*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 62155 ***

                           JOURNAL OF TRAVELS
                                  FROM
                         ST. JOSEPHS TO OREGON,


                                  WITH
                     OBSERVATIONS OF THAT COUNTRY,
                             TOGETHER WITH
                   _SOME DESCRIPTION OF CALIFORNIA_,
                      ITS AGRICULTURAL INTERESTS,
                                  AND
                           A Full Description
                                   OF
                            ITS GOLD MINES.


                             BY RILEY ROOT.


                               GALESBURG:
                  GAZETTEER AND INTELLIGENCER PRINTS.
                                 1850.




                           EXPLANATORY NOTE.


The Author of the present work has adopted a new method of punctuation,
and, in certain cases, of spelling. He discards entirely the colon and
the semi-colon. Modern readers passing along with great rapidity, and
the principal use of these points being to mark the length of time the
voice is to be suspended, the Author is of opinion that they may with
propriety disappear from our language. Accordingly he has adjusted the
following work to suit those views, and as the reader advances, his
attention will naturally be directed to that subject, by which means he
will be enabled to judge of the propriety or impropriety of this
adjustment of the pauses in the language.

                                                             THE PRINTER




                             ADVERTISEMENT.


As the advantages for knowing the pronunciation of some of the words
that occur in the following work are limited amongst most eastern
readers, it may not be improper here to give some explanation by way of
change in their orthography.

The name of the Willamette, a river in the west valley of Oregon, is
changd to Will-am-et, with the accent on the second syllable. A
tributary of the Willamet river, with the several names of Quality,
Tualiton, and Troliton, is more familiarly calld Twality. Also another,
which flows from Mt. Jefferson, by some calld Santa Anna, is more
properly calld San-ty-am.

San or Saint Joaquin in California, is pronouncd Saint Wau-keen, with
the accent on the second syllable. Stanislaus, a tributary of the St.
Wau-keen, is often improperly calld Spanish Slough. Juba river, a
tributary of the Sacramento, is now calld Yu-bar river. The old name of
Rio de Plumas, is familiarly known by the name of Feather river.
Mereposa is divided into four syllables, with the half accent on Mer,
and the full accent on Po. The above definitions may in some degree,
help the reader to the proper pronunciation of some words as used in
California.




                                JOURNAL.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                               CHAPTER I.


Journey from home—Trip down the Mississippi and up the Missouri River to
      St. Josephs.

I left home in Knox county, Illinois, the 3d day of April, 1848, for
Woodstock in Fulton county, a distance of about 20 miles, where I staid
one day with my eldest daughter. I then started for the Mississippi
river, to Nauvoo, a Mormon town, by the way of La Harp, a distance of
fifty miles, over which route most of the way to La Harp is as handsome
prairie as I have seen in the State. I visited the Temple at Nauvoo,
with the expectation of seeing a beautiful edifice, as the Mormons would
have it to appear, that the glory of the latter Temple is to exceed that
of the former.

It is true that on approaching the Temple[1] the visitor beholds
something exquisite in its outward appearance, though not more so than
many other buildings in America, but on visiting its inner scenery, the
visitor is not arousd by any thing sublime, curious or tasteful. The
inner arrangements may be in accordance with their plans of order and
church government, yet the design and workmanship are of an ordinary
appearance. But the building is fast going to decay, and the town is
vacated of three fourths of its inhabitants.


[1]It has since been burnt.


From this place I passd down the river to Quincy, where I stopd with a
design to visit my youngest daughter of sixteen years of age, who is
attending school at the Mission Institute, about two miles east of
Quincy. The school at this place was establishd for the purpose of
promoting the cause of Christ by preparing youth for the missionary
field, though other scholars who do not wish to enter upon missionary
labors are sometimes admitted.

From Quincy I went to St. Louis for the purpose of obtaining a boat to
go to St. Josephs on the Missouri river, where most of the emigrants
meet before leaving the United States for Oregon. On ascending the
Missouri river from its confluence with the Mississippi to Weston, a
town twenty-five miles by land below St. Josephs, no pleasant villages
are seen except Jefferson City, the capital of the State of Missouri.
This town shows something of the beauties of art, with a good levee for
the lading and unlading of goods. The state house is worthy of the most
notice of the traveler. It is large and elegant, and made of hewn stone.

To the geologist the Missouri river presents a scene of speculation. Its
waters are always muddy, and still more so at high stages of the river.
To the indifferent observer it may appear that the raw edges of its
banks, by their crumbling off at times of high water, furnish material
for its turbid appearance at all times. It is true that in times of high
water its muddy look is greatly increased, but this is not all that is
to be considered. The river has but small depth of water most of the
time, and this passes over an argilaceous bottom, with sufficient force
to keep it constantly agitated. There is also a mixture of exceedingly
fine sand spread over its bottom, and the whole together is constantly
agitated by the motion of its waters. The bed of the stream from its
union with the Mississippi to St. Josephs, is at least one hundred feet
below the high prairie of the country around it. The question naturally
arises as to the length of time required to excavate such a channel
through a country so vast in extent as the Missouri traverses with all
its tributaries, considering the amount of alluvium carried outward into
the ocean from age to age, whilst the bed of the river is supplied in
part from the high countries of its tributaries, and thus rendering the
work of degradation exceedingly slow. Yet notwithstanding the amount of
soil received from year to year from above, that river carries outward
into the ocean more than it receives, and thereby causes a lowering of
its bed, though not visible for ages, yet gradually and slowly has it
worn away the earth to its present condition. The geologist has no
certain means of ascertaining with certainty the amount of degradation
from year to year, and must leave the subject, sublime as it is, to the
wild fancies of imagination.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER II.


St. Josephs—The Indian country lying west of the River—Formation of the
      Prairie—Scouring material of the Soil—Its general appearance as
      far west as the South Pass, or dividing ridge.

St. Josephs is a new town on the Missouri river, in latitude of about 34
deg. 45 min. north, with about 1800 inhabitants, which five years ago
was a field of hemp. The town has 18 stores, 3 drug stores, 9 groceries,
6 tailor shops, 8 blacksmith shops, 2 tin shops, 3 taverns, 3 boarding
houses, 1 steam and 1 water flouring mill, and 2 steam saw mills. Among
its inhabitants are 15 lawyers, 11 doctors, 2 silversmiths and 2
gunsmiths.

The town is mostly located on a plat of ground with sufficient descent
for drainage, contiguous to the bluffs on the north, on which it is
partly built. On this bluff stands the court house of Buchanan county,
where the spectator can overlook the town.

The river from this point is seen but a short distance either up or
down, in consequence of its meandering course, so that it is soon lost
sight of behind the bluffs.

I left St. Josephs for the Indian country lying west of the Missouri
river, through which I was to pass on my way to Oregon, with a train of
emigrants for that place, on the 25th of April, 1848, with a view of
reaching Oregon before the inclemencies of winter should overtake me,
under as favorable auspices as the nature of the case would allow.

The Indian country is a wild, uncultivated tract, and almost destitute
of inhabitants. It has, however, a few scattering tribes of Indians,
though few indeed and far between. This country is what is calld a
prairie country or natural meadow, with very little timber except along
the water-courses. It is a continuation of the great valley of the
Mississippi westward along the tributaries to the Rocky mountains, where
the waters of the continent divide and run westward into the Pacific
ocean.

A prairie may be an alluvial country, and it may be tertiary. The one
here spoken of is alluvial. At a remote period, the timber and loose
material of the country, as well as all prairie districts, were fired by
its inhabitants or by lightning, and this continued for ages will
destroy the timber and leave its soil to be clothd only by the grasses,
an inferior but oftentimes resplendent robe.

The traveler soon after leaving St. Josephs, westward sees prairie in
all stages of formation, from the dense forest to an entire prairie.
This, with the dense forests of young timber eastward, where the white
man has forbidden the practice of firing prairies, seems to be a
convincing proof of the aforementioned mode of prairie formation.

It has been noticed in the State of Illinois, and some other places,
where the plowman is permitted to glide his plow smoothly over the
beautiful landscape, that there is an exceedingly fine scouring material
lying near the surface of the soil, so that steel mold boards, on a very
short use of them, are seen to present a polishd surface, on drawing
them from the soil.—Ages of constant burning of the prairie grasses must
necessarily produce a great amount of very fine coal dust and ashes,
which, by the beating rains from year to year, would cause it to mingle
with the earth to the depth of several inches. Such is the probable
cause of the scouring material of these plains.

On passing over the country from St. Josephs to the dividing ridge of
the continent, along the emigrant route to Oregon, the traveler
accustomd only to fertile districts, is greatly surprised at finding so
great a portion of the continent an almost barren waste. From St.
Josephs to the Platt river, a distance of 250 miles, is most of the way
a country of soil and fertility.

On arriving at the Platt river, a beautifully flat country presents
itself, where nature, it would seem, has but an easy task to burden the
ground with excessive vegetation, but behold a country of extensive
bottom lands, of feeble soil much of the way, and still more feeble at
the distance, among the bluffs and rolling country.

Soon after our arrival at Platt, one day while sitting on its banks
watching our cattle, I could but reflect on the situation of the
country, the emigrant and his journey to Oregon, which I have here
expressd in the following form.

  One evening at twilight, whilst sitting to view,
  On the banks of the Platt, to me ’twas quite new,
  Nor sadden or lonely, as one in despair
  Sees the beasts of the forest just ’mergd from their lair,
  But cheerful and tranquil, I cast my eyes o’er
  The wide-spreading Platt, where I ne’er roamd before.
  Its banks are all plat, and its islands are flat,
  Its waters are tranquil, and turbid at that.
  Protrusion of sandbars are seen all along,
  To hinder the boatman—here’s nought of his song.
  Still anxious for knowledge, I turnd me around.
  And saw at short distance what coverd the ground.
  ’Twere wagons, full many, an Oregon train,
  Who’d left their lovd homes, ne’er to see them again.
  If you ask what their hearts speak whilst moving along,
  I fear they will mingle a tear with their song,
  Whilst telling the story of wandering so far,
  With their dear earthly all in their pockets and car.
  The parent is anxious for his loving child,
  The dame is more careless, less cautious and mild,
  The lad cares for little, if father is near,
  Of wars or of bloodshed—he’ll shrink to the rear.
  Then who shall watch over, and daily provide
  For this onward band, which so near are allid?
  ’Tis He who makes water spring out of the rock,
  Abundance shall follow—He cares for His flock.
  Then onward, brave pilgrims, your Canaan is near,
  You’ll soon cross the Jordan [cascades] with hearts full of cheer.

On advancing up the Platt a distance of about 445 miles to Sweet Water,
one of its tributaries, and near to the dividing point, the country
becomes more barren all around, being more within that portion of the
continent where the sun’s influences are not hindered by rains, or even
dews, for a great portion of the year. Here, no soil is formd by the
decomposition of vegetable or animal matter, for none exists with which
to make soil except the wild sage and a few other useless shrubs.

Few animals of any kind dwell here, for want of the means of sustaining
life. It may justly be calld a desert country. It should, however, be
remarkd that within the distance from Platt to Sweet Water, nearly all
the present buffalo range is comprisd, and if the country is a barren
waste, how do they receive their support? Along the bottom lands of the
Platt and its tributaries, are seen occasional tracts coverd with grass,
but these are few compard with the great extent of country over which
the buffalo is obligd to ramble for his support. At one season of the
year he is seen on Platt and at another on Sweet Water, a distance of
more than four hundred miles in extent.

Along the country through which the Sweet Water flows, is seen a range
of mountains, calld the Sweet Water range, coverd mostly with a dense
forest. On our right are ranges of granite rock of less hight,
occasionally divided by intervening valleys. These rocks are naked,
having no vegetation upon them except in some of their crevices, where a
few vegetables have found a scanty foothold. Within 50 miles of the
dividing ridge, these ranges of mountains lower down to an undulating
plain, without soil or vegetation, except wild sage, so common on these
deserts.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER III.


The Indians east of the Rocky Mountains, their migratory habits, &c.—The
      American Fur Company and its shipments—Fort Larimie and
      location—Saline quality in the earth and the waters of Platt and
      its tributaries—Independence rock—Daring deed of one of our
      company.

Twenty-five miles west of St. Josephs, on the emigrant route, is a
school for Indians, calld Iowa and Sack Mission Boarding School. It is
conducted by a Mr. S. M. Ervin and H. W. Hamilton. During our stay of
two or three days at that place, I visited Mr. Ervin at his school-house
and dwelling, with a pleasing reception as a stranger, and was shown to
the several apartments of the house. It is a building 106 feet in length
by about 40 in width, with a basement for cooking and dining-rooms. The
other two stories are occupied as school-room, lodging-rooms and
dwelling for the superintendent, and in one apartment is a library and
printing press. Mr. Ervin pointed me to his scholars, at this time
numbering only 26, consisting mostly of girls from ten to twelve years
of age, dressd in American costume. These appeard well, and seemd to be
a proof that the wild man of the desert is susceptible of cultivation.
Unhappily, however, I was informd by a person living there, it is with
difficulty youth are persuaded to tarry long enough at the school to
acquire any valuable education.

Whilst staying at that place, Mr. Ervin came into our camp and preachd a
sermon to the emigrants, and whilst there he publicly declard that we
should pass no nation of Indians on our route to Oregon more vicious
than those of that place. We however met with no difficulty nor lost any
property by them, though one of them had the boldness to say to one of
the emigrants—

“Me good to steal horses!”

To which the emigrant replied—

“You must not steal our horses.”

The Indian still farther announced—

“Ah, me good to steal horse.”

The Indians at this place receive a very good support in consequence of
the large amount of land under cultivation by the care and
superintendence of the mission.

Those Indians located at Grand Island, calld the Pawnee tribe, are at
present a feeble race, liable to be driven about by the Sioux at all
times. They are poor, and under the necessity of stealing what buffalo
meat and robes they need for their support, and whenever they are
discoverd by a band of Sioux rangers, they are obligd to flee for their
safety to some other place. Their pressing necessity for food and
clothing makes them more inclind to trouble the emigrant trains than
they otherwise would, and whenever they meet with a train that is feeble
in numbers, they fall on them and plunder their food and clothing.

The day before we arrivd at Grand Island, a band of Sioux rangers
discoverd some Pawnees on the banks of the Platt, drying and preparing
buffalo meat for their winter’s stock of provisions. They enterd their
camp and drove them away so suddenly, that in their wild flight they
were obligd to throw away robes and other property, which was strewd
along the road 15 or 20 miles’ distance. By this circumstance we passd
the Pawnees without seeing an individual Indian.

The Sioux are probably the strongest nation east of the South Pass. They
range from Fort Larimie eastward to the Missouri river. Near Ash Hollow
on the Platt, we passd two bands of them not many miles distant from
each other, consisting of 40 or 50 lodges in each. Their lodges are made
by setting up small poles in a conical form and covering them with
buffalo skins. Some of them are quite large, requiring from 10 to 15
buffalo skins to inclose them. In the center of these their fires are
built. The smoke issues at the top of this conical-shapd edifice,
through which a small opening is left for that purpose. Around these
fires whilst in their lodges, the Indians sit or recline upon the
ground, without seats of any kind, or any thing at all, except sometimes
flag matresses or the pelts of some animals.

When they wish to prepare for the reception of company of a public
nature, they form a semi-circle on the ground with their chiefs or heads
of bands in the center of the arch of the half-circle, which renders
them conspicuous to all. On our approach to the first of these bands, we
found them seated in a semi-circular form, with their two chiefs,
Whirlwind and Badwoon, in the center of this arch, with the American
flag erected within and in front of the chiefs, ready to receive us,
having been apprisd of our coming several days beforehand by an Indian
trader by the name of Richards, who had traveld with us much of the way
from St. Josephs to that place. He having gone ahead, arrivd at the band
several days before us, informing them that we were coming and advising
them to peace, with the expectation of receiving a gift from us as
indicative of friendship. Accordingly they spread robes and blankets on
the ground within the half-circle, upon which the emigrants bestowd
their gifts of flour, corn meal, beans, bacon, and every such thing, as
they pleasd to give. While in the act of doing this, occasional
acclamations were heard from the red audience, especially when a larger
panful of flour than common was presented.

After our company had ceasd to present their gifts, two or three men
started from the circle to make a distribution of the gift, which was
bestowd upon the heads of families. This was an amusing sight. Some
would present a dish to receive their gift, others the corner of a
blanket, and others again would hold out the skirt of an old filthy coat
to receive a little flour. Presently all receivd their several gifts,
and so we parted in friendship.

The night previous to our arrival at this band, we had encampd about 2
miles distant, though in sight of their lodges. In the morning, after
our teams were ready for starting, our captain orderd the train to keep
close together, with their guns where they could lay their hands on them
at a moment’s warning, if necessary, and no one should speak to an
Indian except himself till we should pass the reach of danger, as there
was no possible way to pass this band excepting through their camp, and
as the advice of former emigrants was to guard against the treachery of
the Indians. Unfortunately for me, as some would think, I had neither
gun, pistol nor bowie-knife with me, but the young man with whom I
traveld, having a spare pistol presented it to me, saying—

“Here, take this, and the captain says you must go to his wagon and get
a hatchet, so that you may defend yourself and others.”

I told him as we had about 2 miles to travel before we should come to
them, and as I had no convenient way of carrying it, except in my hand,
he had better carry it till we arrivd there, and then I would take it.
But this was the last I saw of the pistol at that place. When our teams
arrivd at the camp, we all halted, and one man ran one way and another
man another way, talking and trading with the Indians, and preparing to
give them presents.

These bands migrate with the roaming buffalo, for on him depends their
support. At this time they were here, drying buffalo meat for their
winter supply, and also preparing robes for sale, though their station
is most of the time at Fort Larimie. The flesh of the buffalo is cut
into thin pieces and dried in the sun without salt, and this is their
principal food. They have no flour except what little they procure of
the emigrants while passing to Oregon. In this waste country the plow is
not seen to greet the soil, and the poor Indian has nought for his
support but what nature alone provides. These Indians are better dressd,
and may be considerd more wealthy, if their property can be calld
wealth, than Indians west of the Rocky Mountains.

The American Fur Company, which has its posts of trade located at
different points east of the Rocky Mountains, are at present in a
somewhat prosperous state. I was informd by the Principal at Fort
Larimie, that the company shipd from Fort Pier, a point on a tributary
of the Missouri river, the year 1847, more than 80,000 buffalo robes,
between 11,000 and 12,000 of which were obtaind at Fort Larimie, besides
a great amount of other peltry. But as the country is gradually drying
up and buffalo becoming less abundant, this source of profit will at
length fail.

Fort Larimie is located at Larimie fork of Platt river, a mile or two
above its confluence with that river. There is nothing interesting about
the fort. It is built of sun-dried bricks, with timbers sufficient to
support the bricks and form the doors and windows, and done in the
coarsest manner. Within this wall, which is about 12 or 14 feet high,
are the dwellings and other necessary rooms for the accommodation of the
fort. Within this area, also, stands a large rude press, for pressing
robes and peltry for market. In another apartment is a yard for horses
and cattle. What is most attractive is, within these dwellings are seen
the white man and the rusty-looking Indian woman, living lovingly
together, whilst the little papooses are playing together as happily.
Without these mud walls are seen no appendages. The eye can rest on
nothing all around but a dreary waste, an uncultivated country.

On advancing up the Platt and its tributary, Sweet Water river, the
traveler’s attention is attracted by a kind of salt he occasionally sees
upon the ground along the road, which by examining he finds to possess
strong alkaline properties. The waters of the Platt and Sweet Water
rivers are also impregnated so strongly that whenever the rivers are so
low as to disclose the sand-bars long enough for them to dry upon their
surfaces, this salt is seen abundantly upon them.

A few miles east of Independence rock, along our route, we saw several
ponds, or small lakes, with an incrustation of this salt several inches
thick. These places the emigrants call saleratus lakes, from the known
fact that it has the property of raising bread.

Advancing a few miles, we come to Independence rock.—This rock is hardly
worthy of notice, except for the many inscriptions made upon it by
emigrants. It is a coarse granite rock about 100 feet high, covering
about 20 acres of ground, standing alone and near enough to our road to
read its inscriptions on passing it.

About 4 miles west of Independence rock, the Sweet Water passes through
a gap of precipitous rocks 300 feet high, where is a cascade of short
distance. This gap is narrow and formd along its sides with several
crevices of circular and chimney shape, from top to bottom. In one of
these a man of our company, by the name of Brock, descended. Whilst the
train was slowly passing along, several men of our company left the
train for the purpose of passing through this gap along the sides of the
waterfall. On their approach at this place, they stood viewing the
scenery around, whilst one of them, looking up, saw a man in the act of
descending through one of these frightful openings, at a distance of
more than 200 feet above their heads. Mr. Brock had passd around to the
top of the rocks alone, to view the scenery, and finding one of these
places, attempted a descent. He began the descent without knowing that
any human being stood to witness his hazardous undertaking. This opening
was so wide in some places that he could with difficulty reach from one
side to the other without losing his perpendicular position, and
oftentimes he was obligd to hold on to the rocks by his fingers, where
they projected not more than an inch. In this alarming situation of Mr.
Brock, his comrades below stood looking at him, without daring to speak,
with intense anxiety for his safety, till he had accomplishd his entire
descent.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER IV.


Remarks of the writer relative to his Journal en route to Oregon—The
      Journal.

As I had at one time thought of making a separate history of my every
day’s travels from St. Josephs to Oregon city, in pamphlet form, in
order to benefit those who might desire to have a knowledge of the route
and its several distances from place to place, at little cost, I
determined to keep as accurate an account of the distances I traveld
every day, together with such remarks in a condensed form as might be
deemd necessary to guide the traveler to Oregon, as the circumstances of
the case would admit. I therefore commencd my reckoning of distances
from day to day by the rotation of a wagon-wheel, at St. Josephs, and
kept it up unceasingly till I arrivd at Oregon city. But finding this
mode of writing somewhat inconvenient, and thinking, likewise, that the
history of my travels might not be altogether uninteresting, although at
somewhat more cost, I have concluded to insert them in this place with
my journal of travels and such incidents as may occur in my absence from
home.

                            * * * * * * * *

On the 25th of April, 1848, I crossd the Missouri river at St Josephs
into the Indian territory, with several wagons of emigrants, who
intended to travel out a short distance and organize for the route. This
day we have traveld as far as the bluffs of the river, a distance of 5
miles, and encampd for the night.—The next day we pursued our journey as
far as Musketoe creek, a distance of 8 miles, where we encampd. Next
day, Friday, 27th, we organizd into a company of 15 or 20 wagons, with
such regulations as we deemd necessary for our safety through the Indian
country, and tarried there for the night.

_Saturday, April 28_, we proceeded on our journey a distance of 12
miles, to the Ioway Mission Boarding-School.

                                                                      25

_The 29th and 30th of April_, we tarried at the mission.

_Monday, May 1_, we traveld 15 miles.

_Tuesday, May 2_—20 miles.

_Wednesday, May 3_—15 miles, to Nemahaw creek.

_Thursday, May 4_, we staid at the same place.

_Friday, May 5_—13 miles over a very crooked road.

_Saturday, May 6_—20 miles.

                                                                     108

_Sunday, May 7_—14 miles to camp, 4 miles to Blue creek, and 10 more to
camp.

_Monday, May 8_—20 miles to Wyatt, fork of Blue.

_Tuesday, 9th_—14 miles to Walnut creek, or Sandy.

_Wednesday, 10th_—18 miles, at Little Fork of L. Sandy.

                                                                     174

_Thursday, 11th_—11 miles, at Blue creek.

_Friday, 12th_—12 miles, yet at Blue.

_Saturday, 13th_—9 miles, still on Blue creek.

                                                                     206

_Sunday, 14th_—10 miles. Here on Blue our company killd a buffalo, for
the first.

_Monday, 15th_—12 miles to camp on a small fork of Blue. Feed has not
yet been sufficient to give our cattle a full supply. At this place a
few wagons, which had been traveling behind us, came up and joind our
party, making in all about thirty wagons.

_Tuesday, 16th_—28 miles to camp. Twenty brought us to Platt river, and
8 more to camp on banks of Platt river.

                                                                     256

_Wednesday, 17th_—22 miles up the south side of Platt.

_Thursday, 18th_—15 miles to City du Chien, at Plumb creek. Here is the
first saline appearance we saw on the ground.

_Friday, 19th_—Staid at the same place.

                                                                     293

_Saturday, 20th_—18 miles to camp on Platt river. Wood and pasturage
scarce.

_Sunday, 21st_—25 miles. Little grass.

_Monday, 22d_—25 miles along under the bluffs of the river to camp. No
wood here, except a few willows, for cooking. It raind all this day, and
all the night following.

                                                                     361

_Tuesday, 23d_—The severe storm of the previous night drove our cattle a
considerable distance to the bluffs, by which means we did not get them
all till three o’clock. We traveld only two miles to-day.

_Wednesday, 24th_—12 miles to the crossing of South Fork of Platt. The
confluence of the two streams is about 18 miles below the crossing. The
intermediate high ridge begins about two miles below the crossing, where
probably was once their confluence. This fork at this place is about
half a mile wide, and the quicksands gave way so rapidly under our
cattle’s feet, that we found it necessary to travel quickly over it, for
fear of sinking deeply into it. By my reckoning here, the distance from
St. Josephs to the crossing is 375 miles. After we crossd the river, we
traveld five miles up the north side of the river and encampd for the
night without any wood for cooking our food, except a few small willows.

                                                                     380

_Thursday, 25th_—18 miles to camp, one mile and a half west of where the
bluffs come to the river.

_Friday, 26th_—22 miles to camp, one mile and a half west of where the
old road crosses over to the North Fork of Platt. Grass good, the best
we have had. No wood.

                                                                     420

_Saturday, 27th_—22 miles to camp on the North Fork of Platt river.
Eighteen miles of the route was over a beautifully undulating prairie.
Rest of the way, about two miles down into Ash Hollow, to North Platt,
rugged, and even dangerous for wagons to pass. Four miles up the river
brought us to camp, where we had no wood except what we carried from Ash
Hollow.

                                                                     442

_Sunday, 28th_—11 miles up Platt river, over a sandy road, and passd a
village of Sioux Indians.

                                                                     453

_Monday, 29th_—17 miles to-day. Sandy road, no wood. Burnt buffalo
excrement for cooking.

_Tuesday, 30th_—13 miles to camp on Platt. Six miles south of this camp
stands Babel towr. It is a precipitous bluff of clay, containing lime
enough to give some degree of hardness to it, 600 feet above the bed of
the creek that passes near its base on the south side of it. Near to
this stands another, nearly equal in hight, but inferior in size.

_Wednesday, 31st_—21 miles to camp on Platt. 14 to Chimney rock, and 7
more to camp. Chimney rock is of the same material as Babel towr, and is
fast crumbling down.

                                                                     504

_June 1st_—34 miles to camp on Horse-Shoe creek, 8 miles to where the
road leaves the river and passes into Romantic valley, where the bluffs
on the sides of the valley resemble distant cities. At the west end of
this valley, the bluffs are calld Scot’s bluffs, from the circumstance
of a man’s having died there by that name. At this place is a spring
where emigrants may camp, though the grass is not very abundant. At this
place we noond, and passd over the bluffs onward, having a good road to
Horse creek, where we campd for the night. From Scot’s bluffs, Larimie
peak is first seen.

                                                                     538

_2d_—15 miles through sand-hills a considerable part of the way, near to
Platt, where little grass grows, except wild wormwood and prickly pear.
Encampd with plenty of wood for fuel.

_3d_—17 miles, most of the way over a good road, to camp, 1 mile west of
Fort Larimie, on Larimie’s fork of Platt river.

                                                                     570

_4th, 5th and 6th_—Staid at the same place, and shod several oxen, which
had become lame by traveling. However, as the road some of the way after
that, provd worse than any we had passd, and our oxen not becoming lame
by traveling over it, we concluded that their lameness must be
attributed in part to the alkali over which they so frequently passd.
The fort has a blacksmith shop and some few tools, for the use of which
our company paid 7½ dollars for one day and a half.

_7th_—Left Larimie fork about noon, and passd over the bluffs 2 miles to
Platt river. From thence we passd on about 4 miles farther and encampd,
with plenty of flood wood, of yellow pine and cedar. During the night,
it was so cold as to produce ice in our cooking vessels. About 4 miles
farther on, is Black Hills Gap, where the river passes through high,
precipitous rocks. At this place, also, the Black hills commence.

_June 8th_—22 miles through the Black hills. Encampd at a spring of the
best water west of St. Josephs, near to Platt. Feed very scarce.

_9th_—20 miles, over a tolerably good road. The waysides are bordered
with wild sage. Occasionally we saw the river Encampd on it at night,
with but little grass for our cattle. This night, the weather was not
very cold.

_10th_—17 miles. Left Platt early in the morning, and pursued our way
through the Black hills, nearly all the forenoon, in a southerly
direction towards Larimie peak. Road to-day quite smooth. The country
around is almost destitute of vegetation, except the wild sage. Encampd
on Big Timber creek.

