dressed in buckspin and carried a tomahawk in his belt. They said he was an Osage Indian. Before we started to Oregon I saw a few other Indians, said to be Osages. They looked like the first one I had seen. They were hunting horses.
It seems to me now that for a long time before we started to Oregon, the journey was talked of. Of course I did not know anything about Oregon. Oregon was, in my mind, a country a long way off, and I understood that to get there we would have to travel through a country swarming with wild Indians who would try to kill us with tomahawks and scalp us. Some girl cousins, older than I, would take a coffee cup after drinking the coffee, and turn the mouth down, and after it had set a short time, look into it for pictures of future scenes. This was often done and we thought we could see covered wagons and Indians scalping women and children. How little we guessed of what the future held in store for that train of courageous people. Little did we dream of the weary days and weeks and months of that long and toilsome march towards the land of the setting sun, a test of courage of soul. I give here a list of names of heads of families and of young men considered old enough to do a grown man's work. This is a copy made from the original roll which was made by a young man of the party, J. W. Nesmith, afterwards Senator from Oregon. There were several hundred in the train, men, women and children, who started on that half year's journey in the spring of 1843 into an unknown country, down through the valleys, across the trackless plains, and over lofty mountains, always on the watch for savage foes; with a courage almost sublime they toiled on towards the promised land, and in the end,
An empire that shall last for evermore."
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Applegate, Jesse Applegate, Charles Applegate, Lindsay Athey, Wm. Atkinson, Jno. Arthur, Wm. Arthur, Robert Arthur, David Butler, Anson Brooks, Geo. Burnette, Peter H. Bird, David Brown, Thomas A. Blivens, Alex Brooks, John P. Brown, Martin Brown, Oris Black, J. P. Bane, Layton Baker, Andrew Baker, John G. Beagle, Wm. Boyd, Levi Baker, Wm. Biddle, Nicholas |
Beale, Geo. Braidy, Jas. Beadle, Geo. Broadman Baldridge, Wm. Carson, F. C. Carson, Jas. Chapman, Wm. Cox, Jno. Champ, Jacob Cooper, L. C. Cone, Jas. Childers, Moses Carey, Miles Cochran, Thos. Clyman, L. Copenhaver, Jno. Caton, J. H. Chappel, Alfred Cronin, Daniel Cozine, Samuel Constable, Benedict Childs, Jos. Clark, Ransom Campbell, Jno. G. |
Chapman Chas, Jas. Dodd, Solomon Dement, W. C. Dougherty, W. P. Day, Wm. Duncan, Jas. Dorin, Jacob Davis, Thos. Delany, Daniel Delany, Daniel, Jr. Delany, Wm. Doke, Wm. Davis, J. H. Davis, Burrell Dailey, Geo. Doherty, Jno. Dawson Eaton, Chas. Eaton, Nathan Etchell, Jas. Emerick, Solomon Eaker, Jno. W. Edson, E. G. Eyres, Miles |
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East, Jno. W. Everman, Ninimon Ford, Ninevah Ford, Ephram Ford, Nimrod Ford, Jno. Francis, Alexander Frazier, Abner Fowler, Wm. Fowler, W. J. Fowler, Wm. Fairly, Stephen Fendall, Chas. Gaunt, Jno. Gray, Chiley B. Garrison, Enoch Garrison, J. W. Garrison, W. J. Gardner, Wm. Gardner, Samuel Gilmore, Watt Goodman, Richard Gilpin, Major Gray Haggard, B. Hide, W. W. Holmes, Wm. Holmes, Riley A. Hobson, Jno. Hobson, Wm. Hembre, Andrew Hembre, A. J. Hembre, Jas. Hall, Samuel B. Houk, Jas. Hughes, W. P. Hendricks, Abijah Hays, Jas. Hensley, Thos. J. Hollery, B. Hunt, Henry Holderness, S. M. Hutchins, Isaac Husted, A. Hess, Joseph Haren, Jacob Howell, Jno. Howell, Wm. Howell, Wesley Howell, G. W. |
Howell, Thos. E. Hill, Henry Hill, Wm. Hill, Almoran Hewitt, Henry Hargrove, Wm. Hoyt, A. Hoiman, Daniel Harrigas, B. James, Calvin Jackson, Jno. B. Jones, Jno. Johnson, Overton Keyser, Thos. Keyser, I. B. Keyser, Pleasant Kelley Kelsey Lovejoy, A. L. Lenox, Edward Lenox, E. Layson, Aaron Looney, Jesse Long, Jno. Lee, H. A. G. Legur, F. Linebarger, Jno. Laswill, Isaac Loughborough, J. Little, Milton Luther Lauderdale, Jno. McGee Martin, Jas. Martin, Julius McClellan, Alex. McClellan, F. Mills, Jno. B. Mills, Isaac Mills, Wm. A. Mills, Owen McGarey, G. W. Mondon, Gilbert Matheny, Daniel Matheny, Adam Matheny, J. N. Matheny, Josiah Matheny, Henry Mastire, A. J. McHaley, Jno. |
Myer, Jacob Manning, Jno. Manning, Jas. McCarver, M. M. McCorde, Geo. Mays, Wm. Miliican, Elijah McDaniel, Wm. McKissie, D. Malone, Madison McClane, Jno. B. Mauzee, Wm. Mclntire, Jno. Moore, Jackson Matney, J. W. Nesmith, J. W. Newby, W. T. Neuman, Noah Naylor, Thos. Osborn, Neil O'Brien, Hugh D. O'Brien, Humphry Owen, Thos. A. Owen, Thos. Otie, E. W. Otie, M. B. O'Neil, Bennett Olinger, A. Parker, Jesse Parker, Wm. Pennington, I. B. Poe, R. A. Paynter, Samuel Patterson, I. R. Pickett, Chas. E. Prigg, Fred Paine, Clayborn Reading, P. B. Rogers, G. W. Russell, Wm. Roberts, Jas. Rice, G. W. Richardson, Jno. Richardson, Daniel Ruby, Philip Ricord, Jno. Reid, Jacob Roe, Jno. Roberts, Solomon Roberts, Emseley |
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Rossin, Jno. Rives, Thos. Smith, Thos. H. Smith, Thos. Smith, Isaac W. Smith, Anderson Smith, A. Smith, Robert Smith, Eli Sheldon, Wm. Stewart, P. G. Sutton, Dr. Nathan'l Stimmerman, C. Sewell, Henry Sharp, C. Summers, W. C. Stout, Henry Stout Stirling, Geo. Stevenson Story, Jas. |
Swift Shively, Jno. M. Shively, Samuel Stoughton, Alexan'r Spencer, Chancy Strait, Hiram Summers, Geo. Stringer, Cornelius Stringer, C. W. Tharp, Lindsey Thomas, Jno. Trainor, D. Teller, Jeremiah Tarbox, Stephen Umnicker, Jno. Vance, Samuel Vaughn, Wm. Vernon, Geo. Wilmot, Jas. Wilson, Wm. H. Wair, J. W. |
Winkle, Archibald Williams, Edward Wheeler, H. Wagner, Jno. Williams, Benj. Williams, David Williams, Jno. Williams, Jas. Williams, Squire Williams, Isaac Wilson, Wm. Ward, T. B. White, Jas. Watson, Jno (Belly) Walters, Jas. Winter, Wm. Waldo, Daniel Waldo, David Waldo, Wm. Zachary, Alexander Zachary, Jno. |
