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The Infamous Black Bird Southern Oregon History, Revised


Maximillian Gustavus Pohl
And the Baltimore Colony.
   
Pioneering on the Coquille in 1859, hunting in Coos County, then driving cattle north in the 1860s, nearly dying on the Applegate Trail circa 1868, ditto in Northern California in 1871.


Das Coquille Thal in Oregon.
(Von Dr. H. Hermann.)
Coquille River, Coos County, Oregon.
    Gen. Lane* in Washington hatte mir eine Anzahl Empfehlungsbriefe an Offiz ere und andere Herren in verschiedenen Tyelleu Oregon's mitgegeben; diese Briefe waren mir von großem Vorthetle, indem sie mir den Rath und Beistand, dessen ich bedurfte, verschafften, namentlich der Brief an Capt. Gordon in Roseburg. Gordon ist ein vollendeter Gentleman von ächtem Virginier Blut und durch seine Betheiligung an den Indianerkriegen und seine Iagdzüge hat er sich eine ausgedehnte Kenntuiß der Topographie Oregon's erworben. Als ich ihm sagte, daß ich ganz entmuthigt fei, weil ich kein passendes Laud für ein großes Settlement gefunden, erwiderte er: "Verzweifeln Sie nicht, ich weiß eine Sektion Land für Sie und Ihre Begleiter, auf dem sich bequem 400 Familien ansiedeln können; dasselbe besitzt alle Eigenschäften, die Sie wünschen und ist in der Thal das beste Land in Oregon." Er bezeichnete mir nun das Thal des Coquille River.
    Ich erreichte dasselbe von Roseburg in drei Tagen. Meine Reise ging über die in der Nahe der Küste sich hinziehenden Bergketten, ungefähr 3000 Fuß über dem Meeresspiegel, dann hinab am mittleren und südlichen Arm des Coquille River, bis ich bei der Vereinigung des mittleren und südlichen Arms in das Hauptthal kam. Von hier nimmt der Fluß einen nördlichen und dann südwestlichen Lauf nach dem stillen Meere. Sechs Meilen unterhalb der Vereinigung des mittleren und südlichen Armes nimmt er den nördlichen aus. Der so vereinigte Fluß ist 100-150 Yards breit und 14 Fuß tief, die Fluth erstreckt sich mehr als 50 Meilen auswärts, ja zur Regenzeit (im Winter) geht die Fluth noch viel weiter hinaus in die einzelnen Arme, wie überhaupt iu dieser Jahreszeit das Wasser in allen Gewässern steigt und zwar ost 25-35 Fuß über den Spiegel, den es in der trockenen Jahreszeit (im Sommer) einnimmt.
    Der Coquille und seine Nebenflüsse sind reich an Salmen und Forellen; im Frühjahr und Herbst beg bt sich die große Mehrzahl der Salmon den Hauptfluß hinauf nach dessen einzelnen Armen. Das Bett des Flusses ist kiesig und sandig und enthält Gold; es wird aber bis jetzt nur an einigen der oberen Zuflüsse und in der Nähe der Mündung des Coquille, am Ufer des Oceans, Gold gewaichen. Die Mündung des Coquille ist eng und theilweise durch Sandvänke und Felsen v rsperrt, so daß sie nur von Dampfbooten und kleinen Segelschiffen passitt werden kann. Für kleine Dampfer ist der Fluß 50 Meilen auswärts, so weit die Fluth reicht, fahrbar. Der Coquille ist ein wirklich schöner Fluß und schlängelt sich durch die Bottomländer eines herrlichen Thales, dessen reiche Bottoms, dessen Hügel und prachtvolle Prairieen in keinem anderen Theile Oregon's ihres Gleichen haben. Das Thal ist 3-5 Meilen breit mit Einschluß der Hügel, welche die Bottoms begrenzen; das Bottomland liegt zu bei n Seiten des Flussse und erstreckt sich von diesem ¼-1 Meile, in saaste Hügel austausend. Der Boden der Bottoms besteht aus fettem Lehm mit einer Unterlage von dunklem Thon und ist durchschnittlich 10 Fuß ties; au einigen Stellen ist der Lehm mit etwas Sand vermischt. Aus den Hügeln sowohl wie un eigentlichen Thal manisestirt sich der Reichthum und die Fruchtbarkeit des Bodens; die Gräser, die Bäume und die ganze Vegetation zeigen das üppigste Wachsthum. Die Prairieen haben Ueberfluß an nützlichen und Zier-Gewächsen und bieten dem Biehe das ganze Jahr über köstliches Fatter. Die Weide verdorrt nie, außer an klemen Stellen in der Nähe von Felsen; am besten ist sie im Winter und Frühjahr, wo das Breh fett aus ihr wird. Die Bottoms sind mit Mhrthen, Eschen und Ahorn, die Hügel mit Föhren, rothen und weißen Cedern, Hemlockstanuen, Lebenseichen, rothen Erlen, Metkabalsam etc. bedeckt. Föhren und Cedern erreichen eine Höhe von 150-250, ja zuweilen von mehr als 300 Fuß. Der Unterewuchs in den Wäldern, aus den Höhen sowohl als in den Bottoms, besteht aus den ve schie denarligsten Staaden, Sträuchern und kleineren Baumen: Haselnuß, wilde Kirsche, wilde Ptlaume, schwarzer Hollunder, Fischsrehine, Weide, Holzapfel, Himbeeren, schwarze, blaue und rolhe Heidelbeeren, Brombeeren, wilde Trauben, Rosenlerceer etc. und eine Menge anderer Gesträuche etc. Die üppigste Vegetation entwickelt sich aus Len Prairieen und aus den offenen Bergrücken, wo die hohen Bäume verbrannt sind, kurz überall, wo die Sonne ungehindert ihre Strahlen hinsendeu kann. Das Brautgras, cas blaue, wilde Timothensgras und andere Gräser, der blaue und gelbe wilde Klee, die Oregon-Erbse, die Wolfsbohne, sie wilde Souuenblume, die Lille und viele andere theils nahrhafte, theils schöne Pflanzen bedecken die prairie. Der wilde Klee wachst in solcher Apptgkert und Dichtigkeit viele Acker enilang, daß er nach uud nach au Ort und Stelle avsällt und verfault. Wo die Prairieen Ende Septembers oder Ansangs Oktobers niedergebranat werden, da wachlen die jungen Gräjer unmittelbar nach dem ersten Regen empor, der gewöhnlich zur Zett der Nachlgleiche emtritt, und Ende Ottobers oder Anfangs Novembers, wenn die Regenoder Winter-Zeit begmut, bedicken die jungen Gräser ticht und 6 Zoll hoih die ganze Prairie; auch der Samen der meisten andern Gewächse geht um diese Zeit aus und sie wachsen den ganzen Winter htadurch.  Veilchen und andere Blumen blühen den ganzen Winter. Mit dem jangen Grase und anderen nahrenden Pflanzen mästen sich die Pferde, das Vieh, die Elenas, die Hirsche etc. den Winter über; Stiere von 3 bis 4 Jahren sind bst im Frühjahr so sett, daß sie 800-1000 Psund wiegen. Wilde Gänse u. Eiten kommen im Winter zu lausenden und nahren sich mit dem jungen Grase. Die Wilde ist das ganze Jahr uber ao gut, daß Ochsen, die man nicht regelmaßig arbeiten täßl, so seu werden, daß man sie nicht mehe zar Arbeit brauchen kann. Die Kühe werten aus der reichen Weide sett und geben die löstuchste Milch, die ich je gekostet. Die Butter ist außerorbeutlich kraftig und gut und die Kälber sehen ganz ungewöhnlich gut aus und wachsen so schnell, dag manche schon mit 16 Monaten junge Kuhe sind. Die Schweine mänen sich mit den Nüssen der Mhithen in den Bottoms, mit Eichetn, verchtedenen Beeren uns Wu zeln.

   
*Anmerkung der Redaktion. Als Dr. Hermann den Osten der Union verließ, befand sich Gen. Lane als Delegat des Territoriums Oregon in Washington; jetzt ist Lane bekanntlich Bundessenator des neuen Staates Oregon.

(Schluß folgt)
Baltimore Wecker, February 23, 1859, page 2


The Coquille Valley in Oregon.
(By Dr. H. Hermann.)
Coquille River, Coos County, Oregon.
    Gen. Lane* in Washington had given me a number of letters of introduction to officers and other gentlemen in various parts of Oregon; these letters were of great benefit to me in giving me the advice and assistance I needed, especially the letter to Capt. [Sam] Gordon in Roseburg. Gordon is a consummate gentleman of true Virginian blood, and through his participation in the Indian wars and his hunting expeditions he has acquired an extensive knowledge of the topography of Oregon. When I told him that I was quite discouraged because I had not found a suitable land for a large settlement, he replied: "Do not despair, I know a section of land for you and your companions on which 400 families can comfortably settle; the same has all the qualities you desire, and is in the valley of the best land in Oregon." He now pointed out to me the valley of the Coquille River.
    I reached the same from Roseburg in three days. My journey was over the mountain ranges that stretched near the coast, about 3,000 feet above sea level, then down the middle and south branches of the Coquille River until I reached the junction of the middle and southern branches and came into the main valley. From here the river takes a northerly and then southwesterly course towards the Pacific Ocean. Six miles below the junction of the middle and southern arms it meets the northern one. So united, the river is 100-150 yards wide and 14 feet deep, the tide extends more than 50 miles outwards, and in the rainy season (winter) the flood goes much further out into the individual branches, as does the water in all of them. At this time of year water rises 25-35 feet above the level it occupies in the dry season (summer).
    The Coquille and its tributaries are rich in salmon and trout; in spring and autumn the vast majority of salmon move up the main river to its individual branches. The bed of the river is gravelly and sandy and contains gold; but so far gold is being mined only on some of the upper tributaries and near the mouth of the Coquille, on the beaches of the ocean. The mouth of the Coquille is narrow and partly blocked by sandbanks and rocks, so that only steamboats and small sailing ships can pass through it. The river is navigable for small steamers 50 miles upstream, as far as the tide reaches. The Coquille is a truly beautiful river, winding through the bottomlands of a splendid valley, whose rich bottoms, hills, and magnificent prairies are unparalleled in any other part of Oregon. The valley is 3-5 miles wide, including the hills which border the bottoms; the bottomland lies on both sides of the river and extends from it ¼ to 1 mile, in thousands of hills. The soil of the bottoms consists of rich loam with a substratum of dark clay, and is an average of 10 feet deep; in some places the clay is mixed with some sand. The wealth and fertility of the soil emerge from the hills as well as the actual valley; the grasses, the trees and all the vegetation show the most luxuriant growth. The prairies have an abundance of useful and ornamental plants and offer delicious food to the bees all year round. The willow never withers, except in tight places near rocks; It is best in winter and spring. The bottoms are covered with moorland, ash and maple, the hills with pine, red and white cedar, hemlock, live oak, red alder, meadow balsam, etc. Pines and cedars reach a height of 150-250, and sometimes more than 300 feet. The undergrowth in the forests, both in the heights and in the bottoms, consists of the most diverse species of trees, shrubs and smaller trees: hazelnut, wild cherry, wild plum, black elderberry, willow, crabapple, raspberry, black, blue and red blueberries, blackberries, wild grapes, rose licorice, etc., and a multitude of other shrubs, etc. The most luxuriant vegetation develops from the prairie and from the open mountain ridges where the tall trees are burnt, in short, everywhere where the sun shines its rays unhindered. The bridal grass, the blue, wild timothy and other grasses, the blue and yellow wild clover, the Oregon pea, the wolf bean, the wild sourflower, the lily, and many other plants, some nutritious, some beautiful, cover the prairie. The wild clover grows in such abundance and density over many fields that it falls over and rots on the spot. Where the prairies are burnt down at the end of September or the beginning of October, the young grasses come up immediately after the first rain, which usually occurs at the end of the same day, and at the end of October or the beginning of November, when the rainy or winter season is pleasant, the young grasses thicken and cover the whole prairie 6 inches high. The seeds of most other plants also go out at this time and they grow throughout the winter. Violets and other flowers bloom all winter long. The horses, cattle, elk, deer, etc. fatten themselves over the winter with the young grass and other nutritious plants; bulls of 3 to 4 years weigh 800-1000 pounds in the spring. Wild geese come to roost in winter and feed on the young grass. The wildlife is so good all year round that oxen that are not put to work regularly become so sick that they can no longer be used for work. The cows harvest the rich pasture and produce the finest milk I have ever tasted. The butter is extraordinarily strong and good and the calves look unusually good and grow so quickly some reach maturity at just 16 months old. The pigs feast on the nuts of the trees in the bottoms, oak trees, dead berries and roots.
   

*Editor’s note. As Dr. Hermann the left the East, Gen. Lane was in Washington as a delegate from the Oregon Territory. Now, as is well known, Lane is a federal Senator from the new state of Oregon.
(continued)
Baltimore Wecker, February 23, 1859, page 2  Translated with Google Translate.


Das Coquille Thal in Oregon.
(Von Dr. H. Hermann.)
(Schluß.)
    Eine sehr bemerlenswerthe Eigenschaft des Coquille-Thales ist die beinahe gänzliche Abwesenhett von Steinen an der Oberfläche der Erde, sowohl an und auf den Bergen, als in den Bottoms; nur hier und da blickt oder hebt sich aus diesem tiefen Alluvial Boden ein Feuerstein, Quarz-, Porphyr- oder Serpentin-Fels kegelsörmig empor.
    Der verschiedenartige Boden des Coquille Thales; die sandigen Ufer des Flusses, tue im Winter einer regelmäßigen Ueberflmhung unterworsen sind; die reichen, lehmigen Myrthen-Bottoms, die nur einen oder zwei Tage, wenn das Wasser seine äußerste Höhe erreicht, überschwemmt werden; das lehmige und thonige Hügelland; der kräftige Boten der das Thal begrenzenden, 100-150 Fuß ansteigenden Höhen, die theilweise mit einem 1-½ Fuß tiefen, aus verfaultem Holz entstandenen Boden bedeckt sind; der reiche schwarze Boden der Prairieen und der verschiedenfarbige (rothe, blaue, schwarze etc.) schwere und meist thonige Boden der höheren Berge; die sich allenthalben und in allen Jahreszeiten gleich bleibende Fruchtbarkeit dieses verschiedenartigen Bodens, die im Winter durch Regen und theilweise Ueberschwemmung der Bottoms, im Sommer aber durch feuchte Seewinde, nächtlichen Thau und einen beinahe jeden Monat wieverkehrenden Regenschauer gefördert wird; die Richtung des Thales von Osten nach Südwesten; die das Thal einfassenden Hügel und Berge, welche die Gewalt des kalten und schneidenden Nordwestwinds im Sommer brechen, so daß er nur als kühlender Balsam in das Thal kommt; die Fluth, welche sich von der See 50 Meilen den Fluß hinauf erstreckt; die stufenmäßige Hebung des Bodens von Bottom- zu Hügelland, das sich dann allmähliz bis zu dem 3000 Fuß über der Meeresflache emporragenoen Kustengebrrge erhebt; die hinreichende Hitze im Sommer, besonders an der Südseite der Hügel; endlich die angenehme milde Witterung un Winter; --alles dies zusammen setzt dieses Land in den Stand, beinahe alle Arten von Gemüse, Getreide und Obst, die von Maine dis Florida wachsen, hervorzuvringen und macht das Coquille Thal zum reichsten Lande auf der ausgedehnten Domäne Onkel Sam's.
    Weil das Coquille Thal und die umliegenden Gegenden bis vor Kurzem von Indianern bewohnt wurden und weil dann mehrere Indianerkriege stattsanden, die jedoch um der Entfernung der Indianer nach der Reserve bei Umpqua City endeten; so begann die Besiedlung des Thales durch Weiße erst vor etwa zwei Jahren und zwar in einer Ausdehnung von 75 Meilen; es sind ungefähr 30 Claims von wirklichen Ansiedlern, meist ledigen Männern, herausgenommen worden. In den Jahren 1857 und 1858 sind ungefähr fünf Townships des besten Landes an beiden Seiten des Flusses vermessen worden. Die meisten der Ansiedler haben eine Hütte gebaut und auf ihrem Claim einige Bäume gefällt, nur um sich das Borkaufsrecht [sic] zu sichern; aber nur die wringen verheirateten Ansiedler haben wirkliche Improvements gemacht und den Boden m ausgedehnterem Maße kultivirt. In dem ganzen Thale habe ich kaum 300 Acker Landes unter Cultur und nur wenige Acker gepflügt gesehen Ist der Boden geklärt, so wird, ohne daß man zuvor pflügt, der Samen gestreut und hmeingewühlt oder hineingescharrt und doch bringt der Acker selbst so 40 Büschels Weizen und 60 Bushels Hafer. Alles Getreide und Gemüse, vas ich hier pflanzen sah, wuchs bis zur höchsten Vollkommenheit und nie in meinem Leben genoß ich wohlschmeckenderes Brov, köstlicheres Gemüse uno Flersch, bessere Milch und Butter als hier im Coquille Thale. Die ganze Vegetation zeigt hier allenthalben ein üppiges natürliches Wachsthum; um so mehr entwickelt sich dieses bei cultivirten Pflanzen. Weizen, Hafer etc. tragen nicht nur Jahre lang freiwitlig Frucht, sondern sie tragen diese Frucht im Jahre zweimal, wie ich jelest gesehen habe. Das R
ämliche ist der Fall mit Grosen, Bohnen und anderen Gartengemüsen. Dieselben werden ungemein groß; so habe ich Krauttöpfe von 38 Pfund, Kartoffeln von 1-6 Pfuuo gesehen; (Kartoffeln von viesem Umfange grub ich selbst aus einem von mir gekauften Claim aus dem Gartenlande, das weder ml dem Spaten noch mit dem Pflug bearbeitet worden war, ehe man die Kartoffeln pflanzte;) außer den schon genannten Gemusen gedethen gelbe Rüben, Runkelrüben, Rettige, Zwiebeln, weiße Rüben, Pastinaken, Tomatoes etc. auf's reichlichste und werden sehr groß, besgteichen Gurken, Warzenme lonen, Mustat- und Moschus Metouen, Waffermelonen vom feinsten Geruch und Geichmack. Was das Getreide betrifft, so gedeiht außer dem Weizen und Hafer auch Gerste, Buchweizen und Mais auf's beste, letzterer wird in den Bottoms vollständig reis und der Acker nägl ungesahr 60 Bushels. Obst wurde biö jetzt vernähe gar keines gezogen; es sind einige 1-2 Jahre alte Bäume gepflanzt worden, die kräslig wachsen; nur eine Pfirsich sah ich auf einem zweijährigen kleinen Baume. Ich sah junge Bäume, die aus einem kleinen Zweige, den man nach Art der Weiden in den Boden gepflanzt hatte, entstanden waren. Es unterliegt gar keinem Zweifel, daß Obst aller Art, sogar die Weintraube, Citrone und Orange hier gedeihen und daß bas Obst noch einen Hauptexport-Artikel bilden wird. Die ersten Ansiedler können jeboch in den ersten Jahren das Obst wohl entbehren, ba das ganze Land an den köstlichsten Beeren, die 9 Monate un Jahre gesammelt werden können, den größten Ueberfluß hat: gelbe und gewöhnliche Himbeeren, Thau und Brombeeren, Stachelbeeren, Erdbeeren, wilde auben, schwarze, blaue und rothe Heidelbeeren, Preiselbeeren, verschiedene andere Arten den Beeren und wilde Pflaumen.
    Obgleich sich alle Hausthiere hier so schnell vermehren, ta
ßder Ansiedler, der mit e ner Kuh, einem Mutterschweine und einigen Hühnern ansängt, im Lause von 5 Jahren reich an solchen Hausthieren ist, so werben doch für den häuslichen Gebrauch nur einige fette Ferkel und Hühner geschlachtet; man vertäut sich, was das Fleisch betrifft, gänzlich auf die Jagd: Hirsch-Elenn- und Barenflelcch bilden em Hauptnahrungsmittel und schmecken ganz ausgezeichnet, es kann kein besseres Fleisch geben; überdies bieten sie eine Menge Fett, das man beim Kochen benützt, da es der Gesundheit zuträglicher ist als gewöhnliches Schmalz. Ein Elenn gibt zuweilen über 100 Pfund Talg. Es gibt hier Elenns, Hirsche und Bären in Menge; im Winter sieht man aus den Prairieen die Elenns in Heerden von 150 und mehr. Waschbären, Opossums, Biber, Eichhörnchen, ferner Gänse, Enten, Brachschnepsen, Haselhühner, Wachteln, ja alle Arten wilden Geflügels, gibt es im Ueberfluß. Ebenso reichlich ist mau mit Fischen versehen: wie schon erwähat, wimmelt es im Coquille von Salmen und Forellen, und an der Mündung des Flusses und au der Seeküste sind Anschoven, Häringe, Sardinen, Hummer, Muscheln etc. etc. ebenso reichlich vorhanden.
    Ueber den Mineralreichthum des Landes ist bis jetzt wenig ermittelt, weil die Mineralien an den Seiten und auf den Gipfelu der Berge von dem tiefen Boden verhüllt sind und nur in einigen Schluchten und Flußbetten zu Tag treten. So viel aber ist constatirtl, daß Gold, Kohleu, Eisenerz, Kupfer, Iridium, Blei, Töpfererde,
Bau- und andere werthvolle Steine im lleberfluß vorhanden sind. Gold Dlggings sind au verschiedenem Plätzen in Operation und zwar mit verschiedenem Erfolge, indem sie dem Einzelnen $3-$12 per Tag abwersen. Wenn das Coquille Thal einmal dichter besiedelt ist, so werden natürlich auch alle Arten von Nahrungsmitteln reichlicher produzirt und auch andere Waaren wohlfeiler werden, so daß die Miner nicht mehr so exorbitante Preise für ihre Bedürfnisse, ja wahrscheinlich um 2/3 weniger als bisher, bezahlen müssen. Daun werden die Gold Diggings im Coquille Thal und an allen Nebenflüssen sich vermehren; denn dann können die Miner ihre Bedürfnisse nicht nur billiger, sondern auch näher bei ihren Arbeitsplätzen, also mit weniger Zellverlust kaufen und werben so selbst mit einer geringeren Ausbeute ($2-$3 per Tag) zufrieden sein. Auch der Ansiedler kann dann, wenn er freie Zeit hat oder Gelb bedarf, an den nächsten Fluß gehen und täglich $2-$3 Gold waschen, und wenn er Glück hat, mehr. Ich habe Kupfer in kleinen Stücken gesehen und in einer Schlucht an den Quellen des südlichen Armes des Coquille ist, wie ein alter Indianerhäuptling behauptet hat, ein Kupferlager verborgen, bas eines Tages egtveckt und bearbeitet werben wird. Die Kohlen ziehen sich in einer horizontalen, 5-6 Fuß dicken Ader durch die Hügel am Coquille und werden in Zukunft einen werthvollen Ausfuhr-Artikel bilden. Ich habe mehrere Kohlengruben an der Coos Bay besucht, die von verschiedenen Compagnieen bearbeitet werden; diese Kohlen werden auf Segelschiffen nach San Francisco und anderen Markten gebracht.
    Das Holz im Coquille Thal kann kaum irgendwo seines Gleichen haben: unser Mycthenholz wird von den Schreinern dem Mahagony gleich gestellt; ebenso trefflich ist m setner Art das wetße und rothe Cedernholz, das Holz der Föhre, Esche, des Ahorns und der Lebenseiche.
    Ich bm von hier nach der Coos Bay und dem Coos River, der Küste des stillen Meeres entlang nach der Mündung des Umpqua River und diesen Fluß hinaus nach Scottsburg und dem Elk River gereist, ich habe den Smith River, einen hübschen, von Norden nach Süden fließenden und bei Gardiner 6 Meilen oberhalb der Mündung des Umpqua sich in diesen ergießenden Fluß besucht; aber nirgends habe ich Land getroffen, das sich so gut für ein großes Settlement eignet, wie das hier am Coquille. Zwar bin ich nircht im großen Willamette-Thal gewesen, weil dort kein Land mehr für em grögeres Settlement zu haben ist; aber nach den Nachrichten, die ich über alle Theile Oregon's einzog, kann ich aus's bestimmteste versichern, da
ß bas Land am Coquille alle andern Theile Oregon's und alles Land in Californien hinter sich läßt, was Reichthum und Fruchtbarkeit des Bodens das ganze Jahr hindurch, ferner was die natürlichen Hülssquellen, Mineralien, Vegetabilten und Tiere und was das Klima betrifft.
    Ueber das Klima diene noch Folgendes zur Nottz: seit meiner Abreise von San Francisco reisle ich beirahe 1000 Meilen durch Thäler in Iunern und durch Kastengebirge; ich war den verschiedenartigsten Strapatzen und Witterungen ausgesetzt, campirte bei trockenem uno nassem Wetter, in einen Teppich gehüllt, auf nackter Erde, nachdem ich zuvor durch Schweiz oder Regen feucht geworden; Tage lang war ich bis auf die Haut na
ß; ich trank von ailen Sorten fließenden Wassers und aß die verschiedensten Arten von Nahrung, wilde Beeren, wildes
Obst, rohes und auf alle mögliche Weife gekochtes Fleisch und Geuilse; die ganze Reise machte ich tu einer und derselben Kleidung; und dennoch und obwohl im Mannesalter schon ziemlich vorgerückt, bin ich immer gesund und heiler gewesen und fühle mich s-tzt so kräfilg und stark wie tu meinen jüngeren Jahren; ich verrichte mein Tagewerk mit der Art und mit der Picke, und ich danke Gott, daß ich so arbeiten kann und die Kräntlichkeit losgewordes bin, an der ich laborirte, so lange ich, wohl in eine Kutsche verpackt, meine städtische Praxis besorgte.
Baltimore Wecker, February 24, 1859, page 2