                                                                     635

_11th_—18 miles through the Black hills. Road tolerably good most of the
way. Encampd on Mike’s Head creek. Have not seen Platt to-day. Before
noon we lost sight of Larimie peak, among the hills.

_12th_—16 miles to camp on Deer creek, near to Platt. Twelve miles
brought us to Platt, and 4 more to our camp. At this place we had a
plenty of wood, good water and grass for our stock. About noon, we left
the Black hills on the north. South of us they are seen stretching along
towards the south-west, gradually receding from us.

                                                                     669

_13th_—16 miles. Encampd on Platt with plenty of wood. Feed scarce. The
wood through this part of the route is cottonwood, and found only
bordering the stream.

_14th_—Staid at the same place, on account of its being exceedingly
windy.

_15th_—5 miles to Platt crossing.

                                                                     690

At this place the river is about 40 rods wide, and has considerable
current. The Mormons from Salt Lake had arrivd a few days previous, and
prepard a raft for crossing.

_16th_—Crossd the Platt, traveld up the north side of it 2 miles, and
encampd.

_17th_—30 miles. Encampd 3 miles east of the Willow spring. About 3
miles east of camp is a spring or two, the alkaline properties of which
are strong enough in dry seasons to kill cattle, if allowd to drink
freely. I was informd that the Mormons the last year lost more than 50
cattle at this place, by drinking the water of these springs. Five miles
of the morning route was along the Platt, to a place calld Red Butes,
from their being tingd with iron ore, as are many others through the
Black Hill country. At these butes the Black hills terminate, and the
road leaves the Platt and passes over to Sweet Water river.

_18th_—7 miles over a hilly though smooth road to camp, at a small clear
spring, though somewhat saline. No wood, burnt buffalo excrement.

                                                                     729

_19th_—18 miles, 14 to Sweet Water river, 2 miles to Independence rock,
and 2 farther to camp. Grass and water, no wood. To-day over a level but
mostly sandy road. The country before us and on our left, at a distance,
while traveling along, appeard more serrated, but on advancing, the
illusion vanishes, and the hills mostly appear only isolated granite
rocks of moderate hight, with large intervening valleys.

                                                                     747

_20th_—14 miles to camp on Sweet Water river. Grass, no wood. After
traveling 2 miles in the morning, we came to a kanion, where the river
passes through a precipitous ledge of rocks, 300 feet high. The water at
this place falls over the ragged rocks, which at some distant time had
fallen into the stream from above and formd a cascade. To-day, on our
left traverses the Sweet Water range of mountains, whilst on our right
are ranges of less hight, divided occasionally by intervening valleys.

_21st_—Staid at the same place.

                                                                     761

_22d_—12 miles over a sandy road to camp on Sweet Water. Good grass, no
wood. Frost and ice during the night.

_23d_—14 miles over a sandy road. Grass, no wood. About 3 o’clock, came
in full view of the Rocky mountains. Ice formd in our cooking vessels
during the night.

                                                                     787

_24th_—17 miles over an uneven, sandy road, to camp, on the Sweet Water
river. Here the country is a barren waste, except along the river, where
a little grass is found. Back from the river, nothing grows but wild
sage. At this place, the water of the river is clear. Previous to this,
the waters, like those of Platt, have been turbid.

                                                                     804

_25th_—9 miles over a hilly and gravelly road to camp, where is another
kanion of the river.

_26th_—Left the river this morning, and traveld 17 miles over a very
hilly road of coarse, sharp gravel stones, and in some places the rocks
protrude so as to strain wagons in crossing them. In viewing the country
from some of the highest hills in this place, it appears very broken all
around. Passd two or three places that would do for camps for small
parties. Encampd on a fork of Sweet Water, just above its junction.

                                                                     830

_27th_—18 miles. Traveld 4 miles, and crossd the Sweet Water river. Here
we left it, to see it no more. About 9 miles farther, brought us to the
South pass or dividing ridge.

                                                                     843

South of the culminating point, at a little distance, stands a solitary
high hill, which some call Table rock. On the right, about 12 or 15
miles, are the Wind River peaks, coverd in some parts with snow. Traveld
5 miles farther and encampd on Pacific springs, calld so from the fact
that their waters run westwardly into the Pacific ocean. Some grass, no
wood.

_28th_—19 miles to Little Sandy creek, a fine stream, of sufficient
amount of water to carry 4 run of mill stones. We passd over an entire
desert, to-day. There is no possible encampment between Pacific springs
and this place, and here is no grass, except what borders the stream, a
few rods wide on each side of it.

                                                                     867

_29th_—Six miles to Great Sandy creek, over a barren clay road. Fine
stream. Little grass, no wood except a few willows. This stream is a
branch of the California Colorado river. This is Greenwood’s cut-off,
which begins a little east of this river, between the two Sandys. The
old road is the one leading to Bridger’s fort. It is also the one the
Mormons took, when they emigrated to Salt Lake. From Big Sandy creek,
the place of our nooning, we traveld about 2 miles, to the top of a high
point of ground, where stands Colepit rock, a mound 20 or 30 feet high,
and perhaps 100 feet around, composd mostly of clay. On the top of this
rock, the country can be viewd to a great distance around.

Advancing 8 miles farther, the country appears a level plain all around
as far as the eye can reach, except on the north, where the Wind River
range stretches far to the north-west. The rest of the day and the
following night, we traveld about 15 miles, to a deep valley, dangerous
to go down at night.

                                                                     898

It may here be remarkd, that it would be safe to remain at Big Sandy
creek till 4 or 4½ o’clock in the afternoon, in order that daylight may
appear before arriving at this valley, as it seems necessary to travel
part of the distance from Big Sandy to Green river in the night, there
being no water nor grass on the way from Big Sandy to Green river, a
distance of 44 miles.

_30th_—19 miles to Green river. After having passd from Sandy to Green
river, over a sage plain, destitute of water and grass for our cattle,
with four deep and dangerous valleys to descend into on our way, our
hearts were gladdend that we were enabld to slake the thirst of our
famishing cattle. Here, also, as much of the way past, were several
springs issuing from the banks of the river, containing so much alkali
as to render them unpleasant to drink. This crossing of Green river is
half way from St. Josephs to Oregon city, being 917 miles.

_July 1st_—Staid at the crossing.

                                                                     917

_2d_—9 miles to camp on Salmon Trout branch, 6 or 8 miles above its
union with Green river. We gaind but little towards Oregon, to-day, the
road being very circuitous and hilly, part of the way.

_3d_—16 miles over a very hilly road. 10 miles to nooning, where is a
tolerably good camp for a small party, 6 miles farther to camp. No wood,
little grass, no water except a small spring.

                                                                     942

_4th_—10 miles, over a very hilly and stony road, to Ham’s fork of Green
river. Some grass, no wood but willows. Here were a few Indian lodges of
the Snake tribe.

                                                                     952

_5th_—14 miles over a very hilly road, and part of it very dangerous to
pass. No wood at camp, and but little grass.

_6th_—Frost in camp, this morning. To-day, we traveld 18 miles and
encampd on Bear river, 4 miles west of Smith fork. The hills around us
are quite barren. Bear river has a little grass in some places along its
bottoms. It is a considerable stream, though not more than three fourths
the water that Green river has at the crossing.

_7th_—11 miles to camp on Thomas’ fork of Bear river, about 5 miles
above its confluence, by a circuitous route. No wood but willows.

_8th_—13½ miles over steep mountains, destitute of soil and vegetation,
except weeds, to camp on Bear river, where the bottom furnishes a little
grass. South of us at a small distance, in a large bottom, is Bear lake,
the outlet of which unites with Bear river, a little below camp. The
mountains, viewd from camp, seem to form a triangle. East, comes in Bear
river. A little east of south, is a long gap in the mountains, where
their waters contribute to Bear lake. A little west of north, the valley
stretches far away down Bear river.

_9th_—Staid at the same place, and attended the burial of a young man of
our company. To-day, also, are 14 sick persons in our company.

                                                                    1008

_10th_—25 miles to camp on Bear river. Passd several fine rills from the
mountains, to-day. A very good road down Bear River bottom. The bottom
and mountain lands, to-day, assume a more verdant appearance, though the
verdure consists mostly of useless shrubs and weeds, except on the
skirts of some of the peaks, where they are clothd with timber
sparingly. From this camp, snow is seen on the Bear River mountains.

_11th_—10 miles to Soda springs, and 1 farther to camp, making 11 miles.
Have traveld over volcanic rocks, to-day, the first I have seen on our
route. Near to camp and north of it, near the base of the mountain, are
three small craters, apparently, of extinct volcanoes. They may,
however, be the craters of some of those silent springs.

_12th_—23½ miles to the head waters of Portneuf, a tributary of Snake
river. It runs in a very circuitous manner.

                                                                   1067½

_13th_—21 miles, over a mountainous road, to camp. Little grass, no wood
but willows.

_14th_—16 miles to camp, about 4 miles east of Fort Hall in a large
plain, coverd over a considerable portion of it with a heavy growth of
wild sage. This plain is very extensive, reaching from north to south,
probably nearly 100 miles. The Sheep mountain and three butes are seen
from the fort, a considerable distance to the north of it, rising
abruptly from the plain. To the east, south and south-west, mountains
are seen from the fort, serrating the horizon. The rest of the horizon
around presents nearly an unbroken expanse. This plain is waterd with
several springs and streams of considerable size, some of them rising
from the level plain and passing on to join the waters of the Snake or
Lewis river. The Snake is a fine river, rising in the Wind River
mountains, north of Fort Hall, and passing near to it in a southerly
direction, where it is joind by the Portneuf about 9 miles below the
fort, with other tributaries along the plain. Thence, bending its course
westwardly for more than 100 miles, after which its course is northward
till it falls into the Columbia river.

                                                                   1104½

_15th_—4 miles to Fort Hall, and 2 miles farther to camp, on Portneuf
creek.

                                                                   1110½

_16th_—7 miles to Portneuf crossing, about 25 rods above its confluence
with Snake river. At this place, and also below, on Snake river, I
gatherd a great quantity of red, yellow and blue currants, the stalks of
which grew, in some places, from 10 to 14 feet high.

                                                                   1117½

_17th_—12½ miles to camp, at some springs near Snake river. After
leaving Portneuf crossing, we passd a mile down Snake River bottom, and
came to a slough, bad to cross. Passd about half a mile farther, and
came to another bad crossing of a small stream. Thence, down the bottom
about 2 miles, to a considerable stream, whose banks were steep and its
passage difficult. Thence, about half a mile, to where the road ascends
the first terrace above the river bottom. The river bottom along this
day’s route has considerable grass, furnishing camps at almost any
place.

                                                                    1130

_18th_—18 miles to camp, on Cascade creek. Two miles to American falls,
10 miles to palaisades, 6 to camp. The water of the American falls does
not descend perpendicularly, but like a cascade. The whole descent from
the upper to the lower expanse is from 40 to 50 feet, reckond by
perpendicular measurement. The rocks about the falls appear volcanic,
though some of them show marks of stratification. The table lands here
close in, so as to make the bottom lands draw to a point at the falls.
Below the falls, the table lands border the river, and being entirely
destitute of grass, render encampments difficult, much of the way.

_19th_—8 miles to Cassia creek. No wood. At this camp, the California
road leaves the Oregon trail to the right hand. West of camp, and near
to it, is a range of basaltic trap rocks, of a prismatic and columnar
structure, the fairest specimens of basalt I have seen. Range about 60
feet high above the creek.

_20th_—16 miles over a district of basaltic rocks, slightly hidden from
sight by a thin layer of clay, though in many places they protrude so as
to render traveling with wagons irksome. Camp on Marsh or Swamp creek.
No wood, plenty of grass bordering the creek. Country around, both
mountains and plains, destitute of soil. On the plain, is the famd sage.
On the mountains, are clusters of inferior cedar growth. Rest of the
mountains totally barren.

_21st_—11½ miles, over a dry and dusty plain, to camp, on Snake river,
about 2 miles above the mouth of Goose creek. Here is a narrow bottom,
which furnishes a little coarse grass. No wood. River here about ¼ of a
mile wide.

                                                                   1183½

_22d_—21 miles. Four miles to Goose creek, 8 miles to the river, a poor
place for encamping, 9 miles farther to camp. Grass. No water at this
season of the year in this creek. No wood but willows. Forenoon, road
was good. Afternoon, rocky.

                                                                   1204½

_23rd_—9 miles to Rock creek, so calld from its rocky bottom. Fine
little stream. Willows for wood. Good camp.

_24th_—21 miles to camp. Ten to the crossing of Rock creek. Here the
banks are steep and rocky. We noond at this place. Here, also, is grass
enough for a small company to camp at. About 4 miles farther on, Rock
creek turns to the left, and we saw it no more. At this bend of the
creek is a tolerable camp. Seven miles farther brought us to camp, and a
miserable one it was, being on the top of Snake River bluffs, a hight of
at least 300 feet perpendicular from the river. No grass at this place.
Our cattle were driven down a narrow and difficult way, much of it very
steep, three-fourths of a mile to the river, where it was bordered in
some places by little patches of grass, often not one rod wide. Our
cattle were taken up, next morning, with not half a supply during the
night.

                                                                   1234½

_25th_—16 miles. Eleven miles to Warm Spring creek. Here is but little
grass. About 4 miles farther, to Salmon Fall creek. One mile down the
creek, to camp, near its mouth. Here is a very good camp. On the
north-east side of the river, along here for several miles, are fine
springs issuing from the bluffs, some of which would carry the largest
flouring mills. They are a curiosity. Supposd to be the waters of the
river, spreading out into the country above the American falls, and
passing along between the basaltic rock above, and another stratum
below, till they arrive at this place, where they are dischargd into the
river. The evidence that they are the waters of the river appears to be
derivd from the fact, that the river between the falls and this place
has not more than half the water in it that it has above the falls.

_26th_—6 miles. Five miles to first rapids of Salmon falls, 1 more to
camp. But little grass at this place, and that is mostly on a small
island or two. Salmon falls is more a cascade than fall, except in one
place, where it falls a few feet perpendicularly. Also calld Fishing
falls. The whole cascade is more than a mile in length. To this place
the Indians resort to obtain salmon, which at some seasons of the year
are tolerably plenty, having come from the ocean up the Columbia river,
to the mouth of Snake river, whence they find their way to this place.

                                                                   1256½

_27th_—24½ miles to camp, on Snake river. To obtain this camp, we left
the road a mile and a half back, and followd a dry branch down to this
place. To-day, we traveld over a dry sage plain, though we had a
tolerably good road. At this place, and even farther east, are seen the
relics of wagons of former emigrants, strewd along the road. Boxes,
bands, tire, and all parts of the irons of wagons, left behind.

                                                                    1281

_28th_—2 miles from where we left the road, yesterday, to the old
crossing of Snake river. At the crossing, are two small islands, which
furnish a little grass, Encampd 2½ miles farther on, where is little
grass. No wood for fuel. Along the river at this place, is a kind of
grass so salt that cattle will eat it only as they stand in need of
salt. The leaves of this grass grow about 3 inches high, and the
seed-bearing stalk is from 6 to 10 inches in hight. It grows along the
river bottoms, in small patches. I do not know any name for it, and
therefore denominate it _salt grass_, as other grasses will grow amongst
it, that are perfectly fresh.

_29th_—12 miles, over as rough and stony a road, along the banks of
Snake river, as ever I traveld. One wagon was broken, to-day, and left
to be totally destroyd by those that came after us.

                                                                   1297½

_30th_—11 miles to camp. Grass not very good. About two miles back,
grass might be had by driving the cattle on to an island, in the river.
Road sandy during forepart of the route, to-day, and during the
afterpart, good.

_31st_—11½ miles. Six and a half miles to Salt Grass creek, a name given
from the abundance of salt grass growing there. A tolerable camp might
be had at that place. The creek soon passes among the bluffs, in a
northerly direction, and unites with Snake river, about 5 miles below
where we are campd. Grass is plenty at this place, but it is almost
impossible to obtain any thing of which to make fires.

                                                                    1320

_August 1st_—19½ miles, over a very level plain, most of the way, and
near to the river, to camp, on Grease Wood creek, about a mile above its
mouth. No good camp can be had along this day’s route, till our present
one, which is not very good. Between camp and Snake river, the little
stream on which our camp is located passes through two crags of basaltic
rock, much crumbled down by time. Rock, east of creek, shows marks of
excessive volcanic violence. Volcanic cinders, rocks half melted,
chimneys where smoke has issued, and in fact, every mark of Vulcan’s
blacksmith shop is here displayd.

_2d_—24 miles to camp on Snake river, at the mouth of a small dry
branch. Grass scarce. No place for encamping, short of this place,
except at 8 miles from last night’s camp, where a small stream affords
very little grass. Our way, to-day, has been over a very uneven and
dusty road. We ascended one hill, so steep and sandy, that we were
obligd to double our teams to surmount it.

                                                                   1363½

_3d_—4 miles to camp, on Snake river, and drove our cattle on to a small
island.

_4th_—9 miles to camp, on Snake river, 7½ miles to Hot springs, 1½ to
camp. The water of these Hot springs, at their source, is scalding hot.
We crossd them both, a short distance from their source, and as they are
not very far apart, it is probable that their fountain is together. They
are much mineralized.

_5th_—14½ miles, through a sultry hot day, over a desert plain and dusty
road, to camp, on Snake river. No good camp could be had short of this
place, to-day. During the day, we could discover a visible lowering down
of the mountains on each side, towards the confluence of Boyce and Owyhe
rivers and the Snake, where their valleys unite and form an extensive
plain. Salt grass still continues along the river bottom. We, to-day,
lose sight of the basaltic rocks, so long witnessd on our right hand and
on our left. They reach from the American falls nearly to this place,
and as they appear to be thinner on advancing westward, it is thought by
some that the lava of which they are formd, flowd in that direction. It
is said that the Indians of this place are snakes in the grass, but it
is much to be regretted that the river is not a snake in the grass,
whilst our cattle are in so starving a condition.

_6th_—19 miles to camp on Owyhe river, about 4 miles above Fort Boyce.
Not very good grass at this place.

                                                                    1410

_7th_—Traveld one mile and a half down Owyhe river, and encampd.

_8th_—16 miles, over a good road, to camp, on Malheur (pron. malare)
river. Grass plenty. No firewood but willows. At this place, Mr. Meek
attempted a cut-off to Oregon city, by following up the course of this
river south, for some distance, and then directing his course westward,
till he should arrive at Willamet valley, south a considerable distance
from Oregon city. His attempt proved a failure, with the loss of
considerable property and the lives of some of his company. It is said
that there were nearly 200 wagons in his train.

Our route to-day, from last night’s camp to Malheur river, leaves Fort
Boyce 3 miles to the right. The fort is located in a pleasant place, on
the bank of Snake river, just below the union of the Owyhe and Boyce
with the Snake. The river at this place is near a quarter of a mile
wide, and the only means of ferrying it is a canoe brought from the
river Payette, 250 miles from this place.

                                                                   1427½

_9th_—25 miles to camp, on Birch creek. 13 miles to a sulphur spring,
where we noond. This distance is up an arm of the Malheur, though dry at
the time. Its course is through a level flat, from one to two miles
wide, having high ranges of land on each side. From Sulphur spring, the
road ascends rapidly to its highest point, a mile or two farther on,
where the country can be viewd for a considerable distance all around.
Reflecting upon such a wonderful scenery as is here on every side
displayd, the mind can hardly appreciate the amount of dynamics adequate
to displace and disrupt the surface of the earth so immensely. It
appears like a great harrow, fit only for Hercules to use in leveling
off the surface of some planet.

_10th_—8 miles to Burnt river, (probably from the naked and reddend
appearance of the mountains through which it passes.) Three miles of the
morning route brought us once more to Snake river, where we saw it for
the last time. Remaining 5 miles over a somewhat hilly road to camp, on
Burnt river, but a small stream at this place. On viewing the river and
its small flats bordering it, from camp, it appears wholly environd by
rugged, jagged mountains, in close contiguity. Oh, when shall I view,
once more, a verdant landscape! One thousand miles of naked rocks!
Landscape without soil! River bottoms with scarcely grass enough to
support emigrant teams. Who can but think of his native land and the
“old oaken bucket”?

                                                                   1460½

_11th_—13 miles to camp on Burnt river. No good camp short of this, and
this not very good. For 5 or 6 miles of our morning route up the river,
the road was very rough and stony, and it crosses the creek seven times
within that distance. Remainder of the day’s travel was more easily
performd, though more hilly, yet smooth. South of camp and near to it,
ascends a mountain, the height of which, as nearly as I could measure,
with the limited means I had, is about 1300 feet above the bed of Burnt
creek. Along this stream emigrants have formerly been much intimidated
through fear of sudden attacks from Indians. It is very densely shrouded
much of the way with balm of Gilead, alder, hawthorn, and various kinds
of shrubbery, so that the Indians could secrete themselves, till the
near approach of an emigrant train, and then with a sudden rush from the
thicket, frighten the teams and kill many of the emigrants. However, we
saw no Indians along this river.

_12th_—4 miles over a worse road than yesterday afternoon, and crossd
the creek five times.

                                                                   1477½

_13th_—16 miles to camp on a tributary of Burnt river. Soon after having
started in the morning, we crossd the principal stream of Burnt river,
for the last time. A little farther on, we came to a small right hand
tributary coming from the north, which we followd up about 2 miles,
crossing it 8 times. We then left it, winding our way over the mountains
westwardly, crossing two or three other small tributaries, till we
arrivd again upon the Burnt river bottoms, not more than 8 miles in a
straight line from last night’s camp. At this place we noond, after
having passd over a hilly, though smooth road. Here emigrants might
tarry for the night. One mile further on we crossd North fork, and upset
one wagon at the crossing. Our course was now nearly west, up a
mountain, till we arrivd at a branch of the North fork. Passing on a
mile or more, we encampd for the night. Grasses along the bottom here
are coarse, consisting of wild wheat, rye, and wild chess. Mountain
grasses here are the bunch grass, as it is calld, but at this time so
dry and dead that cattle do not love it. The hills at the sources of the
Burnt river, among which they ramify in all directions, like the blood
vessels in the human system, are composd measurably of a slaty rock,
which decomposes into loose material more readily than the hard basaltic
rocks of Snake river. Occasionally, however, graphic granite is here
seen to protrude above the hills.

_14th_—20 miles to camp, at Lone Pine stump, now nearly obliterated by
fires set to it by emigrants, in the valley of Powder river. Here is the
bed of a small stream, where there is water at some seasons of the year,
though dry now, except in stagnant ponds. Grass is tolerably plenty
along this little branch. No wood at this place to be obtaind for
cooking. Road, to-day, hilly but smooth. At about 6 miles, emigrants
might camp. Here, we left the waters of Burnt river, and passd over the
hills to Powder river. Powder River valley, east of camp, still retains
the old character of desert and sage plain.

                                                                   1513½

_15th_—14½ miles to camp, on west branch in west valley of Powder river.
Nine miles to Powder river, down by a circuitous route, along the river,
2 miles to first crossing. Thence across the plain to second fork or
crossing, 2½ miles. One mile farther to west fork or third crossing. In
all, 14½ miles to camp. East valley of Powder river is a spacious plain,
very level, and would be as handsome a valley as my feet ever trode
upon, were it coverd with the rich grasses of the eastern states. At
each of the three crossings here mentiond, which unite a short distance
below us and form the principal Powder river, is seen in small patches,
a luxuriant growth of the well known grass, red top. As we advance, the
climate changes. In camp, this morning, was seen ice in our cooking
vessels, and by 10 we were uncomfortably warm. On our left, the Powder
River mountains, close by which the river finds it way, are clothd with
timber, nearly down their declivities to their base. On our right they
yet are naked, Indians around us are burning, as fast as verdure becomes
dry enough, which at this time, renders the air so smoky, that we can
see but a short distance.

_16th_—15 miles to camp, at the head of Grand Round valley. After
traveling a short distance, this morning, from the last crossing of
Powder river, we ascended a short rise. We then proceeded over a smooth
road of moderate descent, till we came to a small branch of Powder
river, at the foot of a hill, where several small rivulets are seen to
issue from the hills round about. This is about 8 miles from the last
crossing. Here is a tolerable encampment. The rest of the way to Grand
Round hollow, a distance of 7 miles further, is over a hilly and some
part of the way, very stony road. At 10½ miles from the crossing,
emigrants might also encamp for the night, there being a little water
and some grass along a small run. Grand Round valley is extensive. It is
surrounded with high hills, coverd with bunch grass, except occasional
patches of yellow pine. Along our road, this valley is rich, coverd with
various kinds of grasses, though entirely dead much of the way across
the upper end of the valley at this time, no rains having fallen here
lately.

_17th_—15 miles to camp, on Grand Round river. Eight miles across the
head of the beautiful Grand Round valley, to a small branch, where
emigrants might camp for the night, at the foot of the Blue mountains
bordering the valley. From thence, we wound our way over the steep and
rugged mountains, racking and straining our wagons, the distance of 7
miles farther, to the deep and lonely dell, where the Grand Round river
is struggling and forcing its way through its narrow passage, down to
the beautiful valley, Grand Round. Over this day’s route, the mountains
have as rich a soil as the valley, till near the dell, where the red
mountain soil is seen. Where we are campd, the dell is narrow, and
furnishes but little grass. It is remarkable for loudness of sound, when
a gun is fired. Rocks of these mountains, volcanic.

                                                                   1558½

_18th_—10½ miles, over a very uneven district of volcanic rocks and
mountain soil, to camp, on one of the highest peaks of the Blue
mountains on our route. Country, to-day, becomes more densely timberd
all around and along our road, overshadowing it in many places with
yellow pine, fir and spruce hemlock. Have passd several deep cuts,
to-day, so steep that teams were necessarily doubld to ascend out of
them, and some of them were dangerous and difficult. Our camp is located
on the side of a high ridge, in a small opening, nearly one fourth of a
mile above its base, where we were obligd to descend, to obtain water
for cooking. From this high ridge, it is said, Mt. Hood can be seen, but
at this time it is so smoky, that we can see but a little distance.

                                                                    1569

_19th_—10 miles, over the western declivity of the Blue mountains,
moderate in descent, and tolerably smooth most of the way to camp, in a
small opening, a little larger than our carelle, calld Lee’s encampment.
Here, two men met us, from Fort Waters, where the late murders were
committed, with news that we had nothing to fear from hostile Indians,
any farther on our route. This gave great encouragement to the timorous
emigrants. Accordingly,

_20th_—We descended the western declivity of the Blue mountains, part of
the way over volcanic scoria, to camp, on Umatilla river. About 12 miles
of the first part of this day’s route, was through a timberd district of
pine, hemlock and fir, loaded, many of them, with pendant moss. On
leaving the timber, we ascended a hill, a mile or more, to Mount
Prospect, the last high point before descending the bluffs to the river.
I name the hill, from its commanding a view of the whole western
horizon, to a great distance around.

On Prospect hill is a cluster of rocks, which, with a little help of the
imagination, can be easily construed into Vulcan’s blacksmith shop,
where all the cinders so profusely spread over the Blue mountains, were
made. On retiring, he left his forge loaded with the cinders of his last
blast, as a memorial of his great ambition.

Three and a half miles more, down the bluffs, brought us to camp, making
in all, this day, 16½ miles.

                                                                   1595½

_21st_—Down Umatilla river, near to crossing, 10 miles. Country here
entirely prairie, and very undulating.

_22d_—Crossd the river, half a mile below camp, and passd about two
miles on the flat. Ascended the bluff, and passd over the prairie about
14 miles, to the river, down the river two miles to camp, making in all
18½ miles. Prairie, to-day, uneven, and of poor soil.

                                                                    1624

_23d_—14½ miles to camp, on Alder creek. Five miles to second crossing
of Umatilla, 8½ miles to Alder creek, up the same one mile to camp.
Little grass, no wood but fine willows. In this day’s travel, two miles
might have been savd, by crossing the river at camp, but to avoid sandy
traveling, emigrants go down the river some farther. This is Whitman’s
cut-off.

_24th_—18½ miles, over a poor tract of the Columbia River valley, to
camp, at the foot of a hill, by a spring, calld Well spring, rising in
the center of a large mound of decayd vegetation, and sinking suddenly
again, within a few feet of where it issues. Noond, to-day, on the
battle-ground of the 24th February, 1848, between Oregon soldiers and
the Cayuse Indians. No grass nor water exists along this day’s route,
where emigrants might refresh themselves and their weary teams. Fire
wood is obtaind two miles east, in a hollow, where are a few scattering
cedars. The spring at camp should be watchd during the night, by a
strong guard, to keep thirsty cattle from falling into it, out of which
they cannot extricate themselves.

_25th_—13 miles, over a miserably poor and uneven country, to Quesnell’s
creek. Down the creek one mile, in order to obtain water, where camp is
located.