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The day we started on our journey to Oregon, I do not remember, but before we reached the Caw River I can call to mind Harmony Mission, and Grand River, as being the name of a place and river on or near our route. But I do not remember seeing any mission or river. We came up on the south side of the Caw River and camped below and near an Indian town of the Caw tribe. There were huts and cabins ranging along the river on either side of a street. It was said those Indians grew corn, beans, and pumpkins. I admired several of the Indian men I saw here. They were more than six feet tall, straight, and moved with a proud step; wore blankets drawn around their shoulders, and leggins. Their hair was shorn to the scalp, except something like a rooster's comb on top of the head, colored red. I remember standing and gazing up into the face of one of those tall Indians, probably to see if he were a good or bad Indian. I was not afraid of them. I had lived near the Osage River and I saw that the Caw River looked to be hardly half as wide. The current was slow and the water I thought was very deep. The men in some way made the wagon boxes water tight and used them as boats. In crossing the river the Indians assisted our people in swimming our cattle and horses. I noticed that the Indians did not swim like white men, but with an overhanded stroke, "dog-fashion," they said. Those Indians were friendly and accommodating. They told us we would soon reach the country of the Cheyennes and Pawnees, and that they were had Indians.
One afternoon, when the sun seemed to be about three hours high, and we were traveling along at an ox-team gait, over a level prairie, John East, a good, honest man, also from Missouri, who was walking and driving his team, was told that we were then crossing the Missouri line, whereupon, he turned about facing the east, pulled off his slouched hat, and waving it above his head said, "Farewell to America!"
I think it was the second day after we had crossed the Caw River, we met a war party of Caws, marching afoot, about a hundred of them, painted and feathered, and armed with bows, spears, war-clubs, tomahawks and knives. Some were wounded and limping, some with blood on faces, arms in slings, and bandages around their heads. They seemed to be tired and in a hurry. They told us they had been out on a buffalo hunt and had been attacked by a war party of the Pawnees, and had a fight with them, but that they had defeated the Pawnees and killed many of them. That evening or the next, we reached the battle ground, and went into camp. Several dead Indians were found, and I heard men say they were Caws. If they were, the Caws were defeated, else they would not have left their dead.
There was a Mexican in the train, who cut off an Indian's hand at the wrist and hung it on a stake about three feet high in the encampment. I saw it hanging there myself, and was afraid of it, for I saw it was a man's hand. An indignation meeting was the result of this ghastly exhibition, and the Mexican was compelled to leave the company.
On this long journey there were many days of marching and camping, of which I have no recollection. Often, I remember, in the afternoon we were traveling toward the setting sun, and that is all I can recall of the day or days; and I can not remember places in the order in which we came to them, but the next that comes to my mind is Ash Hollow, which appeared to be only a depression in the usually level plain, where were scattered ash timber trees. It appears to me now that after we crossed Ash Hollow a prairie stretched away to the west, and as we traveled along, making a wagon road through the high grass (it was now early summer), we saw at a distance of probably a mile, a lone horseman galloping across the prairie. They said he was a Pawnee on a pony and that he had small bells in his ears. I thought I could hear them ring.
In this part of the country we crossed the Big and Little Blue Rivers; the Little was small and the Big not a large river. I had heard of the Blue Rivers many days before we reached them, and expected to find the water really blue, and my recollection now is that the water was of a blue color. Which we crossed first, the Little or Big, I don't remember. We arrived at the Big Blue about sundown, and forded the stream. It was not deep, as I remember it. We went into camp on the west shore not far from the river. The weather was fair, and early in the evening I went to bed in a tent with an old man of the name of Alexander McClellan, whom I will now introduce to you. He came to our house in Missouri when I was quite an infant, too young to remember when he came. But I was told that when he came I was almost dead with a fever. The old man was familiar with the herbs and roots used by the Indians in sickness, and at once took charge of me and soon restored me to health. He was then between sixty and seventy years of age; had been a soldier, had been crossed in love and never married. The first tune I learned was of a song he sometimes sang when he had me on his knee. It was called "The Rosetree." This is the first verse:
"A rosetree in full bearing
Had sweet flowers fair to see;
One rose beyond comparing
For beauty attracted me."
Well, I went to bed with the old man, "Uncle Mack," we called him. I had always slept with him before my earliest recollections, when he was with us, as he almost always was. How long I had slept I do not know, but some time during the night, I suddenly awoke. The rain was pouring down into my face, my eyes were blinded with the glare of lightning, the wind was roaring like a furnace, and the crash of thunder was terrible and almost continuous. I could see nothing hut what looked like sheets of fire, and hear nothing but the wind, the pouring rain, and the bellowing thunder. For a minute I was dazed and could not realize the situation, and before I had fairly recovered my senses. Uncle Mack picked me up and put me into the hind end of a covered wagon, and I well remember scrambling around in there among pack saddles, etc. I remember no more of this night, but in the morning the little river had overflowed its banks and the encampment was flooded.