The Coquille Valley in Oregon.
(By Dr. H. Hermann.)
(Ending.)
    A very remarkable feature of the Coquille Valley is the almost total absence of stones on the surface of the earth, both on the mountains, and in the bottoms. Only here and there does a rounded flint, quartz, porphyry or serpentine rock emerge from this deep alluvial soil.
    The varied soil of the Coquille Valley; the sandy banks of the river are subject to regular flooding in winter; the rich, loamy myrtle bottoms, which are inundated only a day or two when the water reaches its utmost height; the loamy and clayey hill country; the strong messenger of the heights bordering the valley, rising 100-150 feet, which are partly covered with a soil 1½ feet deep composed of rotten wood; the rich black soil of the prairies and the variously colored (red, blue, black, etc.) heavy and mostly clayey soil of the higher mountains; the fertility of this diverse soil, which remains the same everywhere and in all seasons, which is promoted in winter by rain and partial flooding of the bottoms, but in summer by moist sea winds, nightly dew and a rain shower that occurs almost every month; the direction of the valley from east to southwest; the hills and mountains surrounding the valley, which break the power of the cold and biting northwest wind in summer, so that it only comes to the valley as a cooling balm; the flood, which extends from the sea 50 miles up the river; the gradual elevation of the ground from bottom to hill country, which then gradually rises to the coastal mountain range rising 3,000 feet above the sea level; the sufficient heat in summer, especially on the south side of the hills; finally the pleasant, mild weather and winter--all this together enables this country to produce almost every kind of vegetable, grain, and fruit that grows from Maine to Florida, and makes the Coquille Valley the richest land in Uncle Sam's extensive domain.
    Because the Coquille Valley and the surrounding areas were until recently inhabited by Indians, and because several Indian wars then took place, which, however, ended due to the removal of the Indians to the reservation at Umpqua City; so the settlement of the valley by white people only began about two years ago, covering an area of ​​75 miles. About 30 claims were taken out by settlers, mostly single men. In 1857 and 1858 about five townships of the best land on both sides of the river were surveyed. Most of the settlers built a hut and cut down a few trees on their claim just to secure the right to buy boron [sic]; but only the married settlers have made real improvements and cultivated the soil to a greater extent. In the entire valley I have hardly seen 300 acres of land under cultivation and only a few acres plowed. If the ground is cleared, the seed is scattered and dug or dug in without any plowing being done beforehand, and yet the field itself yields 40 bushels of wheat and 60 bushels of oats. All the grains and vegetables that I saw planted here grew to the highest perfection, and never in my life did I enjoy tastier bread, more delicious vegetables and meat, better milk and butter than here in Coquille Valley. The entire vegetation here shows lush natural growth everywhere; this develops all the more in cultivated plants. Wheat, oats, etc. not only bear fruit freely for years, but they bear this fruit twice a year, as I have seen before. The same is the case with grains, beans and other garden vegetables. They become extremely large; I have seen cabbages weighing 38 pounds, potatoes weighing 1-6 pounds. (I dug potatoes of this size myself from a claim I had bought from the garden land, which had not been worked with a spade or a plow before the potatoes were planted.) In addition to the vegetables already mentioned, yellow turnips, turnips and radishes grew, onions, turnips, parsnips, tomatoes, etc. in abundance and become very large, as well as cucumbers, muskmelons, watermelons with the finest smell and taste. As far as grain is concerned, in addition to wheat and oats, barley, buckwheat and corn also grow well, the latter becoming completely rice in the bottoms and the field containing about 60 bushels. Fruit was grown organically, none at all; some 1-2-year-old trees have been planted that are growing vigorously; I saw one peach on a small two-year-old tree. I saw young trees that had arisen from a small branch planted in the ground in the manner of willows. There is no doubt that fruit of all kinds, even grapes, lemons and oranges, thrive here and that this fruit will form a major export article. However, the first settlers can certainly do without fruit in the first few years, as the whole country has the greatest abundance of the most delicious berries, which can be collected for nine months of the year: yellow and common raspberries, dew and blackberries, gooseberries, strawberries, white berries, black, blue and red blueberries, cranberries, various other types of berries and wild plums.
    Although all domestic animals here multiply so quickly, the settler who starts with a cow, a mother pig and a few chickens becomes rich in such domestic animals within five years, yet only a few fat piglets and chickens are advertised for domestic use slaughtered. As far as meat is concerned, people devote themselves entirely to hunting: deer, elk and bear skins form the main food and taste excellent; there can be no better meat. They also provide a lot of fat that is used in cooking, as it is more beneficial to health than regular lard. One elk sometimes yields over 100 pounds of suet. There are plenty of elk, deer and bears here; in winter you can see elk in herds of 150 or more from the prairies. Raccoons, opossums, beavers, squirrels, as well as geese, ducks, curlews, hazel grouses, quails, and all kinds of wildfowl abound. Fish are also plentiful: As already mentioned, the Coquille is teeming with salmon and trout, and at the mouth of the river and on the seacoast anchovy, herring, sardines, lobster, mussels, etc. etc. are just as plentiful.
    Little has been known about the mineral wealth of the country, because the minerals on the sides and summits of the mountains are hidden by the deep soil and only appear in a few ravines and riverbeds. But this much is confirmed that gold, coal, iron ore, copper, iridium, lead, potter's clay, building and other valuable stones are present in the river. Gold mining operations are in operation in various places and with varying degrees of success, making individuals $3-$12 per day. Once the Coquille Valley is more densely populated, all kinds of foodstuffs will of course be produced more abundantly and other goods will also become cheaper, so that the miners will no longer pay such exorbitant prices for their needs, in fact probably ⅔ less than before. Then the gold diggings will multiply in the Coquille Valley and on all its tributaries; because then the miners can not only meet their needs cheaper, but also closer to their workplaces, i.e., with less cell loss, and thus advertise themselves with a lower yield ($2-$3 per day). The settler can also, if he has free time or needs money, go to the nearest river and pan for $2-$3 gold a day, and if he's lucky, more. I have seen copper in small pieces, and in a ravine at the source of the southern branch of the Coquille there is, as an old Indian chief claimed, hidden a deposit of copper which will one day be uncovered and worked upon. The coals run in a horizontal vein 5-6 feet thick through the hills on the Coquille, and will form a valuable export article in the future. I visited several coal mines on Coos Bay, worked by various companies; this coal is brought on sailing ships to San Francisco and other markets.
    The wood in the Coquille Valley can hardly be found anywhere else: our famous wood is considered by the carpenters to be equal to mahogany; just as excellent is the white and red cedar wood, the wood of the pine, ash, maple and live oak.
    I traveled from here to Coos Bay and the Coos River, along the coast of the Pacific Ocean to the mouth of the Umpqua River, and out that river to Scottsburg and the Elk River, I have the Smith River, a pretty one, from north to south flowing and at Gardiner 6 miles above the mouth of the Umpqua itself in this flowing river; but nowhere have I met land so well suited for a large settlement as this one on the Coquille. It is true that I have not been to the great Willamette Valley because there is no longer any land available there for a larger settlement; but from the information which I have obtained from all parts of Oregon, I can assure you most definitely that the land of the Coquille leaves behind all other parts of Oregon, and all the country in California, as to wealth and fertility of the soil throughout the year, and beyond the natural sources of legumes, minerals, vegetables and animals and especially the climate.
    As for the climate, let me mention the following: since my departure from San Francisco I have traveled almost 1000 miles through valleys in the south and through the mountains; I was exposed to a wide variety of hardships and weather conditions, camping in dry and wet weather, wrapped in a carpet made of bare earth, having previously become damp in the rain; I was wet to the skin for days; I drank all kinds of running water and ate all kinds of food, wild berries, wild things, fruit, raw and cooked meat and vegetables; I made the whole journey wearing one and the same clothes; and yet, even though I am already quite advanced in manhood, I have always been healthy and whole and now feel as strong and strong as I did in my younger years; I do my daily work with this method and with a pick, and I thank God that I can work like this and that I have gotten rid of the stress that plagued me as long as I was busy in urban practice, packed in a carriage.
Baltimore Wecker, February 24, 1859, page 2  Translated with Google Translate.


    The first saw mill on the Coquille River was built by Pohl, Grubb & Rink in 1860. It cut about 1200 feet of lumber a day, and from it was shipped the first of the famous Port Orford white cedar from Coos County.
Western World, Bandon, December 14, 1916, page 1


Correspondenz von den nach Oregon
ausgewanderten Baltimorern.
Coquille River, Oregon, 30 Aug. 1861.
An die Redaktion des Baltimore Wecker.
    Der unselige Zwist, welcher sitzt unser gemeinschaftliches Vaterland zerreist, der Lärm des Krieges, der ungewohnte Anblick des zum Schutze der Hauptstadt herbeiströmenden Heeresmasscn, mit einem Wort die umfassenden kriegerischen Vorbereitungen zu einem entscheidenden Kampfe für und wider die Union, hat den Blick manches unternehmendcn Mannes wieder mit heimlicher Sehnsucht nach die reichen Fluren des großen Westens gelenkt.
    Wie viele, welche noch vor wenigen Jahren die Idee der Auswanderung nach dem "wilden" Oregon mit Verachtung von sich wiesen, möchten jezt wohl gern ihre vom KriegSgetöse widerhallenden Wohnungen mit der friedlichen und unabhangiHeimstätte des Hinterwaldes vertauschen!
    Im Frühling des Jahres 1859 trat eine kleine Gesellschaft deutscher und amerikanischer Colonisten in Baltimore zusammen, welche am 11 April furchtlos und hoffnungsvoll ihre Reise von New York nach der Küste des stillen Oceans antraten. Dr. Hermann, welcher eine umfangreiche und ansehnliche Praxis verließ, begleitete diese unternehmenden Baltimorer und hatte das Glück, am 7 Mai wohlbehalten mit ihnen in San Francisco, der Metropole des stillen Oceans zu
landen.
    Nachdem sie sich hier rekrutirt und mancherlei Gegenstände, namentlich Ackergcräthschaften, eingekauft hatten, schifften sie sich wieder nach Port Orford in Oregon ein.
    Am 25. kamen sie an der Mündung des Coquille River an, und der Anblick des herrlichen Stromes, welcher seine breiten Wellen majestätisch den Gewässern des stillen Oceans zurollt, machte einen wahrhaft überwältigenden Eindruck.
    Nachdem wir den Fluß ungefähr 40 Meilen weit hinauf gesegelt waren, betraf uns der erste Unfall auf der Reise; nämlich ein Sohn des Hrn. Henry Schröder, eines der Hauptführer unsrer Gesellschaft, fiel über Bord und ertrank. Wir legten an und suchten nach der Leiche, mußten aber leider unsre Anstrengungen am andern Morgen als gänzlich erfolglos aufgeben.
    Noch eine Tagereise und wir hatten das Ziel unsrer langen Reise erreicht.
    Die Erwartungen, welche wir für unseren neuen Wohnort gehegt hatten, wurden anfänglich nicht ganz erfüllt; aber keiner verzweifelte, mit Gottes Hülfe und durch harte Arbert hofften wir das zu erreichen, weßhalb wir ausgezogen waren.
    Unter dem dichten Myrthengebüsch suchte sich jeder zunächst auf dem reichen Boden einen Platz aus, auf welchem er seinen Heerd gründen wollte und im Laufe weniger Wochen hatten manche Colonisten bereits Blockhäuser aufgerichret, welche dem Platze ein wohnliches Ansehen gaben.
    Um diese Zeit kam wieder ein Todesfall unter uns vor. Hermann Wilde, früher Cigarrenmacher in Baltimore, wurde durch Zufall erschossen, indem sein Gewehr, als er sich durch ein dichtes Gesträuch durch arbeitete, losging und die Ladung ihm in's Herz fuhr.
    Unsere nächste Thätigkeit wurde jezt darauf gerichtet, einen Fleck Landes in der Nähe unserer Wohnung frei zu machen, auf welchem wir Gemüse zu unserem Unterhalt bauen konnten. Wir hatten manche Schwierigkeit zu überwinden, waren mancher Entbehrung preisgegebeu; aber die unerschrockenen Colonisten ließen sich durch die Unannehmlichkeiten und Mühseligkeiten des Pionierlebens nicht zurückschrecken und arbeiteten, immer ihr schönes Ziel fest im Auge behaltend, ruhig vorwärts.
    Sie wurden bald für ihre Anstrengungen belohnt und mit großer Genugthuung bemerkten sie ihre Fortschritte. Viele von ihnen waren früher niemals aus der Stadt gekommen; aber mit beharrlichem Fleiß widmeten sie sich ihrem neuen Beruf und schon im Laufe eines Jahres hatten sie sich manchen Luxus wieder verschafft, Len sie bei ihrer Abreise nach der Küste des stillen Oceans nur zögernd aufgegeben hatten. Während des ersten und zweiten Jahres erhielt die Colonie häufigen Zuwachs durch Bürger und Familien aus dem westlichen Theil von Maryland; andere kamen von Californien, Ohio, Iowa, Indiana und viele ans dem nördlichen und südlichen Theile von Oregon. Wenige Colonien haben einen so raschen Aufschwung genommen, wie die im Coquille Valley. Ihr gegenwärtiger Zustand bietet einen fast unglaublichen Gegensatz zu den schwachen Anfängen, welche sich erst vor wenigen Jahren erhoben.
    Nachdem wir uns einigermaßen eingerichtet, und die nöthigen Vorkehrungen für unsere Subsistenz getroffen hatten, wurde auch dem Metallreichthum des Landes die nöthige Aufmerksamkeit geschenkt, und besonders die Goldminen an der Quelle des Coquille ausgebeutet, bis sie für die, Arbeiter einen Gewinn von $2 bis $5 per Tag lieferten; andere Goldfelder werden mit Erfolg an der Bai bei der Mündung des Flusses bearbeitet.
    Diese werthvollen Eigenschaften der neuen Colonie zogen bald die Aufmerksamkeit von Händlern aus sich, und binnen Kurzem sahen wir die weißen Segel eines Schooners den Fluß heraufkommen, welcher mit Ackergeräthen, Goldbauwertzeugen, Groceries, Provisionen und Schnittwaaren ichwer beladen war; diesem folgte bald ein anderes klemeres Fahrzeug, welches seine Maaren landete und rn einem Store an der Mündung des Flusses verkaufte.
    Um diese Zeit wurde eine Dampf-Säge und Mahl-Mühle von H. Schröder und Volkmar, beide von Baltimore, errichtet und kürzlich kam bereits ein großer Schooner von 140 Tons hier an, um Bretter zu holen. Gegenwärtig befinden sich in der Colonie 3 Stores, eine Schmtedewerkstätte, zwei Gerbereien und einige andere unbedeutendere Geschäfte; zwei Städte erheben ihre freundlichen Giebel über den Gipfeln des Gehölzes.
    Eine große Sagemühle wird jezt von einer Compagnie von Jacksonville errichtet, welche ebenfalls einen Dampfer für den alleinigen Gebrauch an den Ufern des Flusses zu bauen beabsichtigt. Eine Fahrstraße nach Roseburg ist in Angriff genommen, welche eine leichte und angenehme Berbindung mit der Hauptstadt herstellen wird.
    Was unere Vergnügungen anbetrifft, so kann ich Sie versichern, daß man keine reinere und wohlthuendere Erholung finden kann, als die heiteren Zusammenkünfte, zu welchen sieb alle Mitglieder der Colonie nach gethaner Arbeiteinsinden.
    Am 4. Juli waren wir alle versammelt, um den Sternen und Streifen unsere Huldigung zu bringen; daß wir durch und durch Unionsleute sind, wie der größere Theil der Bevölkerung Oregon's, brauche ich wohl nicht erst zu sagen.
    Da ich von Unionssympathieen ipreche, erlauben Sie mir ein Ereigniß zu erwähnen, welches kürzlich in Nord Oregon stattsand, als General Lane aus seiner Nückreise in Corvallis übernachtete.
    Sobald die Bevölkerung der Stadt von seiner Gegenwart benachrichtigt worden war, begann ein tüchtiges Bombardiren, die Sterne und Streifen wurden entfaltet. Der "Held" des mexikanischen Krieges lächelte wohlgefällig, indem er ohne Zweifel glaubte, daß diese Demonstrationen seinen "ausgezeichneten" Diensten im Congreß gälten und als die Zustimmung des Volkes zur Auflösung des geliebten Vaterlandes zu betrachten seien, aber er hatte sich bitter getäuscht.:
    Als er am andern Morgen aufstand und zum Fenster seines Hotels hinausblickte, sah er an einem alten Baum eine Puppe hängen, an der auf einem Zettel mit großen Lettern zu lesen war: "Joe Lane der Verräther." Entrüstet über solchen Undank, soll sich der General durch eine Hinterthüre des Hotels in aller Stille entferut haben.
    Kürzlich kam ein Herr Alexander Stauf von Baltimore hier an, welcher mehrere Verwandte hier besitzt und die Nachricht bringt, daß gar viele Bürger gern nach dem Coquille River-Thal auswandcrn möchten und nur auf eine vortheilhafte Verwerthung ihrer augenblicklichen Heimstätte warten, um ihr Glück in unserer Mitte zu versuchen.
    Ich kann allen braven und fleißigen Menschen, einen herzlichen Willkomm bei uns versprechens möchte ihnen jedoch rathen, womöglich etwas mehr Fonds mitzunchmeu, als zur Reise absolut nöthig sind; alle Artikel sind zwar verhältnißmaßig billig hier, aber Neuankömmlinge sind natürlich wenigstens für das erste Jahr ihrer Ansiedlung einigen Kosten unterworfen.
    Es steht noch eine gute Strecke Landes zum Verkauf (Verkauf aus erster Hand) zur Disposition; doch wird wahrscheinlich der beste Theil binnen Kurzem vergeben sein. Der erste Theil des Frühjahrs ist die geeignetste Jahreszeit zum Aufbrechen.
    Folgende Personen befinden sich in der unmittelbaren Umgebung des Dr. Hermann, alles deutsche Ansiedler von Baltimore: Henry Schröder und Familie, Wm. Volkmar und Familie, Geo. Stauf, Alexander Stauf und Fam., Adam Rothe, früher von Catonville, Baltimore County, Jos. Osterhas und Fam., Jos. Burke, G. Pohl, Julius Pohl, N. Cronberger und H. Weigand. Diejenigen ihrer Freunde oder Andere, welche genaue Auskunft über die Colonie zu haben wünschen, könuen dieselbe erhalten, wenn sie sich schrift lich an die Obigen wenden.
    Ich kann diesen Brief nicht schließen, ohne Sie von einem hier recht sehr fühlbaren Mangel in Kenntniß zu setzen; es ist dies der Mangel an weiblicher Bevölkerung, und wenn eine Parthie junger Mädchen nach dem Coquille-Thale einwandern wollte, so würden sie hier manch angenehme und wohnliche Heimstätte finden.
    Es gibt hier eine Menge fleißige und unternehmende junge Leute, welche, wenn sie eine Gebülfin in ihrer Arbeit, wenn sie ein Weib hätten, die glücklichsten Menschen sein würden.
    Die Reisekosten für ein Frauenzimmer würden wahrscheinlich nicht über $140 betragen. Ohne Zweifel sucht jezt manches brave und fleißige Mädchen vergebens bei Ihnen Beschäftigung, welche, wenn sie hier wären, selbst glücklicher sein und
andere glücklich machen würden. Alles ist hier jezt sehr billig und Armuth ist bei uns ein fast ganz unbekannter Gast.
    Ich hoffe, Ihnen bald wieder von unseren Zuständen und unserem Streben Bericht abstatten zu können; für jezt erlauben Sie mir, hochachtungsvoll zu zeichnen.
Ein Bewohner des Coquille-Thales.
    (Binger Hermann.)
Baltimore Wecker, October 15, 1861, page 2