                                                                    1670

_26th_—Staid at camp. Morning cold. Found there was ice in our cooking
vessels, though weather became warm during the day.

_27th_—Returnd up the creek to the crossing, though on the west side of
the flat. From the east side of the flat, to-day’s reckoning commences,
and crosses over to Beaver fork of John Day’s river, a distance of 20½
miles. No camp can be had between the two places, though a small spring
exists, two miles east of camp. Most of the way to-day, the road has
been good, through a long, level valley.

_28th_—7 miles to crossing of John Day’s river. Way down Beaver fork,
very rocky, and road crosses it 4 times.

                                                                   1697½

_29th_—Down John Day’s river, half a mile. Then ascended the bluff,
about one mile, up a narrow, winding, rocky ravine, the worst we had
ever traveld. On the top of this bluff, the road divides, one leading to
the Columbia river. The other, at the left, is the one we took. From the
top of this bluff, the road, the remainder of the day, was smooth to
camp, at a lone spring among the bluffs. Distance to-day, about fifteen
miles. Grass enough for a small band. No wood. About two miles east, up
a ravine a short distance to the left, there are two small springs,
where a small party might camp for the night. No wood.

                                                                   1712½

_30th_—25 miles to camp, on the western declivity of the dividing ridge,
between John Day’s and Deshutes river, at the upper end of a ravine,
where was a little grass, but no wood, and no water for cattle. We staid
through the night, without supper, and left next morning, without
breakfast.

_31st_—Traveld about 5 miles, to the crossing of Deshutes or Fall river.
Here, we breakfasted in a deep chasm, almost as difficult of descent and
ascent, as the valley of Sindbad the sailor, with nearly precipitous
rocks, from 1000 to 1500 feet high, on every side. Afternoon employd in
calking wagon-boxes, to ferry our goods across the river.

_Friday, Sept. 1st_—All day employd in getting our goods across the
river, with the help of several Indians. River at the crossing, about
seven rods wide, with considerable current.

_2d_—Whilst watching some of our wagons on the bank of the river, till
others could be taken up the bluffs, I was led to the following
reflections upon the miserable condition of the poor, degraded-looking
Indians at this place—


                        THE INDIANS OF DESHUTES.

  “That Indian, whose untutord mind
  Sees God in the clouds, or hears him in the wind—
  Whose soul, proud science never taught to stray”
  Far as the glittring sun, or other orbs of day,
  Lives far retird—a kanion deep, a solitary dell,
  A gloomy shade—’tis there he deigns to dwell.
  What is his food, when naught but rocks around
  Are seen? No fields of plenty there do clothe the ground.
  His raiment, also scant, to shield his naked form,
  No robes of beasts, nor pelts, nor furs, to guard him from the storm.
  And when with food he chance to break his fast,
  He finds no wood to cook his limited repast.
  Alas, what then? The salmon and the salmon trout,
  In that mad stream, are seen to gambol all about.
  By him prepard upon the rocks, or hung on slender poles,
  Not far above, on steep decline, where furious water rolls,
  He dries his food, and thus ’tis savd from future harm.
  ’Tis nearly all he has of food—his clothes, they still are less, with
              which to keep him warm.
  Now, why should man, poor wretched man, receive such prompt reply,
  That when he broke the law of God, ’twas sure that he must die?
  Yet linger first awhile, still wretched and forlorn,
  To glean an almost naked earth, ’mongst thistle and the thorn?
  ’Twas done to show that God is just, and true to all intent,—
  That man a lesson here might learn, and thus to him repent.

Nine miles from Deshutes, over the rocky bluffs, brought us to another
resting-place, on an arm of Deshutes, flowing from the mountains, in the
direction of Mount Hood. Five miles from Deshutes, was a spring, where
emigrants sometimes camp, but at this time the Indian ponies had eaten
off all the grass. We therefore passd on to our present camp.

                                                                   1751½

_3d_—12½ miles to camp, on a small tributary of Deshutes, at Barlow’s
gate—all but the gate, though he was found sitting there at the receipt
of custom, allowing each emigrant wagon to pass his road through the
Cascade mountains, at the moderately healthy sum of five dollars each,
which the Government of Oregon had authorized him to receive. But, as
miserable a road as it was, thanks be to Mr. Barlow for his energetic
movement in opening a way through so rough a district as the Cascade
mountains.

Several small streams were passd to-day, though no camps could well be
made on them, for want of grass, except the first, which had a very
little.

                                                                    1764

_4th_—Staid at the same place.

_5th_—Over the rocky hills, 12 miles to camp, on a muddy arm of
Deshutes, flowing from Mount Hood. Ten and a half miles to the arm, 1½
up the same to camp. No grass for our stock.

_6th_—3 miles up Deshutes valley, to Palmer’s cabin. In consequence of
having lost some of our cattle in the thick and almost impenetrable
forest, our day’s drive was short. A little below Palmer’s cabin, are
signs of very rich bog iron ore. I afterwards found other places of iron
ore along the road, by which I was satisfied that the Cascades abound in
iron.

                                                                    1779

_7th_—10 miles, over the dividing ridge, to camp, at a small flat
prairie on our left, from which Mount Hood is seen, a few miles distant,
towring high above its neighbor mountains.

                                                                    1789

_8th_—10 miles to camp. No grass. Chaind our oxen to trees, and cut a
few birch limbs for them. Passd, to-day, what is calld Laurel hill. It
is steep and dangerous.

_9th_—6 miles, down Muddy fork of Sandy, to camp. Drove our cattle
across the stream, and found some grass for them. This has been a rainy
day.

_10th_—15 miles, most of the way over a good road, especially on the
ridge, calld by some, “Devil’s Back-Bone.”

_11th_—8 miles, over a hilly road, down to the first settlement, at the
west foot of the Cascade mountains. One mile to the last crossing of
Sandy creek, 7 more to camp.

                                                                    1828

_12th_—12 miles to camp.

_13th_—6 miles to Oregon city.

                                                                    1846




                          ADVICE TO EMIGRANTS.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                               CHAPTER V.


Necessary outfits for emigrants to Oregon or California, taken from
      Palmer’s Journal of Travels to Oregon—Additional advice by the
      Author.

For burthen wagons, light four-horse or heavy two-horse wagons are the
size commonly usd. They should be made of the best material, well
seasond, and should in all cases have falling tongues. The tire should
not be less than one and three fourths inches wide, but may be
advantageously usd three inches; two inches, however, is the most common
width. In fastening on the tire, bolts should be usd instead of nails;
it should be at least five eighths or three fourths of an inch thick.
Hub boxes for the hubs should be about four inches. The skeins should be
well steeld. The Mormon-fashiond wagon-bed is the best. They are usually
made straight, with side-boards about 16 inches wide, and a projection
outward of four inches on each side, and then another side-board of 10
or 12 inches. In this last, set the bows for covers, which should always
be double. Boxes for carrying effects should be so constructed as to
correspond in hight with the offset in the wagon-bed, as this gives a
smooth surface to sleep upon.

Ox teams are more extensively usd than any others. Oxen stand the trip
much better, and are not so liable to be stolen by the Indians, and are
much less trouble. Cattle are generally allowd to go at large, when not
hitchd to the wagons, whilst horses and mules must always be stakd up at
night. Oxen can procure food in many places where horses cannot, and in
much less time. Cattle that have been raisd in Illinois or Missouri,
stand the trip better than those raisd in Indiana or Ohio, as they have
been accustomd to eating the prairie grass, upon which they must wholly
rely while on the road. Great care should be taken in selecting
cattle—they should be from four to six years old, tight and heavy made.

For those who fit out but one wagon, it is not safe to start with less
than four yoke of oxen, as they are liable to get lame, have sore necks,
or to stray away. One team thus fitted up may start from Missouri with
twenty-five hundred pounds, and as each day’s rations make the load that
much lighter, before they reach any rough road, their loading is much
reducd.—Persons should recollect that every thing in the outfit should
be as light as the requird strength will permit. No useless trumpery
should be taken. The loading should consist of provisions and apparel, a
necessary supply of cooking fixtures, a few tools, &c. No great
speculation can be made in buying cattle and driving them through to
sell, but as the prices of oxen and cows are much higher in Oregon than
in the States, nothing is lost in having a good supply of them, which
will enable the emigrant to wagon through many articles that are
difficult to be obtaind in Oregon. Each family should have a few cows,
as the milk can be usd the entire route, and they are often convenient
to put to the wagon to relieve oxen. They should be so selected that
portions of them would come in fresh upon the road. Sheep can also be
advantageously driven. American horses and mares always command high
prices, and with careful usage can be taken through,—but if usd to
wagons or carriages, their loading should be light. Each family should
be provided with a sheet-iron stove, with boiler. A platform can easily
be constructed at the hind end of the wagon, and as it is frequently
quite windy, and there is often a scarcity of wood, the stove is very
convenient. Each family should also be provided with a tent, and to it
should be attachd good strong cords, to fasten it down.

The cooking fixtures generally usd are of sheet iron—a Dutch oven and
skillet of cast metal are very essential. Plates, cups, &c., should be
of tinware, as queensware is much heavier and liable to break, and
consumes much time in packing up. A reflector is sometimes very useful.
Families should each have two churns, one for carrying sweet and one for
sour milk.—They should also have one eight or ten-gallon keg for
carrying water, one axe, one shovel, two or three augers, one hand-saw,
and if a farmer, he should be provided with one cross-cut saw and a few
plow-molds, as it is difficult getting such articles. When I left the
country, plows cost from twenty-five to forty dollars each. A good
supply of ropes for tying up horses and catching cattle, should also be
taken.

Every person should be well supplied with boots and shoes, and in fact
with every kind of clothing. It is also well to be supplied with at
least one feather bed, and a good assortment of bedding. There are no
tame geese in the country, but an abundance of wild ones, yet it is
difficult procuring a sufficient quantity of feathers for a bed. The
Muscovy is the only tame duck in the country.

Each male person should have at least one rifle gun, and a shot gun is
also very useful for wild fowl and small game, of which there is an
abundance. The best sized calibre for the mountains is from thirty-two
to fifty-six to the pound—but one of from sixty to eighty, or even less,
is best when in the lower settlements. Buffaloes seldom range beyond the
South Pass, and never west of Green river. The larger game are elk,
deer, antelope, mountain sheep or bighorn, and bear. The small game are
hare, rabbit, grouse, sage hen, pheasant, quail, &c. A good supply of
ammunition is essential.

In laying in a supply of provisions for the journey, persons will
doubtless be governd in some degree by their means, but there are a few
essentials that all will require.

For each adult, there should be two hundred pounds of flour, thirty
pounds of pilot bread, seventy-five pounds of bacon, ten pounds of rice,
five pounds of coffee, two pounds of tea, twenty-five pounds of sugar,
half a bushel of dried beans, one bushel of dried fruit, two pounds of
saleratus, ten pounds of salt, half a bushel of corn meal—and it is well
to have a half bushel of corn, parchd and ground—a small keg of vinegar
should also be taken. To the above may be added as many good things as
the means of the person will enable him to carry, for whatever is good
at home is none the less so on the road. The above will be ample for the
journey, but should an additional quantity be taken, it can be readily
disposd of in the mountains and at good prices, not for cash, but for
robes, dressd skins, buckskin pants, moccasins, &c. It is also well for
families to be provided with medicines. It is seldom, however, that
emigrants are sick—but sometimes eating too freely of fresh buffalo meat
causes diarrhœa, and unless it be checkd soon prostrates the individual,
and leaves him a fit subject for disease.

The time usually occupied in making the trip from Missouri to Oregon
city is about five months, but with the aid of a person who has traveld
the route with an emigrating company, the trip can be performd in about
four months.

Much injury is done to teams in racing them, endeavoring to pass each
other.

Emigrants should make an every-day business of traveling—resting upon
the same ground two nights is not good policy, as the teams are likely
to ramble too far.

Getting into large companies should be avoided, as they are necessarily
compeld to move more tardily. From ten to twenty-five wagons is a
sufficient number to travel with safety. The advance and rear companies
should not be less than twenty, but between, it may be safe to go with
six.

The Indians are very annoying on account of their thieving propensities,
but if well watchd, they would seldom put them in practice.

Persons should always avoid rambling far from camp unarmd or in too
small parties; Indians will sometimes seek such opportunities to rob a
man of what little effects he has about him, and if he attempts to get
away from them with his property, they will sometimes shoot him.

There are several points along the Missouri where emigrants have been in
the practice of fitting out. Of these, Independence, St. Josephs and
Council Bluffs, are the most noted. For those emigrating from Ohio,
Indiana, Illinois and northern Missouri, Iowa and Michigan, I think St.
Josephs the best point, as by taking that route the crossing of several
streams (which at the early season we travel are sometimes very high) is
avoided. Outfits may be had at this point as readily as at any other
along the river. Work cattle can be bought in its vicinity for from
twenty-five to thirty dollars per yoke, cows, horses, &c., equally
cheap.

Emigrants should endeavor to arrive at St. Josephs early in April, so as
to be in readiness to take up the line of march by the middle of April.
Companies, however, have often started as late as the tenth of May; but
in such cases they seldom arrive in Oregon until after the rainy season
commences in the Cascade range of mountains.

Those residing in northern Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Michigan, &c., who
contemplate traveling by land to the place of rendezvous, should start
in time to give their teams at least ten days’ rest. Ox teams, after
traveling four or five hundred miles in the States, at that season of
the year, would be unfit to perform a journey across the mountains; but
doubtless they might be exchangd for others, at or near the rendezvous.

Farmers would do well to take along a good supply of horse gears.
Mechanics should take such tools as are easily carried; as there are but
few in the country, and those are held at exorbitant prices. Every
family should lay in a good supply of school books for their children.

                            * * * * * * * *

Since the advice of Mr. Palmer was given to Oregon emigrants, relating
to outfits for the overland route to that country, some advantages have
been experiencd by the use of mule instead of ox teams. In the first
place, that animal is much more sure-footed than the ox or the horse,
and in the next place, he can live on kinds of food that the ox or the
horse will not eat, and he will also live on a much less amount. The
mule is more hardy than the horse or the ox, and will endure fatigue
when the others will faint. Another circumstance which I do not
recollect to have seen mentiond by any writer, and which it may not be
improper to add in this place, is the failure of oxen upon the emigrant
route, from lameness by traveling over ground bestrewn with salts of
various kinds, but mostly alkali. To neutralize the alkali so as to
prevent the oxen from becoming lame, their hoofs should be rubd with
lard or tallow at least twice each day, till the tract of country
containing such salt is passd over. It is, however, probable that in a
few years the place of oxen will be supplied by the use of mules, though
attention will doubtless need to be paid to the hoofs of mules, to keep
them sound, as well as of oxen.

If persons wish to leave the States for California by the overland
route, earlier than the time mentioned by Mr. Palmer, it would be
necessary to leave the States with as much provision for their teams as
they could at first well haul, after having first supplied themselves
with their own necessary food to last them through their journey. In
such case a considerable distance may be overcome before the early
production of grasses upon the plains.

A few words by way of advice to persons wishing to go to California to
dig for gold, may not be uninteresting here. I have noticed that miners
from the States carry to California a great amount of baggage and
implements for mining operations at great costs of transportation and
removal from one place to another, which I deem wholly unnecessary. This
oftentimes enormous expense can be savd from the fact that clothing and
mining implements of all necessary kinds are very abundant in
California, although at a higher price than in the States, yet still the
cost of most articles in the mines will not equal the cost in the
States, added to transportation costs from the States to the seat of
mining operations in California. I would therefore say that one suit of
substantial coarse clothes, and money enough to defray expenses there,
is all that is best to carry. The amount of money necessary to defray
expenses, by way of the isthmus, from the States to the seat of mining
operations in California, cannot at present be less than 200 dollars to
each person, at the cheapest mode of traveling. Conveyance by steamer,
with best accommodations, will cost not much short of 500 dollars, but
in no case, considering contingencies, will it be safe to start with
less than 300 dollars.

Another circumstance which I have seen much chanted in the public
papers, although not particularly connected with the foregoing
information, is the scheme of making a railroad from the States overland
to California. I can only speak for one person, and this much it is,
that if Whitney knew that out of 2000 miles overland, more than 1500 of
it is a waste, barren tract, and likewise much of it very rugged, he
might be prepard to think as I do, that the income of such a road would
never keep it in repair.

    [Illustration: Wagon]




                         DESCRIPTION OF OREGON.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER VI.


   South Pass—Wind River Mountains—Oregon, its three grand divisions.

Having accomplishd my journal of distances from St. Josephs to Oregon
city, I begin my history of Oregon with the South Pass and Wind River
mountains. From descriptions formerly given by some writers of the South
Pass, the reader may be led to suppose that the traveler is to pass
through a tremendous gap of the Rocky mountains, walld in with huge
rocks on its sides, passable only by traversing the bottoms of a stream
of water, which finds its way through the mountains of that place. But
instead of such an appearance as that, on arriving at the culminating
point, he sees before him, on his left and behind, only an undulating
country, difficult probably in many places to pass with wagons, on
account of the roughness and unevenness of the surface of the land, but
destitute entirely of those cragged cliffs and high towring mountains,
which the imagination sometimes pictures out, previous to a perfect
vision of a country scenery.

The surface of the land along the emigrant route at the pass, is
sufficiently uneven to determine within one rod of the culminating
point, after which within a short distance, the road commences a
somewhat rapid descent westward three or four miles, to a spring issuing
from the hills, calld Pacific spring, because its waters are dischargd
westward into the Pacific ocean.

On the right, at the dividing ridge, twelve or fifteen miles north of
the emigrant road, terminate the Wind River range of mountains, calld
also the Rocky mountains. From their southern extremity to a
considerable distance either east or west of the dividing ridge, they
are seen to stretch far away to the north-west, towring high and giving
rise to several important rivers, which traverse the continent, and
terminate, some of them in the Atlantic ocean eastward, and some of them
in the Pacific ocean westward. Although these mountains have many lofty
peaks, yet I believe none of them are sufficiently high to maintain
their glaciers during the whole year, at all times. It is nevertheless
true, that some of their chasms and deep ravines upon their
north-eastern declivities oftentimes have snow lying in them through the
year, yet no point on any one of them, as has been remarkd, is high
enough for the existence of a zone of perpetual frost. This position is
well corroborated, also, from the fact that forests are seen growing,
not only high up their declivities, but entirely upon their summits.

The present country of Oregon, belonging to the U. States, extends from
the dividing ridge or natural division of the waters of the continent,
to the Pacific ocean westward, and in extent north and south, from lat.
42 deg. north to 49 deg. north. It seems to be divided into three grand
divisions, by ranges of parallel mountains from north to south. The
dividing summit of the continent on the east, west of the eastern
division, are the Blue mountains, separating it from the middle,—and
between the middle and western divisions, is the Cascade range of
mountains.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER VII.


     The Divisions are separately considerd—The Climate—Rivers and
        Agricultural Resources—Mineral and Geological Character.

The first or eastern division of Oregon can at present be considerd
worth little else than to hold the world together. It, however,
furnishes a tolerably good conveyance towards the ocean for some of the
waters of Oregon, that take their rise in the Rocky mountains and
elsewhere along the western declivity of the continent near to the
dividing ridge.

The surface of this division is undulating. Some of its rivers traverse
the country along their beds, from five hundred to more than one
thousand feet below the common surface. Although along the emigrant
route this division measures about seven hundred miles in width, yet its
true width may not much exceed six hundred,—and little else is seen but
a country destitute of soil and vegetation, excepting wild sage, and
except also along the rivers and some of the valleys, where detachd
portions of grass are seen. The valley along the emigrant route, through
which the Powder river waters pass, is a level plain, and it would be a
delightsome Eden, had it soil, and were it coverd with luxuriant
grasses.

I am here led to remark, that the analysis of the soil here, made by
Col. Fremont on his way through this valley, to foreign readers might
produce much misunderstanding relative to the soil of the country
generally. Although the analysis here producd may be such as indicates
good soil, yet with a little exaggeration it may be said that another
shovelful of earth would have taken nearly all the soil of the whole
valley.

                            * * * * * * * *

Across the middle division of Oregon by way of the emigrant route, from
Grand Round valley to Barlow’s gate, at the east side of the Cascade
range of mountains, is about 212 miles, though probably in a direct
course it would be some less than 200. The Blue mountains traversing
this division, give rise to some rivers that checker its visage, but
they are of minor importance, and nearly dried up in the summer, from
the long absence of rains in those parts. This division compares very
well with the eastern, in point of barrenness and disadvantages
generally for the promotion of settlement and improvements of any kind.

                            * * * * * * * *

I come now to consider the western division of Oregon—the only one on
which settlements of any considerable extent have been effected,
although Dr. Whitman succeeded in maintaining a small position on the
Walla Walla river, till the fall of 1847, at which time himself and wife
were killd by the Indians of his own fostering, growing out of a
dissatisfaction relative to his treatment with them. And although it is
thought by many that the doctor acted in all good conscience towards
them, yet through blind zeal and probably a sectarian influence from
other denominations of religionists, they were led to believe that the
doctor was taking measures to undermine their liberties, and ultimately
to overthrow and destroy them.

From the east side of the Cascade range of mountains westwardly to the
Pacific ocean the western division ranges from 150 to 200 miles in
width, and extending from north to south through the whole length of the
Oregon territory.

                            * * * * * * * *

In remarking upon the several distinct subjects that come to hand
relative to Oregon, I am first led to notice its climate.—The climate of
Oregon may be considerd a healthy one, though it is subject to
considerable changes from year to year. The summer seasons are generally
dry, with warm days and cool nights, from the first of July to the first
of October, though the rainy season, as it is calld, does not commence
much before November, at which time, and for three or four months after,
the land becomes so saturated with water, and the streams so swollen,
that little passing is done by the citizens from one place to another.

Soon after the rainy season commences in the valleys, the mountainous
portions begin to be coverd with snow, and it continues to accumulate
upon them at every successive storm, till in many places the snow
becomes nearly thirty feet deep, which lasts until quite the latter part
of the succeeding summer, before it entirely disappears.

The winter seasons are very variable. During some of the winters, the
grasses of the valleys remain green, garden vegetables are verdant, and
but little frost is seen. Others again, for three months, the earth is
bound up with frost, and the rivers are frozen over of sufficient
thickness to bear passages of considerable burden.

So far as the health of this country is concernd, it is true that some
sickness prevails, but it may be in a great measure owing to the
physical change in the physiology of the human system, in passing from
the States to a country so different in climate. After emigrants become
acclimated here, the blood becomes of a bright scarlet red, being much
more aerated or oxygenized than exists in the system in any of the
southern States of America, and consequently better health may be
inferd. At some seasons of the year, along some of the rivers, ague and
fever exists, but it is generally of a very mild character, and medicine
takes a speedy and salutary effect upon the human system.

The description of the climate here given of Oregon, being applicable to
the western division does not in all respects apply to the two eastern
divisions. The whole of Oregon lying east, of the Cascade range of
mountains, is much drier, having less rains at any time, than the
portion lying west of them.

It is often quite cold in winter, and being very dry in summer, renders
it truly a desert country.

The rivers of Oregon of any considerable notice, are well known to most
readers. Although Columbia river is much the largest in the territory,
and produces the greatest drainage of any one, yet it does not by a
considerable amount drain all of the waters of Oregon that find their
way to the Pacific ocean. Green river, commencing at Fremont’s peak, in
the Wind river mountains, is the principal source of the great Rio
Colerado of Calafornia. The great Sacramento of upper Calafornia, has
its principal source in Oregon. Other rivers though less in size, yet
nevertheless, rivers that are likely to become rivers of considerable,
importance, indent the western coast, and furnish their own drainage to
the Pacific ocean. Those rivers which fall most immediately under the
notice of actual settlers of the present day, are comprisd within the
western division of Oregon. They are Willamet, the Umpqua and the
Klamet, with their several tributaries. These rivers and their
tributaries form valleys of moderate extent, and furnish many tolerable
good farms to those who love a romantic life among the hills and vales
of an undulating country. Wheat, oats, neat cattle and horses, are the
principal sources of wealth which is derivd from the soil at present.
Indian corn is not much cultivated in Oregon, its summers being too dry
for corn to thrive well. The swine of the country look well fattend upon
wheat, but the ox is mostly usd here for food.

I ought here to remark that the wheat of this country is of a superior
quality. It is free from all those attending evils very common at the
east, such as smut, rust and wheat sickness.—The weevil is not known
here at present. The wheat of this country grows with a very stiff
stalk, which enables it to stand erect for a great length of time. This
furnishes the farmer during the dry season of the year an opportunity to
secure his abundant crop.

The mineral resources of Oregon hitherto, have receivd but little
attention. Gold has been discoverd only sparingly.—Copper is said to
exist on the Cowlits, a small tributary to the Columbia river, on the
north of it, having its source in the direction of Puget’s sound.

Lead has of late been seen upon the Santyam. It is thought by some
persons that it may be obtaind there in considerable quantities, but as
the minds of the Oregon people are at present directed to the gold mines
of California, little attention will be paid to mining operations at
home. Iron exists in large quantities in the Cascade mountains. Along
the emigrant route, I have seen iron probably as rich as 80 per cent.

The soil of the whole division west of the Cascade range is tingd of a
reddish color by the red oxide of iron. This oxide in some places is so
abundant as to injure the soil. In other places the soil is not
materially injurd by it. In some places along the rocky bluffs of some
of the rivers, iron ore is quite rich. I observd one of those places in
the bluffs east of the Willamet falls, at the south end of Oregon city,
where the road, leading to the top of the highest bluff is excavated.
From my own observations in traveling over the western division, I am
confident that there is no lack of iron ore in almost every part, and so
soon as the inhabitants are ready to turn their attention to it, their
necessary supplies will be furnishd from their own country.

The next subject relative to the Oregon country is its geological
character. In remarking upon the geology of this country several
departments of the science are presented to view. First, there are three
ranges of mountains running nearly parallel with each other from north
to south.

The eastern range which bounds the eastern side of Oregon, is along the
dividing ridge of the American continent. If the question be asked, why
this dividing ridge? the geologist alone attempts an answer. From the
accumulation of facts hitherto adducd of the liquidity of the earth’s
interior, and the discharge for ages of its internal liquid matter upon
the already formd crust, it is evident that its nucleus must become less
than at first, and thereby produce a rigid and furrowd appearance of the
crust, by its conforming through the power of gravitation to a lesser
surface than that on which it was at first formd. Altho’ isolated peaks
of mountain ranges may be formd by accumulation of lava, and
considerable districts may be raisd by the pressure of gasses from
beneath, yet so considerable an elevation as the dividing ridge of the
American continent can never be formd in such a way.

Oregon is truly an uneven and mountainous country. It is true that in
passing from the dividing ridge westward, there are a few situations
where the traveler views the country around him as apparently level, but
this appearance continues on advancing along, but a short distance, till
he is plunged into almost inextricable gulfs and deep ravines. The Blue
mountains or intermediate range between the dividing ridge and the
Cascade range, are of minor importance. They traverse no considerable
extent of country, nor are they very wide. They have a volcanic
appearance, and are strewd over with vescicular lava.

The Cascade range of mountains are more extensive, traversing by
different names the whole of Oregon and California, at a distance of
from 100 to 200 miles from the Pacific ocean. Some of its peaks are high
and coverd with perpetual glaciers. This range, like the dividing ridge,
seems to have been elevated by compression.

Between the Willamet valley and the ocean, is a range of high hills
calld the Coast range. These are too rugged to admit of cultivation.

The western shore of Oregon is rocky, and in many places precipitous. If
the theory that ocean beds are formd by undulations in the earth’s crust
be true, the query might arise, Why are ocean limits of precipitous
rocks of the firmest material, as is the case with many of the ocean
shores, and not a gradual slope from the land downward to the bed of the
ocean? If it be admitted that rivers are formd by the expansive force of
gasses acting beneath the earth’s crust, it may be supposd that a
fissure by similar means may be formd parallel and near to the shore of
an ocean, so that its waters by their weight may produce a subsidence of
that portion lying under them, whilst that part opposite the fissure
remaind stationary.

Oregon may be regarded as a primary country. Few fossiliferous rocks are
seen in any part of it. I noticd on the west bank of Big Sandy creek,
about thirty miles west of South pass, a few fossiliferous shale rocks.
I have not noticd any in other places, though they may exist sparingly.
From the American falls on Snake river, for several hundred miles
westward the country is overlaid with a stratum of basaltic lava. This
seems to be the true basalt, and although the rocks of the Willamet
river at Oregon city have been considerd by some as basalt, from their
extreme hardness, yet I have noticd that the surface of those rocks,
after having been exposd to the weather, become a mere sand rock, by the
loss of the iron with which they are impregnated. It is well known to
mineralogists, that iron becomes soluble by the action of the atmosphere
upon it, by which means water carries it from its parent bed to lower
levels, where it is deposited, under the name of bog ore. The rocks at
Oregon city consist of about three varieties of rock, differing not
essentially in their properties, though some of them appear to have been
subjected to so high a degree of heat as to render them somewhat
crystaline or vitreous. The rocks at Oregon city are so fully
impregnated with iron, that the magnetic needle, at some points along
these rocks, is drawn aside from its polar position.