The next object that seems to have claimed my boyish attention and a place on the tablet of memory, was Independence Rock. It was just beyond a small stream which seemed to wind around its base. We passed quite near it and though I can now see the picture of it on the pages of memory, I cannot describe it in a way satisfactorily to myself, but it looked to be oval on top and in the highest part quite smooth and slick, as I imagined, so that a person would slide off it. It was of a light gray color, as high as a house at the middle, tapering down both ways, and as long as a city block.
A man by the name of Lovejoy came to us some where in this part of the country, telling what I thought was a very funny story. He was traveling with a party of trappers, he said, and they had camped in the neighborhood of Independence Rock. Mr. Lovejoy went to explore and examine it, and while there he was marking his name on the rock and just as he was writing "joy" a party of skulking Indians captured him. They took him to the encampment of his party and sold him to his friends for ammunition and tobacco. Mr. Lovejoy was a very clever and good looking young man and wore a slouch hat. He joined our party and came through to Oregon.
It seems that the next object that made a lasting impression on my memory as we traveled westward was Fort Laramie, of the American Fur Company. I remember seeing the fort as we approached it. It looked white and that is about all I remember about it.
I think we were now traveling through the country of the Platte rivers, a country of level plains it now seems to me and very little timber. We saw many herds of buffalo, some grazing quietly on the prairies, and others marching, and moving and bellowing, and the great herds making a roaring noise as they tramped along, a half mile or a mile away.
Of the Platte rivers there were the South Platte, Laramie's Fork, and the North Platte. At times we traveled along the banks of the rivers, which were low, and the water often seemed spread over a wide surface and shallow. The pasturage was fresh and abundant, and I do not remember that we endured great hardships journeying through this part of the country. Buffalo and small game were plentiful and the men had great sport hunting. We had an abundance of buffalo meat and venison. Sometimes buffaloes were found among our cattle of mornings, quietly grazing with them. One day as we were traveling along the bank of one of the Platte rivers, a buffalo was seen swimming the river and coming in the direction of the train. Some of the men got their guns and when he came up the bank attacked and finally killed him near the wagons, but they had to shoot so many times to bring him down that the firing sounded like quite a battle. I think they said he was an old bull. He had very large shoulders rising to a hump, which was covered with long dark hair, and he had a very ugly burly head. I thought him a very dangerous looking beast. While traveling through this country of rivers and broad plains, we were, as I remember, never out of sight of wild game.
I remember crossing two Platte rivers. One crossing where we forded, the river seemed to he very wide and quite rapid; the water was so deep in places that it ran into the wagon boxes and a single team and wagon would have been swept away, so they formed the entire train in single file, and attached the teams and wagons to a chain extending through the entire length of the train. The crossing here severely tried the courage and endurance of the men, for they waded the river alongside their oxen, at times clinging to the ox yokes, and swimming; at some deep places the teams seemed to swim and the wagons to float, being held up and in line by the chain to which they were attached.
Whether at this crossing or another, I do not remember, but at one place where we forded one of the rivers, mother, myself, and the other children were in a wagon, which we called the "little red wagon;" it was drawn by one yoke of oxen, and it appears to me now that our wagon was attached to the last end of the train. As we were just getting up the bank from the ford our team broke loose and wagon and team backed into the river. Being swept below the ford, the team swam and the wagon sank down, and was drifting on the sand; and I remember the water came rushing into the wagon box to my waist, compelling me to scramble up on to the top of a trunk or something of the kind. But several men came to our assistance immediately, and swimming, held up the wagon, and soon assisted us to the shore. Probably this was at the fording of the North Platte.
It seems to me now that the next point of note on our route was Fort Bridger, but I do not call to mind the appearance of the buildings or anything happening thereabout, unless it was the great number of Sioux Indians I saw either at this fort or at Laramie. I saw several very pretty squaws with cheeks painted red, wearing beaded moccasins and beautiful red leggings, fringed along the outer seams. Some of them had papooses almost white and very pretty. Some were wives of white men at the fort, and some belonged to the great war party I saw there mustering to fight the Blackfeet. As I remember this army of Sioux warriors, they were all mounted on nice horses, bucks and squaws all painted about the face, and armed with bows and arrows encased in quivers slung at the back. Some had spears, some war clubs, but no guns, or if any, very few. This war party, as I see the picture now, looking back sixty years, marching or halting in close array, covered several acres of prairie. It was a gay and savage looking host, and sometimes when a squadron of those warriors would break away from the main body and come toward us shouting the war whoop, urging their ponies at full speed, I thought it a grand display indeed, although I fancied I could feel the hair rise on my head. Several of the Amazons of this war party visited our encampment. They were dressed and painted and armed like the men. Some of them were very fine of figure, had pretty faces, and eyes as soft and bright as the antelopes on those wild plains. They were all young women, and as I thought made love to our young men with their eyes like city damsels, but in the excitement of battle I suppose they became very furies and those lovely eyes flashed fire. Their small, shapely hands and small feet clad in beaded moccasins were admired even by our women, and I fear our men, bold as they were, were almost captured already by those lovely warriors.
The train had been moving along westward across a level country for days it may have been, where no tree was to be seen, but looking ahead, far in the distance I saw a bush, which as we moved along, continued to grow until the shades of evening began to darken into night and we went into camp. In the morning about the first object that attracted my attention was that bush, which now appeared to have grown to be quite a sapling. By noon it had grown to be a tree, and about sunset we were under its branches, and, I believe, went into camp near it. It was a very large pine tree, the round straight trunk towering up like a great column and supporting a spreading top. This was the "Lone Pine." For several years after I could hear of the Lone Pine from immigrants following our trail, but later I was told that it had been cut down for fire wood.