Correspondence from Baltimorean Emigration to Oregon.
Coquille River, Oregon, Aug. 30, 1861.
To the editors of the Baltimore Wecker,
    The unfortunate strife that is tearing our common fatherland apart, the noise of war, the unusual sight of the army masses rushing to protect the capital, in a word, the comprehensive military preparations for a decisive battle for and against the Union, has the view of many an enterprising man once again directed with secret longing towards the rich fields of the great West.
    How many who, just a few years ago, rejected with contempt the idea of ​​emigrating to the "wild" Oregon, would now like to exchange their homes, resounding with the noise of war, for the peaceful and independent home of the backwoods!
    In the spring of 1859, a small company of German and American colonists met in Baltimore, and on April 11th they fearlessly and hopefully began their journey from New York to the coast of the Pacific. Dr. Hermann, who left an extensive and respectable practice, accompanied these enterprising Baltimoreans and was fortunate enough to arrive safely with them in San Francisco, the metropolis of the Pacific, landing on May 7th.
    After they had rested themselves here and purchased a variety of items, especially agricultural equipment, they embarked again for Port Orford in Oregon.
    On the 25th they arrived at the mouth of the Coquille River, and the sight of the magnificent river rolling its broad waves majestically toward the waters of the Pacific made a truly overwhelming impression.
    After we had sailed about 40 miles up the river, the first accident of the voyage befell us; namely a son of Mr. Henry Schröder, one of the main leaders of our company, fell overboard and drowned. We docked and looked for the body, but unfortunately had to give up our efforts the next morning as they were completely unsuccessful.
    Another day's journey and we had reached the destination of our long journey.
    The expectations we had for our new place of residence were not initially fully met; but no one despaired, with God's help and through hard work we hoped to achieve what we had set out for.
    Under the dense myrtle bushes, everyone first chose a place in the rich soil on which they wanted to set up their hearth, and in the course of a few weeks some colonists had already erected log houses, which gave the place a homely appearance.
    At this time another death occurred among us. Hermann Wilde, a former cigar maker in Baltimore, was shot by accident when his rifle went off as he was working his way through a thick bush, and the shot went straight into his heart.
    Our next activity was now directed to clearing a patch of land near our dwelling, on which we could grow vegetables for our subsistence. We had to overcome many difficulties and were subject to many privations; but the intrepid colonists were not deterred by the inconveniences and hardships of pioneer life and, always keeping their beautiful goal firmly in view, they worked calmly forward.
    They were soon rewarded for their efforts and noted their progress with great satisfaction. Many of them had never come from the city before; but with persistent diligence they devoted themselves to their new profession and within the course of a year they had regained many luxuries that they had only hesitantly given up when they left for the coast of the Pacific. During the first and second years the colony received frequent additions from citizens and families from the western part of Maryland; others came from California, Ohio, Iowa, Indiana, and many from the northern and southern parts of Oregon. Few colonies have experienced such rapid growth as that in the Coquille Valley. Their current state offers an almost unbelievable contrast to the feeble beginnings that arose only a few years ago.
    After we had somewhat settled in and made the necessary arrangements for our subsistence, the metal wealth of the country was given the necessary attention, and the gold mines at the source of the Coquille were particularly exploited until they yielded a profit of $2 to $5 for the workers per day; other gold fields are being successfully worked on the bay at the mouth of the river.
    These valuable features of the new colony soon attracted the attention of traders, and before long we saw the white sails of a schooner coming up the river, laden with agricultural implements, gold mining implements, groceries, commissions, and lumberware. This was soon followed by another smaller vessel, which landed its cargo and sold it at a store at the mouth of the river.
    About this time a steam saw and flour mill was erected by H. Schröder and Volkmar, both of Baltimore, and recently a large schooner of 140 tons arrived here to load lumber. There are currently 3 stores, a blacksmith's workshop, two tanneries and a few other less important shops in the colony; two settlements raise their friendly gables above the woods.
    A large sawmill is now being erected by a company from Jacksonville, who also intend to build a steamer for their sole use on the banks of the river. A road to Roseburg has been started, which will provide an easy and pleasant connection with the capital.
    As to our amusements, I can assure you that no purer and more beneficial recreation can be found than the cheerful gatherings to which all the members of the colony come after their work is done.
    On July 4th, we all gathered to pay homage to the Stars and Stripes; I need not say that we are Union people through and through, like the greater part of the population of Oregon.
    Speaking of Union sympathies, allow me to mention an event which recently occurred in Northern Oregon, when General Lane was staying in Corvallis from his return trip.
    As soon as the people of the city were informed of his presence, a vigorous salute began, the Stars and Stripes were unfurled. The "hero" of the Mexican War smiled pleasantly, believing without a doubt that these demonstrations were in honor of his "distinguished" service in Congress and should be viewed as the people's consent to the dissolution of their beloved fatherland, but he was bitterly mistaken:
    When he got up the next morning and looked out the window of his hotel, he saw an effigy hanging on an old tree with a piece of paper that read in large letters: "Joe Lane the Traitor." Indignant at such ingratitude, the General is said to have quietly escaped through a back door of the hotel.
    Recently a Mr. Alexander Stauf arrived here from Baltimore, who has several relatives here and brings the news that many citizens would like to emigrate to the Coquille River Valley and are only waiting for an advantageous sale of their present home in order to make their fortune in ours.
    I can promise all good and hard-working people a warm welcome, but I would advise them to bring a little more money with them than is absolutely necessary for the trip. Although all articles are relatively cheap here, new arrivals are of course subject to some costs at least for the first year of their settlement.
    There is still a good stretch of land available for sale; but the best part will probably be taken within a short time. The first part of spring is the most suitable season for setting out.
    The following people are in the immediate vicinity of Dr. Hermann, all German settlers from Baltimore: Henry Schröder and family, Wm. Volkmar and family, Geo. Stauf, Alexander Stauf and family, Adam Rothe, formerly of Catonville, Baltimore County, Jos. Osterhas and family, Jos. Burke, G. Pohl, Julius Pohl, N. Cronberger and H. Weigand. Those of their friends or others who wish to have precise information about the colony can obtain it if they write to the above.
    I cannot close this letter without informing you of a very noticeable deficiency here; this is the lack of female population, and if a party of young girls wanted to immigrate to the Coquille Valley, they would find many a pleasant and comfortable home here.
    There are a lot of hard-working and enterprising young people here who, if they had a female in their work, if they had a wife, would be the happiest people.
    Travel costs for a female would probably not exceed $140. Without a doubt, many good and hard-working girls are now looking in vain for employment with you, who, if they were here, would themselves be happier and would make others happy. Everything is very cheap here now and poverty is an almost completely unknown guest here.
    I hope to be able to report to you again soon about our conditions and our efforts; for now allow me to respectfully close.
A resident of the Coquille Valley.
    (Binger Hermann.)
Baltimore Wecker, October 15, 1861, page 2  Translated with Google Translate.


[PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 1]
Judge Lynch in the Border Days.
    The following incident happened many years ago, and still neither time gone by nor the great distance between here and where it happened will influence me to clearly define persons or locality.
    In a certain town on the Pacific Slope, the sheriff of the county and a young, rich, but very reckless man had committed a crime which attracted more notice than affairs in general do. A number of ladies in the town had taken matters in hand and with a stern determination forced their husbands, brothers and friends to rout the evildoers. A vigilance committee was formed, the members agreed to capture those two men, give them a fair trial, and if found guilty or the charges, to tar and feather both and run them out of the county.
    While asleep, both were captured early the next morning. The clearest evidences proved their guilt, and without losing much time the process of tarring and feathering began. The sheriff, as the most brutal of the two, had his hair shaved off, then he was stripped of all his clothes and a liberal application of tar and feathers soon gave him the appearance of an extremely large owl; the other man was ornamented on his back and shoulders. The sheriff, riding upon a fence rail resting on the shoulders of a number of strong men, was carried, his companion in shame following, surrounded by the group of stern spectators. Still and silent as specters, the procession went the way up Main Street; not a sound, not a word was heard; this dead-like silence gave the most awful and funeral-like expression.
    Outside the town the two dishonored men were released, given notice to clear the county within twenty-four hours at the risk of their lives. Both obeyed the order in the shortest time. Here should end the story but the affair had raised such an excitement, that as in all frontier countries, men to make themselves notorious kept not only the ball a-rolling, but made matters worse. At a so-called "shindig" or "stag dance," given by a number of miners in the mountains, a notorious fellow while intoxicated made some remarks, thereby throwing an improper light upon the character of a highly respectable young lady of the valley.
    Another miner (we call him G---) reports such to the father of the girl (he we call L---). In company of a third party, K---, equipped with tar, straw and filthy matter, ropes, knives, etc., they set out in search of Scotty.
    The last named by this time received warning and paid a visit to a friend McD---, this a Justice of the Peace of this district. Here, the trio of avengers located their game. K---, under the pretense of wanting to buy some cattle of McD--- with him leaves the house in search of the stock. They soon are out of sight.
    Now, L--- and G--- enter the house in which Scotty is busy with some indoor work. Mistrusting some unpleasant intention, he steps into the corner of the room and informs G--- and L--- that he cannot go further back and shall act in self-defense.
    G--- makes the attack. Scotty falls to the ground. L--- is trying to rope him; in the wrestle Scotty draws a knife--eight inches in length--and stabs G--- in the heart. The wounded man releases his hold. By this time L--- receives a cut in the ribs, splitting his side from the armpit to the strong leather belt around his body.
    L--- has succeeded in binding Scotty's feet; a heavy stroke floors him; his hands are bound, the feet drawn upward, all covered over with blood from L---, he is tarred and covered with straw and filth; rolled outdoors and dispatched down the knoll upon which the house is built. G--- has fallen outside the house a corpse. L---, nearly ready to faint, calls the approaching McD--- and K---. L---'s wound is dressed roughly, G--'s body thrown over a horse and lashed with ropes to prevent it falling off and taken by K--- and McD--- to L---'s residence. Meantime men on horseback, among them myself, are passing the prairie. Noticing the mysterious object, they cautiously advance, ready to make use of their weapons. So complete was Scotty's transfiguration that none expected a human being in disguise. After a heavy kick with a boot in which was a strong foot, applied to the mass laying before us, motion and groans notified us that there was life within the ball. In searching, the ropes were found and cut, the benumbed figure taken to the nearby creek, the coat scraped and washed off to the best of our ability, and Scotty made his reappearance as a fellow citizen. A good draught out of a bottle with something stronger than water restores the much-absent activity of body and limbs.
    We went on our way. Scotty, fearing a worse consequence, the effects which might be an incurable sore throat, makes good his escape. G---'s old mother, a resident of the state of Maine, is notified of the death of her son Charles, cause, heart disease.
    Since that no vigilantes have been called for in this neighborhood.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, July 9, 1891, page 4


[PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 2]
Perils and Pleasures Prospecting for Gold.

    Under ordinary circumstances, prospecting for gold is as much sport to miners as fishing is to the fishermen, or hunting to the hunter; yet there are difficulties connected with the searching for undiscovered treasures of which but few men East have a faint idea.
    Many men have started out, full of hope, carelessly sacrificing a good home and happiness, but soon the novelty of prospecting has lost its charm; footsore, weary, poor and ragged, the majority of such adventurers return from whence they started much wiser men. I will give to your readers a description of such a trip which has left an impression unable to be forgotten by those participating.
    A rumor of a discovery of extremely rich mines in the neighborhood of St. Mary Station, located on the Sweetwater, Wyoming, had caused considerable excitement among the people of the mines. No one knew any particulars about it, but everybody spoke of it as a fact. The fever ran high; many wished to go and stake out a claim, but the promising discovery lay in the Indian territory, and hostile savages were swarming the plains in good numbers. Nevertheless, Albert M., myself and an Israelite, whose name has passed from memory, were determined to go. Odds were strong against such a small party, and the possibility of having our scalps raised forced us to be more than careful. Burdened with an outfit of sixty to eighty pounds, such as victuals, tools, blankets, ammunition, gun and revolvers, shortly before sundown we started on our expedition, intending to march the best part of the night and rest during the daytime.
    Midnight had passed when we arrived at Strawberry Creek. At the present time Fort Stambaugh is located there, but in 1860 [sic] principally Indian trails crossed the valley. An old--and the only one--adobe house, whose builder had been slain by the Sioux, might have given us shelter for a few hours, but fearing discovery we preferred to find a place for a short rest among the willow groves alongside the creek. Our slumbers were interrupted by the dull tramp of passing horses, but as the sound became fainter and finally died away we turn over for another nap. A cold lunch was our breakfast; cooking coffee was omitted for the simple reason that smoke could be scented a long distance and would betray us. When we resumed our march we selected the bluffs on the south side of the creek, from which elevation we had a fair observation for many miles around us.
    Several miles we had thus advanced when far in our rear a densely rising dust warned us of the approach of some rapidly moving objects--men on horseback--Indians--there they came fleet as the wind, the same who had passed us some hours before. They had made a successful raid on a horse ranch, and drove the stolen horses before them. By impulse we stepped behind a large rock, there depositing our load. Albert and myself, armed with breechloading rifles and Colt's navy revolvers, had to advance. The Israelite, having no weapon, to him I gave my revolver with the remark: "Five bullets for the Indians, one for yourself." Poor fellow, he turned very pale, and thus we left him. Albert, a very dear friend of mine, I concealed behind another rock, but before I had time to do likewise the cavalcade came on, spurring the stolen horses to a neck-breaking speed.
    The foremost Indians, seeing me, made a short halt, then turned the flight of the herd in another direction and after entering a deep ravine made their reappearance on the opposite bluff. What should I do? So far they had seen but me. I called to Albert, "Fire!" at the same time raising my rifle; the next moment shots went across the canyon. One of the Indians reeled in his saddle, but kept his seat. They now greeted us the same way, luckily without effect, then disappeared. The danger past, we held a council, to go or return; it was decided to brave the future. Sage hens were around in large flocks, antelopes were feeding and moved off at our approach, coyotes and gray wolves trotted along, jackrabbits pricked up their long ears and sought safety in rapid flight, prairie dogs took observation of us, and, with a short bark, disappeared into their ground holes instantly to pop up again, prairie owls, the companions of the former animals, scared by our trap, flew across our path, curlews reveled above our heads; we passed them all. Our eyes were strained to watch the distant horizon, but no sign of Indians disturbed our solitary tramp over the waterless desert. The rays of the sun had become boiling hot. Our burdens with the length of the journey apparently became heavier and heavier. We were bathed with perspiration and covered with alkali dust. Thirty-five miles beyond the last settlement, and now the sun is sinking.
    St. Mary Station, a deserted overland route station of the formerly well-known Pony Express, lay before us. The Sweetwater River wound its course through a lovely valley. Aspen, cottonwood, alder and willow enriches the view over the prairie land. Before we leave the plateau to descend to the much-desired water of the river, we closely observe the landscape before us. No living creature is to be seen. But halt! There through the bushes rises a light smoke. Hastily we retrace our steps, making a circuit to gain a different view. Twilight has set in. Light vapors arise above the bushes. But there, at the edge of the willow grove, that is a man. Not far from us there is a ravine; we descend cautiously, for water we must have at all hazard. Step for step is made carefully, and at last the river is before us. A cooling drink refreshes us. Now, as a matter of safety we have to find out who our neighbors are.
    On all fours, the rifle in the left hand gripped, Albert and myself advance noiselessly. Foot by foot we twist our way through the weeds and bushes. At last the dim light of a fire allows us to distinguish the forms of some men. Closer we sneak, and now we hear their low voices. It is not the guttural tone of the redskin, they are white men; one of them we know, a Frenchman, the blacksmith from Atlantic City. We call his name. Surprised, the men spring to their guns; another word and we are welcomed as friends and reinforcement. Our partner and packs are brought into camp, a chunk of roasted antelope is left from their supper, which in short order is divided and devoured, for we are hungry as wolves. Finally the sore and tired limbs are stretched on the green sod, a smoke, some conversation, and sleep overcomes us. The following morning two sentinels were sent to the highest points, a third man was detailed to kill some game, the rest went out in search of the looked-for mines; but all search failed in anything favorable to our anticipations. A second day is spent in this neighborhood with like results. On the morning of the third day we leave this camp. To cover our tracks we depart in Indian file, each one stepping into the footprint of the leader. We passed the old buildings of the station. Only a few months previous three miners, prospecting as we were, had been surprised by the noble red men, had been besieged and after a fierce struggle overpowered, and horribly mutilated and murdered. Their remains were found and buried at the graveyard of Atlantic City, a place where the bodies of twenty-eight lay, out of which number only five died of sickness; the rest were slain by white or red men.
    Pursuing a direction upstream, and after a search of many miles, we were compelled to take a rest for refreshments. A shady grove of tall trees at the bank of a small but crystal-clear creek where we had now arrived was just such a place as looked for. A few hours of recreation brought us to our line of march again, partly for a better observation, partly to shorten the distance by avoiding the many and long crooks and bends of the river, we had gone upon the plateau, when next our attention was called to a small band of bison traveling as if pursued. Suspecting that Indian hunters had caused their flight, we descended again to the river bottom, here densely covered with trees. The wide bottoms now lay behind us; here the water forced its way through a deep and rough canyon strewn with boulders and logs. Both sides of the banks were formed by high and towering cliffs. The water foamed and hissed around the obstructions, making conversation impossible.
    Once turning around a sharp bend we ran into a camp of--no, they were not Indians--but white men, a bright fire is burning; a number of busy men, also victims of this excitement, are engaged in general work of camp life. It was they who started the bison and had killed a young cow, which furnished the camp with plenty and choice meat. We now numbered eighteen men and were able to meet hunting parties of Indians. For several days we stopped here, thoroughly prospecting the whole surroundings, but gold was nowhere to be found. At my turn of standing guard I waded through the river; climbing up a steep ravine, for the first time of my many hunts I met a herd of mountain sheep. The color of their hair resembled [so] much the color of the rocks that I came up quite near to them, seeing them first, when they left in long leaps. I sent a ball after them; it crippled one and I followed the plain track marked by blood, but never was able to find it.
    Days passed one after the other and the results of prospecting remained a failure, so we broke up camp and started for the west toward Atlantic City and South Pass. Once more we met a band of Indians; they were on horseback, but kept out of rifle range. Near Atlantic City we awaited darkness of the night before we ended our journey, this being done to avoid the remarks of men who pretended to be wiser, but who only had been afraid to venture out.
M.G.P.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, July 30, 1891, page 4


[PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 3]
Elk Hunting in Oregon.

    The month of September had come. The backwoods of Oregon were in their greatest beauty. The foliage bright, here and there a leaf, a bush of crimson; the greasewood covered with its blue flowers; berries of all descriptions in abundance. Days and nights equal in temperature made camping out a pleasure. At this time of which I now write there was no region in the United States more filled with wild game of all descriptions than the Coast Range of Oregon. In those days the "buck elk" was in his prime, for, with the coming of full moon, the mating season of the elk set in; a few days hence, a week later, bucks become valueless and not worth the powder and lead necessary to kill them.
    From early spring, after shedding their antlers, the bucks separated from the cows and calves, the latter to find shelter in the thickets of the valley, the first to seek quietness in mountains, here to range but little; in companies of one or two, they take life easy and grow fat. During the whole of the year these animals appear to be dumb, but at their rambles in search of companionship, they give forth a loud, far-sounding call, resembling somewhat a tone produced by blowing into a large bottle. This is a challenge to other bucks and a love call for the cows. Mild as their nature is, they now become bold and even aggressive. The hunter, acquainted with their habits, and able to imitate the peculiar sound and the response by the cows, can call the game up. The buck, expecting to meet a foe, will carefully approach. Being an animal of one thousand pounds and over and hindered in its advance by its weighty antlers of from forty to sixty pounds, it is astonishing how easily they advance, carefully avoiding to step on any sticks or brush whereby a noise might be produced. In this situation it becomes an exciting moment for the hunter. A wrong call, [or] the sight or scent of the hunter, will bring the buck to a rapid flight. Only experience, a sharp ear, a keen eye and a steady nerve can bring such game to the hunter's feet.
    Ranging back of the clearing and the log cabin of Billy L., with whom I bunked, lay an almost impenetrable thicket of gooseberry bushes; for nearly two miles in length and hundreds of yards in width. Only a few bear trails allowed a difficult passage through this labyrinth of briers, among which the wood rats had built many houses by carrying sticks between the clusters of dead trees. Some of those houses were from six to eight feet in height. Beyond this thicket extended a hilly country, well watered, sheltered by a luxuriant growth of trees and bushes. Farther back a mountain prairie. In this locality deer, bear, and many herds of elk enjoyed unmolested a peaceful existence.
    To gain an entrance into these but little explored hunting grounds Billy and myself started out accompanied by Carlos, an honest dog. Equipped with rifles, axes and matches we selected a most favorable bear trail, and often on our knees and hands made our way into the brier mass. At every rat house in our line of march we halted, applying fire, which readily caught and swiftly spread to the surrounding bushes. In a short time, a fierce fire had started behind us, and so rapidly that we had to give up further firing and seek for safer quarters. Huge clouds of smoke rose up into the air, penetrated by the bursting flames. Satisfied that the result of our expedition would meet with our expectations, we headed for the nearest ridge, when the call of a buck elk in close proximity drew our attention. Billy, motioning to me to keep Carlos under control, disappeared behind the ridge. A few moments later the sharp report of a rifle broke the stillness; a second shot followed. Carlos became unmanageable and broke away, but the work was done. Within a short distance lay a capital buck, while a second one, wounded, had started off, with Carlos on his trail. Weakened by the shot, this buck, in trying to clear a deep gully, missed the opposite bank, and fell into the ravine; there his mighty antlers were wedged so firmly that he became a prisoner. Another shot ended his sufferings.
    The fire had by this time, fanned by a mild breeze, extended north and south, shutting us off from our home. We, therefore, commenced to prepare a camp in which to take care of the great quantity of meat and fat. Out of forks and stiff poles we erected a scaffold upon which the meat, cut in long thin slices, was hung underneath; a smothered fire created a dense smoke, drying and "jerking" the meat. The tallow, a much-desired article, was in particular taken care of. For two days we had worked thus, our meals consisting of choice roast ribs and water; it now became necessary for one of us to procure a large kettle and vessels to render and receive the tallow. The fire in the woods had lost its force; the thicket had been consumed. Still, many pitch pines and large cedar logs were yet on fire. This return, through the deep hot ashes, with many live coals, and the falling of the trees, made the journey hazardous; but it was completed without greater mishap than the burning of my well-worn hunting suit and moccasins. By the sound of a horn our neighbor, Adam Rhodes, was summoned, and well loaded we returned to camp. Several days yet we were busy with our work. Then we brought our horse into requisition, and a number of trips had to be made to fill our larder with a stock of winter meat. To give an idea of the condition of such fat bucks, I will mention that we gained more than eighty pounds of rendered tallow. This tallow, harder than beef tallow, was to a great extent used for making candles, and also used for cooking purposes. The hides and horns, not representing any value, were left behind.
    The fire, which had traveled over hills and mountains, illuminated for many nights the surrounding neighborhood, until a good rain made an end to the conflagration.
    Our former friend and old neighbor, Adam Rhodes, only a few weeks ago left his old home for a better world, and it was his death that reminded me of this occurrence.
M.G.P.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, September 3, 1891, page 1

PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 4
Reconciled.

    Billy L., whom I mentioned in my last sketch, had in former years followed a seafaring life. He was a good-natured man, but rough if inclined to be so; physically of great strength and courage. Myself, a young man of wealthy parentage sent abroad to see the world and to learn thereby, in consequence overestimating my qualities. Two such characters could not work together for any length of time without sparks flying, and it came. Both of us were engaged by Mr. V. to help in getting timber to build a house, and to do such other jobs as were necessary in clearing and fencing a place in the backwoods. One day we were splitting some logs. One word brought on another, and before a minute had passed, he attacked me with a heavy mallet; in return I was ready to defend myself with the ax. From that day we avoided each other's company.
    Billy was an excellent hunter and a true shot. Every Saturday afternoon he would go out hunting, in a few hours returning with meat enough to supply Mr. V.'s table for a week or longer. One Saturday he again shouldered his rifle, followed by his dog Carlos. I remained at work but became tired being alone, so I gave up working, whistled for my dog, Jack, took my rifle and struck out, selecting a very high ridge, the timber of which had been burned off by a former fire, thus giving a full view over a vast stretch of country. Many a time I had been here, passing hours in looking over vale and dale. More than once I watched deer and elk below me nibbling a sprout here a blade of grass there, then disappearing behind the bushes. Often have I listened to the rolling of the surf of the Pacific Ocean and felt a pleasure in this perfect isolation from any intercourse with other men. Alone with the wonders of nature; a perfect ease and rest to me. Meantime, Billy had gone into a valley through which Ketchum Creek was winding its way at the foot of the mountain upon which I enjoyed myself. He had followed a trail made by a herd of elk; coming to an opening obstructed by a large dead tree lying on the ground he had stopped to listen. As it so happened behind this log a brown bear had lain down to have his afternoon nap. Carlos, scenting the game, jumped on the log and thereby disturbed the slumbering bear. Billy at once aimed for the eye of the bear, not twenty yards away, but by some movement the ball broke the jawbone of the animal; the dog in attacking the wounded bear received a blow with one of the powerful paws, sending him howling into the bushes.
    The game, now excited, advanced; another hurried shot missed a deadly spot but broke one of his arms. By this time perfectly infuriated, he made for his assailant. Billy had managed to load again, dropping the ball without a plaster into the barrel and fired the third shot; this threw the bear, but the next moment he rose again. Myself, hearing the rapid firing as well as the howling of the dog, mistrusted something wrong; without hesitating I ran down the mountain, crossed Ketchum Creek, then set Jack on by hissing; the same moment the cry for help forced me to greater haste. I came in time to see the bear rise upon its haunches, his eyes wicked and sparkling with a greenish light, the ears flat to the head and spattered with blood, it was ready to crush its enemy. With a heavy blow of his rifle Billy shattered the gun over the bear's head, this changing the position and giving me time to step into the fight. The bear had paid no attention to my coming, and every minute I expected to see Billy lying crushed underneath the maddened foe. I placed the muzzle of my gun under the shoulder of the bear, sending ball and fire into its body; the bear fell dead. Billy, white as chalk, stepped up to me extending his hand. I took it. For a few moments we stood silent, but a new and strong tie was formed between us. Then we looked for Carlos, poor fellow; the one blow had lacerated his side from neck to hip, the skin and flesh hanging in strings about him. We picked him up and carried him to the nearby water, washed and cleaned his wounds and out of Billy's shirt we made a bandage. Before we went home a good supply of meat was left near him. The next morning, he lay before our door, having followed us home. With some stitching the hide was fixed into shape, and thus we got him around all right again.
    From that day Billy and I were friends; what one had the other was welcome to. For three years we inhabited one cabin, but never had another word of disagreement.
M.G.P.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, September 10, 1891, page 4

A BRUSH WITH THE SIOUX
NO. 5 IN A SERIES OF PIONEER SKETCHES
Written for the Courier by One of the Participants in the Affray.
    The reservation of the Shoshones is located on the easterly slope of the Rocky Mountains, ranging north of the Wind River. Under all circumstances Washakie, the chief of the tribe, a most friendly Indian, educated and wise, has taught his people to be friendly with the "pale face," thereby befriending themselves. I have seen the old chief at different times. I have been among his people and always felt easy and was treated right and hospitably.
    It was then in the month of May. The weather was delightful. The Shoshones had just left in a body their reservation, passed Fort Brown, South Pass, and were traveling to their summer hunting grounds west of the Rockies. Such a caravan as a tribe of Indians on their journey will form has a great many interesting features. At its head are the principal braves, the chief, the medicine men, then come the warriors, all decked with ornaments, such as looking glasses, beads, bells, some metal toys, furs and feathers. With blankets or without them over their bodies, the warriors are often only clothed with a breechcloth and moccasins. Headgear of all kinds, painted with all sorts of colors, combined with their stoical faces; they present the picture of the race, cunning, ignorant, cruel and wicked. Then comes the pack animals and squaws, loaded with all the wealth of Indians, such as tepees, mats, blankets, cooking utensils, buffalo robes, tepee poles, babies slung on the horses or the backs of their mothers, the old and infirm following. Among them were the dogs; some of the larger ones packed similar to the horses, their pedigree a mixture of dog, wolf, bear, coyote or fox. This whole cavalcade was ended by a rear guard of warriors.
    Following these Indians, Albert M., Bill and Charles W. and myself, seated in a light wagon drawn by two able-bodied horses, supplied with a tiptop outfit and two hundred rounds of ammunition for each one of our four rifles, we went on a hunting and fishing expedition. The weather was delightful. The scenery of the mountains to our right, the wide plains sloping towards the Pacific Ocean before us and to our left, without care we breathed the ozone of an atmosphere strictly genuine, out of the great laboratory of the Creator. Now and then we caught up with some of the roaming and hunting Shoshone party. The afternoon was well spent when we arrived at a suitable camp, just where the Little Sandy leaves the Rocky Mountains, rushing and tumbling and foaming through a rough and steep canyon; its waters speeding over rocks and boulders, lashed to spray, and at last liberated from the obstructions it enters the wide plain and quietly follows its course. Right there we struck the camp. We tried fishing for trout but owing to the low temperature of the water they would not take the bait yet. We tried hunting on the plains; the antelopes had been scared away by the Indians. We tried the mountains, fresh tracks of elk we followed for miles, but did not overtake the game. Crossing the lower end of a swamp up in the mountains, we struck the tracks of a grizzly bear. To get a shot at them we secured seats up in tall trees beyond their reach. There we sat all night. We heard the crackling of bushes and dead limbs, the splashing of water, but could not get a chance to draw a bead. Two days we had passed thus without success, then we hitched up and made our way down the Little Sandy. We crossed Lander's Cutoff (overland route) and nearly six miles below this point we reached a fine bottom about a quarter of a mile wide, hemmed on both sides by bluffs from seventy to eighty feet in height, the Little Sandy running through the middle of the valley, willow bushes lining the edge of the water, the bottom itself covered with the tall dry rye grass from last year, among which good grazing for the horses had sprung up.
    Before evening had come, we knew that we had found good hunting grounds. Antelopes in herds roamed about, and best of all one of them was secured before the campfire was blazing. Sage hens also were innumerable, and as it was their laying time, we found nests filled with eggs. As for trout, there were plenty of them ready to take the hook. The next morning bright and early found us busy with sport. Every one of us returned successful. Our meal was a joyous one. But in our gaiety, we forgot all about the dangers to which we were exposed. The hostile Sioux and Arapahos were in bands straggling over the country, and once on our tracks they would have followed us for no good purposes. Another day was spent with such good success that we concluded to go to the mines, sell our game and come back for more. By daylight we hobbled the horses to let them fill up on the rich, new grass. Our breakfast over, we made the wagon ready for the start. I went for the nearby feeding horses when one of the parties in camp called "Indians." Sure enough, there they were on both sides of the bluff. It gave me time enough to slip to one of the animals, keeping it on the side most exposed. I secured the second one and between them well covered returned to camp. The Indians, some twenty to twenty-five in number, sent us a greeting, which was quickly returned with our breechloaders. This whole day we laid low, exchanging now and then a shot as opportunity would offer. Night came, and this we feared as the best time for an attack by the enemy. To meet or prevent such, we left camp in four different directions some fifty steps to guard against a surprise. Several shots were fired, whether at a redskin or not, none knew; at any rate we gave them notice of our being awake.
    On the next day the skirmishing was repeated, and it became plain to us that the Indians would not openly fight but were trying to wear us out. A second night had passed, and we were nearly exhausted for want of sleep and sufficient nourishment. The only chance we had to cook was by throwing some fish or meat into the hot ashes and trusting to luck whether it was done or not.
    The third day of our unpleasant situation dawned. The sun rose bright and clear, a fresh wind came down the mountain and made us feel quite chilly. All seemed to be quiet, but just this kept us uneasy. And not without grounds, for in the distance above and below us a light smoke arose up into the air. Sure, they were trying to burn us out. The smoke became thicker; the fire fanned by the breeze found only too good nourishment in the abundant dead grass and straw; clouds of black smoke arose up into the air, through which the red glare of the flames became visible. Our time had come to act, and quick work was our only salvation. With our knives we cut the straw nearest to the wagon and started an opposing fire, and with our blankets dipped into the water we extinguished the flames under our own feet and those of the excited horses. In a few minutes the fire formed a circle around us and became most unbearing hot. But the ring widened; a few more seconds and off it went. The heat was less again but the smoke became suffocating, and now for the water. Horses and men plunged into the cooling element; the parts exposed were covered by the blankets. Both fires made rapid progress, roaring and hissing, consuming all vegetation before them. At last the walls of fire met, towering way up into the air, whirling like two fighting giants, and down they fell, sweeping by us on the sides. Blackened was the prairie, smoke, ashes and flying cinders filled the air, but we were safe and more so than before, as we gained a clear view over the surroundings.
    Again, the Indians appeared on the bluff, but our rifles were not silenced yet; our yells still answered their war whoops. By means of some extremely insulting action, Billy W. aroused their anger to imprudence. They arose from their hiding places, while we pumped lead into the rascals with glorious effect. It was the last time we saw them; still we stood guard the balance of the day by turns, while the others slept for an hour. The following night we were not entirely sure whether we had or not fallen asleep. However, we were left unmolested. The next morning, we decided by drawing sticks which two had to do scouting, one up and one down the creek. A fresh trail crossing the water gave us the proof of their departure; then the other two had to scout the bluffs. No enemy in sight, but two blankets with bullet holes in them and much soiled with blood were brought in by Albert M. as trophies. Without losing any time we got on the way for safer quarters. Much of the game had spoiled. On the tenth day from the time we had started we again arrived in South Pass City. A week later the stage from Bryan to the Sweetwater mines was also attacked but made good its escape. We did not go back.
M.G.P.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, October 29, 1891, page 1

PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 6
In Luck.