From what information I have obtaind in addition to my own observation
respecting the rocks of Oregon, I am satisfied that few rocks except
those of a silicious formation, exist here. Along the Columbia river,
near its mouth, are a few lime rocks of inferior quality. At the Cascade
falls, are whole trees of silicious petrefaction, showing distinctly the
grains of the timber, and to what kind they belongd.

As the Willamet river has hitherto attracted the attention of actual
settlers more than any other tributary of the Columbia river, I have
concluded to give a more particular description of it than any other one
belonging to the Western division of Oregon. From its confluence with
the Columbia to the high country of its sources, the Willamet traverses
a distance of about two hundred miles in extent. Its union with the
Columbia is not much short of one hundred miles from the ocean. At the
mouth of the Willamet, is a delta fifteen or twenty miles in length,
calld Souvie’s island, running nearly parallel with the Columbia. This
island was formerly the residence of immense numbers of Indians. The
Hudson Bay Company at present occupy it for farming purposes. At the
eastern or upper mouth of the Willamet, are one or two other small
deltas, though of no importance.

About fifteen miles from the Columbia, on the west bank of the Willamet,
is a small town calld Portland. Ships of considerable burden visit this
place for their lading.

Five miles farther up, on the east side, is a town newly laid out by Mr.
Lot Whitcomb, calld Milwaukie. Vessels of considerable size can sail as
far up as this place.

Seven or eight miles farther up, on the east side, is a tributary calld
Clacamas. Its waters flow from the Cascade mountains. At the mouth of
this tributary are rapids, which prevent ships from sailing up to Oregon
city.

One mile farther up, is Oregon city on the east side, and Lynn city on
the west side of the Willamet river. Between these two places is a bay,
the waters of which are between three and four hundred feet deep. The
width of the bay is about thirty rods, near the upper end at the
crossing, and gradually widens downward to the Clackamas rapids.

Oregon city at present is built entirely upon the first terrace above
the waters of the bay, and being so narrow that there is but one street
that passes through the town lengthwise, excepting a Water street along
the shore of the bay. East of the present town and contiguous to it, is
a precipitous range of rocks, one hundred feet high from Main street,
and so near to it that there is but just room enough for the
accommodation of buildings with some very small gardens. On the top of
this bluff, which is a second terrace from the waters of the river, the
surveys for the town are extended, but no buildings have yet been
erected there. Still back of this at a short distance, is a third
terrace, elevated in hight equal to the surrounding country.

Oregon city is a new town, containing about 150 buildings, two saw
mills, one of which is a double mill, and two grist mills. At each of
these mills, water enough is wasted to carry four other mills. I think I
may justly say, that there is water power enough at Oregon city to carry
five hundred grist mills. It seems, on taking a view of the natural dam
at the upper end of Oregon city, that when the fissure now constituting
the river was formd, the paroxysmal effort from beneath causd a lateral
dismemberment of some of the rocks along the sides of the fissure, and
upon sliding down chokd up the chasm from one side to the other. Below
the falls, the terrace on which the town stands seems to have taken a
similar slide, but being filld in part with rubbish beneath, prevented
an entire union of the rocks, leaving the chasm now constituting the
bay.

The waters of the falls are precipitated over the cragged rocks at
several different places, foaming and tumbling with tremendous roar, to
the depth of thirty feet into the waters of the bay below.

About one mile and a half above the falls, on the west side of the
river, is the small tributary calld Twality, issuing from the coast
range.

Two or three miles farther up, is another slide of rocks, which chokes
up the entire stream, with the exception of a small chasm or two, too
narrow to admit boats of any considerable size to pass.

About twelve miles above Oregon city, on the east side of the river,
Molala and Pudding river waters unite with the Willamet. These two
tributaries have good supplies of water for mills. After having
collected their waters from the hilly country east, they meander about
over the land, and finally empty into the Willamet at one place.

About thirty miles above Oregon city, Yam creek unites with the
Willamet, on its west side, watering the country from the coast range in
two separate branches, till within about ten miles of the Willamet,
where they unite and form one.

Salem, a small town on the east side of the Willamet, about forty-five
miles above Oregon city, is the site of the missionary, Mr. Lee, of the
Methodist order, now no more. At this place, is a classical school of
considerable merit, the only one of importance in Oregon territory.

Rickreyall and Luckamute, on the west side of Willamet, contribute to
its waters, but little above Salem.

Still farther up, and not more than eight or ten miles above Salem or
the Institute as some call it, on the east side of the Willamet, is the
Santyam, a stream of considerable importance, the principal branch of
which flows from Mount Jefferson, one of the glacial peaks of the
Cascade range. The course of this river from Mount Jefferson to its
union with the Willamet, is not more than about forty miles.

Other tributaries of some importance still farther up, flow into the
Willamet, on both sides of it, till arriving at the high country of
their sources, where they ramify in all directions.

Leaving the subject of the Willamet river, I pass on to a description of
the forests and animals of Oregon.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                             CHAPTER VIII.


                     Forests and Animals of Oregon.

Between the South pass and the Blue mountains, across the Eastern
division of Oregon, no forests encostume the earth, to emit their
fragrant odors to cheer and exhilarate the weary and thirsty traveler,
except on the Bear River mountains, a few isolated peaks scatterd over
that barren region. Along the streams occasionally, however, are seen an
inferior growth of timber and shrubbery of various kinds. The Blue
mountains afford some dense clusters of timber of yellow pine,
spruce-hemlock, and some fir. They do not, however, soar to the amazing
hight of some of the trees of the Cascade mountains and the Western
division. The Middle division is still more destitute of timber than the
Eastern.

From the eastern side of the Cascade mountains westward to the Pacific
ocean, the country is mostly coverd with timber. Many of the forests are
so thickly set with under-brush, that they are with difficulty
penetrated. Here, the fir is the most prevalent. Hemlock, cedar, soft or
white maple as it is sometimes calld, oak and many other kinds of
timber, are found in this division.

Timber of the same name with that of other countries, has a growth
dissimilar. I have seen Laurel from one to two feet in diameter, and
probably more than thirty feet high. Oak is generally inferior and
scrubby. Hazel is sometimes from five to six inches in diameter, though
it is commonly from one to two inches in diameter, being the only
article of which hoops for barrels are made. Its hight is sometimes from
twenty to twenty-five feet. Elder is often six inches in diameter, and
from twenty to thirty feet high.

The largest tree I have seen in Oregon is a hemlock, standing near the
shore of Young’s bay, a little below the confluence of Young’s with the
Lewis and Clark’s river, about two miles above their entrance into the
Columbia, and about one mile and a half a little west of south from
Astoria. This tree is about two hundred feet in hight, and measures, six
feet from the ground, thirty-four and a half feet in circumference. The
tallest tree that I have been enabld to measure, is in Oregon city. Its
hight is about two hundred and seventy feet. I am, however, of opinion
that taller timber may be seen at the foot of Laurel hill, in the
Cascade mountains.

The trees of this country in many places are coverd with moss. I have
noticd that the timber of evergreen countries is more commonly burdend
with moss than those where defoliation is general. Hence, I am of
opinion that Oregon will not be a very good country for fruit. I have
observd that apple trees soon cover with moss, and appear of an inferior
growth.

                            * * * * * * * *

Among the native animals of this country, some of them are ferocious.
The bear, tiger, panther and wolf, are of this class. The deer, the
beaver and elk, are also natives of this country. The ferocious are
sometimes known to attack the traveler, though it is not common. Those
of the milder and gregarious classes obtain their support mostly from
the bunch grass of the prairies.

It may here be remarkd, that no grass of this country, except along some
of the river bottoms, grows in any other way than in the form of
bunches, with intermediate spaces of several inches, and often of
several feet.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER IX.


         Magnetic Poles of the Earth—Variation of the Magnetic
                Needle—Phenomena of the Northern Lights.

Captain Ross, an English navigator, left England about twenty years ago,
in pursuit of the north magnetical pole. He followd the magnetical
needle, directing its course westwardly till he arrivd at Baffin’s bay
in America, where he left his ship and traveld about two hundred miles
still farther west, at which place he determind to be the north magnetic
pole. This point being several hundred miles south of the north
geographical pole, determines its opposite or south magnetical pole to
be an equal distance north of the south geographical pole, though on the
opposite side of the earth.

From the north magnetic pole southward, the line of coincidence, or line
of no variation as it is sometimes calld, passes through Hudson’s bay,
the state of Michigan, Ohio, and the several states lying south of
these. This line forms a perfect circle around the earth, and the
magnetic needle at any place on the earth within this circle will point
directly through the magnetical poles coincident with the extreme points
of the earth’s geographical axis. The magnetic needle along this line is
sometimes subject to slight vascillations, in consequence of the
fluctuations of electricity occasiond by the heat of the sun, or
geological differences of the earth’s surface.

The variation of the magnetic needle in Oregon, among other things, has
attracted my attention. Surveyors of this country tell me that the
magnetical needle varies to the right of the geographical pole about 19
deg. and 20 min. Some, however, have observd in different places a
variation of more than 20 degrees. This difference may be accounted for,
by the great amount of iron disseminated through the country.

I have taken the trouble to draw a diagram of a section of the earth, to
ascertain what the variation of the magnetic needle would be
geometrically, at Oregon city. This corresponds, to a considerable
degree of nearness, with experiments made with the compass. Concerning
the depth to which the magnetic pole is seated in the earth, I have no
means of ascertaining. This could best be done with a dipping needle
along the line of no variation, at a suitable distance from the equator,
so that the north end of the needle may have a perfect freedom of dip.
Let the distance be ascertaind from the observer to the north magnetic
pole, as manifested at the surface, which differs not much from two
hundred miles, west of Baffin’s bay. This distance may form the base
line of a right-angled triangle. Let the surface angle at the magnetic
pole be the right angle, and the dipping needle will show the angle at
the place of the observer between the line on the surface of the earth
and the line made by the dip. The observer then has a right-angled
triangle, with sufficient data to ascertain at what depth the magnetic
pole lies below the surface of the earth.

It would be gratifying to me, if some philosopher along the line of
coincidence would take the trouble to ascertain the depth of the
magnetic pole, and publish his experiments. Possibly, some day, a
knowledge of that fact may add to the light of science.

The reasons why the magnetic needle at some places on the earth has a
stationary variation from the geographical pole, and at others an annual
movable variation, seems by some to be not easily accounted for, but I
am of opinion that the same reasons may be assigned for the stationary
position of the needle that are assigned for the stationary appearance
of a planet in its orbit around the sun.

The motion of the magnetic pole around the earth, to an observer at any
one point on the earth, as at London at present, presents during its
whole circuit two stationary points or extremes to the left in its
forward, and to the right in its retrograde movement. The extreme
slowness of the magnetic pole round the earth, causes the stationary
variation of the needle to remain nearly the same for a great many
years. Hence so long as the magnetic pole continues to revolve around
the earth, every other place on the earth will give in its turn a
stationary and an annual variation.

Soon after my arrival at Oregon city, in the fall of the year, I observd
that the central portion of that body of light calld Aurora Borealis,
was as much to the right of the north geographical pole as the variation
of the magnetic needle. I was then led to conclude that it was a
constant attendant upon the north magnetical pole, moving westward
gradually as the magnetic pole advances in that direction.

Very evidently the Northern Lights are occasiond by emissions of
electrical light flowing from the great amount of electricity
concentrated at the north magnetical pole.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                               CHAPTER X.


                         Curiosities of Oregon.

It is difficult to tell, in making out a history of a country, what
would be a curiosity and what would not, to readers that are familiar
with descriptions of country scenery. I have selected a few that are
considered by some as curiosities, as follows.

  Mount Hood and its glacial sisters.
  Bear Lake of Bear River.
  Soda Springs.
  Hot Springs.
  Cascade Falls.

Mount Hood is one of the glacial peaks of the Cascade range of
mountains. It is situated about 50 miles a little south of east from
Oregon city, from whose vicinity it can be seen, and about 30 miles
south of the Columbia river. Its height above tide water is about 11,721
feet. Rain seldom falls upon this mountain. Whenever it is enveloped by
clouds, their contents are generally deposited in the form of snow. And
in the summer season, the spectator from a neighboring mountain may
frequently see it glistening with a brilliant white covering of snow,
when only a few minutes before it had presented a mottled appearance of
naked precipitous rocks, glacial prominences, huge caverns and deep
ravines, so rapid is the passage of the clouds across the summit of this
mountain. Alternately, during the summer season, the top of this
mountain is coverd with clouds and then illuminated with a brilliant sun
through a transparent sky. During the short season of repose from
storms, the sun pours down its intense rays upon those snows and
prominent glaciers, reducing them to water, which on its passage
downward, especially in the hottest of the summer season, frequently
deluges the whole base of the mountain, overturning and submerging to a
considerable depth beneath rocks and sand bars, many of the most lofty
and gigantic trees growing at the base and along the valley below.

On ascending this mountain, as the traveler arrives at the line of
perpetual frost, he sees no verdure of any kind. Animals can only live
to skirt across some of its lowest glaciers to other mountains more
friendly to contribute to their support. Still advancing upward, the
glaciers become more steep, till they with the walls of precipitous
rocks, bid entire defiance to an ascension to the top of this
interesting mountain.

In some of the lowest glaciers of Mount Hood are glacial caverns,
several hundred feet deep, coverd from sight with sometimes only a thin
covering of ice, with scarcely sufficient strength to sustain the weight
of a man.

Mount Hood is a sample of the immense disintegrating power of
glacio-aqueous agency. It cannot be expected that otherwise than great
disintegrating power should exist where there are constant alternations
of frost and water upon rock, as is the case upon Mount Hood. From this
mountain flow several important streams of water, all of which, I
believe, are constantly filled with a thick sediment of disintegrated
rock.

Mount Hood on the east furnishes a considerable arm of Deshutes river.
On the west, a large stream calld Sandy creek, and a part of Clackamas.
Sandy, after a few miles of westerly course, runs north and falls into
the Columbia river, a little below the Cascade falls. Another important
stream calld Dog river, flows to the north and empties into the Columbia
river above the Cascade falls. In fine, Mount Hood sits as queen of
mountains within its vicinity, and being located centrally within that
vast range of mountains, and elevated so much above all others as it is,
must necessarily distribute its waters on all sides, breaking their way
and bursting their barriers through other mountains of inferior size,
till they are finally discharged into the ocean.

Mount Jefferson, another glacial peak, is situated centrally in the
Cascade range of mountains, about 50 miles nearly south of Mount Hood,
and about 40 miles east of the Willamet river. This glacier, as well as
Mount Hood, contributes to the waters of Deshutes on the east, and the
Willamet on the west. Its character is similar in most respects to Mount
Hood, though somewhat inferior in size.

Mount St. Helen, on the north side of the Columbia river and about forty
miles from it, is another high towring glacier of the Cascade range.
This mountain, as seen from Oregon city, pierces the welkin high above
the horizon around. Citizens of this country say that there are
occasional emissions of smoke from its summit, though no lava of late
has been seen flowing down its declivities. No successful attempt has
been made to climb this mountain, to ascertain the size and appearance
of its crater. It is the only one in this region that appears at present
to show signs of volcanic activity.

Mount Rainier and Mt. Baker, still farther north along the Cascade
range, are similar in character, less in size, and not very well known.

                            * * * * * * * *

Bear lake and the Mineral springs are next to receive attention as
curiosities.

Twelve or thirteen miles west of Thomas’ fork of Bear river, is an
extensive bottom of Bear river, where is a lake of unknown depth, and
about three miles in width. Across this lake is a bar of earth,
extending entirely from one bank to its opposite, rising about three
feet above the waters of the lake, and wide enough for wagons to pass.
This lake is a short distance above the confluence of its waters with
Bear river. Its waters come from the mountains south of the lake, and
are dischargd by percolation through this bar into the lake below it.
From what I have seen of beaver dams in West Oregon, I am inclind to
think this bar was made by those animals.

                            * * * * * * * *

The Soda springs at Bear river, sixty-five miles east of Fort Hall, are
considerd by some persons a curiosity. The bottoms of Bear river, at the
springs and for several miles in extent along the emigrant route, appear
to be cavernous. In the vicinity of the springs where most of them are
located, emissions of gasses are observd from the surface of the land,
and oftentimes with a considerable explosion. The springs likewise are
constantly emitting gasses from them, as noticd by the bubbling of the
water. The river at this place appears like a boiling pot.

The water of these springs is quite sedimentary. Numerous cones of
silent springs are seen all around, occasiond by constant accumulations
from the sediment of the waters. Some of the springs form craters or
basin-shapd tops of several feet in diameter. These springs, after
having been active a great number of years, choke up their orifices, and
become silent. One which I saw on the bank of the river, calld by some
the Steamboat spring, had nearly ceasd to flow. Its dying groans
reminded me of a dying butcherd animal. Many of the springs are
intermittent of a few seconds alternately. So soon as the gasses are
sufficiently accumulated beneath, they are dischargd, often throwing the
water to several feet.

Some of these springs are too alkaline to be pleasant to the taste, or
even healthy. Others again, have a sufficient amount of acid in
combination to render them tolerably pleasant. I believe, however, that
none of them are as pleasant as the artificial soda of our shops.

                            * * * * * * * *

About fifty miles east of Fort Boyce, along the south side of Snake
river and near to it, are hot springs issuing from the plains. At their
sources, they are scalding hot. Not far distant from these, on the north
side of Snake river, are other similar springs. Fifteen or sixteen miles
west of Fort Boyce, at the crossing of Malheur on the emigrant road, are
other springs, some of which are so hot that a man cannot bear his hand
in them two seconds. All of the hot springs are sulphurous.

From the volcanic character of a great portion of the country lying west
of the dividing ridge of the American continent, it may probably be
inferd that the water of these springs is heated by internal fires, not
very deep-seated.

                            * * * * * * * *

The Cascade falls are noticd by some travelers as worthy of attention.
Some remarks relative to them may not be altogether uninteresting, as
well also to correct some errors of former writers.

Mr. Eby, a late visitor of the falls, informd me that the country above
the cascade is so nearly on a level with the country below, that were
the rocks that choke up the river at the cascade removd, the water of
the river would flow as smoothly and with as little apparent fall, as it
does for miles above or below that place.

Immediately above the falls is an apparent subsidence of many acres of
timberd land, so that the trees are standing in very deep water. But few
of them at present remain. Visitors of the present day are of the
opinion that the apparent subsidence is not one in reality, and that the
place now submerged was once a bottom land, coverd with a dense growth
of fir, and as the rocks precipitated from their stupendous columns into
the river at that place, the waters were gradually damd up, so as to
overflow the bottom of the river above.

The timber there submergd has become of a siliceous petrefaction,
showing the grains of the timber as perfectly as if no such petrefaction
had taken place.

After closing my remarks relative to the natural scenery of Oregon, I am
led to suggest some ideas concerning the poor, degraded, primitive man
of the country.




                           INDIANS OF OREGON.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER XI.


                  Their Customs, Habits and Character.

The Indians of Oregon, notwithstanding the exertions that have been made
to improve their condition, are still a degraded race of semi-human
beings, rapidly approaching to total extinction. Such is the proneness
of the human race to indolence and vice, that it requires the whole of a
short life to make any considerable advances towards an improvement in
his natural or mental condition, even amongst the most favord portions
of the human family.

The Indian does not appear to have the most distant conceptions of any
moral obligation towards another. He is prompted by tradition more than
by a sense of duty, and the more he becomes enlightend, the more he
becomes alive to vice.

The fox, taken from its lair in an infantile state, is only reard and
shown to the lodgings of the domestic fowl of the barnyard, ere he
escapes from the hands of his benefactor, with his prey, to his distant
and secret abode, amongst the thicket of the forest. So the Indian.
Point him to the comforts and enjoyments of a domestic life, and he
looks upon them with indifference and disdain. Teach him that from the
plow is derivd his food, and that in due time he may reap if he faint
not, and yet if he is hungry he will resort to the potato patch of his
neighbor and dig them all up so soon as they are planted, leaving his
future well-being to the fates.

There is but little confidence reposd in each other respecting the
safe-keeping of property, and it is impossible to make an Indian believe
that it is morally wrong to steal. The only thing that prevents them
from stealing, is the probability of being detected and punishd for it,
and that Indian is smartest, who is keenest at the business.

At present, the few remaining Indians of Oregon are in a worse condition
than before the whites settled amongst them. Formerly, they depended
entirely on furs to keep them warm during the inclement season of the
year, but now they are partly clad in skins and partly in garments
nearly worn out, sold them by the whites for a trifling amount of labor,
or such other pay as is agreed upon. With these, they are often
amusingly and fantastically dressd. A man is sometimes seen wearing a
bonnet, wrong side before. Sometimes a woman is seen wearing a man’s
shirt, and others, again, are seen wearing a dress, reversed. Sometimes,
in the summer season, it would puzzle a Philadelphia lawyer to tell what
kind of a dress they do wear, or whether——

At present, there are probably not more than twenty-five Indians, who
consider the Willamet valley their home, though others, from the upper
country of the Columbia, resort to Oregon city to winter, because they
can obtain support during that season more readily, where abundant
supplies can be had at all times.

The mode of doctoring, when any prevalent disease is among them, has a
tendency rapidly to depreciate their numbers. It is done by heating the
system as hot as they can bear, in ovens made for that purpose, along
the banks of streams, where the patient is shut in for several minutes,
with heated pebbles, until he obtains a thorough sweat. He then rushes
to the stream and plunges into the water, which cools the system so
suddenly, that hundreds live to try the experiment but a few times.

Another depopulating mode of conduct is practicd amongst some of the
tribes, which is that of flattening the head. The opinion that the Great
Spirit can better distinguish between the aristocrat and his slave, in
another world, has led to the practice of flattening the heads of the
aristocracy, and leaving the heads of their slaves natural. This
practice is common only amongst some of the tribes of the Western
valley. Those Indians of the upper country, nominally Flat Heads, are so
only in derision.

The mode of flattening the head, is to take the infant, at the first
dawn of its existence, and lash firmly to its back a board, somewhat
longer than the child and of suitable width, probably eight or ten
inches, for it to lie upon when placd in a prostrate position. Its arms
are brought downward to this board, and lashd so firmly that the infant
cannot stir them. The board at its back reaches two or three inches
above the head, so that the board which serves for flattening the head,
being fastend to the top of this, is brought over the head forward to
the edge of the brow. To the edges of this are fastend small cords, that
are brought back and fastend to the board behind. These cords are drawn
so tight that the board on the head forms an a acute angle at the top,
with the board on its back. In this position, the miserable infant is
kept more than three months, languishing for want of action. Sometimes,
the blood gushes out from the nostrils and ears, from the severe
pressure of the board.

But few survive the operation. When the operation is fully accomplishd,
the head is flattend from the brow to the top of the head, though
sometimes, in after life, it becomes a little raisd at the fontanelle
and cross sutures.

An Indian can be taught to pray, and, in fact, they do often pray to
their Tyee, or Big Spirit, as they call him, that he will give them a
supply of venison and other present supplies—but what may be considerd a
change of heart, is entirely foreign to an Indian.

A few years ago, at the station of Mr. Lee, upon the Willamet river,
there was revival of religion, amongst whom were a considerable number
of Indians. The whites succeeded in getting them to pray for awhile, but
after they had prayd long enough, as they supposd, for a good lot of
blankets, they began to call for them. The whites told them that they
must not pray in that way. They replied, that they would not pray for
them any more, if they would not pay them for what they had done.

The Indians at Dr. Whitman’s station, on the Walla Walla river, have
manifested, in their conduct towards him, what may truly be considerd
traits of Indian character. Like a venomous serpent, that bites the hand
that feeds it, so the Indians of that country, after incessant toil of
ten or twelve years, to teach them husbandry and the various comforts of
domestic life, stretchd forth their cruel hands, upon the 29th of
November, 1847, and murdered himself and family.

I have long been of the opinion, that it is useless to send missionaries
to barbarous races of men, for the sake of Christianizing them, or even
civilizing them. The only benefit arising from an operation of that
kind, is to furnish a foothold for the enterprising white man, who may
follow the steps of the missionary, to seek a new home, where he may
display his wisdom, in beautifying and improving the face of nature.
Whom God has cursd, he is cursd, and whom God has blessd, truly is
blessd.

Soon after the massacre of Dr. Whitman, the authorities of Oregon advisd
all the missionaries of the upper country to leave their fields of
operation, which they did, with the exception of Roman Catholics, who
have some localities there.

It is difficult to determine what brought events to such a crisis as
that of the death of Dr. Whitman. It is supposd by some, that the Roman
Catholics sought an advantage to break up the Protestants at that place,
by making the Indians believe that the whites were endeavoring to
exterminate them, by introducing disease among them.

On their way to the Western valley of Oregon, some of the emigrants, who
were afflicted with the measles, passd through Dr. Whitman’s place, and
imparted them to the Indians, from which cause, many of them died.

The Indians are great believers in sorcery. They are of the opinion,
that the man who has power to cure, has also power to kill, by means of
witchcraft. From this belief, has arisen the custom amongst the Indians,
of killing their doctors, when any of their patients do not recover.

Before closing the subject of the Oregon Indians, I have seen fit to
insert Mr. Spalding’s account of Dr. Whitman’s death, as given him by
his own daughter, who was present during the distressing event, which is
given by him as follows.




                          WAIILATPU MASSACRE.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER XII.


 Account of the murder of Dr. Whitman, as given by Rev. H. H. Spalding.

In this communication I will commence the history of the bloody tragedy
of the 29th of November at Waiilatpu. In all such massacres there is
usually one or more escapes to tell the dreadful tale. It would seem God
rescued me from the murderer’s hand, to perform this painful office. May
kind Heaven grant that it may never again be my painful duty to record a
like tragedy. May the friends of missions never again be calld upon to
supply the places of their missionaries, cut down by the hands of those
to whom they may be sent with the blessings of the gospel of peace.
Especially may the dreadful act not again be done by the hands of those
who have been baptized in the name of the sacred Trinity, and introducd
into the Christian church. Considering all the circumstances which
attended the massacre at Waiilatpu, I think it stands first on the
catalogue of Indian crimes. The massacres committed in the first
settlements of America, were the acts of uncivilized, unchristianizd
heathens. The much lamented Dr. Whitman and esteemd lady and those who
fell with them, were murderd by the Cayuse Indians, who wishd to be
regarded a christianizd people, strictly honest, particularly friendly
to the Americans, having adopted the habits of civilizd life—with whom
my departed brother and sister had labord for more than eleven years,
had been the means under God of introducing among them numerous herds of
cattle, of planting fields of grain all through the country, had
deliverd them from their former precarious source of subsistence roots
and fish, and in their place, furnishd them, or causd them to possess in
abundance, all the comforts of life, various grains, vegetables, milk,
butter, beef, plows, &c. They had been indefatigable in their labors, to
instruct them in the principles of the Christian religion and to
introduce schools.

The Cayuse had become a praying people. In almost every lodge the family
altar was erected. No doubt on the morning of the bloody 29th, the
murderers were scrupulous to observe their morning devotions, again at
evening, while the dead bodies of the slain lay about unburied, the food
of the fowls of heaven and the beasts of the earth.

One of the actors of this horrible scene was a member of our church, and
while he held one of the captives as his wife, the sport of his brutal
passions, he was careful to have morning and evening prayer and to read
a portion of scripture from his book, which we printed while he was in
our school at Clear Water.

Their sick and dead had ever been the peculiar care and receivd the
devoted attention of their missionaries. Yes my beloved associates,
whose hands had so often furnishd winding sheets and coffins for their
dead, were denied coffins and even a resting-place under the earth by
this same professed Christian people. Such are the people who have
committed the horrible murders of which it has become my painful duty to
write.—Such the end of the once promising mission among the Cayuse
Indians.

On the 18th of November Mr. Jackson, my daughter Eliza, ten years of
age, and myself, left my place for Waiilatpu. My object was to spend a
few weeks with Dr. Whitman, visiting his people, preaching, assisting
him in his labors with the sick and dying. We were anxious to be present
at some of the meetings which the Catholic priests were holding with the
Indians to obtain locations near Waiilatpu, and to persuade the priests
if possible, to allow the Indians to say whether Catholic or Protestant
missionaries should remain among them. Should the Indians prefer the
Catholic missionaries, we would then and ever been ready to leave the
country and allow them to occupy the field unmolested. But should the
Indians prefer that the Protestant missionaries should continue, we have
ever felt the Catholics ought to leave us undisturbed. We have ever felt
that unprotected by law, we could not be safe should the Catholics come
into our field.