I can remember incidents, places, and things that I find I cannot locate. In attempting to do so I may be three hundred miles off. Where was Chimney Rock? Somewhere on the plains. It was near the line of march and we could see it, it seems to me, for several days before we passed near it. At first we could only see a pinnacle afar off, looking much like a chimney flue or church steeple, but as we traveled on, it appeared to be somewhat divided into two or three points at the top, but one pinnacle was much higher than the others. Nearer, we could see that the chimney-like pinnacles were on the top of a mountain or high hill, and that beyond and not far from it was an irregular range of mountains. I could not form an opinion as to the heighth of this Chimney Rock, but it seemed to me to touch the sky. We went into camp not far from it, as we supposed. Some of the young men that evening visited the Rock and returned quite late at night. They declared it was ten miles away. Immigrants afterwards told me that Chimney Rock had continued to crumble and fall away from year to year until now there is scarcely anything left of that unique and far-famed land mark.
We must have traveled across vast stretches of almost level country where there were no forests of timber and, in fact, where there was very little timber. Where we camped we sometimes had to use small willows for firewood, such as we found growing along the margin of streams and about springs. At other times, and quite often too, we had no wood of any kind and used "buffalo chips" for fuel. What we called "buffalo chips" was the dried dung of the buffalo.
I had quite an adventure one evening while gathering "buffalo chips." Several of us boys were out from camp some little distance, picking them up and throwing them into piles. Our party had a pile and other parties had their piles, and as we were not far apart, it seems that we had claimed certain small districts adjacent to our respective stacks of chips, and we had to guard against trespassers. We were working hard and had become considerably excited, when I remember, a boy about my size with yellow sun burnt hair and freckled face (at that time I thought he had scales or scabs on his face), came over into our district and attempted to get away with a large chip, but I caught him in the act and threw another into his face with such violence as to knock off a scale and make the blood come. I think I was urged to this by the elder boys, for I remember they laughed, when I could see nothing to laugh about.
I think it was in this part of the country we found the prairie dog towns. The prairie dogs seemed to prefer city life, for we always found them living in towns and cities. The population of some of their cities I should think was as great as that of Greater New York. The dog is about the size of a very young puppy dog. As we would pass through or near their towns they would come out of their holes and sit up straight on their hind quarters, always near their burrow, and utter something like a yelp, or so it seemed to me, and on the slightest alarm drop into their holes. I saw owls sitting among them, and it was said that prairie dogs, owls, and rattlesnakes lived together in the same holes.
It seems that matches were not in use when we crossed the plains, for I remember that to get fire at times a man would rub a cotton rag in powder and shoot it out of a musket, or put it in the pan of a flint-lock gun, and then explode the powder in the pan; often a flint steel and punk were used. I think many of the guns were flint-locks, but I know some were what they called percussion, with nipple and cap; they were all muzzle loaders.
Antelope and long-eared rabbits were everywhere. Father had two black dogs called grey hounds; they were very fast runners, and could soon pick up a rabbit, but when they chased an antelope it was quite different. One day an antelope had in some way been separated from the herd, and ran through the train. One of the dogs. Fleet by name, pursued the antelope, and the chase led across a level plain. The black dog as he sped on with all his might, looked like a crane flying along the plain. We were all excited, for the dog was gaining on the antelope at every bound, and would no doubt soon overtake him. The dog thought so too, for when he was within a few yards of the antelope and expected in another bound or two to seize his prey, he gave a yelp, but that yelp seems to have been a fatal mistake, for that antelope, in a few seconds after that bark, was fifty yards away from the dog, and flying over the plain as if he had been shot out of a gun. He actually passed over many yards before we could see the dust rise behind him. The dog was so astounded that he stopped short, and after gazing at the antelope for a moment, no doubt amazed beyond expression, turned about and trotted back to the train. It was said that dog would never chase an antelope afterwards.
At another time we were traveling over a level plain and on our right hand many miles away, were high mountain ridges, almost of uniform height, and almost or quite devoid of timber, stretching away southeasterly in the direction, as I have since imagined or been told, of Yellowstone Park. They said these were the Wind River Mountains. While we were traveling in sight of them there was a continuous and disagreeable wind blowing, which I in some way associated with the name of the mountains.
I cannot now locate the great sage plains, as we called them, but they were vast in extent and not well watered. In crossing them, at times we traveled until late at night to reach water, and a few times we had to camp without it. Those plains were thickly set wtih sage brush and greasewood shrubs, growing, generally nearly waist high to a man, and as we had no wagon road to follow, we had to break a road through this shrubbery. It was hard service for the teams in the lead, so the strongest teams were put in the van, but these were changed every day. Part of the time we followed a train for pack animals and horsemen.
One day, as the train was slowly tramping along over a wide plain, a party of horsemen appeared in our front about a mile from us, coming down a little hill toward us. A man of our party was riding a quarter of a mile in advance of the train when those horsemen came in sight, and he, supposing them to be a party of hostile Indians, came galloping back, lashing his horse with his hat, which he carried in his right hand, and shouting at the top of his voice, "Injuns! Injuns! Corral! Corral! Corral!" The corral was soon formed and all in readiness to do battle, but there was some excitement and confusion. I was at that time in the little red wagon with mother, and I noticed she had a bright brass pistol in her hand. I think I did not know before that she had a pistol. I looked at her face and I thought she was a little pale but not scared. The party we thought were Indians soon came up to us. They were mountain men or trappers, so the train was soon on the march again.
I remember one afternoon, when the teams were tired and some of the oxen limping with sore feet, I was looking far away in the direction we were traveling, across a dreary sage plain, to all appearances extending to the end of the earth, and I got to wondering where we were trying to get to, and asked the question, when someone said, "To Oregon." I did not know any more but was satisfied. I think I made up my mind then and there not to ask that question any more, but to wait and not draw out that answer, which afforded me no information. To me, "Oregon" was a word without meaning.
