Blazing The Way Part 15

"On April 30, 1854, I was married to a man named G. W. T. Allen and lived with him on Whidby Island seven years, during which time four children were born. We finally agreed to disagree. Only one of our children by my first husband is living. She is Mrs. L.

L. Andrews of Tacoma, Washington. He is in the banking business.

On July 7, 1863, I was married to my present husband, McLain Chambers. We have lived in Washington ever since. We have had nine children. Our oldest, a son, I. M. Chambers, lives on a farm near Roy, Wash. Others are married and live at Roy, Yelm and Stampede. We have two little boys at home. Have lost three within the last three years. We live a mile and a half southeast of Roy, Wash.

"I have lived here through all the hostilities of the war. Dr.

Tolmie sent wagons to haul us to the fort for safety. My present husband was a volunteer and came through with a company of scouts, very hungry. They were so hungry that when they saw my mother take a pan of biscuits from the stove, one of them saying, 'Excuse me, but we are almost starved,' grabbed the biscuits from the pan, eating like a hungry dog.

"I suppose you have heard of the murder of Col. I. N. Ebey of Whidby Island? He was beheaded by the Northern or Fort Simpson Indians and his family and George Corliss and his wife made their escape from the house by climbing out of the windows, leaving even their clothes and bushwhacking it until morning. I was on Whidby Island about seven miles from where he was killed, that same night, alone with my little girl, now Mrs. Andrews. When one of our neighbors called at the gate and said, 'Colonel Ebey was beheaded last night,' I said 'Captain Barrington, it cannot be, as I have been staying here so close by alone without being disturbed.' Shortly after the Indians came armed, and one of them came up to me, shaking a large knife in his hand saying, 'Isk.u.m mika tenas and klatawa copa stick or we will kill you.' I said to him, 'I don't understand; come and go to the field where my husband and an Indian boy are,' but they refused to go and left me soon. I started for the field with my child, and the further I went the more scared I got until when I reached my husband, I cried like a child. He ran to the house and sent a message to the agent on the reservation, but they skipped out of his reach, and never bothered me again, but I truly suffered as though I were sick, although I stayed alone with a boy eight or nine years old."

"A BOY OF SEVEN WHO CAME TO SHOW HIS FATHER THE WAY."

In the same columns with the preceding sketch appeared R. A. Bundy's story of his juvenile adventures:

"I will try to give an account of my trip crossing the plains in the pioneer days. You need not expect a flowery story, as you will observe before I get through. The chances for an education in those days were quite different from what they are today. Here goes with my story, anyway:

"My father left his old home in the State of Illinois in the month of April in the year 1865. As I was a lad not seven years of age until the 27th of the month, of course I was obliged to go along to show the old man the way.

"We were all ready to start, and a large number of others that were going in the same train had gathered at our place. There were also numerous relatives present to bid us good-bye, and warn us of the big undertaking we were about to embark in, and tell of the dangers we would encounter. But a lad of my age always thinks it is a great thing to go along with a covered wagon, especially if 'pap' is driving. I crawled right in and did not apprehend anything dangerous or wearisome about a short trip like that. I will have to omit dates and camping places, as I was too young to pay any attention to such things; and you may swear that I was always around close. Everything went along smoothly with me for a short time. Riding in a covered wagon was a picnic, but my father's team was composed of both horses and cattle, and the oxen soon became tenderfooted and had to be turned loose and driven behind the wagons.

"About this time A. L. McCauley, whose account of the trip has appeared in the 'Ledger,' fell in with the train. He thought himself a brave man and as he had had a 'right smart' experience in traveling, especially since the war broke out, and was used to going in the lead and had selected a great many safe camping places for himself during that time, the men thought he would be a good man to hide from the Indians, so he was elected captain.

He went ahead and showed my old man the way. I being now relieved of this responsibility, stayed behind the train and drove the tenderfooted oxen. When McCauley found a camping place I always brought up the rear.

"That was not quite so much of a picnic as some of us old-timers have nowadays at Shilo. I found out after driving oxen a few days, that I was going 'with' the old man.

"For a week or two my job was not as bad as some who have never tried it might imagine. But six months of travel behind the wagons barefooted, over sagebrush, sand toads, hot sand and gravel, rattlesnakes, p.r.i.c.kly pears, etc., made me sometimes wish I had gone back home when the old dog did, or that 'pap' had sold me at the sale with the other property. In spite of my disagreeable situation, however, I kept trudging alone, bound to stay with the crowd. I thought my lot was a rough one when I saw other boys older than myself riding and occasionally walking just for pleasure. I could not see where the fun came in, and thought that if the opportunity was offered I could stand it to ride all the time. I thought I had the disadvantage until the Indians got all the stock.

"I remember one night that our famous captain said he had found us a good, safe camping place. The next morning the people were all right but the horses and cattle were all gone. For a while it looked like the whole train would have to walk. I did not care so much for myself but I thought it would be hard on those that were not used to it.