The feelings of the Indians were, that both missionaries could not
occupy the same field. The Rev. Mr. Josette of the upper Catholic
mission requested of the Nez Perces, two years ago, a location near my
station. The principal chief Ellis said, “It will do for the French and
English to have two religions, as they have laws, but for Indians who
have no laws, it will not do. We have one religion with which we are
satisfied. If the Catholics come in, there will be fighting
immediately.”

We have held ourselves ready to leave the country whenever the Indians
as a body wishd it. Dr. Whitman twice during the last year calld the
Cayuse together and told them if a majority wishd he would leave the
country at once. The Cayuse chiefs unanimously said he must not leave,
and among them were the principal persons who have staind their hands in
his blood. Dr. W. held himself ready to sell the Waiilatpu station to
the Catholic mission whenever a majority of the Cayuse might wish it,
provided that mission might wish to purchase it and the other stations,
and the mission might agree. I am not aware that the Catholic mission
ever applied to Dr. Whitman to purchase the Waiilatpu station. However
that may be, he would have proved recreant to the trust committed to him
by the American Board, had he sold the station or left it unless desird
by a majority of the people.

A few days before I arrivd at Waiilatpu, the bishop and his priests had
held a meeting with the Cayuse at Walla-walla and laid before them again
their wish to obtain a location near the doctor’s station. Capt. Murray
informs me that he was present at that meeting, and that Tamtsaky and
Telapkaikt, said to the bishop, “That they would give him a station
already furnishd with buildings, mills, fences, &c., that it was the one
occupied by Dr. Whitman, that the doctor was a bad man and they were
going to get rid of him.” The bishop objected to taking the doctor’s
place. They then told him to come up and they would show him a place.
Accordingly, the bishop or one of his priests did so, and a place was
selected about four miles from the doctor’s station.

On learning this, a Cayuse chief said to Telaukaikt, “Have you allowd
the Catholic priest to select a location?” the answer was “Yes.” The
chief replied, with this strong language of rebuke, “Why did you not put
the priest in the doctor’s house at once?” that is, as understood by the
Indians, “why did you not kill the doctor at once and give his property
to the priests?” This last statement I receivd from my fallen brother
the week before his death, who said, in view of this and other alarming
movements of the Catholics, “Now if the Indians do not allow us to
leave, my days are few, but if I am to fall by Catholic influence, I
believe my death will do as much good for Oregon as my life can.”

I arrivd at the station Nov. 22d. The doctor’s large family had been
sick with the measles, and three of the children were still dangerously
ill. Mr. Osborn and his whole family were sick with the same disease.
Many of the other white families at the station were just taking the
measles. The Indians were sorely afflicted, dying every day, one, two,
and sometimes five in a day, with the dysentery which very generally
followd the measles. On the 24th Mr. Osborn’s second child died. Mrs.
Osborn and her youngest child continued very low.

As we are approaching the eve of the awful tragedy, I will here notice
the white persons living at the station at the time of the massacre. The
doctor’s family consisted of himself and lady, Mr. Rogers, formerly our
school teacher, now studying with a view to join our mission, Mr. and
Miss Rewley, the former very sick at the time, seven orphan children of
one family by the name of Sager, (father and mother died crossing the
mountains in 1844,) the two daughters of Mr. Bridger and Mr. Meek, a
half-breed Spanish boy, whom the doctor had brought up from infancy, and
bound to the doctor by his father, and the two sons of Mr. Manson of the
H. B. Co.

The following are the names of the families, their number and
occupation, viz. Mr. Osborn millwright, Mrs. Osborn and three children,
Mr. Camfield blacksmith, Mrs. Camfield and five children, Mr. Hall
employd building store-houses for the Indians, Mrs. Hall and five
children, Mr. Saunders school-teacher, Mrs. Saunders and five children,
Mr. Marsh miller, one child, Mrs. Hayse and two children. At the
saw-mill, twenty miles distant, Mr. Young mechanic, Mrs. Young, three
sons young men, Mr. Smith cutting saw-logs, Mrs. Smith and five
children, Mr. Hoffman employd in getting wheat for the Indians, Mr.
Sails sick, Mr. Gillian tailor.

Most of these, contrary to the wish of the doctor, had stopd at the
station to winter on account of weak teams or sickness. The doctor had
been at considerable expense in exploring a new route from the Utilla to
the Dalls, which avoided the sands and heavy hills of the Columbia
river, led through good grass, and a nearer route. He was very
solicitous to persuade as many of the emigration as possible to pass on
to the Dalls, fearful that sickness and weak teams would compel more to
stop at the station than he could procure provisions for. I had already
packd over from my station, seventeen horse-loads of grain, expected to
pack more, from time to time through the winter.

Very many who were persuaded to pass on to the lower country, felt
rather hard at the doctor at the time, for not allowing them to stop. I
thought myself he was over anxious. He is not to be blamd for the number
of Americans that were wintering at his station, if any blame is to be
attachd to this circumstance, but there is none, plainly because a
number of Americans’ wintering at Waiilatpu had nothing to do in
bringing about the massacre. To insinuate otherwise, is a base slander
upon the American character. That such insinuations, however, have gone
forth, I am aware, but it is for no other purpose than to divert public
attention from the true causes, and fasten it upon what was not the
cause. If Americans were the cause, why were all the Americans killd?
while the Catholics, down to the smallest child, were spard, caresd and
permitted to dwell among the murderers to this day unharmed, and even
now are commencing new stations among the Indians, while the last
families of our American missionaries are being removd from the country
by an escort from the army? The insinuation is as base and cruel as it
is absurd.

There were also at the station three others who claimed to be Roman
Catholics, names, Nicholas Finley, Joseph Stanfield, Jo Lewis. The two
latter were in the employ of Dr. Whitman. Joseph Stanfield, a Canadian,
had crossed the mountains in ’46, had been in the employ of the doctor
from that time. At his trial before Judge Wheeler two of the widows
testified that Stanfield told them that he knew in the morning that the
massacre was to take place that day. On being taken by the sheriff, he
attempted to secrete a watch which belongd to one of the widows, also
considerable money belonging to one of the murdered young men. Jo Lewis
came into the country with the last emigration, at least from Fort Hall.
Much uncertainty hangs about this individual. To the mission he claimd
to be an Indian, born in Canada, of the Catholic faith, brought up in
the state of Maine, had spent some time in California. Among the Indians
he passd himself as a Chenook of the Catholic faith,—said that formerly
the Americans (Protestants as understood in most instances of late by
the word _Suyapu_) by ships brought poison to the lower country with a
view to destroy all the Indians. Vast multitudes were destroyd, as their
old men very well recollect—referring doubtless to the small-pox and
measels which raged throughout the territory some 35 or 40 years ago.
He, being a small child, was reserved by the Americans taken to the
States, where he had grown up, ever mindful of his native country, and
anxious to return to his own people. He told the Indians that he took
particular notice of the letters of the Dr. and myself, from this
country, told them that some of these letters spoke of this vast country
every way desirable for settlements, its healthy climate, its rich soil,
the bands of horses. Some of the letters calld for poisons by which we
could sweep off the Indians, and make way for the Americans. In
accordance with this request, he said, several bottles of poison had
been brought over by the last emigration, which had caused many deaths
among the immigrants, and was the cause of the sore sickness and
frequent deaths among the Indians, and would soon kill them all if the
Dr. and his lady and myself were not removd. This I receivd from Stikas
in his lodge 24 hours after the butchery had taken place.

It seems that immediately on my arriving, Lewis set himself to excite
the Indians to do the dreadful deed. He told them that he overheard the
Dr. and myself consulting at night as to the most effectual way to kill
off the Indians.

Such statements following like statements which have been sounding in
our ears, and in the ears of Indians for years, and made with so much
apparent solicitude for them, and at this time of great excitement among
the Indians, on account of the measles, had doubtless much to do in
bringing about the bloody tragedy. He took an active part in the
murders—was seen by Mr. Camfield, from his place of retreat, to go up to
the window in company with Tamtsaky, and beat them in, and soon after,
to bring out goods.

Several times before Mrs. Whitman receivd her first wound, and after the
doctor was senseless, Jo showd himself at the window with a gun in his
hand. When Mrs. Whitman would speak to him, he would immediately go
away. He brought the children down from the school room, and collected
them in the kitchen, to be shot. When the chief gave orders not to shoot
the children, and just as Mrs. Whitman was brought out upon the settee,
where she receivd her mortal wounds, an Indian seizd Francis by the
head, dragd him out from among the children, to the door of the Indian
room, where Jo with his own hand, shot him.

The object of Lewis was doubtless plunder. Finley has a Cayuse, or
Walla-walla wife, was campd near the doctor’s. In his lodge, the
murderers held their councils during the massacre, he being at the head.
He partook of the plunder, and is said by the Nez Perces, to have
considerable money. The part he took in the battles at the Utilla and
the Tukanan, is better known to others than myself. He is now said to be
in the Flat head country.

On the 23d, three Indians died, including a child. The Dr. as usual had
coffins made for them, and winding sheets prepard and assistd in burying
the dead. His visits to the sick and dying, were as frequent as the
severe sickness in his and the other white families would allow. It was
most distressing to go into a lodge of some ten fires, and count 20 or
25, some in the midst of measles, others in the last stages of
dysentery, in the midst of every kind of filth, of itself sufficient to
cause sickness, with no suitable means to alleviate their almost
inconceivable sufferings, with perhaps one well person to look after the
wants of two sick ones. Every where the sick and dying were pointed to
Jesus, and the well were urgd to prepare for death.

24th. To day, a child of Mr. Osborn’s died. We hopd that this affliction
of Providence would show the Indians that the whites, in common with
themselves, were exposd to the ravages of disease. But from the grave,
Tintinmisi, a chief, followd us to the house, and repeatd to us, the old
declaration,—“The Samh-Sismusismu, (black gowns,) every where tell us
that you are causing us to die. I do not believe it myself, but some of
the people do.”

We told him that it was owing to cleanliness, and better nursing, that a
less number of whites than Indians died—told them, (many were now
collected,) if they listend to the false reports and drove us from the
country, they would be a ruind people. But if they preferd the Catholic
to the Protestant missions, let us know it, and we will leave the
country immediately. They said we must not leave them.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                             CHAPTER XIII.


                         Same subject continud.

25th. To-day, Mr. Jackson, Mr. Rogers and myself left for Walla-walla.
Encampd with the Walla-walla chief, Piyu-piyu Maks-maks, (Yellow Swan,
often calld Yellow Bird, or Yellow Serpent.) We had a pleasant
interview. He said the Catholics had often urgd him to leave the
Protestants, and join them, but he should never join them, as it was too
much like their old religion, worshipping men, women, clothes,
swords,—&c. They had frequently requestd of him a place for a station,
but he had refused. They had told him in reply, he must go to hell, if
he followd the Protestants. He replied that as you say the Protestants
are bad, and I am bad, sure it is better that the bad go together. He
said that they had frequently told him that we were poisoning the
Indians, that the Bishop told them it was the Americans who brought the
measles into the country, that God had sent this disease upon them, to
show his displeasure at heretics.

This declaration, the chief thought the Bishops made in order to
prejudice the Indians against the heretics. Immediately on its being
made, the statement spread through the country like electricity. It was
in the mouth of every Indian, old and young—the great chief of the Black
gowns, (the Bishop,) tells us that the Americans brought the measles
into the country—that God sends this disease among the heretics, to show
the Indians how he hates the Americans. The excitement was intense, and
we felt our situation to be most critical,—we felt that we were in
danger from this source.

But the difficulties in our minds were, are these tangible evidences
that we can present to the public and our Board, that will convince them
that we are in danger from this source? Now that the bloody transaction
has taken place, circumstances and facts seem to point so plainly to
this source as the source whence originated the indirect causes of the
massacre, that many are ready to exclaim, “why did you not leave your
fields before?” And even our Catholic friends seem to be so thoroughly
convincd that our situation was a dangerous one, that many of them are
loudest in exclaiming, “you should have left your fields before.” But so
entirely hidden from the eye of the Christian world, were those
influences we feard, that had we left 3 days before the massacre, the
Papists would have settld quietly through the country, the Cayuse
continued, as they have been for years, friendly to the Americans—had we
publishd to the world as a reason of our leaving that we considerd our
lives in danger from the influences which the Papists were every where
exerting upon the minds of the Indians through their prejudices and
superstitions, who would have believd us? The world, the church and the
Board would have condemnd us as cowards leaving our work before there
was danger.

Besides, the Board have ever enjoind upon us, as also the Captain of our
salvation, to contend earnestly for the pure principles of christianity
against the errors and subverting principles of Romanism, and NOT TO
FLEE before them.

26th. Last night a niece of the chief died. He requested me to pray and
converse with the afflicted family. He farther requested that after
arriving at the fort, I would hold myself in readiness to attend the
funeral as soon as the corpse could be taken to the fort some four miles
distant, and preparations made for burying. As we were about to leave,
the chief took me by the hand and said, his heart would ever be with the
Americans. I am happy to learn that to a good degree, (considering the
influences which have been about him,) he has kept his word.

Reachd the fort early. Found here the “Bishop of Walla-walla” and five
priests. Three or four others had crossd to the north side of the
Columbia river, and were commencing stations on the Yankmaw river. Let
it be distinctly notied that this bishop was appointed “Bishop of
Walla-walla,” and sent into this field with his priests, while as yet
there was not a Catholic church or station, or priest (stationary) in
the whole district, but the field was entirely occupied by Protestant
missionaries, most of whom had been quietly laboring in their places for
eleven years.

Soon after we arrivd, a messenger came into the fort stating that all
things were ready for the funeral services. Mr. Rogers accompanid me to
the grave. A canoe had been cut into parts for the coffin and its cover.

On returning to the fort I enterd into familiar conversation with Rev.
Mr. Brouette, one of the priests, who can speak very good English, on
the subject of the “Catholic Ladder,” which has, for several years, been
distributed among our Indians, and I believe very generally through all
the tribes of Oregon. This “Ladder” and the instructions which usually
followd it, generally in the hands of half-breeds previously instructed,
declard the Roman Catholic church to be the only true church—that the
“Suyapu,” [Protestants, Americans,] Heretics, had left the true church
when Luther laid aside his black gown and cross and went after a
maid,—that we were all going down to hell,—that while we Protestants by
our poisons were causing them to die, by our instructions we were
sending them to hell.

The excitement producd among the Indians by these measures was most
intense. It is impossible for any one who was not a constant witness to
conceive of the agitated state of the Indians when this alarm was
fastend upon their superstitious minds, and consequently of our critical
and dangerous situation. My attention had been suddenly arrested by the
outcries and wailings of a whole camp, occasiond by the arrival of some
one with an additional explanation of the “Catholic Ladder,” always
accompanied with the declaration, the American missions are causing us
to die.

I told the priest that in self-defense and in order to counteract these
false ideas, I had prepard a chart on which was exhibited the rise of
the Papal church as predicted by Paul, 1st Timothy iv. 1-3, 2d Thes. ii.
3. I told him we understood where each other stood. He and his church
regarded and pronouncd us vile heretics and worthy to be persecuted and
expeld from the country, and reminded him of the means, the “Catholic
Ladder,” which would soon effect this object if not counteracted. On the
other hand, we Protestants regarded the Papal church as the Man of Sin,
and while I would as a neighbor afford them every facility my limited
means would allow, to aid them in the beginning in the way of
provisions, seeds, native books, &c., as I presumd they would do the
same by us in like circumstances, as a minister of what I regarded the
gospel of Christ, set for its defense in this part of the world, and
especially as having been first and long in the field, we should exert
ourselves to the utmost to enlighten and instruct the people, to
disabuse them of the errors and highly inflammatory doctrines every
where spreading through the country by this “Catholic Ladder” and its
teachers, greatly to our prejudice and danger.

Not to do any thing like working behind their backs, the chart was
brought and spread out before the bishop and his priests, and briefly
explaind.

The equality of the apostles as declard by their great Head, is
exhibited on this chart. The rise of the Man of Sin as foretold by Paul,
and which history and observation compel us to believe to be the church
of Rome by one markd sign, “forbidding to marry,” and the abominable sin
of idolatry in the worship of many and the bowing to the cross—is
represented in the chart, sitting in the temple of God, proclaiming
himself to be God, by the act of expiating given sins for fixd sums of
money, as 10s 6d for killing a father, brother or wife, 18s for going
into a nunnery alone, &c., and the burning of Bibles in New York in
1843, are represented. Other abominations as substantiated by history
and Catholic authors, are shown.

The exhibition of this chart calld forth a close but friendly
discussion. I askd one question—Is it true as claimd by one of your
authors that the priest has the power to reproduce the person of the
Lord Jesus Christ? Mr. Brouette replied distinctly, that he and every
priest had power given them to recreate the person of Jesus Christ
entire, flesh, bones, blood, head, hands, feet, &c., just as he was
while on earth, and farther, they have the power to communicate the Holy
Ghost, and to give even the Father himself. My blood ran cold! I was
shockd at the horrible blasphemy of my friend, who otherwise treated me
like a gentleman.

I told him if I could be made to believe that I had the power to
reproduce the person of Christ our Lord, I should be horribly shockd at
the idea of taking the deadly weapon and of committing murder, and of
cutting up this body and feeding it to the people, and so convert them
into a herd of cannibals, which is repeated many times every day in the
Roman Catholic church in the mass. He replied that it was the glorified
body of the Lord that they reproducd and sacrificd, and therefore it
could not be susceptible of suffering when cut up. I replied, your mass
then answers no purpose. The law of God requires as a condition of
salvation, “without shedding of blood,” i. e. without suffering, “there
is no remission of sins.” The glorified body of Christ cannot shed blood
or suffer. He then shifted back again and said, we continue the
sacrifice that was commencd on the cross. I rejoind, you admit the awful
fact. The natural, real person of our blessed Saviour was naild to the
cross and murderd by the wicked Jews. You claim to continue that murder.
Therefore by your own positions you are murderers and
cannibals,—therefore it follows unavoidably that the system of
Catholicism is downright cannibalism or base deception.

After tea, to which Mr. McRean kindly invited us, in company with the
bishop and his priests, our party left for Waiilatpu. Encampd on the
Tushee.

27th. Arrived at the station early. A message had arrivd from Hezekich
or Five Crows, and Tauwitwai on the Utilla, soliciting Dr. Whitman to
visit the sick in that camp. I should have mentiond under date of 25th,
that a Nez Perces in the camp of the Walla-walla chief, came to our tent
and askd if the doctor was not killd, with as much indifference as if he
had been inquiring about a horse. I replied, no. He said he heard the
doctor was to be killd. This Nez Perce was a young man from my place, in
whose statements no one ever expects to place any confidence. Had he
been apprizd of the purpose of the Cayuse to destroy all Americans, I
think he would have apprizd Mr. Jackson and myself, being our particular
friend.

I stated this to the doctor, Mr. Kimble and others, at the station,—we
considerd it a re-iteration of what had been said for a long time, “A
ball can penetrate your body.” True it was a time of great excitement
among the people on account of the measles and dysentery which they
every where said the Catholic priests told them were causd by us.

The doctor in one of his visits to the sick, had discovered Tamahas,
(calld the murderer for having killd several Indians, who had just
before lost his wife and who was the person, that, afterwards with two
blows upon the head, laid our lamented brother bleeding, senseless but
not lifeless, upon the floor,) in rather a suspicious attitude. From
that time, the doctor had been cautious. But there were no inflammatory
meetings among the chiefs as there had often been. For instance, when
they returnd from California two years ago after the death of the son of
the Walla-walla chief, several meetings were held to consider whether
the doctor, myself or some other American teacher, should be killd as a
set-off for Elijah. They came to the conclusion of a great majority at
least, and I believe unanimous, that no one should be killd, and pledgd
themselves in a full meeting, at which all those principal persons who
have staind their hands in the blood of their teachers, as also the
doctor and myself, were present, that we should not be injurd, and said
we must not leave the country.

Again, when a party of Nez Perces returnd from the Catholic station
among the Pointed-hearts, for many days fiery meetings were held through
the camp, at which were re-iterated like a lesson well learnd, what they
declard one and all they had receivd from the priests at the station,
(in which were insinuations and assertions that endangerd our lives,) we
were the authors of their sickness and death, the teachers of doctrines
which would ruin the Indians. But now there were none of these meetings.
On the other hand, all the Indians appeard friendly, were constantly
coming for medicines, gruels, and other food, and warm in expressing
their gratitude to the doctor for his unwearied labors among them.

The Cayuse at this time were in a more promising attitude than ever
before. They were enlarging their farms, fencing them better, employing
the doctor to build granaries, break up land, build fences, &c., who
kept from time to time several teams employd in this business. Their
attention to religious instruction was not abated. They were giving the
doctor no trouble as formerly, about the mills, the land, the timber,
&c. In fact, aside from the fearful movements of the Catholics crowding
in upon us, the doctor was more encouragd than at any time before.

If any are disposd to attach blame to Dr. Whitman because he did not arm
himself and others on that day and prepare for defense, let that blame
rest upon the living,—let it rest upon the writer, and not upon the
eminently devoted, pious and highly useful missionary whose name with
that of his worthy companion I love to cherish, but whose death I am
compeld to record—whose name I know every friend of the red man, as also
every true American, will love to hand down to the coming generation, as
the name of an eminently devoted missionary and warm-hearted friend of
his suffering countrymen, immigrating to this country.

I know that one in high authority in the Catholic church, in a late
publication, by a well meant and well studied silence, would give a very
different character to my departed brother, as also more than intimate
that the first Christian effort is yet to be made to civilize and
Christianize the Cayuse and Nez Perce Indians. The design of the
reverend gentleman in hanging out his colors so soon, was doubtless,
that his people might know where he stood. I am greatly mistaken if
there are not others who will read a lesson upon those colors. But we
must expect such things from such hands,—hands which are uplifted not
against the Protestant religion only, but against our dearest, noblest,
immortal American temple, as can be shown from their attempting to
annihilate the civil institution of marriage.

But there is no blame to be attachd to any for neglecting to arm
ourselves. The doctor had not a load of ammunition in his house,—the
immigrants living at the station had ammunition, and I think the
doctor’s boys had a few loads. Suppose the doctor had made an attempt to
arm and defend himself,—the attempt would have been known and rousd the
Indians. Besides, Jo Lewis was in the doctor’s family, and apparently
his best friend. He would have been among the first armd for defense—and
what a defense it would have been!

The doctor requested me to accompany him to the Utilla. Leaving dear
sister Whitman for the last time in this world, greatly exhausted by her
long and incessant watchings and labors with the sick, with three of her
children and one of Mr. Osborn’s yet dangerously ill, to require her
constant attention, Mrs. Osborn not yet able to leave her bed, and
leaving my daughter—oh horrible!—to fall a captive into the hands of
murderers, the doctor and myself started about sun-down.




                              CHAPTER XIV.


                         Same subject continud.

The Utilla is about 20 miles from Waiilatpu, prairie country, as is the
whole of the middle district of Oregon, with the exception of one or two
mountains, at intervals of one and two hundred miles.

The night was dark, and the rain and wind beat furiously upon us. But
our interview was sweet. We little thought it was to be our last. With
feelings of deepest emotion, we calld to mind, that eleven years before,
we crossd this trail the day before we reachd Walla-walla, the end of
our seven months’ journey from New York. We little thought the journey
of life was so soon to close. We calld to mind the high hopes and
thrilling interests which had been awakend during the year that
followd—of our successful labors, and the constant devotedness of the
Indians to improvement. True, we rememberd the months of deep solicitude
we had had, occasiond by the increasing, menacing demands of the Indians
for pay for their water, their wood, their air, their lands. But much of
this had passd away, and the Cayuse, as to efforts for improvement, and
menacing the station, were in a far more encouraging condition than ever
before.

But the principal topic of conversation during that dark night was the
danger that threatend from another source. The little cloud, as a man’s
hand, which had been hanging for some years in the distant horizon, now
assumd a darker and more alarming appearance. The Papal Bishop and his
priests seemd determind to crowd themselves upon us, and without
consultation.

We felt that the present sickness among the Indians afforded the
Catholics a favorable opportunity to excite the Indians to drive us from
the country. And all the movements seemd to indicate that this would
soon be attempted if not executed. Besides, we are informd by their own
writers, that the oath of every priest requires him to oppose, to
persecute and to ruinate every heretic, and every other power, but the
Papal power, to the utmost of his ability. But my worthy brother
replied, “in God we put our trust,” and repeated “if I am to fall by
Roman Catholic influence, I believe my death will do as much good to
Oregon as my life can.”

We arrivd late at the lodge of Stickas, thoroughly wet. In coming down
the hill to the lodge, my horse fell and rolld partly over me, which
causd severe pains in the head, and one leg, through the night and the
next day. We spread down our blankets by a good fire in the lodge, and
lay till morning.

28—Sabbath. Stackas, after family worship, prepard for us a good
breakfast of potatoes, squash, fresh beef, and wheatbread of his wife’s
make. My departed brother observd how gratifying to notice the
advancement of this people—their present abundant means for comfortable
living, compard with their wretchedness and starvation, when we arrivd
among them ten years ago.

I was particularly struck with the stillness and the order that prevaild
in the lodge, and through the village, during the Sabbath.

The Dr. was immediately sent for, and after breakfast, he went over the
river, to visit the sick, in the villages of Tawitwai, Pa-hat-ko-ko,
(Five crows, Yumhawalis, (Growling bear.) At the hour appointed, the
Indians were collected, and I explaind to them the way of salvation.

About 4 o’clock, the Dr. returnd much fatigued, but said the sickness in
his family, made it his duty to return home—said he had taken tea with
the Bishop and two of his priests, who had arrivd from Walla-walla, the
night before, and were occupying a house belonging to Tawitwai, (young
chief,) built for him some years ago, by Mr. Pambran—said he had invited
the Bishop and his priests to visit him, which they promisd to do in a
short time. The doctor was much pleasd with the idea—hoping that we
might come to some understanding and bring it before the people, to say
who should be their missionaries.—I consented to remain, visit the sick
and dying, and preach to the people a few days, then take my daughter
and return home. Mr. Rogers expected to return home with us, to give his
undivided attention to the native language. My dear brother bade me good
evening, and left about sundown, although he greatly needed sleep and
rest. My eyes saw him for the last time, as he passd at good speed over
the hill, in the distance—to fall with his dear companion, at their post
of duty.

What follows, I have receivd from the children, widows and others, who
escapd the bloody massacre. I have taken every precaution, and made
extensive inquiries, and believe the statement can be relied on.

Our devoted friend reachd home at 12 at night, and after examining the
sick, took some rest. In the morning, he was at his work, administering
to the sick, in the families of the whites and the Indians. That night
or morning, an Indian died. The doctor as usual, had a coffin and
winding sheet prepard, and assisted the friends in burying. He observd,
on returning to the house, that but two or three attended at the grave.

As the doctor returnd from the grave, great numbers of Indians were
observd gathering about the station, but an ox had been killd, and was
being dressd, and was supposd to be the cause, as the Indians on such
occasions, always collect in great numbers, and often from a distance.

Joseph Stanfield had brought in the ox from the plains,—which had been
shot by Francis. Messrs. Kimble, Camfield, and Hoffman, were dressing
the beef between the two houses. Mr. Saunders was in the school which he
had just calld in for the afternoon. Mr. Marsh was grinding at the mill.
Mr. Gillan was upon his tutor’s bench, in the large adobie house, calld
the mansion, a short distance from the dwelling of the doctor,—Mr. Hull
was at work, laying a floor to a room adjoining the doctor’s house. Mr.
Rogers was in the garden. Mr. Osborn and family were in the Indian room
adjoining the doctors seting room. Young Mr. Sails was sick in the
family of Mr. Camfield, who were living in the blacksmith’s shop. Young
Mr. Bewley was sick in the doctor’s house. John Sager was sitting in the
kitchen, but partially recoverd from the measles.—The doctor and his
lady, with their three sick children and a sick child of Mr. Osborn, and
Mrs. Osborn, were sitting in the dining or sitting room. Several Indians
came to the middle door, and requested the Doctor to come into the
kitchen. He did so, shutting the door after him, and taking the Bible in
which he was reading, and which I believe is now in the hands of one who
escapd, and having upon it the marks of blood.—Edward sat down by his
side, and was earnestly soliciting medicines, while Tamahas, an Indian
calld the murderer, came behind him, and drawing a pipe-tomahawk from
under his blanket, struck the doctor in the back of the head. The first
blow only stunnd him, and his head fell upon his breast, but a second,
which followd instantly upon the top of his head, brought him senseless
but not lifeless upon the floor. John, rising up, attempted to draw a
pistol. The Indians before him, rushd to the door, crying out, “he will
shoot us,” but those behind, seizd his arm, and he was thrown upon the
floor. At the same instant, he receivd several shots from every
direction, while a number with tomahawks and knives, rushd upon him, and
cut him terribly to pieces. His throat was cut, and a woollen tippet
stuck into it. Still he lingerd. In the struggle, two Indians were
wounded, one in the foot, and one in the hand, by each other.