    Am I right or wrong when I say that "hunters and fishermen are more or less affected with superstition"? I have found days in which wind and weather signs were most favorable and still fish would not bite, game got the best of me, all [species], running or creeping, it was of no avail. A change of tactics even, it gave no better result; other times everything seems wrong at the beginning, but game or fish seemed to come to me without effort. My plan always has been, in hard luck, to go home and start anew the next day and all will come as you wish it. Of one of those lucky days I want to write to you and your friendly readers.
    Years before Oregon had been admitted as a state, Mr. B. had squatted on a prairie between Camas Valley and the Coquille Valley; in consequence the valley was named after him, "B.'s Prairie," in after years, and at present it is known as "Enchanted Prairie." Through this place passed the only trail from Coquille Valley to Camas Valley, a distance of nearly forty miles. B.'s Prairie, located about halfway, made it a favorable stopping place for traveler. Nothing but the densest forests, with the exception of a few mountain prairies, lay between those localities. No settler yet had claimed a foot of all this fertile land. No stock raiser drove his cattle on these prairies to herd there. Not many hunters even had passed through the hills and dales, filled with all kind of game in great abundance.
    Travelers as a rule would stick closely to the trail, once astray it would become a most difficult thing to get back to the trail, and cases are known where men were lost for many days and even weeks. In those earliest days of settling, every newcomer was a most welcome addition, and his or her approach was heralded from one neighbor to the next. But let that newcomer be a young marriageable lady, then the excitement among the many bachelors would run high.
    At this particular time, a family consisting of Mr. and Mrs. D., and a young lady of sweet sixteen, had arrived at B.'s halfway house. Mr. B., a most prepossessing bachelor, owner of the range, of a log house, some two to three mustangs, a few cows and hogs, was considered a well-to-do settler, and with the hospitality of such did the honors and made the best possible propositions to keep Mr. D. in his neighborhood, thinking that Miss D. would also stay there. At the same time business, rounding up and gathering runaway cattle preparatory to a trip up to the northern mines, brought a number of herders to this vicinity.
    We were a rough and ragged crowd, chasing through thickets and timber, over mountains and valleys, fording or swimming the streams and creeks had done a great deal of damage to our apparel. With all this we were a happy set, and after a number of wild steers and cows had been corralled and branded, the evening meal finished, we paid a visit to Mr. B.'s, but more especially to someone else. A formal introduction, a few stiff bows, some hidden punches into the backs of the foremost ones and the fun of entertaining a charming young lady began. Our rough ways seemed to be most enjoyable to all. Supper at Mr. B.'s was rather late. He had been out hunting, to his mortification, with ill success. This in particular raised much merrymaking, but when the ladies gave their support to the unfortunate hunter we began to brag, and so it came to pass that I posted to kill two deer before breakfast or else to pay a forfeit and apologize to the ladies and Mr. B.
    Odds were against me. I was a stranger in this section. I had not come to hunt; true, I had my rifle in camp, but no ammunition. But what would I not do to make a favorable impression upon this fair damsel. All the boys had a share in my victory or defeat. So, powder, caps and eight balls were raised. At a late hour we returned to camp and rolled ourselves into the blankets. We had laid out for our next day's work to scour a number of prairies about one mile south of B.'s. By dawn I shouldered my rifle, my friends agreeing to bring my breakfast (bacon and bread) when they came. As the sun cast its first rays over the landscape, I entered the edge of the first mountain prairie. The crest of the mountain was clear. Below in the valleys lay a fog. There was occasionally a very light puff of air stirring, enough to divide and lift the veil of vapor; thus, I noticed in the center of the prairie two deer grazing. Using a large rock as a cover I soon had an excellent chance. With the report of the rifle one of the deer fell, having its spine broken. With a few leaps the other was beyond reach; then it stopped, waiting for its companion to follow. The disabled deer, a fine buck, rose on its forefeet, but unable to use its hind legs, it rolled over at every effort. This action attracted the attention of the other deer, which gradually advanced, striking the ground with its feet, snorting and scenting, still it came nearer and nearer. I had reloaded. Not long after a second shot, and it too was brought to the ground. Having made good my assertion I shouldered my gun to go in search of cattle, which at such early hours always rested near the edge of prairies and openings. Following a trail through a narrow strip of timber I neared another small prairie in which a number of small deer were feeding. It was my practice never to kill more than I needed. It gave me delight to see those innocent and beautiful animals, how graceful they stepped, how keen they listened and watched for any approach of an enemy. It is wrong to slaughter. I forgot all this; imagine how much more effective it would be to add one or two more deer to the number I had promised to kill, and before I had considered right or wrong a third deer fell. The others scattered, but not knowing where the shot came from they did not enter the sheltering timber. I knew I had killed enough, but here arose the young lady again before my vision; another deer was slain. I wished they had fled, but they seemed to be dumbfounded and not until two more lay bleeding on the green sod did the others speed away. Expecting my friends soon I returned to the first prairie waiting for my lunch. When at last they came was hailed, "Well, what luck?" In a careless way I took them to the first buck, securing the saddle, then to number two. This I claimed as our share and carried it to the ridge to remain until we should return to camp. Then proceeding I took B. to two others. By this time he became excited and wanted to purchase my rifle. Of these too we secured the saddles, but when I took the men to two more dead deer, then they knew no end of praise for me and poor B. had to acknowledge that I had beaten him. For a joke I insisted to take them to two more, which of course I could not do, and as they would not be able to carry any more, I was satisfied of their refusal to go further. My friends were delighted that I had well earned the praise as a hunter, but when they found that my shooting had scared the cattle and thereby lost a day's work they were not anxious to let me go hunting again before breakfast.
M.G.P.
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, November 5, 1891, page 4

PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 7
Hunting and Killing Time.

BY M.G.P.
    A few days after my narrative the stock was all gathered and branded; we once more corralled them and made ready for an early start.
    Way up in the Coast Range and on our road to Camas Prairie lay an extensive mountain prairie. It sloped towards the south. The bright March sun had warmed the soil and brought forth a rich growth of grass, while in the valleys pickings still was short, so we selected this place as another center. Weeks had to pass yet before the principal herd, now grazing on the middle fork of the Coquille River, could be driven through the dense forests, more so as with each drove a number of animals would unavoidably stray off; time after time we had to return and hunt them up and drive them on again to the rendezvous above named. Myself and Billy W. were selected to stay with the cattle gathered. The job itself was a very easy one, the mountains high and steep, grass and water plentiful; the cattle settled at once, and when filled, found a warm corner so agreeable that they made no attempt to get away. It was a lazy job, nothing to do but eat, smoke, lay in the tent or bask in the sun, and once during the day to round up the stock in charge. After the expiration of a few days it became so monotonous that we explored some sort of a pass to while the time away.
    At one point of the mountain was a high peak of decomposed rocks; below it a steep incline, hundreds of feet deep, bushes and trees growing sparingly; grass was fair, the very spot deer prefers to occupy. Our plan of operation was to break off large pieces of rocks and see them jump [i.e., to roll boulders bouncing downhill]; with beams sharpened on one end we belabored the crevices and seams, lifting and pushing until a fragment would yield and fall; down it went, rolling, bounding, leaping and thumping, smashing trees and bushes, or shattering to pieces, each part taking a different direction. Deer resting there became frightened by the noise and, accompanying the boulders, fleeing in wildest flight, their tremendous leaps when rocks bounded after them, amused us for many hours. Stormy weather set in forcing us to the tent. Several droves of cattle had arrived and with them a number of hungry men for which we had to provide meals. All went well until the provisions ran low. We had agreed to keep the camp sufficiently supplied with victuals, which were to be obtained from a store in Camas Prairie, three miles distant from our camp.
    In the forepart of our stay carelessness and then bad weather had caused us to postpone this, a most difficult task. At last, running short of everything but fresh venison, there was no further delay. By drawing sticks it fell to Billy to perform this duty. It was a difficult and wearisome trip; the trails over the mountains were steep and had become slippery, the overhanging bushes and trees, full of wet snow and water, thus continually dripping, gulches and ravines filled still with snow from last winter would not any longer carry the weight of a person without giving way; the creeks and rivulets too were overflowing with cold water, and worst of all the plateau at the foot of the mountains was more or less under water; this made the journey even hazardous. But here was a compulsion. Early the next morning he started, promising to return by evening. Night came. I had prepared a good roast of venison and made a tea of wild peppermint, but no Billy came. Noon next day had passed; no signs of Billy's return yet. Could anything have happened? I became worried and finally made ready for a search. I carried the venison away from the tent to keep coyotes, skunks and the large wood rats from ransacking the camp, put the fire out, shouldered rifle and ax and went in search of Billy.
    About halfway I met him, but without provisions. In the best of humor he told me that there had been a party in the valley, that he had danced all night, enjoyed a good supper and breakfast and had not gone to the store at all, hoping that I would go and do better while he would take out the cattle. Under those conditions nothing else was to be done than to go after the much-needed supplies myself, but when we parted I left him with the determination to pay him back in his own coin. For two days I visited the people in the valley. On the morning of the third day and after the weather had cleared off nicely, the water in the creeks had lowered to a fordable condition and the bushes and trees had ceased dripping, I loaded myself with an ample supply of provisions and about noon adjourned to camp. There was no fire burning, no sign of anyone, nor any response to my calling. Taking down the load I opened the tent and there lay Billy, rolled up in his blankets, grinning for having had such a good rest, and as he was not so very hungry those few meals had not given him any annoyance. Billy's brother had told me of his being lazy, here I had a practical experience, but with all this in future he proved to be a tiptop fellow and a useful cowboy.
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, November 19, 1891, page 4

PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 8
Through Oregon.
BY M.G.P.
    In the forepart of April we made ready to break up our mountain camp to pasture in Camas Valley, there to finish all preparations for a final start for the northern mines.
    Over a week we had been there; at last things were in a proper shape. Our horses, well taken care of, were in excellent condition, and when saddled they showed their spirit by pawing. Clinton C., the most experienced and best supplied of us six, was selected captain and manager, and when he gave the order, "Ready boys," it was but a moment ere we had the lariats fastened to the horns of our Mexican saddles; one more examination of the security of our saddles, and we mounted. Slowly the herd of one hundred and sixty-five horned cattle and some twenty head of loose horses began their long journey of nearly five hundred miles.
    In the beginning we had to fly around pretty lively, but by using the short-handled, long-lashed whips to the discomfort of the unruly cattle, they were soon brought down to their places.
    With a good "lead steer" at the head of the drove they began to string out, and after a few days' travel we made eighteen and twenty miles a day with ease.
    The first large stream was the Umpqua River; with a canoe ahead to give the direction in which to swim and with crowding from the rear, the herd plunged into the swift current and swam to [the] opposite bank in good order.
    The Willamette Valley lay before us, several hundred miles in length and twenty to forty miles wide; this without a doubt is one of the most fertile regions in the United States.
    Eugene City, a very pleasing town, lay behind us. By some cause a number of our cattle became frightened and stampeded through the streets, some of us boys in full chase after them, while the people in a hurry left the thoroughfares to seek shelter in the houses and stores. We made things pretty lively for awhile and all would have passed off without accident had not two Chinamen with a basket of washee-washee endeavored to cross the path of one of the excited steers; leaping over the basket which they carried between them the steer horned one fellow and with a kick felled the other one, but as we had no time, we left them in the care of some Samaritans, ran the herd together again and drove on.
    At Salem we swam the Willamette River. From there we left our northerly direction and changed to an easterly direction so as to cross the Cascade Range.
    It was now the middle of May, the most delicious weather; the pure, azure sky over us made our journey a regular pleasure trip. Vegetation seemed to rival the climate, trees and flowers were in full bloom; innumerable plants of strawberries offered their delicate fruit of which we made (when in camp) good use and such a dish with fresh, rich milk, right from the cow, was not to be despised, and also a welcome addition to fat pork and bread.
    Free and easy in mind, well and hearty in body, we rode along, singing and joking. Meeting some Mexican travelers in possession of some unbroken young horses, I bartered for one, a four-year-old, cream-colored mare, with long white mane and tail, a real beauty of an animal. I had to break it for the saddle, and it did some good bucking, but sooner than I expected it learned. I loved the slick, light-stepping and fleet animal, but to my sorrow it showed lameness in a forefoot. After examination no cause could be found; to favor it I led her by the reins until it stopped limping, then I mounted again and found that it was lame in the other foot. This puzzled us for a day or two--as soon as I dismounted it was all right. At last we found the solution of the difficulty; the cunning little mare played a trick; a good dressing with a whip cured the lameness forever.
    For this time enough. Our trip across the Cascade Range will make a good long epistle for your next week's number.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, November 26, 1891, page 1


PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 9
Mount Hood.
BY M.G.P.
    As we were approaching the mountain, the country became more rolling in its nature; instead of oak woods we passed through pine and fir timber. The farms, which had so far shown an advanced state of cultivation, lessened in number and size and appeared of later origin.
    Reaching a large meadow with all desirable conveniences for a long stay, we made a halt to give our cattle a necessary rest for a week ere we could task the strength of our stock in crossing the Cascade Rage.
    At this time of the year such a trip is an extremely exhausting undertaking; the elevated portions of the mountains were still deeply under snow, in consequence of which we had a number of days and nights without the least nourishment for our stock, and the only green plant was the wild laurel; unfortunately, this is a deadly poison for animals.
    This year, two droves, one consisting of sheep, had undertaken the trip; shortly after[ward] the herdsmen returned with but a few head and those more dead than alive.
    Afterwards another drove of several hundred horned cattle and a number of horses had gone on so far no one knew how they succeeded; afterward we found them to have had great losses, principally of horses. Therefore our stay. By doing so we wanted to get our stock in a condition to stand fast and long travel, and to give the hot June sun a fair opportunity to melt as much of the snow over and through which we had to take our way.
    To become enabled to make forced marches, we adopted the plan of dividing the herd into smaller bodies, easier to be overseen; each driver to take care his own share and to help or receive help when needed. Thus, I received the charge of all the horses. Through the days of utter idleness, I improved the condition of all the pack saddles [and aparejos] by filling them with newly made hay; this part of my labor became afterward the only means of getting every hoof of my charge safely across the range.
    Not following up the reckoning of days or dates, we entirely had lost what day of the week we were living in.
    One morning, however, we were surprised to see an elderly woman and a girl riding into our camp, but not on horseback. Each one of them was carried by a fleet steer without saddle or bridle, they directed and urged their animals by a stick pointed by a sharpened nail; through them we learned that it was Sunday, and they were on their way to a distant religious meeting.
    After resuming our journey, we crossed the "Clackamas River," a swift and rocky mountain stream. In doing so we nearly drowned a number of our cattle which were not able to cross to the ford and thus got below and under steep banks. In those days I was yet a good swimmer. Disregarding the cold water, I plunged into the element, swam ahead and towed them to the shore where they had started from, then driving them up to the ford again a second attempt landed them correctly. In the struggle of doing this work the force of the current had thrown me against a large boulder and severely hurt me, and by the time I came to the desired shore, my friends had to assist me in my chilled and exhausted condition.
    From now the grass became scarce. All night one or the other had to stand guard. The next morning--but how can I describe this grand view in sight? Heavy fogs, perhaps clouds, lay over the forests below us, but high above towered Mount Hood in his grandeur and majesty, covered with eternal snow and illuminated by the bright morning sun in pink and crimson, shaded by the dark blue colors of its canyons and ravines, or by the bright white of the snow which still lay in the darkness and shadows. In silence and amazement did we observe this giant of the mountains on the North American continent--more than 15,000 feet above the level of the sea rose this monument, an inspiring work of the great Architect of the Universe.
    A still, chilly morning, with a campfire before us, upon which our breakfast became ready for the very best of appetites. With the purest balsamic air nourishing our lungs, no disturbing neighbors around us and the wonders of the globe filling the very soul of men can you, friendly reader, understand what it is, what it means to be out on the mountains far away from civilization? Such changes in life work marvels. In such regions, sickness has to disappear, for such an atmosphere which has never been meddled with by anybody else, which we have been breathing in all night intermixed with the aroma of spruce, pine, and fir, must strengthen us, and a meal has more nourishment than all your hotel and boarding house soups can offer you. Such sights make the spot upon which you stand a facsimile to the burning bush before which Moses stood. It is a holy place.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, December 3, 1891, page 4

PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 10
New Hardships--The Plains.
BY M.G.P.
    Uphill and downhill we drove our herd. At the end of the day we entered a large district of burned timber, among which a growth of pea vines had sprung up; this the cattle accepted, and the horses, refusing to eat them, were secured to the trees. Not far away from there was a small ranch. With the proprietor, an old squatter, we fortunately struck a trade in giving him a number of young calves for a few bushels of oats, and with a part of this we satisfied the horses.
    The next morning we reached the "Zigzag," this is called so on account of the thousands of heavy logs laying in every direction, thereby obstructing the advance, and only by winding zigzag through this labyrinth of dead trees we passed this district with much difficulty.
    The ascent was gradual but wearisome; at the end of the day we had advanced only a few miles and still had traveled much over twelve miles. Night overtook us at the foot of Laurel Hill, where we corralled the stock, as not a morsel of food of any kind could be obtained. The horses, most fortunate, received another portion of oats.
    The following daylight found us ready. The road became worse and worse, steeper and steeper the incline, large blocks of tumbled-over rocks impeded the advance, many places the weaker animals were helped over these difficulties, until finally we were compelled to kill a number of the cattle which could not help themselves, by shooting them in the head, thus to save unnecessary work and delay. When finally, the top of Laurel Hill was gained we entered the snow line; still higher and higher we had to climb; the snow became deeper, the air cold. Again, we had to corral without feed, and nothing but snow for a place to rest and sleep upon.
    From now the wild laurel, with its green leaves, tempted the hungry stock, and as this bush is a poison to animals it took our fullest efforts to crowd them on and keep the caravan in motion.
    Perseverance will overcome the worst, so here the summit, over ten thousand feet above the level of the sea, was gained.
    Mount Hood, only a few miles distant in an easterly direction, was towering way above everything in sight, partly hid by clouds. To the westward was an old crater, the surface covered by wiregrass. Woe to the creature stepping upon the luxuriant green meadow; the roots would part and the treacherous and hidden morass would swallow the trespasser; down it would sink into the bowels of this dead volcano.
    Middle of June, and still our roads were covered by over twenty feet of snow, and more than ten feet above our heads were the ax marks made by the men traveling here two weeks before.
    An icy breath blew from Mount Hood; this night, to keep animals and men from chilling, we kept rousing large fires going.
    It pained me to see the wistful expression of the horses in my charge, and whether or not against protestation, I sacrificed the greatest portion of our flour by mixing a dough and baking bread; how those animals accepted the little I was able to give the friendly reader may imagine for himself.
    The following day was the severest of all. Steep roads covered with soft snow, the fatigued stock became more worn out and stiff in limbs. From now, by actual count, the road was lined by seventy-two dead horses, some from last year's hard travel, many the former property of the men now before us. Hundreds of sheep and cattle had also died of exposure and want of nourishment; the gas arising from the bodies was nearly stifling.
    In this trouble I remembered the good fresh hay in the pack saddles. Selecting the most able horse, I opened the corners of the cushion, then taking a pack saddle from an empty horse, I trailed the balmy hay before them; anxious to get a mouthful they would struggle on faster than I would be able to drive them. At the end of this day I was miles ahead of the other parties, and best of all, below the snow line.
    I camped alone; the hay in nearly all the saddles was used up. It was a lonely camp; the waters of the creek murmured, the wind blew fierce through the trees, the horses cribbed and gnawed with their teeth, the work was much for me and fire sparingly [sic]. I could not rest nor sleep. The moon had lighted up the darkness of the roads. I saddled up and started; many miles I had traveled when day broke. We were on the steady down grade, between the bleak and dreary pine forests; way below me spread an inviting panorama, open plains with rich fresh grass; oh, how inviting.
    Down, down I rushed the weary horses, and at last we reached the grass; driving became an impossibility; I pulled the saddles off and let the horses take care of themselves. Then I prepared some bread and meat and with it returned to assist my friends. For more than twenty-four hours they had had nothing to eat, as all the provisions were carried on the horses; my bringing nourishment was gladly hailed. By night the last man, the last of the drove, had arrived at the foot of the Cascade Mountains. The next morning, we returned to pick up a few head of cattle which had given out. Our loss was eleven head.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, December 10, 1891, page 4