"During the day the men got a part of the horses back, and I was feeling pretty good, thinking the rest would get to ride, but along in the afternoon my joyful mood was suddenly changed. All the men, excepting a few on the sick list, were out after the stock, when the captain and some other men came running into camp as fast as their horses could carry them. The captain got off his horse, apparently almost scared to death. He told the women that they would never see their men again; that the Indians were coming from every direction. That was in the Wood River country, and it made me feel pretty bad after walking so far. We were all frightened, and some boys and myself found a hiding place in a wagon. We got under a feather bed and waited, expecting every minute that the Indians would come. They did not come so we came out and found that the captain was feeling rather weak and had laid down to have a rest. Shortly after we came out, one of the men came in leading an Indian pony. It was then learned that the captain and some of the men with him had been running from some of the men belonging to the train, thinking they were Indians.

They found all their horses but two and captured two Indian ponies. The next day we journeyed on and I felt more like walking, knowing that the others could ride. We did not meet with any other difficulty that seriously attracted my attention.

"We arrived on the Touchet at Waitsburg in October or November, and don't you forget it, I had spent many a hot, tiresome day, having walked all the way across the plains."

CHAPTER IX

AN OLYMPIA WOMAN'S TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS IN 1851.

Mrs. C. J. Crosby of Olympia, Washington, contributes this narrative of her personal experience, to the literature of the Northwest:

"It was in the early spring of '51 that my father took the emigrant fever to come West, to what was then termed Oregon Territory, and get some of Uncle Sam's land which was donated to any one who had the perseverance and courage to travel six long weary months, through a wild, savage country with storms and floods as well as the terrible heat and dust of summer to contend against. Our home was in Covington, Indiana, and my father, Jacob Smith, with his wife and five children, myself being the eldest, started from there the 24th day of March for a town called Council Bluffs on the Missouri River, where all the emigrants bought their supplies for their long journey in the old time prairie schooner. Our train was composed of twenty-four wagons and a good number of people. A captain was selected, whose duty it was to ride ahead of the train and find good camping place for the day or night, where there was plenty of wood, water and gra.s.s.

"The first part of our journey we encountered terrible floods, little streams would suddenly become raging torrents and we were obliged to cross them in hastily-constructed boats; two incidents I distinctly remember.

"We had traveled all day and in the evening came to a stream called the Elk Horn, where we had some trouble and only part of the train crossed that night--we were among the number; well, we got something to eat as best we could, and being very tired all went to bed as early as possible; the river was a half mile from where we camped, but in the night it overflowed and the morning found our wagons up to the hubs in water, our cooking utensils floating off on the water, except those that had gone to the bottom, and all the cattle had gone off to find dry ground, and for a while things in general looked very discouraging. However, the men started out at daylight in search of the stray cattle, soon found them and hitched them to the wagons and started for another camping place, and to wait until we were joined by those who were left behind the night before. We all rejoiced to leave that river as soon as possible, but not many days expired before we came to another river which was worse than the first one--it was exceedingly high and very swift, but by hard work and perseverance they got all the wagons across the river without any accident, with the exception of my father's, which was the last to cross. They got about half way over when the provision wagon slid off the boat and down the river it went. Well, I can hardly imagine how any one could understand our feelings unless they had experienced such a calamity; to see all the provisions we had in the world floating away before our eyes and not any habitation within many hundred miles of us; for a while we did indeed feel as though the end had come this time sure. We could not retrace our footsteps, or go forward without provisions; each one in the train had only enough for their own consumption and dare not divide with their best friend; however, while they were debating what was best to do, our wagon had landed on a sandbar and the men waded out and pulled it ash.o.r.e. It is needless for me to say there was great rejoicing in the camp that day; of course, nearly everything in the wagon was wet, but while in camp they were dried out. Fortunately the flour was sealed up in tin cans; the corn meal became sour before it got dry, but it had to be used just the same. In a few days we were in our usual spirits, but wondering what new trials awaited us, and it came all too soon; the poor cattle all got poisoned from drinking alkali water; at first they did not know what to do for them, but finally someone suggested giving them fat bacon, which brought them out all right in a day or two. Then their feet became very sore from constant traveling and thorns from the cactus points, and we would be obliged to remain in camp several days for them to recruit.

"As we proceeded farther on our way we began to fear the Indians, and occasionally met strolling bands of them all decked out with bows and arrows, their faces hideous with paint and long feathers sticking in their top-knots, they looked very fierce and savage; they made us understand we could not travel through their country unless we paid them. So the men gave them some tobacco, beads and other trinkets, but would not give them any ammunition; they went away angry and acted as though they would give us trouble.

"Some of the men stood guard every night to protect the camp as well as the horses and cattle, as they would drive them off in the night and frequently kill them.

"Thus we traveled from day to day, ever anxious and on the lookout for a surprise from some ambush by the wayside, they were so treacherous, but kind Providence protected us and we escaped the fate of the unfortunate emigrants who preceded us.

"Fortunately there was but little sickness in our train and only one death, that of my little brother; he was ill about two weeks and we never knew the cause of his death. At first it seemed an impossibility to go away and leave him alone by the wayside, and what could we do without a coffin and not any boards to make one?

A trunk was thought of and the little darling was laid away in that. The grave had to be very deep so the wild animals could not dig up the body, and the Indians would plunder the graves, too, so it was made level with the ground. We felt it a terrible affliction; it seemed indeed the climax of all we had endured. It was with sad hearts we once again resumed our toilsome journey.