As soon as the tumult commencd, Mrs. Whitman, overhearing, and judging
the cause, commencd in agony, to stamp upon the floor, and wring her
hands crying out, “oh the Indians! the Indians! that Jo has done it
all!”

Mrs. Osborn stepd into her room with her child, and in a short time, Mr.
Osborn and family were secreted under the floor.

Without coming into the other rooms, the Indians left the kitchen,
doubtless to aid in the dreadful work without. At this moment, Mrs.
Hayse ran in from the Mansion, and with her assistance, Mrs. Whitman
drew her dying husband into the dining room, and placing his mangled,
bleeding head upon a pillow, and did all her frightful situation would
allow, to stay the blood, and revive her husband, but to no purpose—the
dreadful work was done. To every question that was put to him, he would
simply reply “no,” in a low whisper.

Probably after he receivd the first blow, he was not sensible of his
situation. About this time, Mr. Kimble, from the beef, ran into the room
through the kitchen, and rushd up stairs with a broken arm hanging by
his side. He was followd immediately by Mr. Rogers, who in addition to a
broken arm, was tomahawkd in the side of the head, and coverd with
blood. He assisted Mrs. Whitman, in making fast all the doors, and in
removing the sick children up stairs. Jo Lewis was seen several times
approaching one of the windows with a gun, but when Mrs. W. would ask,
“Jo, what do you want?” he would flee away.

By this time, the scene without had reachd the summit of its fury. The
screams of the fleeing, fainting women and children—the groans and
struggles of the failing, dying victims—the roar of the musketry—the
clash of war clubs,—the whistling of balls—the clouds of burning
powder,—the furious riding and rushing of naked, painted Indians,—the
unearthly yells of infuriated savages, self-maddend, like tigers, by the
smell of human blood,—all, all, require other language, and other ears
than those of civilized beings! My blood chills as I write. But I am
amazd at the self possession of dear Mrs. Whitman. In the midst of the
terrible scene, she leaves not the room of her pale, gasping husband.
Two Americans were overpowerd by crowds of savages, and hewd down by her
window. It attractted her attention but for a moment—but this afforded
an opportunity for a young Indian, who had always been particularly
favord by Mrs. Whitman, to level his gun. His victim receivd the ball
through the window in her right breast, and fell, uttering a single
groan. In a few moments, she revivd, rose and went to the settee, kneeld
in prayer. She was heard to pray for her dear children, now to be left
orphans a second time, and that her aged father and mother might be
sustaind under the terrible shock, which the news of her fate must
occasion.

Soon after this, faint and bleeding, she was helpd into the chamber,
where were now collected Mrs. Whitman, Mrs. Kimble, Mr. Rogers, all
wounded and fainting with the loss of blood—Mr. Hayse, Mrs. Bewley,
Catharine Sager, 13 years of age, and the three sick children.

They had scarcely gaind this temporary retreat, when the crash of the
windows and doors, the deafening war whoop took the last hope from their
fainting bosoms.

The under rooms were plunderd of all their property, the furniture dashd
to pieces, and cast out. Jo Lewis was seen among the foremost to dash in
the windows and bring out the goods. Here a deed was perpetrated, that
exhibits the deep treachery and malignity of the Indian character—

Telaukaikt came into the room, where the doctor lay yet breathing, and
with his hatchet, deliberately chopd his face terribly to pieces, but
still left him alive.

Telaukaikt was a principal chief, had ever receivd markd favors from the
doctor. A store house was then about being completed for him by the
doctor. For several years he had exhibited a good christian character,
and was on probation for admission into the church. But such was the
return for untold favors, and such the end of his religion. A few days
before, it will be recollected, he had given a piece of land to the
priests, to commence a mission station within 4 miles of the Dr.’s house
and told the Bishop they were going to get rid of the Doctor—according
to Capt. McKay’s statement. The same hatchet or some other, cut several
deep gashes in the face of John, while he was yet living.

About this time, Jo Lewis went up into the school room and sought out
the children, who were hid in the upper loft, and brought them into the
kitchen to be shot.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER XV.


                       The same subject continud.

As Francis passd by his mangled, gasping brother, he stoopd and took the
woollen tippet from the gash in the throat, when John attempted to
speak, but immediately expired. Upon this Francis turnd to his sisters,
and said, “I shall soon follow my brother.”

The children were kept in this indescribably painful attitude for some
time. My daughter Eliza was among them and understood every word of the
Indians, who having finishd their terrible work without, were filling
the room and the doors with their guns pointed at the hearts and heads
of the children, and constantly yelling, “shall we shoot now?”

Eliza says her blood became cold, and she could not stand, but leand
over upon the sink, covering her face with her apron that she might not
see them shoot her.

Oh what pen can depict the feelings of these lambs? From this place,
they were removd out of the door, by the side of the Indian room, just
before Mrs. Whitman was brought out to be shot.

Immediately on breaking into the house, the Indians calld to Mrs.
Whitman and Mr. Rogers to come down, but on reciving no answer, Tamtsaky
started to go up stairs, but discovering the end of an old gun, which
was laid over the head of the stairs, he desisted, and enterd into
conversation with those above. He urgd them to come down, assuring them
that no one should be hurt. Mrs. Whitman told him she was shot—and had
not strength to come down, besides, she feard they would kill her.
Tamtsaky expressd much sorrow that she was wounded, and promisd that no
one should be hurt, if they wo’d come down. Mrs. W. replied, “if you are
my friend, come up and see me.” He objected, saying there were Americans
hid in the chamber, with arms to kill him. Mr. Rogers, standing at the
head of the stairs, assured him there were none, and very soon, he went
up stairs, and remaind some time, apparently sympathizing with the
sufferers, addressing them in the softest words, assuring them that he
was heartily sorry for what had taken place, and advisd and urgd Mrs.
Whitman to go down and be taken over to the other house, where the
families were, and left them by assuring them that they should not be
hurt if they would go down, intimating that the young men would destroy
the house that night. About this time, the cry was heard, “we will now
burn,” “we will now burn.”

There was no alternative. A terrible death by fire, in which all the
children and the sick in the house, would be involvd, or that Mrs.
Whitman and Mr. Rogers should throw themselves upon the promise of
Tamtsaky. They chose the latter, as every one would, and our dear,
devoted sister, leaning upon the arm of our dear brother Rogers, both
faint with the loss of blood, stepd forth from the chamber, to be——!
Oh,—my pen, speak not till forcd to name the awful deed!

Mrs. Hayse followd to assist Mrs. Whitman, who on reaching the lower
room was laid upon a settee close by her yet dying husband. But oh how
changd! that belovd face, the home of her earthly felicity, she had a
short time before washd with her tears, and left it white with the
paleness of death, now horribly cut to pieces, the upper part hanging
over the chin, but gasping for breath. The sight was too much and she
calld for air. Our dear brother was not seen to breathe after this,
altho’ he might have lingerd some time, as darkness soon set in. The
settee was borne by Mr. Rogers and Mrs. Hayse out of the sitting-room,
through the kitchen, over the mangld body of John, through crowds of
Indians and out of the door towards the Indian room where the children
were collected. Just as the settee passd out of the door, the word was
given by the chief not to shoot the children.

At this moment Mr. Rogers, discovering their treachery, had only time to
drop the settee, and raising his hands, exclaimd, “Oh my God,” when a
volley of guns were fird from within and without the house, a part at
sister Whitman and a part at brother Rogers, and he fell upon his face,
piercd with many balls. Sister Whitman was shot in several places, lying
upon the settee. Balls flew in every direction, striking the walls by
the sides of the children. My daughter says the guns were so near her
head that the flashes burnt her hair, and the burning powder mingled
with human gore seemd ready to suffocate them. But there was no escape.

At this moment an Indian seizd Francis by the head, and dragd him a few
steps from the children, where Jo Lewis, drawing a pistol, cried out
“you bad boy,” and dischargd the contents into the lower part of his
throat, and laid him bleeding at the feet of the other children, who
expected every moment to mingle their bodies in the mud and blood with
their groaning, dying mother and brothers.

The scene that follows beggars description and hurls us back amid the
darkest days of Indian atrocity and savage cruelty. A savage seizd the
blanket upon which the suffering Mrs. Whitman lay, and hurld her
groaning and struggling into the mud. The brutal hand that gave her the
first wound through the window, now seizd her by the hair of the head,
crying out “you bad woman,” gave her several blows in the face with his
whip, amid the deafning yells, the shouts and the dancing of crowds of
women and children and men, who seemd to vie with each other in pouring
the greatest possible amount of suffering and pain into the bosoms of
their dying victims. Some attempted to force their horses over the
bodies, while others with whips or clubs seemd to take fiendish delight
in beating their faces every time they struggld or groand.

The night came on and removd the savage demons from this scene of
torturing, to the house where the captive women and children were
collecting to become for weeks the sport of their brutal passions, the
victims of their savage cruelties. But these bleeding, suffering lambs
of Christ, although piercd with many balls and horribly beaten, lingerd
on till in the night. Their dying groans were distinctly heard by Mrs.
Osborn. The voice of Mrs. Whitman and Francis died away about the same
time, soon after dark. But Mr. Rogers continud longer, his voice
becoming fainter. His last words were, “come Lord Jesus, come quickly.”
Soon after this, Mr. Osborn and family left the Indian room, and passd
on partly over the body of Francis which appeard to be lifeless. And it
is hopd that very soon after their voices ceasd, these victims of savage
cruelties found themselves at rest sweetly in the bosom of the Saviour,
their labors, their fears, their pains ended, and their joys, unending
joys, begun.

Mr. Kimble with the three sick children, also Catharine and I believe
Miss Bewley, continud in the chamber through the night. Catharine tore
up a sheet and bound up the broken arm of Mr. Kimble. After Francis was
shot, and while the multitude were engagd in feasting their fiendish
passions on the dying agonies of Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Whitman and Francis,
Ups, Moolpool, (Walla-walla Indians in the employ of the doctor,)
collected the other children in the buttery and attempted to comfort
them. About dark they were taken over to the Mansion.

The first firing commencd at half-past one. Brother Rogers and sister
Whitman left the chamber about sundown.

It appears the attack was simultaneous upon the different points. Mr.
Gillan was shot upon his bench, the ball entering his breast and coming
out at his back. He was assisted by Mrs. Saunders into another room, and
expird about midnight. Mr. Marsh was shot at the mill, ran a little
distance in the direction of the doctor’s house, and fell. Mr. Saunders,
hearing the guns, rushd to the door of the school-room, where he was
seizd by several Indians who threw him upon the ground amid a shower of
balls and tomahawks. Being a very active man, he gaind his feet and ran
in the direction of his house, and although he was thrown down several
times and doubtless receivd many wounds, he gaind the end of the field
near the mansion some twenty rods from the school-room, when overpowerd
by numbers, he fell to rise no more.

Mr. Hall was seen struggling with a single Indian for a gun which had
missd fire—he wrenchd it from the Indian and rushd to the bushes wounded
in the face, and during the afternoon and night found his way to
Walla-walla, 25 miles distant. It appears from Mr. Osborn’s statement,
that Mr. Hall remaind at Walla-walla during Tuesday, determind not to
leave, but hearing the women and children were slaughterd, in despair he
consented to be put over the river at night, and started for the lower
country.

This corresponds with the statement which the Indians said was given to
them at the fort, and reachd my place by a Nez Perce, the next Monday,
the day before I arrivd at home. I know it has been publishd that he
could not be persuaded to remain. But is it natural to suppose a man
would willingly leave a fort well armd and defended, and expose himself
for three hundred miles through a country swarming with savages who
murderd his countrymen, and from whose hands he had barely escapd? Mr.
Hall never reachd the settlements. Indian report says he was murderd by
the Indians in the vicinity of John Day’s river. Another report says he
was drownd in the Columbia river while attempting to pass a rapid in a
canoe. The three men at the beef found themselves suddenly in the midst
of a storm of balls and flaming powder, dischargd from a forest of
muskets and pistols at their very bosoms. All three were wounded, but
neither of them fell. They fled each as he could see an opening through
the crowds. Mr. Kimble with a broken arm rushd into the doctor’s house
and chamber as stated above. Mr. Camfield ran by the blacksmith shop,
seizd his youngest child and calld to his family to follow him. They ran
into the mansion, and he rushd into the chamber, and from a small window
had a clear view of the awful scene without. Mr. Saunders was about
being cut down. Mr. Hoffman was yet falling and rising and struggling
with overpowering numbers, in the midst of clowds of burning powder, the
roar of guns, the clash of war-clubs, and the screams and yells of the
savages. He had first taken the direction of the mill, defending himself
with a single knife. The crowd was now making toward the house and he in
the midst, when two horsemen having finishd their work at some other
point, with tomahawks streaming with blood rushd upon him, and he fell,
literally cut to pieces. He was cut open through the back, and his heart
and liver taken out and found by his side on the ground, by my daughter,
two days after, who replacd them and sewd a sheet around the body before
it was, with the others, taken to the pit.

Neither of the Catholics were in any way molested. Jo Lewis was one with
the murderers. Finley’s lodge was near the mill, where the murderers
held frequent councils during the massacre. Jo Stanfield was told by
Telaukait to put his property by itself, that the Indians might know
what was his and not molest it. He was seen to pass among the Indians as
tho’ nothing was going on. He told three of the women, two of whose
husbands were slain, that he knew the murder was going to take place
before he went after the beef, as appears from their testimony before
Judge Wheeler. He told the widow Hayse that day, if she would become his
wife the Indians would not molest her.

When the massacre commencd, the two sons of Mr. Manson, and David, the
doctor’s half-breed Spanish boy some nine years old, were separated from
the other school children, and taken to Finley’s lodge, whence they were
taken to Fort Walla-walla. The selecting of David from the other
children in the doctor’s family, was a nice distinction, and could not
have happend by chance. Two other half-breed children were left, but
their fathers were Americans. David’s father was a Catholic, but his
mother was an Indian woman, who when her child was young, had cast it
into a pit and left it to die. The doctor learning the fact, went to the
place, took out the child and adopted it as his own, had educated and
bestowd much labor and care upon the child, and he had become a
promising boy. His father before his death had bound him to the doctor.
I am sorry to say the boy is retaind at Walla-walla, probably by the
priests, notwithstanding my remonstrance. As well might any other of the
doctor’s children have been retaind.

Mr. Camfield remaind in the chamber till some time after dark, when the
Indians became quiet. He furnishd himself with a buffalo robe and some
provisions and bid farewell to his family, not daring to hope that they
might ever again meet in this world. He could be of no service to them
by remaining and exposing his life, which would be taken the moment one
of the murderers should discover him.

As yet none of the male children and none of the women but Mrs. Whitman
had been killd, and the chief Telaukaikt had said they should not be
injurd. True there was but a faint hope that Mr. C. could escape from
the Indian country to a place of safety. But the most hazardous
undertaking is cheerfully espousd when life is at stake. Mr. C. took the
direction of my place, although a perfect stranger to the country and
the route. He went some four miles and secreted himself in the brush to
await a horse which Stanfield was to bring to him the next morning if he
could do it unobservd. He remaind secreted most of the day (Tuesday)—saw
Indians pass near and heard several guns in the direction of the
station, and of course had the most intense fears for the women and
children.

As I was expected from the Utilla that day, he supposd that I had very
probably fallen. But the victims were Mr. Kimble and the young Mr.
Young,—the latter had come down from the saw-mill with lumber and was to
return immediately with provisions for the families. He had arrivd
within half a mile of the house, when the Indians met and shot him about
2 P. M.—about the time the priest arrivd in the camp. The team was turnd
loose except one ox which attempted to hook and was shot.

Mr. Kimble remaind in the chamber through the night, suffering the most
excruciating pain from his broken arm, still more distress of soul from
the cries and moaning of the 3 sick children, not having it in his power
to relieve their sufferings.

In the morning he resolvd to procure water for the dying children. He
made his way to the bank of the stream, where he was discoverd by an
Indian and shot at. He fell as if dead, remaind a short time and then
secreted himself in the brush. While lying on the bank, a friendly
Indian made known the fact to his wife, but advisd her not to go to him
as it would discover him to the murderers. How intense must have been
her feelings.

About sundown Mr. Kimble left his retreat with the apparent intention of
going in to his family. He reachd the corner of the garden fence some
five rods from his door, where he was shot by Frank Askaloom, who
afterwards took his daughter, the amiable Miss Kimble, for a wife. He
claimd her as a right for having killd her father, of which he would
often speak, to her with the air and appearance of one who had done her
an invaluable favor.

Who can attempt to measure the deep horror and anguish of soul, of a
young woman in such hands! May kind Heaven prevent a like affliction to
any of his sinful children. Her bitter weeping whenever the Indian spoke
of killing her father had the effect only to induce him to propose to
exchange her to another Indian who held another of the captive young
women as a wife.

Why Mr. Kimble did not attempt to make his escape on Monday night, or
why, after having livd out the day on Tuesday, he did not remain in his
retreat till dark and then escape, is not known. He was heard to say on
Monday night, “It matters but little when we die if we are but prepard.”
Perhaps the pain of his arm took away the strength of resolution.
Perhaps he chose rather to die in the bosom of his family, than to make
the uncertain attempt to save his life, which could only be a living
death while wife and children remaind captives in the hands of the
murderers, the sport of their beastly passions, the victims of their
cruelty. For a stranger to reach my place one hundred and twenty miles,
traveling nights, there was no reasonable hope, and if he could, he
might end the nights of travel and pain and days of watching and hunger
only to mingle his own with the dead bodies of the slain of that
station—for what mind could divine where the work of superstition would
end, which had no power to fear, and many inducements to go forward?

The Dalls were equally hopeless for like reasons.

Fort Walla-walla could afford a safe retreat, but unfortunately it was
in the hands of Papists, for whom Mr. K. had the strongest fears as he
expresd himself to me the week before his death—for no other reason can
we account for his not fleeing to that fort Monday night. Had he done
so, it is not probable the fate of poor Mr. Hall would have stood alone
upon the page of history, to teach our children that Romanism is in
practice what it is in theory, UNCHANGEABLE.

No horse arriving, Mr. Camfield left his hiding-place, and wound his way
up the narrow skirt of brush till he came to what he supposd to be the
trail to my place, about dark. In a country cut up with trails,
Providence directed his feet to the right one, which he pursued that
night and the next day, when Wednesday night found him in the deep
valley of the Taka-nan, where he slept.

Thursday he followd the fresh tracks of cattle, which brought him at
night to the brink of Snake River bluffs, some miles below the regular
route.

Friday morning he came to the river, and having no fear from the Nez
Perces, he calld to their camp on the opposite side and was crossd over.
The Indian driving the cattle conducted Mr. C. to my house upon one of
his horses, for which he requird his buffalo robe. That night they staid
in a camp on the Clear Water, nine miles below my house.

Intelligence of the massacre had not yet reachd the Nez Perces, and Mr.
C. was careful to avoid any intimation. Had it been known in any of
these camps, he would have been killd.

Saturday late in the afternoon, Mr. C. reachd my house and communicated
to Mrs. Spalding the horrible intelligence of the massacre, aggravated
by the probability that the body of her husband had been added to the
slain, as he supposd, from the report of the guns on Tuesday. If not
slain at that time, there was no human probability that I could escape.
Five days had already elapsd and I had not arrivd, which made it quite
certain that I had been killd.

The case, of itself sufficient to overwhelm the stoutest soul, was
greatly aggravated by the fact, that her daughter was a captive in the
hands of the murderers of her husband, who would proceed immediately to
that defenseless station, to add her brother and the other Americans at
the station, to the number of the dead, and herself and remaining
children, to the already long catalogue of living victims of the savage
cruelties.

There was scarcely the shadow of protection in the few Americans at the
place, and she was too well acquainted with the close relationship
existing between the Cayuse and Nez Perces, and the treachery of the
Indian character, to place any confidence in the Indians of the place,
except motives of self-interest should appear.

But she was entirely in their hands. There was no other alternative, and
with the self possession and calmness of mind peculiarly her own, in
moments of imminent peril, she resolvd to make known the awful fact, and
cast herself and children into the hands of the principal men of the
place. Mr. Camfield begd of her not to do so, but evidently it was the
salvation of all at the station. Had the people of the place remaind
ignorant of the awful deed, till the report was brought by
Indians—doubtless the bloody scenes of the Waiilatpu would have been
repeated at Clear Water. The first Indian arrivd with the intelligence
of the massacre, on Monday, a Nez Perces,—doubtless a participator in
the bloody crime. But he was accompanied by a band of Nez Perces from
the camp, at which Mr. Camfield staid Friday night, with the avowd
purpose of plundering the station of all the property, which, of
course,—would have ended in killing the men, and perhaps Mrs. Spalding,
and captivating Miss Johnson and the children. They were prevented by
the chiefs, and their people of the place, to whom Mrs. S. had committed
herself.

On the arrival of Mr. Camfield, Mr. Hart, the brother of Mrs. S. was not
at the house. Providentially Jacob and Shakantai, (Eagle,) two principal
chiefs, were at the house, to whom Mrs. S. communicated the astounding
intelligence. While one communicated the news to the camp, the other
carrid a hasty note to Mr. Craig, living ten miles up the branch. The
Indians immediately flew to the protection of Mr. S. and the house.

Among those who showd themselves friendly were Luke and his two
brothers, members of our church, Jacob, about to be receivd into the
church, James, a Catholic, but particularly friendly to myself and
family, and most of their people. Some of old James’ people, united with
the robbers, and took considerable property.

The Indians decided that Mrs. S. with her effects, must be removd to Mr.
Craig’s, where they were taking up their winter quarters, on account of
wood. They judgd that the Cayuse would be there without delay, and they
could not protect the family, so far from their camp. Mrs. S. proposd to
remain quiet over the Sabbath. James and one or two others remaind as a
guard. The rest retird. Mr. Craig came down late at night. Mrs. S.
endeavord to start an express to Tishimakair, the station of bros.
Walker and Eells, but no Indian could be inducd to go. She next besought
the Indians to send an express for her daughter, if found alive, and to
learn the fate of her husband.—They objected, alleging that the women
and children were without doubt all killd. She finally told them she was
jealous of every one of them, and could not feel that she had a friend
among them. It had the desird effect. The Eagle consented to undertake
it, still others threw difficulties in his way, and it was near night
the next day, before he started.

Mr. Camfield’s wound was much inflamd, by wading the streams, and
traveling. He receivd a shot in his side from a pistol, the ball still
remaining in the flesh.

Mr. Jackson, it will be recollected, accompanied me to Waiilatpu, and
was waiting my return from the Utilla, till Monday forenoon, when a
slight circumstance inducd him to leave for Clear Water, about three
hours before the massacre commencd. He reachd Mr. Craig’s Tuesday night,
ignorant of what had taken place, and of his own narrow escape.

There was another band of Indians encampd in the same valley, some ten
miles from my station, headed by Joseph,—a principal chief, in the
absence of Ellis.

Joseph was one of the first natives who gave evidence of a change of
heart, and united with the church 8 years ago, and had, up to this time,
with the exception of two or three slight deviations, exhibited a good
Christian character.

Many of Joseph’s people were campd with him, and cultivated extensively
in the valley, and had for the last four or five years, constituted a
good portion of the Sabbath congregation—and the school. Seven of them
were members of the church, and had ever appeard friendly to the
mission.

Their present movements however, were very suspicious.—Almost daily,
Joseph with many of his people, had been in the habit of visiting the
house. But after the arrival of the news of the massacre, neither Joseph
nor any of his people showd themselves till Monday morning, when many of
the latter, and among them, Joseph’s brother-in-law, and from the same
fire—showd themselves with the robbers, and were foremost in plundering
the buildings.

Here was an opportunity for religion to show itself, if there was any.
Never before had temptation come to Joseph and his native brethren, in
the ch. in this dress. But now it came, and his fall, as I regard it,
and that of some others, has given to the Christian world a lesson that
should be well studied, before it again places the lives and property of
missionaries at the mercy of lawless savages, without a military force
to keep them in awe.




                           THINGS IN OREGON.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER XVI.


  Arrival of Gov. Lane—Description of Port Astoria and vicinity—Narrow
                         escape from Shipwreck.

_March 8th, 1849._—I am quietly stowd away in a private family in Oregon
city, after having roamd up and down the valley, in pursuit of
information.

All is commotion here. Gov. Lane, from Indiana, arrivd in town the first
of this month, bringing the new government with him in his pocket up the
Willamet river in a skiff, over the Clackamas rapids. As to whether he
got out and helpd to pull the boat over the rapids or not, I have not
been informd. The big men of the place are brushing up their boots and
putting on their best clothes, as the Governor passes the streets,
hoping as he passes along, that his eye may fall upon them placidly. I
do not very well know what such things mean, though I suppose that
politicians do.

_April 7th._—The first public mail arrivd in Oregon city, from the U.
States, by the mail steamer of San Francisco, to-day. This country
begins to be alive to maritime business—the first vessel ever built at
the Willamet falls in Oregon, is now on the stocks. Her owners say her
tunnage will be from 50 to 60 tuns burden.

After having staid in Oregon nearly seven months, I take my departure
from Oregon city, the 10th of April, for San Francisco, by way of the
ocean.

Port Astoria, _26th_.—To-day embarkd on board ship for San Francisco
bay, after having staid nearly two weeks at Astoria, waiting for the
ship to be in readiness to leave. My stay at this place has given me an
opportunity of learning something of this part of the country, the
difficulty of navigating the river at this part of it, and the prices of
some articles of produce, as sold here in these times of great
excitement.

                            * * * * * * * *

Port Astoria is situated about 15 miles from the mouth of the Columbia
river, on the south side of it. The place has not been improvd since its
first establishment. There are only five or six houses in the place that
have been built by the whites, excepting a storehouse or two built by
the Hudson Bay Company. The country here and around Astoria, is rugged
and unpleasant, heavily coverd with fir and hemlock, some of which is of
giant size.

About 25 miles of the river from its mouth, is indented with bays by
various names, making a width of from 7 to 10 or 12 miles.

At the mouth of the river, on the north, is Cape Disappointment.

Eight miles distant, on the opposite side, is Clatsap point, sometimes
calld Point Adams.

Cape Disappointment, by its projection from the main land, forms a
little cove, calld Baker’s bay. Here ships may lie in perfect safety.

On the south side, higher up, at the entrance of Young into the Lewis
and Clark’s river, is Young’s bay.

At the mouth of the Columbia river, between Cape Disappointment and
Clatsap point, is an extensive sand-bar, which renders an entrance to
the river difficult, except by experiencd navigators of the river.

The first 15 or 20 miles of the entrance of the river, has a channel so
crooked that almost every point of compass is traversd, which makes
navigation by sail ships slow and dangerous. At every new point, ships
are obligd oftentimes to stop several days and sometimes weeks for a
change of wind. The only successful and speedy mode of traversing the
river will ultimately be by steam vessels.

Amongst other things that have fallen within my notice whilst at
Astoria, was the price of a few articles of produce brought to this
place to sell to passengers, whilst waiting for the readiness of the
ship. Potatoes were sold at one dollar per bushel, eggs at $1 per dozen,
butter at $1 per pound. Flour a little more moderate—its price per
barrel was only $10. During my stay at Astoria, a beef was killd at
Clatsap and brought here, and sold at 12 cents for the fore, and 15 for
the hind quarters, per pound.

_27th._—On leaving Astoria, our ship was thrown on the beach, where she
remaind during the day, occasiond by the drunkenness of our pilot.

_Thursday, May 3d_, we left Baker’s bay for the broad ocean, with a fair
wind and high hopes of crossing the sand-bar with pleasantness and
safety. The number of souls on board was about 130. We proceeded gently
along for three-fourths of an hour, when we arrivd near the place where
the ships Shark, Vancouver and Maine were wreckd, and the wind nearly
ceasd to blow. Our ship became unmanageable, drifting by the strong tide
which was then unfavorable, and likely in a few minutes to carry us from
the channel and place us upon the sands, where the ship must inevitably
have become a wreck.

In this critical situation, with only 18 feet of water for a ship
drawing 15, and the tide yet falling—by the energetic movement of our
officers and crew, they were enabld to stay the ship by immediately
casting anchor. After waiting more than 2 hours in this perilous
situation, the wind became of sufficient strength to justify an attempt
to make our escape by parting anchor.

During this time of extreme anxiety, soundings were constantly kept up
both on ship and at a distance around.

When all things were ready on board for the attempt, orders were given
and instantly the anchor with 180 feet of chain were severd from the
ship, and she under way in a retrograde course towards Cape
Disappointment. We continud our retrograde course till we arrivd as near
the cape as practicable, in consequence of a bar which projected a short
distance from it, at which point we changd our course to the south-west,
and in less than one hour we were in the broad ocean, and over all
danger from sand-bars.

_Monday evening, 9 o’clock, May 7th._—Safely anchord in San Francisco
bay. Our passage from the time we were relievd at the Columbia bar, may
be reckond at 96 hours’ sailing. More than 12 of this was under
extremely moderate wind, though in a favorable direction. The remainder
of the way, was under a very strong breeze. It would seem then, that the
distance may be saild, with a strong wind, in about 3½ days, which is
about 560 miles, by the way of the ocean.