My Christmas Contribution.
BY M.G.P.
    The happy days of childhood are past with me, many, many years. Around me another generation enjoys the days of the birth of Christ, and gives satisfaction and pleasure to me, but it is in another way. The years have made a different person out of me. The habits have changed. Yes, even the sentiments of the Christian religion appear to be executed differently from in those years of which I think and love so dearly yet.
    As well as I can remember, it was the winter of 1846-47. My parents were living at the town of Schneeberg (Snow Mountain), in the Ore Mountains of Saxony. I was then a lad of twelve years.
    The principal industries of this section of Saxony were silver and cobalt mining and the manufacture of laces. Each of these two branches formed two distinct classes of men. One class, the mining engineers and the corps of bureaucracy, were a well-educated and refined class of men. The second class in this branch were the common miners. Little does the American-born laborer know how poorly other countries have dealt with the working people.
    As wages they received from 8 to 12 cents for 12 hours' work; and, as in many instances the mines were miles away from the homes of the miners, many hours of walking were added to the weary day of toil. In those homes many were born and raised, and here they would live and die. They were small, one-story buildings, containing two rooms and a loft; but so little was the income of these people that in many of these houses two and even more families occupied one and the same room. The women were scrupulously and habitually clean, and the well-scrubbed floors were partitioned off by chalk marks, thus forming the lines of territory for each family.
    For hundreds of years, from grandfather to father, from son to grandson, one after the other, occupied the same position in certain mines. Many a one had found his rest deep under the earth--and those spots where the fathers had lost their lives became sacred to the succeeding sons, and were saluted in passing with a short prayer and by the lifting of the cap.
    As one-half of their lives was spent in those shafts and drifts, full of deprivation and danger, the people as a rule were faithful Christians and extremely pious. Their daily work began with a fervent prayer; the closing hours ended with thanks to the Lord. No meal--if so you could call a few boiled potatoes and a crust of stale black bread, with a cup of brewage from roasted carrots--was taken without blessing and thanks. Their salutation was "Glueck auf!" (Luck with you.)
    The other industry was the manufacture of fine lace by hand and was called "kloeppeln." Here also were found two classes. The employer and dealer in laces was often a well-to-do merchant, employing many hundreds of hands, these last being the wives and children of the miners. With all their toil and struggle for existence they were a contented people. Their strength rested in the fear of God, and in their trust in his goodness. While performing their work the time was passed in telling legends; and so often had these stories been told, and so old were they, they had become the truth both to the hearer and the teller. Hundreds of localities were surrounded with myths. Many were the places which should not be passed without a prayer, or else the apparition of an evil spirit would bring bad luck and misfortune. Springs were considered inhabited by "nymphs" or "nixen." Mines were the abode of the "mountain ghost;" and particularly dangerous were certain crossroads.
    Combined with such religious sentiments, Nature had gifted them with great love for music. Their singing was peculiarly sweet and melodious, gladdening the hearts of the singers and the listeners.
*    *    *
    This winter of 1846 was a severe one. At the beginning of October, and before the so-much-depended-upon potato crops were gathered, snow began to fall in heavy quantities. In December, from ten to fifteen feet covered the whole surface. Houses were out of sight, and only known by the smoke rising from the chimneys, out of the snow, while tunnels gave passage to and fro. The game of the wood and the birds of the air found no more nourishment, and either perished or else were driven by hunger and cold into the villages and inhabited places.
    Meantime food had risen to such enormous prices that the poor were not able to obtain the poorest and cheapest qualities. Offal became scarce; hunger-typhus appeared, and the sick and weak died of actual starvation. Crusts of bread and parings of potatoes were all that sustained the lives of suffering children and the old and infirm; boiled straw mixed with the blood of slaughtered animals was consumed by the poor. True, organizations of noble-hearted women relieved some of the intensest suffering, but highways were blocked up so much that only insufficient quantities of provisions could be obtained at any price. Many of the poorest families received a daily contribution of soup and bread from private families.
    Among those calling regularly at the house of my parents was an old man, "Angers." His suffering, careworn countenance made such a deep impression upon my boyish sympathy that often my dear mother had to give extra supplies to me, which I then carried to my protege and his family. Often have I found them in devotion asking their heavenly father for their daily bread.
    Christmas had come. On this day, in accordance with the usage of the country, young and old serenaded the houses of the richer men by singing Christmas hymns and receiving gifts of money. Myself and the sons of two other families followed this custom, visiting the friends of our parents. Our voices, unweakened by hunger and sickness, rang out clear on the crisp, cold winter air:
"Glory to God on high,
Christ is here!"
    The donations had been more than liberal, and in a few hours each of us possessed several thalers. What should be done with all this money? Need we had not for it. Our parents were now already busy preparing the Christmas trees, and placing thereon the many presents selected for us. Come--let us see old Angers. At the next bakery the largest loaf of bread, an eight-pounder, was bought. With a knife, holes were cut through the crust, and each hole filled with silver and copper coins.
    The church bells tolled the vesper hour; the family had gathered around the table. A pan of something like dishwater was all they had; no meat, no brew. All were bowed in prayer when we entered:
"Give us this day our daily bread."
    Yes, Kris Kringle had heard them. The loaf of bread, accepted with tears and thanks, came to still the pangs of hunger, and as they broke it and tried to eat it, and found the money--who can picture the scene? With light and joyful hearts we left them. Evening set in. One tree after another illuminated the rooms of happy people. Bells are ringing. Christ is come.
"Holy sign, peaceful night!
All is darkness save the light
Yonder, where the sweet vigils keep
Over the Babe, who in silent sleep,
Rests in heavenly peace!"
    At last the door of the brilliantly lighted room opened for us, brothers and sisters; when my good mother, who had been visited by my old friend, clasped me to her heart. Then I knew what I had done in childish simplicity.
    Again Christmas has come. My children around me, safe and sound, praise the Lord. They sing, while I accompany them on the organ:
"When safe in your dwelling, so cheerful and warm,
Ye hear but the wailing of cold winter's storm;
When loved ones ground you are gathered once more;
Then pause for a moment! Remember the poor!"
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, December 31, 1891, page1

A Colorado Hunting trip
Twenty-Five Years Ago
WRITTEN FOR THE COURIER BY "M.G.P."--ONE OF THE HUNTERS
Pioneer Sketch Number 11
    Time and the advance of civilization are two factors which cannot be checked. Colorado of today and Colorado Territory, twenty-five years ago, are no more alike than a piece of woodland and a well-cultivated field.
    In those days no railroads traversed the wide plains; population was comparatively thin; towns which now are known all over the Union had not sprung into existence; some were represented by a few primitive houses or an inn. Indians made traveling unsafe; road agents or horse thieves created excitement; life was ruder; freedom greater--hardly to be credited by persons unaccustomed to frontier life.
    December 1867, near Golden City. Outdoor work is practically stopped; jack frost had set in for good. Only in the mountains the chopping of railroad ties for the just-surveyed Colorado Central,gave work to hundreds of hands, stripping the government land of its best and tallest timber.
    The transportation of such ties was difficult and expensive. The ties were simply floated through the extremely steep and rough canyons of the Sierra Colorado. At the headwaters of Chasse a la Poudre was one of these camps. Winter quarters in these mountains means very nearly an exclusion from all communication. The first and great care of a manager of such a camp is to have a full supply for man and beast.
    Friend Harry C. received the job of hauling several four-horse loads of supplies. C., on horseback, with his two regular teamsters, started on the trip. The weather was extremely stormy and disagreeable, nevertheless delay was impossible; one heavy snowstorm would have made the expedition a failure. At the close of the day man and beast found a shelter under the roof of a so-called halfway house; at intervals rough characters stayed there to receive information, victuals or aid.
    While yet busy with feeding and providing for the animals, two strangers rode up to the stables, representing themselves as deputy marshals and demanded the delivery of several mules which they claimed as stolen property. C. naturally refused, warning any person at the risk of their lives to step into the stable; the sight of three Colt's navy revolvers supported the assertion. Not knowing what was to come, C., after darkness had set in, saddled his horse and sped homeward, the teamsters securing the entrance against a surprise.
    C. made good time. Two of his neighbors were ready at short notice. Myself and two boarders, awaiting clear weather and snow to start on a hunting and fishing excursion, gave consent to assist. In less than half an hour our light wagon was loaded, and out into the darkness we went. The roads were muddy; splashing fell the rain and snow; a cold, chilling wind benumbed horses and men. Over rocks and gullies, through creeks and pools of water and slush, our horses flew at the top of their speed.
    When dawn broke we were yet miles from the inn, but whip and spurs animated the tired animals. At last we had the satisfaction of knowing that the time was well used; the teamsters still held the fort. With a cheer we drove up; our number was overwhelming; the deputies abandoned their claims. We fed and harnessed up, breakfasted and drove on. The two neighbors of C. returned.
    A peculiarity of the Colorado mountains on the eastern slope is a long, high ridge called "Hogback," running parallel with the main chain of mountains and forming a well-watered and protected fertile valley. The view of the mountains was dreary, the timber covered with snow and sleet, the higher portion hidden by heavy, quick-shifting clouds.
    At Boulder, a stage station for the overland Pony Express, we indulged in a substantial dinner; the price of the same, one dollar per man. High in price! Not a bit! Considering the quantity of victuals and coffee we managed to stow away, much to the merriment of some guests; our attack was finally checked when the good landlady stopped furnishing new editions.
    After a drive of some miles we left the stage road, working our way up to the mountains. The road was good. "Lone Pine," a well-known landmark, a solitary extremely high pine tree, many miles from any other timber, lay behind us when again we camped.
    Next morning, we entered the mountains proper; towards evening we drove into one of those many parks--a paradise for hunters.
    Here we made headquarters. The next morning C. drove on. He, expecting to return in about thirty-six hours, left his saddle horse. Being short of flour, we retained a bag of bran for a possible emergency. An extra wagon sheet answered as a tent. Soon our camp presented a look of comfort; one of the many deer inhabiting those rarely visited places gave assurance of a good time in general; steaks and ribs roasting before the fire. We rejoiced in the freedom of the free.
    The clouds settled lower and lower; a fast-falling snow covered the landscape. After the storm had passed and the sun broke out clear and bright, the tracking of game was not difficult. Before sundown the camp had the appearance of a miniature slaughterhouse; a number of deer decorated the trunks of the trees.
    The time for the return of C. and his teams was at hand. We sat up awaiting their return, whiling away the hours with jesting and smoking. But night passed and another day had gone, still we had not seen our friends. Thus, it became our duty to go and search for them.
    Higher we advanced into the mountains; deeper and deeper the snow became; trees and bushes, burdened by the white covering, obstructed the narrow road. Brushing them away, the showers of snow fell over us. When the evening sun illuminated the peaks, we returned to dry our garments by a good big fire. Again, we started out to proceed with our work. Late in the afternoon, being miles away from camp, B. returned to take care of the horses. L. and myself ended our work to find a good shelter for the coming night. A short distance from a ridge was a lake. There we made our way. Large logs of dead yellow pine furnished us, with but little work, sufficient firewood for a much-needed fire during the long and cold night.
    The next morning, having gun and fishing lines with us, we tried fishing. With the ax we broke the ice; fished the same out and awaited the settling of the disturbed water. The fish gradually arose from the deep and warmer water to the air holes; slowly and stupefied they swam around, throwing up air bubbles when inhaling a fresh breath. The lines were made ready; but what for a bait? A piece of red flannel, a part of a woolen shirt, answered admirably. Hardly dipped into the water, the fish would take it and were fast. Being benumbed by the cold they gave no trouble to land, so that in a short time we had more than a dozen of the beautiful salmon trout, from four to six pounds in weight. Our selected powder used instead of salt, we had something to break our fast with. A few hours later we met our friends on the dividing ridge of "North" and "Middle Park." Then another lot of fish, several hundred pounds, was secured and taken to the wagons. Late in the evening we arrived at headquarters. Next day the teams went on their home trip, to be followed by us, for just a week after the end of this time, we returned, well loaded with deer and one mountain sheep.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, February 18, 1892, page 1


Fata Morgana.
PIONEER SKETCH NO. 12

BY M.G.P.
    Having returned from a trip from Paradise Valley to Winnemucca, both in Nevada, at the railroad depot [I] discharged a cargo of merchandise; accounts squared; I was waiting orders from the party owning the team, which consisted of two heavy freight wagons coupled together and drawn by twelve draft animals. [The Central Pacific Railroad reached Winnemucca in 1868.]
    Just then a fire broke out in a clothing store on Main Street. The buildings of the town being all frame houses, the fire, fanned by a stiff breeze, became a serious conflagration.
    In one of those buildings I had stored my superfluous clothing, a tent, some few ounces of gold dust, a double-barrel rifle, this the property of my brother, for which he had paid $118.
    To save this, through smoke and fire I rushed into the room in which I knew they were stored.
    The ceiling had kindled, and through the joints of the boards flames, sparks and smoke were shooting; one more second and I grasped the rifle and tent, then the element forced me out just in time to escape the falling mass; nevertheless my hat and shirt on my back were burning in different places. My other goods went up in smoke.
    Fortunately, I had my pay for the trip just ended and soon had improved my appearance. Instead of going on another trip I resolved to follow my brother, who, in company with Mr. Heller and family, two weeks ago had passed through here en route for Coos Bay, Oregon; this was a distance of five hundred miles, one half of which was [through] an entirely unpopulated country. At once I purchased a pack mule, loaded the same with the necessary provisions, tent, blankets and buffalo robe, shouldered my rifle and said goodbye to Winnemucca.
    On the banks of the Humboldt River, below Mill City, I made my first camp. Should you, friendly reader, have never heard of this river and its peculiarity, I will tell in a few words, that many miles out of here the waters of the stream sink into the ground; not a drop runs beyond Humboldt Sink. The name of the Humboldt River at this point is Lost River. Like many other bodies of water in the region of the Northwest, it has a subterranean outlet.
    When I last saw my brother he described to me the projected route of their journey, and as there was but very little travel, or rain had not washed away the tracks, it was an easy matter to follow their trail. My next camp at Antelope Springs had nothing worthy to record. Early in the morning I was again on the tramp for Rabbit Springs, a distance of twenty-eight miles through a barren, dry, sandy plain, and as there was not a drop of water to be found I suffered some with the heat, reflected by the hot sun rays on the well-heated sand. At sunset in camp I observed one of the beautiful phenomena often seen in Nevada, the Fata Morgana.
    The setting sun sinking behind the horizon, which appeared but a few miles distant, but in reality was from twenty to five and twenty miles away, cast a reddish hue over the alkali flats covered by nothing else but the sage brush, bunch grass or sauce alkali grass. The bluffs in the distance showed the outlines clear and distinct. All at once the bluffs seemed to separate from terra firma at an angle of twenty to thirty degrees; they were reproduced suspended in the air, the base of the bluff uppermost, the top below. Deeper the sun sank in the west, and with every moment this optical delusion [sic] assumed another form. At sunset it became very nearly double, both bluffs connected half way by a small band. In a second more, the sun had gone, the specter vanished, a short twilight set in, and one star after another began to light up the firmament, and I rolled up in my blanket for a good rest.
    The grass around this camp being very poorly, the carcasses of dead cattle lying around in different directions filled the otherwise exhilarating air with a stifling gas. Coyotes, sneaking around and feasting on the remaining bones and dry skin, yelped into the night air and made me restless, and when before daybreak the moon arose, I started on my journey.
    Before me lay another waterless stretch of over twenty miles; shortly after meridian I entered the Black Rock district--the same a basalt, nearly black in color, running out in a spur--this circumtraveled and before me lay the Black Rock Desert. Not far from here out of the seams of this back ridge flowed a large spring of boiling water, containing different minerals, but principally soda. Following the course of the creek for a quarter of a mile, the water had cooled sufficiently to become drinkable, although unpleasant in taste. But not being able to find a better substitute, it had to be used to still the great thirst. A small sand heron, fat and plump, and not acquainted with the unsafe neighborhood of the pale face, was shot and made a very welcome change in my diet of fat bacon.
    As I have stated, Black Rock Desert lay before me, a body of fine white sand, alkali, soda, etc. Perfectly level for a hundred and fifty miles in length, in width differing from eighty to this, the extreme narrowest place of ten miles. Clear as the atmosphere was, it appeared to be not more than two to three miles. Every sage bush on the opposite side could be seen without any difficulty.
    But the scorching heat of the sun, and the hot sand, became unbearable. The atmosphere was in a constant flickering motion; perspiration flowing out of every pore in the body, quickly drying left a crust of salt crystals on the skin and the clothes; advance at this time of the day could not be thought of. I stretched my tent and like good comrades, myself and mule found shelter and shade until evening, then preparing for another night's march; the day had ended, the sun was sinking behind the chain of a distant mountain range, the heat diminishing, and darkness settled over the country
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, March 17, 1892, page 1


The next two issues of the New Jersey Courier survive, but do not contain Pioneer Sketch No. 13.


Pioneer Sketch No. 14 [sic]
Night on the Desert

BY M.G.P.
    A peculiar feeling will take hold of man when entirely alone, far away from any people of his kind, surrounded by different unknown and unseen dangers. His eye is strained, his ear acute, not many objects moving, however carefully, fail to attract his attention. But when the darkness of the night sets in, when the softest breath of air passing through the air creates ever so low a sound, when the smallest bird, the lizard or the step of the horned toad upon the sand and among the dry grass can be heard, or the almost silent flap of the passing owl, the distant howl of the wolf, or the barking of the coyote interrupts the silence of nature, a man so situated, solely depending on his own strength, then he is surely straining his nerves to the utmost. Darkness had covered the desert; one star after another became visible. The North Star became my only guide for the coming journey. The direction I had to take was in a northwesterly direction; I, therefore, made my calculation between the point of destination and the only stationary star in the northern sky, the North Star.
    On a line with this star are two others, known as the "Pointers," those a part of the seven stars called the "Great Bear." At the time when I started, about 7 o'clock, the Pointers and North Star formed a horizontal line.
    Crossing the desert in a diagonal course, and after having reached the opposite edge, a distance of about fifteen miles, the Pointers now stood within a few degrees perpendicularly below the North Star; consequently I had traveled nearly five hours; it was about midnight. This is an easy way to estimate any hour of the night.
    I was thirsty, tired. Strike a match I would not do; the smallest light in the blackness of night can be seen a long way. I was in an Indian country. So, groping about with my hands, I selected my place of rest. I took the pack and saddle from my animal; fastened an end of the rawhide rope (lariat as it is called) to his neck, the other end to my foot, this in order to feel any attempt of his getting away; laid down upon the still warm sand and in a moment was sound asleep. Rest was of short duration, the light of the moon, casting its yellow rays over the landscape, fell on my face. I looked up; there not far away from where I rested lay also my mule; a second later my eyes closed again.
    The howl of a pack of wolves in close neighborhood brought me to my feet. To drive them away I fired a shot out of my rifle; the mule shied, and to my consternation ran away; those villainous brutes had gnawed the rawhide rope in two.
    Hoping to get a hold of the trailing rope, I followed the animal. Hour after hour passed. It became morning and still the mule made its way towards the camp which I had left last night. At last the desert was recrossed, the mule entered some tall sagebrush, started on a full run and was soon out of sight, taking the direction from which we had come. About seventy miles from the nearest inhabited place, without nourishment, my provisions lying on the other side of the desert, I had to make my way back. Perseverance overcomes the most difficult matters, and so it was in this case. My things were unmolested, I took a part of the flour, some bacon, rifle and buffalo robe on my shoulders, hid the rest under the blanket and tent among the bushes, and off I went to secure my animal.
    What a heat and the load upon my back. How hungry and thirsty. Finally, I dropped a part of the burden. Sand had worked into my shoes; I did not heed it. At last I arrived at the hot springs, a march of thirty hours, eight-two miles of wearisome walking, what now?
    My feet were blistered and bleeding. On the sole of the right foot I had a blood blister as big as a hen's egg. The pain became extremely acute.
    To find relief I bathed in the hot mineral water; to my greatest satisfaction at the end of half an hour the soreness and pain had vanished. Now for some nourishment, a slice of fat meat, a few handfuls of flour mixed in a handkerchief with a handful of water, this hung into the boiling spring, and seasoned with plenty of imagination and recollections of former good meals, I found the impromptu pudding palatable and much better than nothing to eat.
    Refreshed and strengthened, the following of the trail of the animal was resumed. Rabbit Springs; here too I stopped. It was night, I lay down, my suffering for a drink of water kept me awake for a long, long time, but sleep came. What a glorious sight, there before me lay a lake, how clear and inviting was the water, trees and grass grew around the borders, and here flowed a creek. Nearer and nearer came the water; now for a drink, I rose up, kneeling on the sand. I stooped over--oh, how cruel, it was a dream. Onward. At Antelope Springs, there was water, twenty-eight miles yet. I made it, and here too I found and caught the runaway.
    This exertion had been too great for me. I fell asleep, and not before the next morning after sunup did I awake.
    First I had my fill of good water; then a refreshing wash; cold, raw bacon and unboiled flour soup without salt for breakfast. This over, I made the mule carry me back to and across the desert. Nothing had disturbed my cache; it was soon placed upon the animal, then I resumed my interrupted journey.
    In less than one hour I arrived at Deep Hole, a deserted ranch. The best of water, good grass, and my exhausted body much in need of rest. A flock of wild geese, feeding in a field of volunteer oats, furnished me with two out of their number, and these enabled me to feast; once again I made camp. Roast goose, some sort of bread, the flour of which was worked into a dough, then wound around a stick of wood, and in this fashion baked before a fire, coffee too, and rest and sleep. It was a comfort to my weary limbs and much-abused stomach.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, April 7, 1892, page 1


PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 15
In the Granite Mountains.