After traveling a long way, it seems to me over a vast level country almost without timber, we saw broken country and hills far away in the direction we were traveling, and I heard it remarked that somewhere in the hilly country we could begin to see, was the Sweetwater River. This was good news to me, for I fancied that when we got to that river I would have all the sweet water I could drink. When we came to the river, which was a small shallow stream flowing gently along over yellow sands, I ran down to the water's edge, and bending over, resting on my hands, took a drink of the water, but was greatly disappointed, for the water was very common indeed, and not sweet. As I remember when we forded this river, hill slopes, not steep, came down near the river on the left hand and the water was flowing to the right.
The color name of the next river that comes to mind interested me somewhat, too. I was anxious to see it. The name was Green River, but when we came to it the water was of a white crystal clearness, and not a dark green river, as I had expected to see it, running across the country like a broad green ribbon. It was small and easily forded.
It seems to me now that for several hundred miles of travel through this part of the country, there was scarcely anything so unusual in incident or accident or feature of the country as to make a lasting impression on my memory.
The Soda Springs seem to come next in the order of my recollection. We camped very near one of these springs and nearly a quarter of a mile from Bear River, a rapid stream about the width of Green River. Here we met Fremont, with his party, and I thought their large tent, which was spread, near our encampment, a very nice affair. There was a soda spring or pool between the camps, and Fremont's men were having a high time drinking soda water. They were so noisy that I suspected they had liquor stronger than soda water mixed with the water. Fremont had a cannon, the first I had ever seen, a six-pounder, they said, and made of bright shining brass. It was resting on a low carriage, which was standing between our camp and Fremont's, and near the soda spring. I admired this cannon very much and examined it very closely several times. I discovered a touch hole near the breech, and looking in at the muzzle could see the ball, or thought I could. After Fremont's men had been drinking soda water from that spring, and enjoying it greatly nearly a whole day, one of our company fished out an enormous frog from the pool, almost as large as a young papoose, and falling to pieces with rottenness. Soon after this discovery we noticed that the hilarity at the Fremont tent suddently ceased. I thought Fremont was a very fine looking young man. In fact all his party were pretty well dressed, and jolly fellows. I don't remember seeing Fremont and his party at any other place than this soda spring.
We probably remained at this camp a day or two. Some of the women improved the opportunity offered by plenty of hot water here at the springs to wash a few things. While at this camp, some of our party visited the river, and found near the bank of the stream, a spouting soda spring. Like all the geysers, it threw up water convulsively. This spring would heave up about every three or four minutes. The mouth of this spring was at the top of a rim-like formation raised up about eight inches from the common level. This rim was composed of deposit from the water. The mouth was nearly a foot across, and nearly or quite round. There were puffs of steam issuing from the mouth. Also eight or ten feet from the mouth there was a hole in the ground four or five inches across, and whenever the spring went into convulsions and commnced throwing up water, gusts of hot steam and spray would issue from this hole with a noise like that from the escape pipe of a boiler. This hole evidently connected with the spring. The boys seemed to regard it as of more interest than the spring. Some tried to keep it from puffing by closing it with sods and with grass, but whenever the spasm came the caulking would be thrown out. One young man had a wool hat which he placed over the hole, and held there with his hands and knees planted firmly on the brim. This I suppose was generally regarded as a "corker," but when the puff came, the hat crown stretched for a moment and then burst at the top. This spring was called the Steamboat Spring; it puffed like a steamboat.
As we returned from this spring to our camp, we passed by a rock or some compact substance, standing up six or seven feet above the ground, of funnel shape, three feet across or more, and nearly the same at top and bottom. I think it was as hollow as a gun, and I saw there was a hole in one side. This was the "Bellowing Rock," for we were told that at one time it bellowed like a bull. How long since it had bellowed I did not learn, but I visited this, to me, inspiring rock, twice, while at our soda spring camp, and stood a long time near it, listening and thinking it might conclude to bellow again. I remember very little else about this part of the country, but it seems to me the face of the country was broken and in many places rocky. There were also some scrubby trees, probably red cedars and hard pine of stunted growth, among the rocks. From Soda Springs to Fort Hall I can recall nothing.
At Fort Hall we were probably in camp a day or two. Captain Grant was in command at the fort. It was a Hudson Bay trading post, and a resort for trappers, mountain men, Indians of probably the Shoshone or Snake tribes, and other Indians. The fort was built of sun-dried bricks, "adobe." The walls were solid on the outside except for portholes and a gate or two. There was a square court inside, and the houses opened facing this square on the four sides. I visited the people in the fort with mother and other folks, and found women and children living there. They were very kind and sociable. I think the women living there were Indians or mixed bloods. I noticed some very pretty moccasins and other garments of deer and antelope skin, tanned and dressed. The garments were ornamented with needle work, beads, and porcupine quills, of different colors, the moccasins having red and blue colored instep pieces. Those women wore bracelets of gold or brass on their wrists, broad rings of gold or brass on their fingers, and a profusion of bright colored, mostly red, ribbons on their garments. Those bright colors I thought were in beautiful contrast with the brown skin and glossy black hair of the women. Between the visitors and these women and children conversation was very difficult, but by the use of signs and a few words, all parties managed to make themselves agreeable.
There had been no wagons beyond this fort, and I think it was the opinion of the people here that it would not be practicable to take them further; that we had better leave the wagons and resort to pack animals, but the emigrants, after a thorough investigation of the subject, determined to move on with the wagons.