To my great astonishment, on looking about on the morning of the 8th, I
counted about 60 vessels of various sizes lying in the bay, most of
which were inactive for want of men to work them, they having left for
the mines. On passing up the St. Waukeen, the course of my first visit
to the mines, I saw scatterd along at different points, many more
vessels of various sizes.

The present head of navigation for sail ships, is a little cloth town
calld Stocton. Here were 8 or 10 more vessels lying disrobd of their
sails to make cloth houses of. This town is more than 100 miles up from
San Francisco. At this place, supplies are deposited for the mines,
which are carrid by wagons and pack animals, to the mining district, a
distance of 70 or 80 miles further, upon the tributaries of the Saint
Waukeen.




                              GOLD MANIA,
                   Or Yellow Fever, as some call it.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                             CHAPTER XVII.


 Excitement in Oregon, relative to the discovery of Gold in California.

The discovery of the Gold District in California, has producd the
greatest excitement of any thing of a similar nature in modern days.

The first commencement of the excitement in Oregon was about the middle
of August, 1848, and within one month’s time, nearly 2000 persons left
Oregon for that place.

The district is said to be the richest ever known. Though it is
questionable whether the gold obtaind by Solomon was not found equally
abundant, since among so great a number of citizens as Jerusalem
furnishd, the abundance of gold in that place had reducd the value of
silver to almost nothing.

When the news of gold in California reachd Oregon, the wheat harvest was
not yet ended, and so great was the delirium when the news arrivd, that
many of the farmers left their fields unfinishd, giving them up
gratuitously to any one who might be disposd to harvest them, or let
them waste upon the ground.

As late as the 10th of March, 1849, the fever continud with unabated
fury, increasing in its sanguinary features as the warm season
approachd, preying upon the heart and vitals of every human being in
Oregon.

From the 13th of Sept. last, which was the time I arrivd at Oregon city,
to the 10th of March following, not one day passd, Sundays not excepted,
without the mention by some one in my presence, of the gold speculation.

During the remainder of my stay in Oregon city, tools of various kinds
were invented and being made at that place, ready for departure to the
mines, so soon as they might be profitably worked, on the opening of the
warm season.

The following description of the Gold Mania is taken from the Oregon
Spectator, as quoted from the Californian—


                       GOLD MINES OF CALIFORNIA.

In our paper of August 16, we devoted considerable space to the subject
of the gold mines, stating some facts in regard to their discovery, and
the manner in which the ore was collected. So well was the article
receivd by the public—then on the _qui vive_ for information about the
mines—and consequently so great the demand for our paper, that in a few
hours after publication the entire edition was disposd of. Since then we
have receivd many and urgent demands for that number of the Californian,
and this week, at the solicitation of a number of our patrons, we repeat
the substance of our former article, with some additional particulars.

It appears that in the first part of February last, Messrs. Marshall and
Bennett were engagd with a party in erecting a saw-mill for Capt. J. A.
Sutter, on the American fork of the Sacramento river, about 40 miles
above its mouth. In excavating the tail-race, they removd the rock
during the day, and let in the water during the night, in order to wash
out the loose dirt and sand. On the morning of the 10th, after shutting
off the water, Mr. Marshall discoverd the first gold, lying upon
decomposd granite, in the bottom of the race.

It would seem that but little doubt was entertaind of its being the real
_simon pure_, for operations immediately ceasd on the mill, and all
hands commencd searching for gold. It was soon found that gold abounded
along the American fork for a distance of 30 miles. For a time the
discoverers were the only ones aware of the fact, but the news finally
spread through the settlements. But little credit however was gaind by
the report, though occasionally a solitary “gold hunter” might be seen
stealing down to a launch with a pick and shovel, more than half ashamd
of his credulity.

Some time during the month of May, a number of credible persons arrivd
in town from the scene of operations, bringing specimens of the ore, and
stating that those engagd in collecting the precious metal were making
from $3 to $10 per day.

Then commencd the grand rush!

The inhabitants throughout the territory were in commotion. Large
companies of men, women and children could be seen on every road leading
to the mines, their wagons loaded down with tools for digging,
provisions, &c. Launch after launch left the wharves of our city,
crowded with passengers and freight for the Sacramento.

Mechanical operations of every kind ceasd—whole streets, that were but a
week before alive with a busy population, were entirely deserted, and
the place wore the appearance of a city that had been suddenly visited
by a devastating plague. To cap the climax, newspapers were obligd to
stop printing for want of readers.

Meantime our mercantile friends were doing an unusual “stroke” of
business. Every arrival from the mining district brought more or less
gold dust, the major part of which immediately passd into the hands of
the merchants for goods, &c. Immense quantities of merchandize were
conveyd to the mines, until it became a matter of astonishment where so
much could be disposd of. During the first eight weeks of the “golden
times” the receipts at this place in gold dust amounted to $250,000. For
the eight weeks ending at this date, they were $600,000.

The number of persons now engagd in gold hunting, will probably exceed
6000, including Indians, and one ounce per day, is the lowest average we
can put for each person, while many collect their hundreds of dollars,
for a number of days in succession, and instances have been known where
one individual has collected from $1500, to $1800 worth of pure gold in
a day.

Explorations have been progressing, and it is now fully ascertaind that
gold exists on both sides of the Sierra Nevada from lat. 41 North, to as
far South, as the head waters of the San Joaquin river, a distance of
400 miles in length, and 100 in breadth. Farther than this has not been
explord, but from the nature of the country beyond the sources of the
San Joaquin, we doubt not gold will also be found there in equal
abundance. The gold region already known, is however sufficiently
extensive to give profitable employment to 100,000 persons for
generations to come. The ore is in a virgin state, disseminated in small
doses, and is found in three distinct deposits,—sand and graveld beds,
on decomposd granite, and intermixd with a kind of slate.

For a long time subsequent to the discovery of the mines,—the only
implements usd in washing the gold, were large tin pans, or Indian
baskets. Latterly, ‘machines were usd—at first, a rough log hollowd out
(in some, instances,) by burning and scraping with a butcher
knife—afterwards, more finishd ones made their appearance, built of red
wood boards, in the shape of an ordinary trough, about ten feet long,
and two feet wide at the top, with a riddle or sive at one end to catch
the larger gravel, and three or four small bars at the bottom, about ½
an inch high, to keep the gold from going out with the dirt and water at
the lower end. This machine is set upon rockers,—which gives a half
rotary motion to the dirt and water inside.’—Four men are requisite to
work one of these machines properly.

Within the past month, many sick persons from the mines have arrivd at
this place, and scarcely a launch comes down the Sacramento, without
more or less sick persons on board,—while some die on the river. The
very natural inference drawn from this, by those who have never been at
the mines, is, that they lie in a sickly section of the country, and
those at work there, are in daily expectation of being sick. In our
opinion,—however, nothing can be farther from the truth. As far as our
experience goes, it is on the large rivers only, where disease prevails,
and in passing up and down upon them, the person not in perfect health
is almost invariably the one to become sick.—We have observd but few,
very few cases of sickness in the immediate neighborhood of the mines,
but such as we believe would have occurd under similar circumstances in
any other climate. Let the miner pass the Sacramento safely, (and we
would almost insure any person’s doing so that was perfectly regular and
temperate in all his habits,)—let him not, when he arrives at the mines,
work as though he was privilegd to operate for a limited time only, but
poco poco, resting at proper intervals,—let him abstain from the free
use of intoxicating drinks, living upon wholesome food,—avoiding, for
instance, half baked bread—let him sleep under the shelter of a tent,
with warm bedding,—and if, after following our advice in all these
particulars, the gold hunter becomes sick, why—we do not know anything
about the matter.




                    CALIFORNIA GOLD MINES DESCRIBED.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                             CHAPTER XVIII.


           Geography of the Gold District of Alta California.

From recent searches for gold in Northern California, it appears that
the present gold district is comprisd, nearly all of it, within the
following boundary. It lies on the western declivity of the Sierra
Neveda range of mountains, and gold is sought for along the tributaries
of the great Sacramento river in the northern, and the St. Waukeen river
in the southern part of Northern or Upper California.

The names of the tributaries of the St. Waukeen, beginning with the most
northern one, are as follows. Makelemas, which unites with the Saint
Waukeen, near its confluence with the Sacramento. Next south, is
Calaveras. South of this, is Stanislaus. The next important river, is
Twalamy. Still farther south, a distance of 20 or 25 miles, is a
considerable stream, calld Merced, or River of Mercy. South of Merced,
is another, calld Mereposa, though I believe this is dry part of the
year. These constitute the principal mountain streams, tributary to the
St. Waukeen.

The names of the rivers in the northern mining district, tributaries to
the Sacramento, are, first and nearest the confluence of the Sacramento
with the St. Waukeen, the Cosumnes. Next northward, the American river,
the largest tributary to the Sacramento. It has several forks, calld
North, South and Middle forks of the American river. Next, Rio de los
Plumos or Feather river. Still farther north, are Bear, Quesnels and
Sycamore rivers.

The length from north to south, of the present gold district, cannot
well be computed at more than 400 miles, lying within the latitudes of
36 and 42 deg. north. In its width, which is mostly containd within a
distance of from 20 to 30 miles, it traverses the middle portion of the
western declivity of the aforementiond range of mountains, though miners
assert that gold has been found sparingly, high up some of the mountain
streams, toward its axis.

The whole surface of the gold district presents one continud scene of
uneven country. Much of it, the hills soar far above the intervening
valleys below—and along some of the principal tributaries, for miles in
length, very deep kanions are formd.

The water of the large streams is very pure and healthy, being mostly
from the melted snows of the mountain. During the summer season it
seldom rains, and the rivers continue to fall, till quite along into the
winter season. After the rainy season commences, which is most powerful
toward the summit of the mountains, floods are often witnessd low down
the streams, where not a single drop of water has fallen for months.
These floods descend with a mighty rush, and often surprise the miner
before he is able to remove his mining implements from the bed of a
stream.

The mining district is coverd with a thin growth of scrub oaks and
yellow pine. The earth is divested of soil, except sparingly in some of
the valleys, being of a reddish color, by the decomposition of rocks
containing iron.

The climate is so dry during summer, that little grass grows in any part
of the mines. Nauseous exhalations are therefore excluded, and the
atmosphere is quite healthy. In some parts of the mines the miners
become sick, but it is mostly attributable to their treatment with
themselves. Through the summer months, the days are warm but the nights
are cool, and but few nights occur in which a man does not need
considerable night clothing toward morning.




                              CHAPTER XIX.


   The Geology of the Gold District of California, with the probable
      cause of the production of Gold to the surface of the earth.

The rocks of Golden California, in common with the whole western
declivity of the Sierra Neveda mountains, are principally composd of
primary, stratified, slate rocks. Some of these rocks are talcose slate.
Others are more silicious, approaching even to coarsish sandstone slate,
of various colors.

Before confining the reader expressly to the gold district, a few
remarks relative to that portion of California lying west of the Neveda
mountains to the valley of the great Sacramento and St. Waukeen, may
afford some light on the subject of that part of the western declivity
lying within the seat of mining operations. The slate rock on the
western side of the mountain range, from its axis to its base, is tilted
up a little more than perpendicularly outward from the axis of the
mountain, a distance of more than 60 miles in width, and traverses the
whole range, as far north and south as the present mines extend, in
lines parallel to the course of the mountain’s axis.

At the base of the mountain, commences a tertiary deposit of about 20
miles in width, which, with an alluvial deposit of about 20 more in
width, to the great rivers of the valley, hides from sight the remaining
portion of tilted rocks, so that the entire width of the tilted strata
can never exactly be ascertaind. But if a mountain range like the one
under consideration, is formd by the furrowd and ridgd condition of the
earth’s crust, by conforming to a diminishd molten nucleus within, from
refrigeration of its heat, it may be expected that the whole declivity,
from its axis or highest point to its lowest or mid valley, may be all
of it tilted up in the same manner as that portion which is presented to
sight. If this be fact, we are then apprizd that a portion of the
earth’s crust must have had a thickness of full 100 miles, by measuring
across the tilted rocks, from the central valley, to the top of the
mountain, eastward,—a fact not hitherto believd by geologists, from
experiments made upon the increase of downward heat, to where the crust
must necessarily become molten.

As so many and various opinions of the tilted condition of primary
stratified rocks have been advancd among the visitants of the gold
district of California, a few conflicting opinions may serve in some
degree to satisfy the mind of the curious.

It is the belief of some, that rocks cannot have become tilted without
the expansive powr of volcanic agency. Hence, on viewing the country
around, they imagine they see successions of craters, formd all over the
western declivity of the Neveda mountains, and in some places,
profusions of scoria bestrewing the ground. For my own part, I must
confess that I have seen nothing in my ramblings to justify a belief
that volcanic agency any where has existed so as to produce the present
appearance of those rocks.

Those persons imagining volcanic agency in those parts, are not aware
that intense heat destroys stratification, for in the middle of the
craters of some of their imaginary volcanoes, the stratification is as
perfect as in any other portion of the tilted district, and they are not
apprizd that in such case a discrepancy must therefore exist.

After the tilting of those rocks had occurd, it would not be improbable,
with such an enormous crust resting entirely upon a liquid, molten
nucleus, that many undulations in it should occur, and in many instances
the crust should become weakend and even sunderd apart by the severe
strain. Into fissures so formd, granite, sandstone and conglomerated
rocks, may have subsequently been intruded, presenting, therefore, to
persons unacquainted with such rocks, the appearances of craters,
scoria, &c. In some parts of New England, primary stratified rocks are
tilted up confusedly, having no regular line of strike. In some cases,
the dynamics employd may have been volcanic, or they may have been
paroxysmal, acting from time to time, till those rocks were thrown into
their present condition. But tilted rocks that have a regular line of
strike, must have a regular agency to place them in such condition.
Hence, then, considering the perfect parallelism of the tilted rocks of
Golden California with the mountain axis, it seems to follow, that an
exceedingly slow and regular movement of the tilting of those rocks must
have occurd.

Another consideration of the western declivity of the Neveda mountains,
is in relation to the formation of its rivers.

Almost invariably, the rivers of Oregon were formd by an expansive force
from beneath, but the rivers of California were formd by undulations in
the earth’s crust, which is well proven by the entire passage of
unbroken strata across the beds of streams. Such condition of its rocks,
is also another proof against volcanic agency in those parts.

                            * * * * * * * *

The inquiring mind may now be led to the subject of Quartz Rock,
containd among the slate rock of the gold district.

The quartz rock of the gold region is mostly white, though some of it is
of the carnelian order, whilst some is translucent, and other specimens
are entirely transparent. The carnelian appearance of some of the quartz
seems to have been nothing more than the circulation of water containing
the red oxide of iron, through the cracks of the broken quartz, till the
rock became tingd with it. The transparent variety is crystalizd, and is
found only sparingly.

Quartz is found interstratified amongst the tilted slate, varying from
less than one quarter of an inch in thickness to several feet, and in
some places even to rods, penetrating the slate indefinitely downward.

Although quartz is mostly seen lying in a position parallel with the
stratified slate rock, yet in some instances it is found crossing it
diagonally.

To account for the formation of quartz and its occupying its present
position in the gold district, is to account also for the formation and
production of gold to the surface of the earth, as is satisfactorily
believd by all. It is hard to account for much of the works of nature.
If it be considerd, that the quartz veins of the gold district be of
aqueous origin, that is, formd by infiltration, or the percolation of
silicious water into unoccupied spaces, till they are completely filld
with silicious sediment, so as to become rock, we then have to account
for its existing there in a friable state, which is hard to conceive,
since a formation by aqueous agency would most likely produce solid
rock.

It is equally hard to see how gold can be found imbedded in solid masses
in those quartz veins, since, if by the percolation of the water, quartz
was producd there, so also must the gold have been producd by
infiltration—and in such case, it must have been disseminated through
the whole rock, giving hues of various shades, as is the case with iron
in a soluble state.

Another objection to the formation of the quartz of the gold district by
infiltration, is, that it is not generally transparent, since the
percolation of silicious water through cold and silent places will most
naturally produce such result. It is most probable that the crystalizd
portion of those rocks was formd from silicious water, after the
original deposit.

It has been asserted by some miners, that they have seen gold in a state
of formation, by the percolation of water over quartz rock. Those men
are probably such as believe that quartz is the mother of gold—and by
the way, I should like to have them tell me also what the father was.
They say that the yellow appearance of the mud and other sedimentary
matter, which they have seen passing through quartz veins, is gold in a
state of formation. Perhaps they might allow of a correction in their
minds on that subject, if they were told that the yellow appearance they
saw was nothing more than decomposd iron—probably the chromate of it.

Another view of the subject may be taken, somewhat like the following.
It may be considerd that the quartz of the gold district was formd
previous to the tilting up of the slate rock, by alternations of tabular
masses with the slate.

Some objections to this mode also naturally arise. One objection is,
that there are instances of quartz veins traversing the stratified slate
rock diagonally. Another is, that it cannot well be conceivd that so
thin layers, as is the case with some of the quartz rock, can well be
formd in a tabular way. And if the quartz had been formd by alternate
layers with the stratified slate, it must of necessity have been of
aqueous origin, and also the gold.

The last view I shall take of the quartz, as found interstratified with
the slate rock, is, that the slate rock is of aqueous origin, and the
quartz rock of igneous origin, intruded from beneath after the tilting
up of the slate.

In the formation of stratified rocks, the planes of stratification, or
sides facing each other, are never firmly united together, being formd
by depositions from water at different times, so that by subsequent
movements they are liable to be sunderd apart. If it now be considerd
the enormity of a massive crust of earth resting upon a molten nucleus,
it becomes easy to see how intrusions upward of melted matter can take
place amongst stratified rocks, and the many undulatory movements of the
rocks, as appear in the mining district, only give facility to its
accomplishment.

If it be taken for fact, that the quartz of the mining district was
intruded in a melted state, it must also be considerd that gold was
intruded with it. To account for the friable state of the quartz,
moisture must be supposd to have been present, whilst the quartz was in
a heated state.

Such a state of things would produce a disintegration of the quartz
rock, and set at liberty the imbedded gold, to be carrid downward by
gravitation from the hills into ravines, creeks and rivers. To account
next, for the difference between massive imbedded gold in quartz rock,
and gold disseminated in small particles, needs only to consider the
quartz acting as a flux during a state of fusion, to bring the gold
together, in the same manner as borax, glass or quartz will do in the
artist’s crucible—and the only probable difference between the gold of
California and that of Georgia, is, during a melted state of the quartz,
a higher degree of heat existed in the quartz of California than that of
Georgia, thereby bringing about a more perfect work of separation
between the quartz and the gold.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER XX.


   Three varieties of Gold, with their distinctions, and the reasons
 given why they are found in separate localities.—Philosophy of running
                                 water.


                             FIRST VARIETY.

The first variety of Gold may be considerd as that which is in dry
ravines, or between hills, where there is no running water, except in
the time of showers, or the melting of snows.—This variety is calld dry
ravine or angular gold, from the fact that whatever be its form, whether
in plates or heavy solid masses, or in thin scales,—the edges are all
sharp and angular, as nature formd it, having never been rounded off by
attrition among moving pebbles or sand, in violent streams of water. The
agent of deposit seems to have been mostly that of gravitation during
the decomposition of the rocks of the hills containing gold, aided
probably by the moistening influences of rains upon the alluvium of the
hills, and the general movement of alluvium from higher to lower levels.
When once deposited in these situations, it never after receives a
secondary removal, except by the hand of the miner.

Dry ravine deposits vary in their advantages for obtaining gold,
according to the slope of the hills, through which the ravine passes. At
the heads of ravines, where the country is but an undulating one, of
moderate hills, and wide-spread valleys, the deposits are generally so
disseminated, that but little advantages are gaind, by searching for
gold in such situations.

Downward, towards the mouths of ravines, where the hills are in close
contiguity, gold is deposited in a line along the center of ravines,
varying somewhat in richness, according to the richness of the adjoining
hills that deposited it, or the inclination, or basin-shapd appearance
of the ravine along its course to its mouth. If ravines are of rapid
descent from their sources to their outlets, they mostly contribute
their gold to the streams into which they empty themselves.


                             SECOND VARIETY

The second variety of gold is that which is creek-washd,—the corners and
edges of which are rounded off by attrition among moving pebbles and
sand of the tertiary deposits of creeks, during the time of freshets.
This gold, whether found in plates, or rounded masses, is most of it too
heavy to float in running water, being carrid onward to its place of
rest, by the united agency of gravitation, moving water, and the
tertiary sediment.

The creeks and large rivers receive their gold from the mouths of
ravines and hills contiguous to the creeks and rivers.

Gold is found in dry ravines, creeks, and in basins of rivers, weighing
several ounces.

In some places along the creeks, the miner finds angular gold deposited
in the banks of the streams at the foot of a hill, where it had not
slidden down sufficiently far to reach the power of the waters of the
stream.

Lost, or erratic gold is sometimes found in the creeks among the
creek-washd sand and gravel of the stream, being subject to occasional
removals, by subsequent freshets. Such gold seems to be on its way to
its final deposit or resting place in situations where subsequent
freshets can take no effect upon it for further removal.

Some of this gold is in pieces of several dollars value, but most of it
is in fine grains, with a mixture of floating gold.

The fine gold is found in situations above the rock, in deposits of
loose sand, where every violent freshet gives it another removal, till
it is ultimately carrid downward and deposited in the bars of the large
rivers.


                             THIRD VARIETY.

The third variety of gold is that which may be denominated bar, scale,
or floating gold. This gold is found in the tertiary deposits, commonly
calld bars of the large streams flowing down from the Neveda range of
mountains. Hence the name of bar gold.

Its form is that of very thin scales, which causes it to float in waters
that are highly agitated. Hence also, the names of scale, and floating
gold.

This gold is seldom found in pieces worth more than a dollar, and is
rounded off by attrition, the same as the creek-washd gold.

The several varieties here describd, were the same, only differing in
form, in the original rock—but the several agents of deposit, have
separated them into separate classes, according to the several
capacities of gold to receive the power of the several depositing
agents. Hence, the finest floating gold is found lowest down the
principal rivers, where it is deposited. Creek-washd gold, being heavy,
is never movd very far down the stream, from where it was first
deposited into it—and dry ravine gold, having still a little different
agent from the others, has never been movd but a very short distance.

                            * * * * * * * *

If no more could be said of water, than of other matter of the earth,
that it seeks rest by gravitation, in common with the harder portions of
matter, but little of its influences could ever be known, to what is now
apparent, when viewd in all its bearings. But the fluidity of water,
gives it advantages over other matter, in possessing movements, which
the latter can never receive—such as lateral motion, capillary
attraction, great expansion by heat, aerial passages from rare to dense
mediums, thereby giving a new preparation to descend in the form of rain
or snow, to restore again its former equilibrium.

Running water, in the light here intended to be explaind, is that which
flows down rivers and creeks, from higher to lower levels. Water, like
all other substances, will fall perpendicularly from higher to lower
levels, if there be no interposing obstacle. But as the beds of streams
descend like an inclind plane, from their sources to their mouths, water
is forcd over them by the power of gravitation, till it arrives at a
level with other surrounding water, and is thereby prevented from
descending further. Now in the movement of water, along its downward
passage, many considerations arise.

First, if water were made to pass downward thro’ a straight duct or
channel, whose lateral and vertical sides were perfectly smooth, so that
no friction could exist between the water and the trough or duct that
containd it, there would be no eddy formd along its sides, for the water
would all of it have a straight forward, and downward movement.

But as the bottom and edges of streams are rough and uneven, very
frequent obstructions to water occur. Places so obstructed, are the
eddies or partial eddies, so commonly observable in streams of running
water.

If an observer stands on the bank of a creek, during a time of high
water, where there is much irregularity and unevenness of its bottom, he
will see in some places, that the water is nearly motionless—in others,
a whirling round of the water,—in others, a retrograde or up stream
motion. Under all the circumstances of these several appearances of the
water, those places that are the most quiet, approach nearest to the
most perfect eddies.

Wherever a bend in a creek occurs, the water, by an opposing bank, is
forcd to take a new direction, passing downward, along on its inclind,
though uneven bottom. The opposing bank stops a portion of the flowing
waters, and causes them to turn back, along the shore of the creek,
producing, thereby,—a section of inactive waters, between those of the
downward and those of the upward course.

Again, if a lateral stream of water flows into a creek, similar or
nearly so in magnitude, the two partially opposing currents form an eddy
in the upper angle of the two, and an eddy of less magnitude, is also
formd in the angle of the two, on the lower side of the lateral stream.

When water passes over a reef of rock, that traverses entirely across
the stream, like a mill dam, the central waters or current cannot well
form an eddy immediately below the reef, on account of its impetuous
movement—though laterally, towards the banks, partial quietness of the
water may exist.

If an obstacle, as a rock or other body, protrude in the current of a
creek, so high that water is forcd around it, instead of running over
it, an eddy is formd immediately below it, in magnitude according to the
size of the obstacle.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER XXI.


               Mode of searching for Gold in California.

Rock gold, or that which is disseminated in dust or fine particles
amongst quartz rock, being so rare in California, but little attention
is paid to searching for it in such situations.


               _Mode of Searching for the First Variety._

The miner, in prospecting for the first variety, or dry ravine gold,
selects a situation where, judging from the appearance of the hills, or
the slope of the ravine likely to contain gold, it may be found most
abundant. He commences his excavation at the center of the ravine, by
digging downward till he arrives in most cases at the rock on which the
deposit was made, which varies from 2 to 10 or 15 feet in depth. He then
prospects outward toward the hills till he arrives at the line of
deposit, in case any deposit there exists.

After having found a lead of gold, he excavates upward and downward the
ravine, being careful whilst progressing along, to watch the several
meanderings of the lead, which are likely to occur even in very short
distances.

The miner never need be long at a loss to determine whether there be
gold in the place where he is prospecting. If gold exists only in
moderate quantities, the pick will generally detect it by occasionally
throwing out into view pieces of gold, even when they are quite small.
In digging in dry ravines, the miner, after having arrivd within a few
inches of the rock where he expects to find gold, tries the earth by
washing some of it. If he finds no gold, all of the earth above this
place is thrown away as useless. He then continues to dig downward,
trying the dirt at short intervals, till he finds gold in his washings.
He then is careful to save and wash all of the remainder that lies above
the rock, and even to pick off a few inches from the top of some rocks
that are loose and open enough to receive gold in some of their
crevices, carefully saving and washing the whole.

In some instances in dry ravines, where slate rock occurs, it is
decomposd into clay, to a considerable depth, from the vast amount of
time elapsd since it has been placd in its present situation. Where such
decomposition has occurd, it is useless to penetrate downward into it,
in search of gold, as the gold was deposited most generally in a strong
iron deposit, previous to the decomposition of the rock. This strong
iron deposit is formd of soluble iron, amongst which the gold is
mechanically entangld and there held, unless the iron becomes again
soluble and leaves the gold to settle down by gravitation into the
decomposd rock below. Cases of the second solubility of the iron do not
often occur in dry ravines.


              _Mode of Searching for the Second Variety._

It is more difficult to point out a successful mode of searching for
gold of the second variety than either of the other two. Yet
notwithstanding the difficulties attending it, some hints may be given,
useful to the miner, who has previously become in some degree acquainted
with the philosophy of running water and the nature of tertiary
deposits.

Those creeks of intermediate size between dry ravines, and the large
rivers flowing down from the mountains, though dry or nearly so at some
seasons of the year, are powrful in times of heavy rains or the rapid
melting of snows, as is evident from the position of some heavy rocks in
those streams, which none other agent the powr of a mighty stream could
have placd there.

In prospecting for gold in those creeks, the miner may select a position
which he judges to be the channel of the creek, or that portion of it
where the greatest powr of water is exerted, and commence digging
downward, till he arrives at the rock over which various tertiary
sediment has flowd, and if he finds the coarse gravel and sand through
which he passes, entirely down to the rock, cleanly washd of alluvium,
he may fairly conclude that he is in the current of that stream, or
where the water passes with greatest force. In those situations, he
rarely finds gold, or if he does, it is in sparing quantities.

If upon arriving at the rock, he finds a cross reef or ledge rock,
rising one foot or more above the rocks downward stream from his
position, he may then prospect outward either way toward the banks of
the creek, keeping close to the rock on the lower side, till he arrives
a little outward from the current where the waters formd an eddy, as
denoted by a mixture of alluvium with the sand and gravel of the creek.
In those situations, he may expect to find gold. If he finds gold in
such a locality, he may prospect outward toward the banks of the creek,
till he has exhausted the whole deposit.