"We saw the bones of many people by the wayside, bleaching in the sun, and it was ever a constant reminder of the dear little one that was left in the wilderness. However, I must not dwell too long over this dark side of the picture, as there was much to brighten and cheer us many times; there were many strange, beautiful things which were a great source of delight and wonder, especially the boiling springs, the water so hot it would cook anything, and within a short distance springs of ice water, and others that made a noise every few minutes like the puffing of a steamer. Then there were rocks that resembled unique old castles, as they came into view in the distance. All alone in the prairie was one great rock called Independence Rock; it was a mile around it, half a mile wide and quite high in some places; there were hundreds of emigrants' names and dates carved on the side of the rock as high as they could reach. It reminded one of a huge monument. I wonder if old Father Time has effaced all the names yet?

"In the distance we saw great herds of buffalo and deer; the graceful, swift-footed antelope was indeed a sight to behold, and we never grew tired of the lovely strange flowers we found along the road.

"The young folks, as well as the old, had their fun and jokes, and in the evening all would gather 'round the campfire, telling stories and relating the trials and experiences each one had encountered during the day, or meditating what the next day would bring forth of weal or woe. Thus the months and days pa.s.sed by, and our long journey came to an end when we reached the Dalles on the Columbia River, where we embarked on the small steamer that traveled down the river and landed pa.s.sengers and freight at a small place called the Cascades. At this place there was a portage of a half mile; then we traveled on another steamer and landed in Portland the last day of October, the year 1851, remained there during the winter and in the spring of 1852 came to Puget Sound with a number of others who were anxious for some of Uncle Sam's land.

"Olympia, a very small village, was the only town on the Sound except Fort Steilacoom, where a few soldiers were stationed. We spent a short time in Olympia before going to Whidby Island, where my father settled on his claim, and we lived there five years, when we received a patent from the government, but before our home was completed he had the misfortune to break his arm, and, not being properly set, he was a cripple the remainder of his life."

In 1852 there were a couple of log houses at Alki Point, occupied by Mr.

Denny and others; they called the "town" New York. We went ash.o.r.e from the schooner and visited them.

To the above properly may be added an account published in a Seattle paper:

"Mrs. C. J. Crosby, of Olympia, gives the following interesting sketch of her early days on Whidby Island:

"As I am an old settler and termed a moss-back by those who have come later, I feel urged to relate a few facts pertaining to my early life on Whidby Island in the days of 1852. My father, Jacob Smith, with his wife and five children, crossed the plains the year of 1851. We started from Covington, Indiana, on the 24th day of March and arrived in Portland, Oregon, the last day of October.

"We remained there during the winter, coming to Olympia the spring of 1852, where we spent a short time before going down to the island. My father settled on a claim near Pen's Cove, and almost opposite what is now called Coupeville. We lived there five years, when he sold his claim to Capt. Swift for three thousand five hundred dollars and we returned to Olympia.

"The year '52 we found several families living on the island; also many bachelors who had settled on claims. I have heard my mother say she never saw the face of a white woman for nine months. My third sister was the second white child born on the island. I remember once we did not have any flour or bread for six weeks or more. We lived on potatoes, salmon and clams.

Finally a vessel came in the Sound bringing some, but the price per barrel was forty-five dollars and it was musty and sour.

Mother mixed potatoes with the flour so that we could eat it at all, and also to make it last a long time.

"There is also another incident impressed on my memory that I never can forget. One morning an Indian came to the house with some fish oil to sell, that and tallow candles being the only kind of light we had in those days. She paid him all he asked for the oil, besides giving him a present, but he wanted more. He got very angry and said he would shoot her. She told him to shoot and took up the fire shovel to him. Meantime she told my brother to go to a neighbor's house, about half a mile distant, but before the men arrived the Indian cleared out. However, had it not been for the kindness of the Indians we would have suffered more than we did."

From other published accounts I have culled the following:

"Peter Smith crossed the plains in 1852 and settled near Portland. When it was known the Indians would make trouble, Mr.

Smith, being warned by a friendly Indian, took his family to Fort Steilacoom and joined the 'Home Guard,' but shortly afterward joined a company of militia and saw real war for three months.

"Just before the hostilities in 1855, two Indians visited his house. One of them was a magnificent specimen of physical manhood and chief of his tribe. They wanted something to eat. Now several settlers had been killed by Indians after gaining access to their houses, but, nothing daunted, Mrs. Smith went to work and prepared a very fine dinner, and Mr. S. made them sandwiches for their game bag, putting on an extra allowance of sugar, and appeared to be as bold as a lion. He also accepted an invitation to visit their camp, which he did in their company, and formed a lasting friendship.

"The mince, fruit and doughnuts did their good work.

"During the war Mr. Smith had his neck merely bruised by a bullet. On his return home he found the Indians had been there before him and stolen his hogs and horses and destroyed his grain, a loss of eleven hundred dollars, for which he has never received any pay."

CHAPTER X.

CAPT. HENRY ROEDER ON THE TRAIL.