Though there was no scarcity of wild game, there was a very large and fat ox slaughtered here by the emigrants. I don't know whether they had bought the ox of the people of the fort, or whether the people had made us a. present of him. But he was slaughtered, about one hundred yards from camp, and during the afternoon, we boys were at the place where the ox had been killed, and found the stomach or paunch, as we called it, lying there on the ground; the weather being warm, it was swollen to the size of a large barrel. The game we played there with the stomach of the ox was both original and uncanny, and I am sure we never played it afterwards, for it very nearly ended in a tragedy. The sport consisted in running and butting the head against the paunch and being bounced back, the recoil being in proportion to the force of contact. The sport was found to be very exciting and there grew up a rivalry between the boys as to who could butt the hardest. There was a boy by the name of Andy Baker, much taller than I was; he was slender, had a long neck, and his hair was cut very near to the scalp. This boy was ambitious to excel all the others, and backed off so as to have a long run for it. He backed off much further than anyone had before, and then lowering his small head, charged the paunch at the top of his speed, and when within a couple of yards of the target, leaped up from the ground (the boys yelling, "Give her goss, Andy!"), and came down like a pile driver against the paunch, but he did not bound back. We gathered around to see what the matter was, and discovered that Andy had thrust his head into the stomach, which had closed so tightly around his neck that he could not withdraw his head. We took hold of his legs and pulled him out, but the joke was on Andy, and "Give her goss, Andy," was a favorite joke among the boys long after. I will add here that many years after we had settled in Oregon, Andy became a candidate for sheriff of Yamhill County, and I went down from Polk County, where I then lived, and told this adventure of his on the plains. Andy was elected.
And now I recall to mind a long march across a dry and level plain, thickly set with sage brush and greasewood, through which the breaking of a road was very heavy work for the now somewhat jaded teams; and the boys walking behind the wagons were frequently under the painful necessity of sitting down and pulling the thorns of the prickly pear out of their toes. This evening we traveled until late at night, probably ten o'clock, and camped as near as we could get to Snake River, for the riverbed was in a groove cut more than a quarter of a mile deep in the plain. In the morning we could see the river from our camp, so far down that it looked like a small stream. The slope down to the river was very steep, but there was bunch grass in abundance and some of our cattle were grazing on the slope and along the river. Some boys were rolling rocks down this slope into the river. They did not seem to consider the danger to cattle below them, and were enjoying the sport of seeing the large stones rush and bound down the long and steep declivity and plunge with a tremendous splash into the water, sometimes throwing water twenty-five and thirty feet high. How long this sport had been going on, I had not noticed, not having been invited to take a hand, but it was going on when the train was ready to take up the line of march. Just at that time a boy known by the name of Wame Hembre had started a large stone which went with the velocity of a cannon ball in the direction of a yearling calf grazing near the foot of the slope, and just as the rock struck the calf, Wame was heard calling it to get out of the way. Of course the calf was killed as dead as if it had been struck by a bolt of lightning.
We were now approaching the Salmon Falls in Snake River, and heard the roar of the waters a long time before we saw them. The first sound that struck my ear seemed to jar the earth like distant thunder. As we approached, many Indians were seen, and long lines of something of a red color, which I thought were clothes hung out to dry, attracted my attention; but as we came nearer I learned that those lines were salmon which the Indians were drying in the sun. The company made a halt here, whether for noon or over night, I don't remember. Many Indians visited our camp, bringing fish, both fresh and dried, which they exchanged for old clothes, and a number of them strutted around dressed in their newly acquired garments, seeming to enjoy their often absurd appearance as much as we did, for when we would laugh, they would laugh and jabber among themselves. They were almost naked, some of them quite so. When one would get a garment he would put it on at once. A naked Indian would put on a shirt and step around as though he thought himself in full dress; another would seem delighted with nothing but a vest; another big buck with only a hat on would grin and seem as pleased as if he were "dressed to kill." This was grand sport for us children, and the Indians did not seem to object to our fun at their expense. The fish which the Indians brought no doubt were very acceptable to the emigrants, as I do not remember having any before, except at Bear River, where the men caught an abundance of very large trout.
These Indians were Snakes and Shoshone, and our visit with them had been pleasant and entertaining. But in getting away from this place we had a narrow escape. We had to follow the "Devil's Backbone," and it may have been a mile or more; it is a very narrow ridge with a gorge a thousand feet deep on the left hand and a sheer preciipce on the right down to Snake River, which looked as though it might he a mile or more away. Indeed, it was so far away that it looked like a ribbon not more than four inches wide. The danger was so great that no one rode in the wagons. As I walked behind a wagon I would often look into the gorge on the left and then down to the river on the right, and as I remember it now, at many places there was not a foot to spare for the wagon wheels between the bottomless gorge on the left and the precipice down to the river on the right. It is said in the Bible, "Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life." "But wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat." But this Devil's Backbone was worse than either, for it was both narrow and crooked, and it was hard to tell what it might lead to. But we passed it in safety, and again were slowly tramping along over a broad and level expanse of sage brush and greasewood.
One afternoon somewhere in that level country, when there were only father's three wagons in the party—I think there had been a dispersion and confusion of tongues soon after passing the Devil's Backbone, and father had pulled out, preferring to face the dangers of the wilderness alone, to civil warfare—off in an easterly direction we could see horsemen coming towards us. When we first saw them, the ponies did not look larger than grasshoppers, and there were only a few of them visible, but directly more appeared in sight, and the numbers continued to increase until the plain was swarming with them. They approached us at a gallop and gathered into a hoard as they came nearer. They did not whoop nor gesticulate as they approached; they were not painted and had no weapons in their hands. They did not slacken their pace until they had completely surrounded our little party. They were in such great numbers and crowded so closely about the wagons and teams that we could not move on. But they were very friendly and we learned in some way that they were visiting us to see white women and children, for they had never seen any before. They peered into all the wagons from the ends and both sides, and caught hold of the wagon covers on the sides and raised them so they could look in. There was a host of them around the wagon I was in, lifting the sides of the cover and peeping in at mother and us children. We were not afraid of them for they all looked pleasant and much interested. Some were squaws, riding astride of saddles which had very high horns before and behind. The women's saddles were decorated with large headed brass tacks, and long flowing fringes. Some of the squaws had infants encased in sacks made of dressed hide of some kind, with a hoard attached so as to fit on and support the back of the child. They looked like cocoons of some kinds of insects and were swinging from the front horn of the saddle, like a holster pistol. There was nothing to be seen of the papoose but its little round chubby face. While they were crowding about our wagon, a squaw, with a youngster hanging to her saddle bow was trying to get a peep into the wagon when a horseman swung his horse against the child, which commenced crying. This drew forth such a volley of Snake lingo that the offender appeared very suddenly to lose all interest in the show and got away from there in a hurry. Besides a desire to see women and children, it seems they wanted tobacco, which was given in small quantities to a few, who appeared to be big Snakes. We were not detained by them more than thirty minutes, I should think. They rode away and we traveled on.
