CHAPTER I.
Salem, the Capital of Oregon.
On the 28th day of September, 1898, I arrived in the City of Portland, Oregon, after a journey of eight days from the Atlantic coast, this being my fifth trip across the American Continent. My husband, or Mac, as he is usually called, met me on the banks of the Columbia river, at the town of Kalama, State of Washington. As the entire train is placed on the ferryboat, I got out to view the beautiful river, remaining there until we reached Goble, on the Oregon shore, where the train pulled off the boat for my destination. Arriving at the Union Depot, we took a coach and repaired to a suite of rooms, which Mac had secured for me on Seventh street. The rooms were splendidly
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And, Oh! ye people of this continent, what a boarding-house, for elegant rooms was all they had, and they all showed at this house that their main food was Oregon mist. However, as Portland is such a paradise to live in, I managed to exist one month. When, after being relieved of my purse and money, which has never yet been returned to me, I notified Mac that I would go with him up to Salem, or start back to that dear Montana home where I had lived for eight happy years, and as the courts of that state are known for their lenient divorce decisions, he at once complied with my request, came down for me and I moved next day to the Willamette Hotel, arriving there at 8:30 p.m.
After unpacking my trunks we retired, but had scarcely got to sleep when I heard such cries and pleadings, which seemed to be out in the yard. I sprang from the bed and on going out into our front room, I knocked my foot against one of the trunks, cutting my toe open, but was so excited just then I did not think of it until later on. After looking out of the window and not seeing anyone, only to hear the pleading, "Oh! do not murder me, boys, my poor wife and children, what will become of them? Please, boys, do not kill me." I then went back to bed. When, lo! in a few minutes, glass began to break; we both jumped then, and looking out could see a man in his shirt-sleeves standing on the roof of the conservatory, while men were standing below, coaxing him to come down, which he finally did, after they had promised not to murder him. They, of course, were employes of the hotel. He was taken from there to the waiting room, we still hearing the screams, and as soon as a coach arrived he went to the hospital. I heard later that he was a traveling man and the trouble was he had mixed a little too much Kentucky Rye with Oregon mist. Now, my friends, you can realize my feelings in the second city I had visited in Oregon.
Salem is beautifully situated on the Willamette river, about fifty miles south of Portland, and is one of the state capitals that succeeded in getting all the principal state public buildings located there. I visited the insane asylum, where, at that time, eleven hundred and eighty-five persons were being cared for, with every possible comfort. They have beautiful grounds, magnificent buildings, with large bakery and butcher shop combined. A little to the right is the orphans home. Here I found thirty-five children, their ages ranging from one to fourteen years, the older ones helping to care for the little ones. The matron seemed very kind and fond of them all, and each room was in perfect order. A short distance to the left of the asylum is the penitentiary, where seven hundred and eighty Oregonians were enjoying themselves to the height of their ambition. The reform school and the Indian school are near here. A large woolen mill is also in active operation within the city limits. The Willamette University is also in Salem.
On the morning of December 31st, I took the train for Portland.