As the tilted rocks of the gold district have universally one course,
and as creeks meander across them in nearly every possible direction,
there are chances in many places for reefs of rocks to traverse the beds
of creeks, directly along their channels. Under such circumstances, but
little gold has been deposited. If the miner continues his search along
the creek downward, till he arrives at a bend in it, where the water is
forcd over such reefs, a little outward from the channel, gold is often
found in great abundance—watching carefully whilst excavating the earth
in such places, to prospect the lower side of any reefs that may be
found there.

If a rock of several feet in hight traverse crosswise the whole width of
a creek, so that the only passage for the water of the stream is over
it, like the fall of a mill-dam, its force seldom allows gold to be
deposited near to it. But a short distance below, where the first quiet
waters occurd, gold may be found in lateral and central pockets and
little basin-shapd hollows of the rock at the bottom of creek deposits.

Again, if a rock project from any portion of the stream, so high that
water cannot run over it but is forcd around it, an eddy is in such case
formd immediately below it, in which situation gold may be expected to
be found.

In some situations, along some of the creeks, as at Sullivan’s camp, on
one of the tributaries of the St. Waukeen, the slate rock, on which the
gold was deposited, has since been decomposd to a considerable depth
below the tertiary deposit. It would seem that a second solubility of
the iron deposits had taken place, and liberated the gold to settle down
into the decomposd rock. In such situations, the miner continues to
prospect downward, as long as he finds gold abundant enough to reward
his labors.

Creek-washd gold is sometimes found higher up in the banks from the
current of creeks than the experiencd miner is aware of, but the man
acquainted with the appearance of creek-worn pebbles is never at a loss
to determine the agent that placd them there—and if, in such situations,
he finds rounded, creek worn pebbles, he may conclude that the pebbles
and gold also were deposited there by water. In such cases, it becomes
the miner to examine the bearing and level of the creek above such
place, and see if the creek may not some day have formd an eddy there,
and deposited its various contents. If, still higher up in the bank, he
finds gold entirely angular, he may conclude that it has slidden down
from the hill above.

Another thing to be observd by the miner, relative to creek-gold, is,
that in prospecting up and down creeks for gold,—he carefully observe
where a level expanse is formd at the foot of a cascade. Near the head
of such expanse, between the cascade above, and the next one below, he
will find gold more abundant than toward the lower end of such expanse.

In searching for eddies of creeks, where the greatest amount of gold is
often deposited, the miner should bear in mind that eddies formd in time
of freshets, are most likely to contain the most and heaviest gold, from
the fact that much power is requird to move heavy gold, and tertiary
sediment.


               _Mode of searching for the Third Variety._

To obtain a knowledge of prospecting for bar gold, requires also a
knowledge of the philosophy of running waters—yet gold is prospected
with less difficulty in the bars of large rivers than creek-gold.

As the bar gold is very light and thin, it is subject to the various
freaks of running water, in which it is mechanically suspended, during
times of freshets. In prospecting therefore, for gold along the bars of
rivers, the principal thing to be attended to, is the formation of
eddies along those streams, which, if the edges of the water were
straight and unbroken, through the length of a bar, would also be formd
along in straight lines but a short distance from shore, or outer edge
of the water. These eddies are the intermediate line between the
downward current of the stream, and the retrograde or upward movement of
the water along the shore, where water is nearly in a quiescent state.

But as the edges of streams are rough and uneven, the eddies are also
formd uneven. Hence, a deposit of gold in those eddies, is not straight,
but varies according to the unevenness of the shore.

Such a line of quiet water, is the only deposit of bar gold which is
likely to be richest, near the heads of bars.

The best method of prospecting for bar gold, is to commence an
excavation, a short distance out from the water of the river, near the
head of a bar, digging downward but a short distance among the sand and
gravel, occasionally washing the earth.—And if gold is found, progress
toward and from the river, till the richest deposit is found. Then
change the course upward and downward the river, and continue to
prospect as long as gold is abundant enough to pay for working.

As this gold is subject to subsequent removals by every succeeding
freshet, it never gets deeply embedded in any solid tertiary deposits.
Hence, it is most usually found among loose sand and gravel, near the
surface.

This search should be made when the water of rivers is quite low, which
time is also best in searching for the other two varieties.

If along a line of bar deposit, a rock is found protruding high—gold may
be expected more abundant immediately below it, than elsewhere.

To those searching for gold along the bars of rivers, it was at first,
not a little surprising to learn that but little gold was deposited
toward the center of the stream—but on reflection,—it will be seen that
the water is too violent to admit floating gold to come to rest in such
situations.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                             CHAPTER XXII.


Cost of transporting Goods from the several embarkadaries to the
      mines—Price of Merchandize in the mines—Cost of Provisions—Price
      of Medical Services—Administration of Justice—Manner of spending
      the Sabbath.

From the two principal embarkadaries upon the St. Waukeen and Sacramento
rivers of California, provisions and mining implements are transported
to the seat of mining operations at exorbitant costs.

On passing up to the mines from a place calld Stocton, upon the St.
Waukeen, our company hird a teamster to carry our goods and implements,
for which we paid him, for one wagon load, more than _fourteen hundred
dollars_, rated at 30 cents per pound. Afterwards during the summer,
goods were carrid on pack mules at a somewhat less cost. It may also be
added, that conveyances were got up for the accommodation of passengers
between Stocton and the mines, a distance of 70 or 80 miles, at a charge
of 2 ounces of gold dust for each passenger, which, according to its
value in California, is worth $32.

From Sacramento city, the present head of navigation upon the Sacramento
river, similar prices are chargd for the transportation of goods into
that quarter of the mining district.

The price of merchandize at the mines is quite dissimilar to prices in
the States. Tea, best, per pound, is worth from $2 to $4. Common sizd
frying pans at $8. Tin pans, a large size, at $8 apiece. India rubber
elastic cots at $50 to $75 each. Calf-skin shoes, per pair, at $8, and
boots at $16. An ordinary article of ax-helve at $3. Lumber, scarce, at
$2 per ft. Pint tin cups at $1.50 each. Coarse sheeting, 50 cents per
yard.

The cost of provisions ranges somewhat as follows. Flour is worth, per
pound, from 75 cts. to $1. Pork, per pound, $1. Beans are sold by the
pound, at $1 per pound. Rice, per lb., 62½ cents. Light bread, per loaf
of one pound, $1. Beef, 25 cents the pound. Potatoes are sold by the
pound, at 50 cents. Green peas preservd in air-tight jars, per pint, $4.
Onions, per pound, $2. Public meals, $2.

                            * * * * * * * *

_Medical services_ are likewise high, in the mining district. Each
visit, near to patient, is 1 oz. of gold, or $16. If a week’s attendance
is requird, no reduction upon each visit is made. For extracting a
tooth, $10 is chargd. Very extravagant prices are chargd for distant
visits.

                            * * * * * * * *

In relation to the _administration of justice_ in the mining district,
wherever a sufficient assemblage of miners exists to be thought worthy
of judicial attention, an alcalda or justice of the peace is appointed,
who presides over the judiciary department, with almost as unlimited
sway as an emperor. And although in addition to an alcalda, a sheriff is
appointed to a permanent office, and cases are almost universally tried
by a jury, which is summond by the sheriff, yet they are generally
selected of a stamp congruous to the feelings of the alcalda. From the
decisions, no appeal can ever be made, whether right or wrong. I would
likewise remark, that decisions are very apt to be made against the
party having the most gold, and especially if one of the parties is
rather low in circumstances. Such a state of judicial dispensation may
seem somewhat objectionable, at first thought, but when we reflect, that
where no legislation exists, lynch law is the only mode of dispensing
justice, to which men can well resort, and this is so terrific in its
consequences of criminal justice, that rogues tremble in view of its
administration. Much more civility and less theft exists in the mines
than might at first be supposd.

The costs of legal services may be arrangd somewhat as follows:
Alcaldas, for each suit, 1 oz. To the sheriff, 1 oz. To each juryman,
half an ounce of gold,—and legal pleadings are often enormous, even to
$100 for the service of an hour or two.

The several foregoing costs of transportation, price of merchandize,
costs of provisions and medical services, are very often increasd or
diminishd, according to location, distance, or difficulty of
transporting, and also the season of the year.

                            * * * * * * * *

There is a consideration, likewise, in relation to _spending the Sabbath
amongst the gold mines of California_.

The reader may greatly wonder what is the mode of spending the Sabbath
there, when I say to him, that the Sabbath appears as silent as the
house of mourning. Seldom is a man seen with his implements in his
hands, laboring for gold. All around is quiet, except now and then a few
horsemen are passing from one little town to another, for purposes best
known to themselves. What, then, is the wonderful employment or idle
condition of miners upon that day? Alas! every public tent through the
whole mining region is resorted to for gambling. In each of these tents,
stands from one to four or six monte tables, around which, miners of all
classes assemble to risk their fortunes. These tables are arrangd with
small or large sums of money, by one or more persons, according to the
ability of the person or persons that establish them. The sums of money
so arrangd are calld banks, or monte banks. On opposite sides of the
table, sit two men, who manage the affairs of the bank, and deal the
cards by which the fate of bettors is determind. This game at cards is
carrid on from morning till night, and often through the following night
till twilight breaks upon them, with the stillness and quiet of a
religious assemblage.

    [Illustration: Cornucopia]




                       DESCRIPTION OF CALIFORNIA


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                             CHAPTER XXIII.


Alta or Upper California With respect to Agriculture—Climate and Health
      of Alta California—Navigation of its two principal Rivers—Some of
      the principal Towns of Alta California—Its Bays and Harbors.

It can hardly be imagind, how the business of agriculture can be carrid
on successfully in a country circumstancd like Upper California. In the
mountainous portions, grain can not do well without resort to
irrigation, and this, from extreme cost, can not well be done on an
extensive scale.

The low country of the great valley of the St. Waukeen and Sacramento,
is not unfrequently inundated a month or two, during the latter part of
the winter, which renders passages from one part of the valley to
another by land, entirely impracticable, and although along the borders
of those two large rivers, and to some distance outward from them, there
is a good soil, yet it is well known to farmers, that wheat will not
live but a few days, entirely immersd in water—so that the wheat crop
could never be depended upon as a safe investment.

Along the borders of these rivers, in some places, the native grasses
are of a tolerable growth. Outward toward the base of the mountain, the
earth becomes so dry during the summer, that vegetation is entirely
dried up. It however arrives at maturity, at a stinted growth. I have
seen native oats growing upon the plains of the great valley. These also
are not very enormous in size. Notwithstanding, they for awhile furnish
good grazing for the roaming cattle of the country, upon which, and the
short bunch grass growing upon some of the hills, they become very fat
during the summer. But as the grasses of the country are of so stinted a
growth, farmers cannot live in crowded communities, as in the States,
but at distances of from 10 to 20 miles apart. Locations of this kind
are calld ranches, or rancheros, and farmers so living often own several
hundred head of cattle and horses.

                            * * * * * * * *

_The climate of California_, of which I shall next speak, varies
considerably in different parts of the country, according to its
distance from the ocean or from the Neveda mountains, or the unevenness
of the surface of the country.

In the mountain district of the Neveda range, the climate was describd
in the geography of that portion of California.

Lower down and westward, along the great valley, the climate is milder,
through the whole of the year. I believe the large rivers of the valley
are not frozen during the winter, and the weather in summer is quite
warm. Thus far from the axis of the Neveda mountains eastward, to the
two great rivers westward, during the summer season, the sky is serene,
and the stars and planets shine with great splendor.

No dew falls in that part hitherto describd, during the hottest season
of the year, and travelers may lie upon the ground without exposure from
the unhealthiness of a damp ground and a moist atmosphere.

Farther outward, and along the coast, the country is much of the time
during the year, coverd with fogs, which render it unpleasant, and in
some measure unhealthy. The town of San Francisco, most of the year, is
envelopd in a thick fog, during much of the night and the following day,
till 10 or 11 o’clock, after which time the wind becomes of sufficient
strength to clear away the fog, which often renders the remainder of the
day unpleasant. This town, from the almost continued dampness of the
atmosphere, and the unavoidable use of mineralizd water, can hardly be
considerd a healthy place. Dysentery and fever seems to be the prevalent
disease.

I had nearly forgotten an idea which I now recollect to have heard,
relating to the dryness and purity of the atmosphere of California. It
has been said that the flesh of animals may be hung up in the open
atmosphere, till it becomes perfectly preservd by drying, without salt,
and during such process, no annoying insects ever disturb it—and also,
that a man would never die there, except by being dried up.

It is true, that the Spaniards have a mode of preserving the flesh of
the ox, by cutting it into very small strips, and hanging it upon
strings cut from the raw hide, where it is exposd to the heat of the
sun. In this way, meat could be preservd in any of the States, but if it
be left in large masses, and so circumstancd that any part of it is kept
from drying immediately on the outside, the green fly, an insect common
to that country as well as the States, is presently found to be a
loathsome intruder.

                            * * * * * * * *

When I left the mining district for the valley, on my way to San
Francisco, on the 13th of October, I saw eight or ten vessels lying at
Stocton, and at the head of Suisan bay, three or four more, and at the
head of Pablo bay, six or seven more. These, with ten or twelve lying at
Sacramento city, and as many more scatterd along the two rivers and in
the several bays, added to about 130 which I counted in the harbor of
San Francisco, on my arrival there, will make about 175 vessels within
the country of California. Most of the vessels lying in the harbor of
San Francisco, were inactive, for want of help to work them.

The business of transportation upon the two rivers, St. Waukeen and
Sacramento, I believe to be as profitable as any that is attended to in
California. When I left, two small steamers were constantly plying
between San Francisco and Sacramento city, and another was being put
together at Suisan bay, for the navigation of the St. Waukeen. More
busines at present is done upon the rivers by launches, a small vessel
of only one mast, than by any other vessel. These are more easily managd
than large ships, along the intricate windings of those extremely
crooked rivers, but so soon as a sufficient number of steamers can be
obtaind for the business of the rivers, other means of transportation
will in a great degree cease.

                            * * * * * * * *

That portion of Alta California, where at present men’s conceptions are
most vivid, and where at every corner, pass or avenue, the lively turn
of the foot is seen, and where men’s views and feelings to-morrow will
not be what they are to-day, and where also the sight of the golden
streams from the Neveda mountains produce electrical shocks upon all
persons, whose hearts are tund to chant the new and animating lays of
later scenes of better days, and where nearly all of the “Elephant,” in
his varied and portentous displays, is seen—may be comprisd within the
small tract of country, over which the waters of the two principal
rivers, Sacramento and St. Waukeen, flow. Along these waters, are
several newly laid out towns, together with some of ancient Mexican
date.

San Francisco is situated upon a side hill, on the south side of the bay
of the same name. Its inhabitants were reckond, on the first of
November, ’49, at 25,000, though six months before there were scarcely
5000. Such has been the rapid progress of San Francisco. The town is 10
or 12 miles within the entrance of the bay from the ocean.

At the head of Pablo bay, is a newly laid out town, calld Benetia. It
lies on the north side of the strait between Pablo bay and Suisan bay.
This strait will doubtless bear the name of Benetia. The town will
ultimately be a pleasanter one than San Francisco. One mile east of
Benetia, upon the same side of the strait, the United States have
establishd an arsenal.

At the head of Suisan bay, is a new town calld Western New York. This
town lies on the south side of the waters of the bay, upon, a flat piece
of ground, at the lower confluence of the Sacramento and St. Waukeen.
The delta between the upper and lower confluence, is about 20 miles in
length. New York, situated as it is, will command the business of both
rivers, and if it is lucky enough to avoid being inundated once a year,
will ultimately be a place of considerable importance.

At the present head waters of navigation for the St. Waukeen, upon a
slough about three miles distant from the river, is a town calld
Stocton, the principal embarkadary for the south division of the mining
district. This town is situated on low, flat ground, which rises but
little above the waters of the river, at lowest stages. When the country
around is overflowd with water, this town must necessarily suffer much
inconvenience therefrom.

The last town which I shall here mention, is Sacramento city. Like
Stocton, it is situated at the present head waters of the Sacramento
river. It serves as the principal embarkadary for the northern mining
region, as Stocton does for the south, and from this place, provisions
and implements are carrid to all parts of the northern mining region.
The place is more than half as large as San Francisco, and is fast
improving.

                            * * * * * * * *

Before closing the subject of California, a few remarks concerning its
_bays and harbors_ may not be uninteresting.

The Bay of San Francisco is nearly surrounded by high hills, with a
narrow entrance from the ocean, and now and then an island is
interspersd, to hide the scenery of its waters from the hills contiguous
to the town of San Francisco. It is large enough to contain the shipping
of the whole world, and its waters are not of inconvenient depth for
anchorage.

Next above this, lies Pablo bay, or Bay of St. Paul. It is inferior in
size, but ships can anchor in any part of it, and lie at all times with
a tolerable degree of safety.

At the head of Pablo bay, commences Suisan bay, which extends upward to
the delta that divides the two rivers, Sacramento and St. Waukeen. The
waters of this bay are so shoal that vessels have difficulty in sailing
over it, except directly along its channel.

The distances across the several bays are as follows. From San Francisco
to Pablo bay, is about 10 miles, and through Pablo bay to Suisan bay, is
40 miles, and Suisan bay differs but little from 50 miles in length,
from Benetia to New York, at the head of the bay.




                            HOMEWARD BOUND.


    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                             CHAPTER XXIV.


Scenes on the Pacific Ocean.—Difficulty of reaching the harbor of
      Panama, by sail ships.—Arrival at Panama.—The town of Panama, and
      its inhabitants.—Passage across the isthmus, to Chagres.

After a stay in California of a little more than five months, I took my
departure for home by way of the ocean, on board a sail ship bound for
Panama, the 21st day of October, 1849. As there is often a difficulty in
getting out of the bay of San Francisco into the ocean, with sail ships,
on account of a strong wind that is much of the time blowing through the
straits eastward from the ocean, and the dense fog that envelops the
sea, at the entrance of the bay, we were detaind nearly two days before
we could pass the straits into the ocean.

Our passage from San Francisco to Panama, was accomplishd in 40 days, a
distance of about 4000 miles, tho’ along the coast, it would not much
exceed 3500. This passage was considerd by the master of the vessel, as
expeditious as is common upon waters of as little wind as is not
unfrequently witnessd upon the Pacific ocean.

Whilst on my passage from Oregon last spring, to California, I saw a
short distance from ship, a whale, in an attempt at running a race with
us. He kept along in a parallel course with the ship, one or two miles,
and then left us. Ship-masters say they will outrun the fleetest ship.

But we saw on our passage from San Francisco to Panama, but few of the
monsters of the deep, so often describd in history and romance, although
this coast is the place to which whalemen resort. At a distance from
ship, we saw now and then a few whales, spouting the briny waters high
into the atmosphere—and then again, a shoal of porpoises surrounding the
ship—some of which, our sailors caught with their hooks and lines.—The
flesh of the porpoise is of a reddish color, and coarse, but tolerably
pleasant to eat.

The dolphin is a small fish of only two or three feet in length—and has
the power of changing its color. The flesh is said to be poisonous in
some degree, and is therefore not good for food. These fish are shy and
hard to take, except by stratagem.

Our captain is an old whaleman, and his vessel was fitted out from
Nantucket, for that purpose. On our way south,—he one day took 4 or 5
men into a whale-boat, and started out from the vessel in pursuit of
some black fish we saw at a short distance from us. We had not watchd
him long before we saw him returning with a large black fish in tow of
his whale boat. He presently came along side, and down the halyards were
let—to haul the monster upon deck,—and in a few minutes, was seen
stretchd athwart the ship, a giant fish, weighing about 2500 pounds,—out
of which, was obtaind 4 barrels of oil.

This was a specimen of whaling on a small scale. The fish here caught,
was a species of whale, and was organizd similarly. A few inches from
the end of his snout, upon the top of it, was a valve, about 3 inches
square, out of which, the animal spouts.

After tossing and rolling about upon the wide Pacific, till I was
utterly tird of my situation, we at length arrivd at the outer confines
of Panama bay, on Monday, Nov. 26. Although this bay is more than 100
miles wide at the entrance, yet it is so situated, that most of the
year, there is a wind from the Caribbean sea, blowing across the
continent outward from the harbor of Panama, which renders an entrance
into it slow and difficult. We, however, after tacking the ship the
tedious number of 10 times, arrivd in safety at the harbor of Panama, on
the evening of Friday, Nov. 30.

Our arrival at Panama, was an epoch of satisfaction to me, as well as my
fellow passengers, after having experienced so many days of monotony
upon the ocean.

The anchorage for ships is inconveniently situated from town, being
nearly 3 miles distant.

After having arrivd at the town, and wanderd over it somewhat, I found
it to be located upon a rock, formd of successive layers of apparent
lava. But as my opportunity of examining it was scanty, I could not well
determine its character. The town wears a dilapidated appearance, from
its extreme age, and a want of attention to repairs. Many of the houses
are large,—and three stories high, with broken down roofs, and with
grass growing out of every corner, and upon the roofs. They have the
oddity of being built partly of bricks, and partly of stone, intermingld
together in the body of the walls. They have windows arrangd similar to
windows in houses of the states, but without sash or glass, being left
entirely open. No chimneys are built to any of the houses, and cooking
is done with small portable furnaces, or a fire is built upon the
ground, between 2 small rocks set up edgewise, so as to contain the
fuel. In the cooking apartments, an arrangement is made for the escape
of the smoke at the top of the room, so that it may not communicate with
their dining or sitting rooms.

The town, previous to the gold excitement of California, was in a great
measure, vacant of inhabitants, and large and commodious rooms may have
been hird for the small sum of 12½ cents per day. The streets are mostly
narrow, but they are tolerably well pavd, and are washd nearly every day
for ¾ of a year, from the all copious fountain of the heavens above. No
drays or coaches are seen to mar the beauty of the streets, and grass is
seen growing even in the middle of the streets, and along its sidewalks.
This was once a populous town, but now—like most other Spanish towns
along the western coast of America, is seen the marks of imbecility,
indifference and decay. They have a small market or two, to which all
classes indiscriminately, resort for their daily support. The town next
to the bay is walld around, upon which, a few cannon were placd for its
former defense.

The inhabitants speak the Spanish language. They are cleanly in dress,
plain in their manners, and familiar in their conversation. They are
unassuming in their style, and liberal in their hospitalities.

I am inclind to think the character of the American Spanish has hitherto
been misrepresented. During my stay in California, I was located among
that people, and I ever found them willing to part with half their last
meal to feed a hungry man. Although the Spanish ladies are almost
universally neat washers, yet their is a want of taste in their dress,
it being loosely, though not fantastically adjusted about their persons.
In their behavior, their sitting and reclining postures have an unchaste
appearance, though this may arise from want of proper training.

The width of the isthmus from Panama across to the bay of Darien, is not
much different from 50 miles—but by the way of the old Panama road to
Chagres, the distance is about 64 miles. Through this route the present
emigration passes.—From Panama, there is a portage of about 24 miles, to
Cruses, a town of about 150 houses, at the present head waters of the
Chagres river. There is also, another town of similar importance, about
5 miles below, upon the Chagres river, calld Gorgona. To this town,
also, there is a road which leads off from the Cruses road about half
way distant from Panama to Cruses.

The present Cruses road is probably of as ancient date as the town of
Panama. It has once been pavd, and a tolerably good road for pack
animals to pass, but too narrow to admit of carriages. Across the
portage, the country is uneven, though not mountainous, and much of the
way, the road is cut through hills of soft rock. At present, the
pavement is almost all broken up, and the road is muddy and disagreeable
to pass, much of the year, even with pack animals. Most of the property
that now passes that road, is carrid upon the backs of native
citizens,—though horses or mules can be hird at either end of the rout
for the transportation of property.

The houses of Cruses and Gorgona, and also a few scattering houses along
the portage, are made of Bamboo, a reed which grows very tall, but small
in size. These reeds are set upon the ends, and firmly crowded together
to the size of the requird wall. At the corners of these walls, are set
posts of sufficient strength to support the roofs, which are thatchd of
the cocoa leaf. After the roofs are completed, no rains can penetrate
them. The slender appearance of these houses, seems to be a proof that
no tornados or heavy winds exist along the isthmus,—and some families
live in tenements of nothing but a roof placd upon posts in the form of
a Dutch barrack.

The remainder of the way from Cruses to Chagres, is down the Chagres
river,—a stream of considerable importance in time of high water, though
not of sufficient depth to admit of the navigation of any but small
class steamboats, in times of common stages of the river.

The country across the isthmus truly indicates a want of yankee
enterprise. No agricultural interests are resorted to for the support of
the inhabitants. All appears drear, and the country is thickly coverd
with low, leafy kinds of timber, heavily laden much of it, with vines of
various kinds, pending their branches near to the ground. Now and then,
however, along the way is seen a small opening or lawn, where a few
cattle are grazing—and these of the thriftiest kind,—indicating the
advantages which might be derivd from the improvement of the soil upon
the isthmus.

    [Illustration: Decorative glyph]




                              CHAPTER XXV.


   Town of Chagres—Its inhabitants—Trip to New Orleans—Thence up the
                 Mississippi to St. Louis—Arrival home.

Chagres is a town of some over 150 houses, situated on the South
American side, at the mouth of the Chagres river. The houses are like
those of Gorgona and Cruses, many of which appear to be of considerably
ancient date. The ground upon which the town stands, is of but little
elevation above the waters of the river, and it seems that it must
inevitably become inundated, should a strong wind continue to blow a
considerable time from off the Caribbean sea. This town, as also
Gorgona, Cruses and Panama, belongs to the republic of New Grenada.
Bogota is the capital of this republic, and is situated interior,
several hundred miles to the south of Chagres. An entrance to the mouth
of the Chagres river, by sail ships, is often attended with the danger
of being wreckd on the beach. Hence, a steamer is kept at the harbor for
the conveyance of passengers from them, at a distance of 2 miles, where
they are obligd to anchor.

At the entrance of the river and contiguous to the town, upon a
projecting eminence, is an old, dilapidated fort, with a large number of
brass cannon scatterd about upon the walls. There appear to be a few
soldiers strolling about the fort, but with a total indifference to the
attention which a fort requires for its requisite abilities, in an
emergency.

The inhabitants of Chagres have more of negroes and negro blood in them
than the citizens of Panama, Cruses or Gorgona, but they are of similar
stamp with their neighbors in that part of America, and speak the same
language. The females dress much in lawns and other light clothing, as
is most suitable for the climate. The religion here, and mostly
throughout this part of the country, is Roman Catholic.

The bells of the churches are generally hung in the windows, or outside,
near the ground, at their entrances. The cross-bar on which they are
hung, often contains two bells, so that the ringing of them is
frequently done by two persons, in quite a ludicrous manner. The mode of
ringing is performd by each person’s taking a small hammer or stick, and
striking upon the outside of the bells, keeping time with each other,
similar to the beating of two drummers.

                            * * * * * * * *

_Saturday, Dec. 8th._—Embarkd on board brig Major Eastland, bound to New
Orleans, and arrivd there, Thursday, December 20th. Our trip was a
tolerably short and pleasant one, for the season of the year. We
experiencd no storm upon the Caribbean sea, nor any through the Gulf of
Mexico. Nothing of importance was experiencd on the way, to change the
monotony.

On the 21st, I left New Orleans by steamboat, for St Louis, a distance
of 1200 miles by water, though probably not much exceeding 600 direct.
The old towns of Natchez and Vicksburg are in a decayd condition.
Memphis appears to be the most thriving town between New Orleans and St.
Louis.

_Monday, Dec. 31st_, I found myself at the St. Louis levee, after
struggling with floating ice for a day or two, the latter part of the
distance. I left St. Louis, Jan. 2d, 1850, and arrivd at Knox co., Ill.,
Jan. 8th, having been gone from home, one year, nine months and five
days.

On my arrival at home, I found my friends in a state of health, though
many deaths in town had occurd during my absence, and the place had
exceedingly improvd.

                            * * * * * * * *

A few remarks appendant to the foregoing, in relation to traveling
expenses, may be of use to those desirous to go to California, by the
way of the oceans and the isthmus. At present, the arrangement for
running steamers between San Francisco and Panama, is, to leave each
place for the other, but twice each month, which is on the 1st and 20th.
Sail ships are also running between the two places with frequency.
Prices of passage, the fall of 1849, between the two places, were $300
cabin, $150 steerage. On board sail ships, $150 cabin, and $75 steerage.
An arrangement from Chagres to New York, by the way of New Orleans and
Havana, is made by the U. S. Mail Ship Company, for carrying passengers,
so that passengers can leave Chagres on the 28th of each month, at $150
cabin, $125 forward, and $80 steerage. This state of things will not
last long, before there will be a sufficient amount of competition for
the speedy accommodation of all who wish to go to California.




                          Transcriber’s Notes


—Silently corrected a few typos; retained the author’s idiosyncratic and
  inconsistent spelling.

—Retained publication information from the printed edition: this eBook
  is public-domain in the country of publication.

—In the text versions only, text in italics is delimited by
  _underscores_.







End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Journal of Travels from St. Josephs to
Oregon, by Riley Root

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 62155 ***