We passed through, on our way, the Rocky Mountains, but when or where I am not able to say. I do not remember climbing mountains until we came to the Blue Mountains. Several times before reaching Fort Boise I saw mountains at a distance, and at one place I saw what might have been a mountain range quite near the line of our route. A mountain almost without a tree, nearby and on our left hand seemed to ascend to the clouds, and its slope to be within a few degrees of perpendicular. The sides in many places were broken into crags, at other places, smooth. In some places were enormous gorges and canyons, dividing the immense walls and peaks. These may have been the Rocky Mountains, but I do not remember traveling through any canyon here, or over any very steep or rough country. I think we must have reached the divide or backbone of the Rocky Mountains by a very gradual ascent of hundreds of miles, seeming to be generally level, hut gradually rising. The descent though, was probably not so regular, for I remember going down several very steep and long hills.
It must have been in this part of the country that a grizzly bear was killed, and an animal they said was a mountain sheep. I did not see the carcass of the hear but I ate of the meat. I did not like it, for it seemed to be almost all fat and quite strong, of a flavor new and unpleasant to my taste. The carcass of the mountain sheep was brought into camp and I saw the animal myself, but I was disappointed in its appearance, for I could not recognize it as a sheep. The horns were like those of the ibex, and it was not covered with wool, but hair. But the flesh when cooked, I thought about as good as the best of venison.
When we arrived at Boise River we were again with a considerable company. The river we found to be about a hundred yards wide, quite rapid, and too deep to ford, though the banks were low and not precipitous. How the crossing of the river here was effected I do not remember, hut it was difficult and very dangerous, and one man was drowned. When we had crossed the river, we were at Fort Boise, for the fort was near the river. It was also a Hudson Bay post. It was probably while camping in the neighborhood of this fort that we children were much surprised and delighted to find beads, generally small and white in color, in ant hills. We picked up many of them, but while searching for more presently came to a place where the ground was white with them, and looking up discovered that we were under a broad platform raised on posts seven or eight feet high, and that the platform above our heads was thickly strewn with the decayed corpses of dead Indians. We knew then where the beads came from. Many of the bodies were yet rolled up in blankets and robes. Some had been torn into fragments by carrion crows and other scavenger birds, and skulls and other bony parts of the body lay bleaching in the sun; a few had fallen to the ground. After this ghastly find we did not tarry long, for the shades of evening were now creeping along the ground, and the Bannock, Shoshone, Crow, or Blackfeet spooks may have been already congregating to hold their nightly "wake" at this Golgotha. We fled to camp with the jackrabbit speed of barefoot backwoods children, to report our strange discovery and exhibit our beads. We were greatly disappointed that our report did not create a sensation in camp and decidedly grieved that the "old folks" did not admire our beads, but reproved us for having them, and made us throw them away. I don't remember another time on the plains when I thought the parents as unreasonable as on this occasion about the beads. I felt so hurt about it that I did not sleep well that night and several times almost made up my mind to run away and go back home. I knew the place where I had thrown the beads, and had not given up hope of being allowed to get them again. For in a case when mother had all the facts before her and fairly tried the case on its merits, I regarded her judgment as very nearly infallible. So I concluded that in the morning I would very easily convince her that she had made a mistake by showing her that as the Indians who owned the beads were dead, they would have no use for them any more, and that so far as the ants were concerned, there were plenty left for them. But as the morning came, probably some new adventure diverted my thoughts from the things of the day before, for I have no further recollection of the matter of the beads.
Our family had a very strong wagon we called the meat wagon. It was heavily laden with provisions, the bulk being flour and bacon. It was drawn by a team of two yoke of oxen, driven at the time I now speak of by a man by the name of George Beale, a dark-skinned, black-eyed young man, the son of a slave owner in Missouri. Mother told me not to ride in this wagon, but one day while we were traveling through this part of the country, I was walking, as I frequently did, and climbed into this wagon and up beside the driver on the top of a skin covered trunk, which was placed against the foregate of the wagon bed. The lid of the trunk was very slick and rose several inches above the foregate. The day was warm and the oxen were walking slowly. George Beale was drowsy and in some way I got hold of the ox whip, which had a stock about five feet long, and a lash six or seven feet long. Feeling now the importance of my position as teamster, I swung the whip around and then forward with all my strength to make it pop over the oxen's backs. But the effort to jerk it back pulled me forward and I slid off the trunk, over the foregate of the wagon, and fell down between the oxen's heels, and the front wheels of the wagon, one of which ran over the small of my back. I tried to escape the hind wheel, but it rolled over my legs. I now saw the team just behind and only a few feet away, approaching me, and made several vain attempts to get on to my feet. The man driving this team was walking and, seeing me, stepped quickly forward and, picking me up, put me into a wagon. I am not now able to say whether he put me into his wagon or the one I had fallen out of. I was badly hurt and soon became very thirsty and felt very uncomfortable. It was in the afternoon, and I waited anxiously for the train to go into camp. But I think I suffered more mental than physical pain, for I had disobeyed mother and got hurt by it, and I feared that I was so badly hurt that I would not he able to conceal the fact, and mother would find out all about the accident. The disobedience did not seem to trouble me much until the danger of exposure stared me in the face, and this is not saying much for my honesty.