BY M.G.P.
    A day of rest, plenty of nourishment, a good night's sleep had fully restored energy and body. Not far from Deep Hole the road, if such you could call it, branched. A herd of sheep lately had passed this locality, and by them every sign or track whereby I could have seen the direction which Mr. Heller and my brother had taken was lost. More than an hour I searched for some trace, but all in vain.
    After due consideration I chose the right-hand trail. Within half an hour I entered a lovely valley, well watered, and wooded with willows and gums, the hillsides and the bottom lands overgrown with luxuriant grass. The name given to this valley, as I afterward learned, was "Squaw Valley." For a distance of several miles I advanced, then the path turned towards the west, crossing the creek. My former experience had taught me the value of a drink of water; here was plenty of it. I had no thirst, yet to take some along for an emergency, I had no vessel. So, I had to trust to good luck.
    Gradually I made my way up into the Granite Mountains. The higher I went the smaller the growth of scattering pines became, and when I reached the first plateau, most of the vegetation lay behind me. A few sage bushes, and they were small. The soil consisted of nothing but decomposed granite, open and loose; as long as the nature of the same did not change, to find water would be an impossibility.
    The day became a hot one, the exercise of climbing up and down the waterless ravines or by trudging over the extremely hot flats and plains soon told on me. Water! How I thirsted! Perspiration even ceased; salt crystals had formed all over the skin. Water was nowhere to be found. Should I return? No! Others had passed here, why should I not be able to do the same?
    At last after much suffering the day closed. As a red, fiery ball the sun set. Gradually the air cooled and gave relief. By the faint light of the stars I could see the path. Better traveling now. Onward I drove the mule, onward I pushed on my solitary trip. Plateaus and canyons we passed; searches for water remained fruitless. Disappointment and hope filled every thought. Forward, there lay the only help. No owl nor quadruped indicated life through this nocturnal march.
    The moon rose; the day broke; I still toiled onward. The sun made its appearance, a red globe surrounded by a lead-colored atmosphere; an hour later and again the heat increased.
    The suffering for want of water became a torture. My lips were parched; the tongue swelled; the roof of the mouth dry as a bone, my eyes smarted, pain in the head; fever in the body. Hungry, weary, different remedies I tried to create saliva. For hours I had a stone and a piece of salt bacon in my mouth. I rushed along, but when another Fata Morgana showed me a lake in the distance, trees and cattle scattered around, the delusion became a mockery in my misery. There I gave out. Rest? No; my eyes closed, but as if roasted in a fire, they opened again. My God! I was alone; the only companion, my mule, had left me. Water. The instinct of the animal is keener than that of its master. I found the tracks; they left the path. How long I followed I know not. At last I found it, and what joy! There it stood up to its knees in a pool of water. Lukewarm, stagnated, full of thread worms, thin as a silk thread, white in color, six to ten inches long, but it was water. Down I sank on my knees, placed a handkerchief before the mouth and drank the fluid, not refreshing but relieving.
    A fire of sagebrush soon boiled some water, and a strong coffee and the rest of the goose which I had shot at Deep Hole; it strengthened me up. Then a bath, and [I] was ready to resume my journey so nearly fatal to me.
    Returning to the spot where hours ago I became discouraged, sick and weak, I made a resolution which has governed me in my life to the present day, "Never give up."
    With determination I went on. Before evening I found a rivulet of good fresh water and camped.
    Twelve days had passed since I had seen a human being. It was with a light heart that I heard a rooster crow, a dog bark, and now the sight of a house, a woman; it made me glad indeed.
    The good lady after hearing my narrative insisted on my taking a good square meal, to which I did ample justice. While yet engaged with this most interesting and successful attack on the victuals placed before me, the squatter made his appearance, a very respect-demanding personality--tall, wiry in figure, dressed in his buckskin hunting suit, rifle and pistol about his person--he looked every inch like a man who could and would stand his ground. In a cordial way he bade me welcome, and after the usual "how do" conversation opened in good form. Through him I was informed that my brother had taken the left-hand road via Susan Lake, while I had followed the road to Surprise Valley, which I had just entered. The meal finished, I bought a fresh supply of necessities and advanced into the valley proper.
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, April 28, 1892, page 1


PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 16
Surprise Valley.

BY M.G.P.
    Never, under any circumstances, could a place be more happily named than Surprise Valley. The sterile mountains and waterless plains just left, all unsuspected before us lies a fertile oasis of about eighty miles in length and from eight to ten miles in width--surprise indeed.
    The east and south side is bordered by plateaus, the mountain ridge is dimly visible; the western part is hemmed in by the high mountains of the Sierra Nevada, whose formation is so greatly different to that of the Sierra Colorado that I cannot do otherwise than to give a short description. The formation of the Sierra Colorado rises gradually from the foothills to the summit, while the Sierra Nevada forms walls of massive mountains with foothills scant to trace. Abrupt are those mountains rearing their lofty peaks heavenward, capped with snow and ice fields. Here and there clouds draw a veil over the view, while other points are brilliantly illuminated by the rays of the sun, and the ravines on the opposite side casting dark blue shadows.
    They tell of long gone-by days. Rocks of the hardest of granite or porphyry during uncounted years had to yield to the influence of streams of water, which in those ages chasmed the backbone of the continent, cutting canyons hundreds and thousands of feet deep through these mountains.
    The heights of these mountains are covered by dense forests, dotted here and there by rich mountain meadows. Mountain sheep, herds of deer, wolves, and many grizzly bears are the inhabitants of the great ranges.
    With never-ceasing, never-resting activity, brooks and streams rush and tumble over and around stones and boulders and now entering the valley glide easily and slowly towards the center of the basin; here they empty into three different lakes of considerable dimensions, filling an area of over twenty miles long and a mile and a half broad. With all this amount of water flowing into them they never rise above their level, having a subterranean outlet.
    Distributed through this valley are great numbers of hot springs. At one locality there is, within a space of ten feet, two springs--one with boiling water, the other with an icy temperature.
    Settlers here take advantage of this. In hog-killing time they drive their herds of swine to these places and scald them in these springs, thereby saving much labor and time.
    Surrounding these lakes are extensive meadows which yield large crops of hay, out of which the proprietors receive a good revenue. Nearer to the edge of the water the meadows change to marshes, which in consequence of the warm springs but rarely freeze in wintertime.
    Swarms of wild geese and ducks make their home in these marshes. The noise of these birds when rising from the ground into the air is deafening. Sage hens, prairie chickens and cottontail rabbits are plentiful.
    Midway in this valley there is a village called Cedar City; northwest of this town is the corner post of California, Oregon and Nevada.
    Like other things on this earth this valley too has its faults. At periods of from two to four years it is overrun with crickets. These insects when full grown measure two inches and over in length; they are wingless and are propelled by their long, strong legs; the color is a dark brown, almost black. They come in myriads, at times covering an area of a mile and from six to twelve inches deep. Their approach is closely watched by the inhabitants and is heralded from neighbor to neighbor. All those settlers raise herds of swine which run in a half-wild state in the marshes; no sooner do the crickets appear than the herd of porkers are gathered and driven to the advancing crickets. There and then a feast begins which is unique in its way.
    We witness a rush of many hundred hogs into this moving mass of crickets, we hear a grinding, crumbling, snapping of jaws, a squealing in all the different octaves of the scale, but ere a second has passed the hogs are hard to be recognized, by being covered with a living mass of insects which in return with their bites attacked the different parts of their enemies.
    It is a powerful undertaking, but the hogs master it, they feed apparently without losing their appetite, they wallow and kill them by the thousands, but keep up the feast until the swarm is destroyed, then they make a break for their accustomed places nearby, for some other diet.
    At times it has occurred that these insects are not checked. Then they overrun houses and farms, nothing is too tough, short of wood and metal. Of shoes, harness, clothing, hay and straw, as well as vegetables, they make a clean sweep.
    No building stops them, those that they cannot move by, they climb over. No ditch or creek hinders them, millions may be drowned, still they get over, even if the dead bodies have to form a bridge. Fire or frost only will end their career.
    Indians, in particular the Digger Indians, of California, relish them greatly. The insect is caught by the long legs, the body held firm with the teeth, a twist, a smack with the jaw and a swallow, and--ready for the next. The squaws also gather them and roast them in pots. The dry bodies are powdered and used as "hyas close muck a muck," something good to eat.
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, May 19, 1892, page 1


PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 17
Snowed In.

BY M.G.P.
    Indian summer--fairer days, brighter nights I could not have wished for while on such a trip. This evening I camped near a farm house; first the children, then the farmer and his brother gave me a call, and finally I was invited to the hospitality of the house.
    A cheerful fire in the fireplace gave a bright light, and by and by some neighbors came in, passing an hour of conversation, then the good people before parting had prayer, and all retired.
    The next morning, before resuming my journey, instructions were given to me how best to cross the mountains, "Cedar Pass," the easiest and nearest point, by which road I could be enabled to reach the summit in seven to eight hours, taking the first wagon road turning to the left. Those were the parting words. Only about two miles from the house a wagon road turned to the left according to instructions, and this I pursued, soon entering a canyon.
    For awhile the wagon road was plain, although hilly and often steep. After another hour's journey, it became indistinct, branching into different tracks; after awhile nothing was left but trails. Still upward I made my way; this too became dim, and for the first time a suspicion arose of being on the wrong road.
    The summit appeared to be but a few miles ahead of me, what matter where I crossed it; onward I pushed.
    It was now past noon. I had reached the more elevated portion of the mountains, and the scenery and view were grand. From a position I noticed northward, not over a mile distant, but separated by a steep canyon, a lower pass; this no doubt was the Cedar Pass, and to gain this I turned at the next ridge. At the head of a creek I entered a small glen. Several deer rested in the shade of a tall fir tree. As they rose from the ground eying me, a prime buck stood broadside, but only for a second, and with the crack of my rifle, he rolled over--and I had a good roast.
    Fresh and pure was the atmosphere; beautiful was the scenery of the mountains, spanned by a clear sky. No trace of care or necessity drove me forward, and although early in the day to stop, everything considered, I made camp. My mule doing well, and myself enjoying a delicious roast, no one could be happier than I was. Evening came, my things snugly stored underneath the fir tree I first had mentioned whose long and thickly covered branches nearly touched the ground, forming a spacious and dry shelter; how pleasingly I tucked myself into my blankets and fell asleep.
    During the night I awoke. Something cold and wet fell on my face. Pulling the blankets over my head and taking a turn on the other side, soundly the sleep crept over me again. When again I awoke and raised to see around me, a shower of snow fell over me. My blankets, the whole country, was covered with fresh snow. Softly, without a breath of air, large flakes of snow fell down, thick and fast.
    Too late to reflect and think of the mistake I made in stopping too soon. The mule--where was it? Gone. Where was the path on which I had come up her? Completely covered; the bushes bent down by the weight, hemmed in and held me fast.
    Soon I consoled myself. What of it? I had provisions for over a week and plenty of meat. Wait; the storm will pass. It is too soon for winter to set in. Nothing near so bad as it looks at first, and it might be worse. But it kept on snowing. The second night had passed; faster fell the snow. A cold, sharp wind whizzed through the trees. Snow drifting in my shelter made it as much uncomfortable as at first it had been pleasant.
    At the close of the third day the storm ceased. My prospects were now desolate--yes, desperate. Snow, nothing else in the sight, several feet deep on the level, drifts filled the ravines, gulches and cliffs. Escape, impossible at present.
    The setting sun brightens the view; how it glimmered and glistened. The only few clouds floating way above me were dry and cold. With this view, hope strengthened again; it all will come right yet. With such thoughts and with full determination, "don't give up, make the best out of it," I again lay down and slept.
    The night was bitter cold. In the morning I began to build a better shelter. With fir and pine limbs, a hut was reared; then the snow was packed around and over it, and a fire in the front soon warmed it up. What a comfort I did derive from a good pipe and tobacco. It cheered me up; it stimulated my nerves and consoled me. Surely I was in need of some solace.
    Day after day passed. My hopes dwindled down with the disappearance of my store of victuals. Bright days and stormy weather passed; colder became the days and nights. Still I was fast and snowbound.
    Snow five feet and more; my eatables gone; the pangs of hunger began to make me look around to shoot any living creature coming in sight.
    Fortunately, there was more than plenty of wood to keep a good fire, but my condition became melancholic; the wind sharp and chilly passing through the timber, the wailing and harsh squeaking of the trees rubbing against one another had a most discouraging effect upon me.
    For days I became disheartened, and my thoughts wandered back to those happy days of childhood, to the days of honorable toil. Now I was about to perish! No! There were crows, some owls, half-staved wolves, and pine needles to make a tea. In all, I traced a sign of providence that as long as I kept up my hope and energy, all would be overcome.
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, June 2, 1892, page 4


The next issue of the New Jersey Courier survives, but does not contain Pioneer Sketch No. 18.


PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 19 [sic]
Incidents and Accidents.
BY M.G.P.
    Another spell of delightful weather gave me new hopes again. The snow melted, and in particular on the south side of the mountains. In those localities the green grass made its reappearance and the warmer temperature attracted deer; with them around me short rations again belonged to the past. Otherwise the snow settled and became compact, a scale of thin ice formed over it and thus became strong enough to bear my weight.
    At this day I attempted to reach the valley. It proved to be impossible. The canyon in which I had come upward was filled with snow from twenty to forty feet deep, the danger of breaking through and sinking in, followed by freezing to death, was rather a disagreeable sensation; life, even under such trying conditions, was too sweet.
    Often in my loneliness I held long conversations with myself, only to hear the sound of my voice. Worst of all, my solace, tobacco, gave out, so I fund a pastime to manufacture this article, by gathering willow bushes [and] removing the outer green bark; under this is the white sap bark, this after drying by the fire became quite a luxury to me.
    My life up here, so far removed from any intercourse with fellow man, was not without accidents. The increasing cold weather compelled me to keep a very large fire day and night, drying the pine boughs out of which my shanty had been built. One stormy night the sparks had blown among them, and in a moment it was set afire. Fortunately, the snow covering the same allowed but slow progress; it made me move my articles in [a] great hurry. A most uncomfortable night followed, but nothing daunted, the next day I rebuilt a better mountain home.
    With the increase of winter deer failed to reach those high latitudes, seeking warmer localities in lower regions. Many [a] crow, owl or even a half-starved wolf wandered into my kettle to serve as a meal, often too I only had to do without it, becoming reduced in flesh and strength. Another day I endeavored to reach the valley and, selecting another not-used ridge which had been swept by the wind, the north side of this ridge was a very steep incline; here the snow had formed tremendous drifts and overhanging combs, invisible to me. I stepped on such an edge and before I knew what happened I went down at a breakneck seed, flat on my back with the feet steering the course. Losing my balance, the motion turned into somersaults. Lucky enough the journey came to an end; but I had lost the rifle, this never would do, and with difficulty I made the way back and there it lay in the snow. Badly knocked and bruised, I was considering my position when I became aware of a herd of "bighorns" sunning themselves upon a high cliff. It was a long shot, and a true aim could not be taken; however, I shot. The herd started in haste and passing close to me I let them have the second barrel, crippling one by chance, their flight taking them across a canyon filled with snow, who knows how deep. I followed them until the crust of ice broke and down I settled, hip deep I sank, then I leaned over on my breast clawing the ice with my fingers. There I hung. Beneath me it was soft snow, and the harder I worked the deeper I sank. Perspiration flowed from my forehead, but I was calm. Slowly I packed the snow with one foot then with the other, finally it became harder, inch by inch the rescue proceeded until I was out of danger. Then in a lying position I worked across, but too late--the animals just disappeared over the next mountain and I was too much exhausted to follow.
    The evening shadows crept over the scene; my feet had lost all sense of feeling, my boots were frozen stiff and filled with snow; to get them off I had to split them open with my knife, finding my feet badly frosted, parts of skin and flesh sticking to the leather. By hard rubbing with snow the circulation of the blood was restored; then, and by much exertion I kindled a fire. This night was the most fearful one experienced.
    By daylight, half chilled to death, I resumed my trip, not for the valley, but for my shanty. It was a tedious route never to be forgotten, the suffering and hunger made me go on very slowly, but at the end of the day my house was reached.
    Weeks passed in which I had given myself up for lost, pained, hungry, and sick as I was; the inability of getting sufficient firewood made me feel my desolation more than ever. My strong constitution overcame this at last. Again, I moved about.
    One evening I had worked my way to a pass which I had suspected to be Cedar Pass. Here under a large juniper tree, near a trail where deer had passed to and fro, I took my stand, but instead of game I spied a man wading through the snow. This excited me so much that my actions became more like a wild man than a sane one. My shouting must have been extraordinary, for the man refused to approach me. At last I became quiet, and we met. My first question was to ask for something to eat, and as he had a good supply of biscuits, I had a bonanza which he willingly sacrificed to relieve my ravenous hunger. We started a fire and made camp, then I learned that this was the last night of the year 1871. I had a great deal to say and to tell, and much to learn through him. We kept up our conversation until a very late hour; thinking it midnight we wished each other a happy New Year, fixed up the fire so as to last the balance of the night and fell asleep. Next morning, he returned whence he came, finding it impossible to get across the summit, promising to return as soon as possible with nourishment for me, which he did after a month. I was too exhausted to wander as far as he had and so I turned towards my shanty, accustomed to such life.
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, June 16, 1892, page 1


PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 20
Through California to Oregon.
BY M.G.P.
    Stormy weather and delightful days passed over me; just so, hope and despair entered my heart. All my efforts were directed to make it possible to reach Surprise Valley.
    Out of limbs I constructed a sort of a sleigh. Now it was finished, and the practical test would prove success or failure. Down I rushed over ravines and canyons, places which I never dared to approach before, the snow carried me. Up on the other incline I "tracked" my sleigh until at last in the latter part of January I had accomplished my long-desired aim.
    The people had forgotten me, but recognized me when I spoke to them, extending their hospitality with readiness. A week of rest, a thorough cleaning of my garments restored me to some extent, then I went out to look for my animal. When the snow began to fall, with the instinct of the beast it traveled downward, and now after the lapse of three months I found it among a small band of horses and mules in a canyon. Plenty of shelter and sufficient grass had enabled them to rough through winter in better style than I had.
    My desire to find employment was also gratified. I accepted a contract of making fence rails. The price named was so high (six dollars per hundred), and not desiring another attempt at solitary life, I began to make preparations next morning.
    The grove of pines in which I commenced operations was in a narrow deep canyon; so high were the walls and so nearly perpendicular that during the whole day the sun could be seen only for an hour, from two to three o'clock.
    My work proceeded well. I received new orders; another man came to follow my example. We made money and now indulged in good, wholesome nourishment, the best the store could furnish.
    At the end of April my contracts were filled, I had saved enough money to purchase an additional horse, double harness, a light wagon and a good outfit, having money left to resume my interrupted journey.
    The second week in May I proceeded on my trip in an improved style, and this time I looked sharp so as not to miss the correct road. Seated in my wagon I had good reasons to be pleased and thankful. Arriving at the summit a grand panorama spread before me. Around the towering mountains, covered still with ice and snow, several of them over which I had searched for food and relief, in other directions meadows or fir timbers extending way down to the open valley, westward Goose Lake in California, reflecting the rays of the sun, beyond its wide expanse, prairies or wooded lands, at the horizon the outlines of Mount Shasta appeared more a cloud than a mountain; its glistening snow peak reared way above the clouds.
    My first camp was at the foot of the mountains in Goose Lake Valley. I was now in California. Starting again by sunrise I followed for miles a well-beaten road, then crossing different parts of the Sierra, I passed over a district filled up with boulders, fragments of a turned-over mountain, rocks of all sizes, too many obstructions for my advance. At times I had to lift the wagon so as to pass them, other times I had to build up steps so as to get over the largest boulders, a rough road indeed. At a nearly impassable place the forewheel became fastened and ere I could avoid an accident, it was shattered, dished. Resolutely I dropped the fore axle, fastened the tongue to the hounds of the hind axle, shortened the wagon box with an ax; in less than two hours I had remodeled my wagon to a two-wheeled vehicle, which afterward answered my purpose far better than a wagon.
    Two days I traveled northward before I rounded the head of Goose Lake. Here I overtook a detachment of United States Cavalry en route for Fort Klamath, Oregon. The soldiers in camp, hunting or on duty, passed many a joke concerning my "go cart," as they called it.
    Two days again I met no human being, then a hunting party of Indians came up inviting me to join them, but fearing treachery I ordered them away at once and substantiated my words by placing the rifle over my lap.
    Coming to Link River, the connection of Upper and Lower Klamath Lake, Oregon, I had to cross on a ferry. The people there had been fishing and had captured a great quantity of most excellent white fish, fully as large as a Delaware shad.
    This part of Oregon is so much elevated that the seasons for agriculture purposes are very short, the winters severe and long. The meadows around this lake are very extensive and furnish good pasture and any amount of hay for thousands of cattle and horses.
    In entering the timber regions again, the innumerable blackflies, of sizes to over one inch in length, and with a biting apparatus which would draw blood at every nip, made traveling a difficulty.
    Then I entered one of the many lava beds. This peculiar one was known as "Devil's Garden." The rocky nature caused one to drive very slowly. No trees or grass grows in this garden. Yesterday the flies gave torture; today in this garden of His Majesty, the Devil, the mosquitoes belabored me and the animals unmercifully.
    Finally I struck prairie again, a large, wide valley spread before me, a level and excellent natural wagon road gave me the chance to try the speed of my span, until the setting sun reminded me of looking up a resting place for the night.
(To Be Continued.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, July 14, 1892, page 1


There is no Pioneer Sketch No. 21.