The train went into camp soon after sunset, I think. The place was fresh and grassy. The wagon I was in seems to have been one of the hindmost, for several wagons were already there and people were busy at their evening camp chores when we arrived. I saw mother on her knees, or sitting down, sorting some things from some baggage that had been taken out of the wagon. She was only a few yards from where our wagon stopped, and I kept an eye on her, resolving at the same time to behave myself in such a way that she would not suspect that anything unusual had happened to me in consequence of my disobedience, which probably she was already aware of. As soon as the driver had taken the team from the wagon, he lifted me out and put me down by a forewheel, to which I caught for support, as I discovered that I could not stand alone. Mother now looked over at me, but I straightened up and made a great effort to appear in fair condition as usual. When she took her eyes off me I caught hold of the front of the wagon box, and thus supporting myself, managed to reach the wagon tongue and straighten up just as mother looked at me again. My last desperate effort was to walk along the wagon tongue, having it for a support. But my scheme failed, for at that moment mother rose quickly to her feet and uttering some cry of alarm, caught me in her arms. Oblivion claims the balance, for of this day, this accident, and this encampment, memory fails to recall another thought or impression.
Having found it convenient to mention George Beale in my story, I will say further of him that he came to Oregon, but I do not remember seeing him after the day I had the misfortune to supercede him as teamster of the meat wagon. However, about twenty-five years after arriving in Oregon, George Beale and a confederate named Baker (not Andy) were convicted of the murder of an old man by the name of Delaney, who crossed the plains in 1843. The murder was committed for money, and Beale and Baker were hanged for the crime in Salem, Oregon. This man Beale taught a little school near our house in Missouri when I was about four years old, and had struck me with a switch because I could not distinguish between the letters "B," "P," "Q," and "D." When he struck me I was very much frightened, and grabbed the stick, broke it, jumped out at the door, ran home and never returned to that school. This was the only time I was ever struck in school, and I don't remember that I was ever insulted in school by a teacher but this one time. After the hanging of Beale I sometimes remarked that the only teacher that ever dared to strike me was hanged. My children when they were attending school heard me say this, and one day while we were living in Salem, one of my little boys, who had heard me say this while we were at supper, spoke up and said, "Pa, why don't they hang my teacher; she struck me today with a ruler, and you said that the teacher that struck you was hung?"
We descended a long steep hill into Grande Ronde Valley, so late in the evening that we had no view of the valley as we went down and camped on or near a small river. The morning came clear and quite cool and we found ourselves in a fine valley probably fifteen miles long and wide enough to be called round. Early in the morning, soon after sunrise, looking in a northerly direction several miles away we could see a column of steam arising from the ground like a white cloud. This they said was from a hot spring or small lake. I think I fancied this was quite a good country, though it was then inhabited by Indians only.
Some things of the crossing of the Blue Mountains I remember quite well. The timber had to be cut and removed to make a way for the wagons. The trees were cut just near enough to the ground to allow the wagons to pass over the stumps, and the road through the forest was only cleared out wide enough for a wagon to pass along. I think we made one camp in the mountains and probably it was at this camp that the men so admired the abundance of fine timber. The people of this emigration even talked about the possibility of a railroad being built across the plains, and yet there were few of the party that had actual knowledge of what a railroad was; but it seems that at this camp they were talking on this subject, when John East, the same man I have mentioned in connection with the Missouri line, pointed to a very fine grove of fir or pine timber and remarked that when they got to building the railroad he wanted the contract of making the rails, and said he, "I will split the rails right there in that grove."
In passing across these mountains, we were overtaken by a snow storm which made the prospect very dismal. I remember wading through mud and snow and suffering from the cold and wet. But the camp on the Umatilla was a very pleasant place; this we soon reached after passing the mountains. The Umatilla was a small stream with sandy banks and bottom. About the stream were quaking asp and black haws. I distinctly remember noticing the quaking asp trees here for the first time. A camp fire on the bank of the creek was burning near one of these trees and as the sparks and smoke went up, the great wriggling among the leaves attracted my attention as I lay on my back looking up into its foliage, and I asked some one the name of the tree. None of the trees were large. but they were shapely like orchard trees and afforded a pleasant shade.
The fruit of th black haw was in demand, for we had not had any berries for a long time. They were black and near the size of buckshot, with a single seed, very sweet and otherwise pleasant to the taste. It was a thorny tree and grew ten, fifteen, twenty, and twenty-five feet high. The people ate large quantities of this fruit. It was told for a fact in camp that a woman died during the night we stayed there, from the effects of a gorge of black haws. I ate about all I could get my hands on, but experienced no bad results—they were ripe and mellow.
The Indians in this country were the Kiuse (Cayuse), who had many horses and some cattle, and the grass was scarce. The Indians were friendly and even sociable and brought late vegetables from their gardens to trade for clothes and trinkets, scraps of iron, and probably ammunition. There were pumpkins and potatoes; the latter I call to mind with feelings of special gratitude. They had no price on anything, but would take all they could get, and one Indian wanted much more. He had a yellow pumpkin not larger than a man's head, which first one and then another made a bid for, until the Indian's head was completely turned as to the value of his vegetable. After refusing a new suit of clothes worth twentyfive dollars, he went away with the pumpkin under his arm. Many old timers will remember the saying, "Like the Indian with his pumpkin," even unto this day.
On account of the lateness of the season—we had already had a snow storm—and the scarcity of feed, we probably did not stop at this place more than one night. Journeying from our camp on the Umatilla, we passed across what seemed to me to be a kind of sandy desert, with at times rocky ground, sage brush, grease wood, and occasionally a few willows.
We passed Whitman's Mission (some called it a station), situated in about such a country as last above described. There was nothing cheerful or inviting about the place; a low and very modest looking house or two, the doctor in the yard and one or two other persons about the premises, are about all I remember of this hostoric place where the slaughter was to be three years later. I think we did not halt here but just passed along by the place. Some years after reaching the Willamette Valley where the Applegate families settled, I heard this same place, Whitman's Mission, or station, called Wailatpu, or saw it printed Wailatpoo.
After passing Whitman's the aspect of the country continued about the same to the Columbia River. Drifts and hummocks of dry sand, sage brush occasionally, and everything dry, dusty, and dreary all the time. At this place on the Columbia was another Hudson Bay post. Fort Walla Walla. It was built mainly of sun-dried bricks, and the plan was about the same as of the Hudson Bay forts we had passed on our journey.