PIONEER SKETCH--NO. 22 [sic]
The Last Two Hundred Miles.
BY M.G.P.
    The sun was sinking; miles ahead of me a line of willow bushes indicated a creek; there I should make a halt for the night. Trotting onward and now rounding a tableland, imagine my surprise when I drove direct into a camp of Indians, their tepees numbering more than a dozen. On a small rise overlooking the whole of the surrounding was located the wigwam of the chief.
    For a moment I halted, my decision had to be made at once; to go on would not prevent them from finding me if they wanted to do so; better so show boldness than fear. Slowly I passed the last wigwam, stopped the team, unharnessed the animals and made preparations for my supper. I had some prairie chickens which I had killed en route, stewed dried apples, made bead and coffee.
    My heart was not at ease, but it would never do to show it to my neighbors. While eating my meal two children, between the age of three and five years, approached me, watching, with wistful eyes, the disappearance of the meal. At last I gave them each on a piece of bread some of the stewed apples, and they left. Not long after a young squaw brought an armful of dry wood, which she laid down. No words passed, I desiring no new acquaintances, still I handed her the dried fruit and made a motion to go, telling her in jargon, "clatterwa," meaning "go," and she "clatterwaed."
    My animals were securely fastened to the wheels of the cart, my blankets spread underneath the body of the cart, rifle and revolver alongside of me. I turned in, but not to sleep. Eyes and ears were vigilant all night, but nothing disturbed me.
    Bright and early the next morning, before the birds began to chirp, I was up and on the road again. After hours of driving I allowed the horses to satisfy their hunger, and I strengthened myself with something to eat. That afternoon I passed the Applegate Indian Reservation, where I was told that I had passed a night among the Modoc Indians.
    From here the country became more settled, then nearing the Cascade Range the road became rolling. The first town I reached was Ashland, Oregon. Mount Shasta lay now due east [sic] from here. This night in camp I received a visitor, seated on a very fine horse, no saddle or bridle, blanket or eatables. All this combined I knew he had stolen the horse, and knowing the danger of being found in company with a horse thief, I gave him to eat both supper and breakfast. I started next morning to get rid of him. I drove to Jacksonville and as he had no business there he rode on, wishing to fall in with me again beyond it, but I changed my route and missed him, much relieved.
    I crossed the Rogue River, entered the Willamette Valley near Roseburg, visited a friend, the same now a Congressman. Next morning, I drove into the Umpqua Valley. The spring flood yet swelled the river; the waters were deep and swift. There was no bridge or ferry, and as people thought I could ford it I went into the stream. The animals, soon lifted by the water, had to swim, the cart to float; a moment later the current upset us, spilling the contents and myself into the river.
    Being a fair swimmer, I headed the horses and turned them toward shore; assisted by the current we drifted on and landed. With the assistance of a boat I saved a few articles, but my rifle, money, ax and victuals were lost for the present. Returning to Roseburg my friend helped me by the loan of some money to enable me to purchase a new outfit. A week later I joined my brother at the gold mines in the black sand district in Randolph; this is located a mile from the Pacific Ocean.
    Four weeks later I returned to Roseburg, paid my friend, and as the water of the Umpqua had fallen to a lower mark, my attempt to find the rifle was successful. Such were the trials and difficulties of former-day travelers. Railroads have made a journey a pleasure, but I think it has taken all romance and spice out of a trip like I have had; it also needs nothing but a few dollars to pay for the ticket. Self-reliance, will, manly quality, has become a secondary consideration. I prefer the old way to find sport, even if it is a little rough.
(The End.)
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, July 21, 1892, page 4


Sport, My Dog.
BY M.G.P.
    So many of our townsmen and county people are deeply interested in "dog" knowledge, that I feel as if I could add something by telling a story of a dog.
    It is natural that when a person becomes the owner of a dog, he will speak of all the good points in his acquisition; after so many valuable good traits are named, the dog gets ashamed of his greatness, hardly able to look straight into the eyes of the listener.
    I was living in Detroit; a good friend made me a present of what he called a good hunting dog, for which he had no use, as he said, while I frequently would take the steamer to the flats of Lake St. Clair, or now and then visited friends in Port Huron or relatives in St. Clair, hunting ducks, pigeons or wild turkey; with this acquisition my outfit was complete. Hunting I had to go. I invited some friends, also great Nimrods; my brother Richard from Port Huron and two of his friends came also. Rendezvous at Uncle M. Auntie, a good-hearted soul, would do anything to please us; she even got up an hour earlier to have our breakfast ready before daylight.
    This over we got ready for a day's gunning. Just getting ready to leave the room when, bang! Great heaven! One of the fellows had discharged his fowling piece accidentally, making a great hole in the ceiling.
    Uncle, who had yet slept soundly, came in a hurry, it was a good thing he wore only one garment; his words sounded something like bad names, but he looked so comical that we burst out laughing and rushed out, followed by his best wishes to shoot one another and not return.
    Commencing our tramp from the nearest woods, we separated, forming a line about a hundred yards apart. At once my dog showed unmistakable signs of game; barking, he charged into the thick underbrush. "Purr, purr," away went a flock of turkeys, and so well did Sport scatter them that none could get a shot. He finally returned and received a good thrashing. For awhile he kept close to me. Again he broke, jumping two deer. Some other hunter, well acquainted with the runways, got his work in before we came to where the shot fell; hunter and dog were gone. Sport lay there panting, pleased to see us.
    From now until late in the afternoon we marched on but failed to see any more game. Hungry, weary, disappointed we arrived at Uncle M.'s house. His temper had cooled down and when I made him a present of Sport he became nearly as good as Auntie's pumpkin pies.
    Early next morning we departed for our respective homes, but not before noticing the dog's face and nose covered with peculiar color, much resembling the yolk of eggs.
    Somehow or other, a few days later, Sport's pantaloons were badly damaged by shot. Uncle claimed in trying to shoot a rabbit he missed the mark. From that day all the good qualities as a good hunting dog were lost in Sport. The pointing of a gun at him would send him howling in the direction his nose was pointing.
    A few weeks later, Brother R. again paid a visit to Uncle, and when he left he was requested to take Sport with him. Everything went well as long as he was fastened to a line. Beyond St. Clair and in the open country, he was let loose. Near a small farm Brother's attention was called to a great commotion among the fowl. It was Sport having a great time in catching one after the other, with a few shakes dropping it dead to the ground, ready for another victim.
    The report of a gun made him clear the field, his mouth full of feathers.
    Under such circumstances my brother left the road to find a hiding place in the forest. Not long after, two men, one with a gun, passed, in rather bad humor. Near Port Huron Sport came up, followed by an old lady with the dead body of a yellow hen; he paid for the damage and departed in peace. Anyone would think Sport had had fun enough for one day, but who knows what the next hour will bring.
    My brother was living with Mr. H., a gentleman in Port Huron; he wished to own the dog, and the property passed into his hands.
    During this night Sport was going to stay in the house as a guard. Next morning everybody was wondering where all the white rags came from.
    The mystery was soon explained. Mrs. H. had left part of her clothes in the sitting room, Sport found them and enjoyed himself by making rags out of them.
    This was too much; a few minutes later he was fastened to a tree, and a ball ended his existence.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, August 18, 1892, page 4


A Mountain Lion Hunt.
PIONEER SKETCH BY M.G.P.
    The friendly reader who has followed me on my different trips and adventures will kindly follow me in this sketch to the Coast Range of Oregon.
    The locality is and has been known as "Double Prairie"; this name is easy to account for, there being a large mountain prairie divided by a narrow strip of timber.
    In a corner formed by the tall pine trees and a slight rise, we find a small log cabin, a spring house, in which the milk of the herd of cows grazing on the juicy grass and clover of the prairie is kept for the manufacture of butter and cheese; quite a number of hogs and a great quantity of fowl, this adding to the pleasant scenery a token of plenty.
    Two men, one of them your correspondent, the other one a Swiss, Casper D., who kept a dairy here. At the time we notice them they are in search of something. Both carry rifles. Now and then they enter the woods but return apparently disappointed.
    They have left the main prairie, gone through several strips of timber and openings, and now enter another prairie. At the lower edge they notice some object, and by examining the same it proves to be the carcass of a cow, which lately has calved. The calf is missing. The left shoulder of the dead cow has been devoured by the great enemy of the stock raisers--the mountain lion or panther has had a meal here, and he will return the next night; it is, therefore, best not to disturb his rest, but to get ready for a reception. Both men return to the cabin; there P. mounts a horse and rides to the nearest neighbor, Mr. L., three miles distant. After relating the occurrence, Mr. L. and son, accompanied by two savage-looking bloodhounds, return with P. to await the early dawn and draw some plan of possible action.
    The day has now ended, the cows are milked and have been turned out of the yard (called corral), they have filled up with the choice food and are selecting a resting place for the night. In the distant corners of the prairie deer are stepping out of the woods. A shot and the fleet animals disappear, save one which lies on the ground struggling in its death agony. A ham is cut out for supper for the men; the rest is left for the dogs to have their share and fill. By this time it is dark, the cabin door is open, a bright firelight shows the men in conversation, spinning hunting yarns; finally, they retire, lying on the floor wherever they find a soft plank. All is quiet, only the occasional taps of a cow bell give signs of life.
    The night is passing, the morning star is rising, a faint streak of light becomes visible in the eastern horizon, the canyons are shut out from sight by heavy fog, but over us extends the clear sky.
    The fire is rekindled, and the cows are driven to the corral. Breakfast over, Casper attends to the milking, this time without the help of P., who goes with the two L.s, followed by the dogs. On the way the elder L. advises P. not to do the first shooting for he (P.) is young in years and experience, the game is dangerous and if wounded may harm or kill the dogs or even a man. P. don't say much to this proposition; he carries a rifle true and worthy to be the companion of a hunter. P. has clear and sharp eyes and steady nerves. L. only claims the first shot to be entitled to the skin. P.'s mind is fixed to get the first shot if possible.
    The sun is up, the prairie lies before us, millions of drops of dew glisten in the bright light of the glorious sun. The grouse hums his melancholy tune from his high position, the woodpecker hammers industriously against the trees in search of worms, and the sound echoes far and near; here and there sails a buzzard high up in the azure sky.
    There lies the dead cow, but no game in sight; nevertheless, the lion had been there, made a good meal and covered the fresh cutting by scratching grass and rubbish over it.
    As the hunters approached he left in wide springs, whenever he touched the ground the dew is knocked from the grass. The dogs are on the track, and there is no more getting away until the game is treed. Away they go now into the woods, they are getting loud.
    As fast as obstructions will allow them they follow. Before a tall fir stump, perhaps 20 feet high, they stand; the lion must have taken refuge in the hollow at the top.
    One of them picks up sticks and roots to throw into the hollow, while the others watch for the game.
    The dogs are circling, they are off again. The lion had jumped on the stump for a blind, and with a long leap had sprung off; the pursuers are gone over the ridge and were out of hearing.
    The L.'s are ahead of me; shod with moccasins, the briers have cut my feet badly in the chase, so I gave up my chance as lost.
    Meantime the mountain lion had turned; the dogs become louder and louder; the chase comes nearer.
    There, not 100 feet before me, the lion takes the tree. I cannot see the beast; it lies on the other side of the tree trunk, stretched upon a heavy limb.
    L. and son return. They stand no further from the tree than I do, but the animal is hidden by dense foliage. The situation does not seem to please the lion; he begins to become restless; in looking around the tree a part of his eye becomes visible to me--that large eye; what a target to aim at. Up goes my rifle; L. cried, "Don't shoot," but too late. My rifle breaks the silence, a crashing of limbs, and then by heavy fall to the ground. The dogs spring at it, but the lion is dead; the ball had entered eye, passed through the brain and out of the opposite ear. Will you doubt that I was proud of my shot? L. had not much praise for it, for I had acted carelessly. I did not say much, but gave him the skin, measuring 8 feet from the tip of the nose to the tip of the tail. He brightened up and praised my rifle, that was enough for me.
Maximillian Gustavus Pohl, New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, September 8, 1892, page 1


    Our thanks are due M. G. Pohl for some fine watermelons.
"Brevities," New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, August 27, 1896, page 3


Brand the Anarchists.
    MYRTLE POINT, Sept. 20.--(To the Editor.)--The many remarks made in your good paper against anarchists are very timely, and you suggest the only remedy [is] to abolish such people. However, there is one thing not mentioned yet. Any anarchist, any man with such thoughts and expressions, should be not only summarily dealt with in one way or another, but before imposing such sentence, mild or severe, each and every one should be branded with a good-sized letter A, and thereby be known forever.
M. G. POHL.
Oregonian, September 27, 1901, page 10


    M. G. Pohl, formerly of this place, is now an optician in an Oregon town.
"Personal," New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, January 16, 1902, page 3


    The Democrat says that Miss Martha Pohl, daughter of M. G. Pohl, a former resident here, was recently married to a Mr. Masten at Seattle, Wash.
"Personal," New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, March 20, 1902, page 3


    The new law in Optometry compels every optician to secure a state license as approved optometrist, and any traveling optician calling at your house should have such papers; otherwise he is a fake. M. G. Pohl, of Myrtle Point, and B. T. VanDecar have their license recorded in the office of the county, as the law demands.
"Local News," Coquille Herald, September 20, 1905, page 3



Death of Richard Pohl.
    Word has reached here that Richard Pohl, well known in this vicinity and brother of the Myrtle Point oculist M. G. Pohl, died in Berlin, Prussia, on February 3rd. In his last letter to his brother he sent his regards to all his old friends and expressed the wish of seeing them all again. He was one of the pioneers of this county. From 1869 to 1872 he was employed by Col. Lane as amalgamator in the black sand mines. He was 63 years of age and is buried in a private cemetery near Frankfurt by the Oder.
Bandon Recorder, February 28, 1907, page 1


OPTOMETRISTS.
    Wanted--Partner or buyer for a rapidly increasing practice; increasing age, declining health the reason for this change; well-equipped office, full stock of lenses and frames, best and newest of instruments, literature; rent low. Myrtle Point, Or. M. G. Pohl, reg. optometrist.
Oregonian, March 27, 1907, page 15


A TRUE WHALE STORY.
    The following article was mailed to the Times by some old settler too modest to sign his name, yet it is fraught with such interest that the writer may be excused, though it would be well to know his name, since the article is excellent, and also timely:
    Editor Coos Bay Times: In your issue of 5th inst. you reported a whale being stranded near Ten Mile. This reminds me of another such instance in the spring of 1860, at a time when Indians were plenty in the country on the reserve near Empire.
    George Camon at that time had a store in this place; Julius Pohle [sic], a cousin of mine, was his bookkeeper and salesman. To attend to business George had gone to San Francisco and to help my cousin I came there for some time. A short distance below Empire was the village of the Coos Bay Indians. Daily bucks and squaws would come to the store to buy or barter articles. For a number of days a change had come over our red-skinned customers; an uncommon activity prevailed. Canoes crossed and recrossed the bay until at last only a few of the oldest persons were left to take care of the tepees and the few effects not taken away.
    Their doings, being shrouded in some mystery, could not fail to raise the curiosity of the white people. The next day a number of us followed their trail, which headed northward for some distance. At last we found them encamped close to the beach. In the surf lay the carcass of a full-grown whale, a harpoon still fastened in its side.
    No doubt weeks had passed since the monster had come ashore, for the decomposition had much advanced, filling the air with a most obnoxious scent.
    Both sexes had made themselves ready for this slippery job as near to nature; nothing seemed to disturb their feelings or humor.
    "Mustache," the nickname of one of the braves, who had a few long black hairs on his upper lip, of which he was very proud, welcomed us with his "How?" others meeting us with "Clakwian lip?" [Klahowya?] and in a short time we were mixed up with them taking in the sight.
    The young men with ax and knife carved the lubber, while the squaws were used as instruments of transport.
    Small as their stature was they fairly doubled under the weight of the chunks of blubber; other squaws and children cut the larger pieces into smaller lumps which now was thrown upon a long scaffold, the bottom of which was made out of sheet iron, stove pipe or something like this metal.
    Under the highest and widest portion of this machine a bright fire melted the oil of the fat; this flowing down the incline was gathered in vessels of all shapes and forms; many bags made out of the hides of slain game was much preferred.
    Papooses did not delay the labor of their mothers, were lustily sucking on bits of blubber, and not to be in the way of the busy were fastened to boards and leaned against the banks or hung up under the shadow of scrubby pine trees. Some of the big Indians feasted themselves by filling their unshapely bodies with enormous quantities of cracklings, which delicacy they offered to us as hias close skoookum mockainao [muckamuck? "Very good food"], then with oil besmeared and overfilled with fat they lay down to slumber the sleep of the happy, passing time in sweetest repose.
    We returned satisfied with what we saw.
    At the end of the second week rough weather and high tide removed the rest of the carcass.
    The squaws now packing the stores of oil and fat to the bay, crossing it in canoes over and stowed it into empty houses for winter's use, while the braves lay around to reduce their overfilled stomachs.
P.
Coos Bay Times, Marshfield, October 8, 1907, page 4


    The Daily Home News of New Brunswick, N.J. devotes a column to the marriage of Miss May Pohl of that city and Mr. Wm. Henry Thatcher, foreman of the Lotus Press Company of New York. The wedding took place at the home of the bride's mother, Mrs. Mary Francis Pohl, Wednesday, October 10th, and was a very stylish affair with many outside guests present. The bride is the daughter of Dr. M. G. Pohl of this city.--Enterprise.
"Local News," Coquille Herald, October 30, 1907, page 3


    Richard Pohl of New York, son of Max G. Pohl, who lived here a number of years, was in town yesterday. He says his father is well and hearty, living on the coast of Oregon in Coos County. He is now a practicing optician and last summer was fruit inspector for his county.
"Personal," New Jersey Courier, Toms River, New Jersey, February 25, 1909, page 5


    Next week we will begin a publication of a series of articles entitled "Reminiscences of Early Days in Coos County" by M. G. Pohl, one of the pioneer settlers of this county. They will describe very graphically the scenes and situations of early days and will be of great interest to all our readers, both old and new settlers.

Bandon Recorder, April 29, 1909, page 4


Reminiscences
    In the latter part of the year 1858 the United States government had at last rounded up the different tribes of Indians dwelling near the coast and removed them to the reservations. A part of these Indians were sent up to the Umpqua River while another part had been left at Empire City, and thus the hostilities in Coos and Curry counties were ended. The Indians had lost much in every war, as Coos and Curry counties were as near the happy hunting grounds, the Indian's heaven, as could be.
    Clear to the coast grew great forests of [Port] Orford cedar, fir, spruce and yew trees of inspiring sizes. Myrtle, maple and ash covered the low lands. So dense was their foliage that the sunlight was completely shut out and a semi-glow produced. Underneath this gigantic production of nature grew the brake, tall berry bushes, the rhododendron, which is the glory of our flowers, mosses, algae in long beards, tangled from the limbs and trees, only here and there an opening was left to show the bright blue sky. In these places the soil was carpeted with beautiful green grass and gorgeous flowers, such as the camas, the native clover, and a few other varieties, now nearly extinguished.
    Herds of elk, in droves of sixty to one hundred, deer, bear, panther swarmed beneath these green shelters, or climbed to the ridges of the nearby mountains to enjoy the gentle breeze as they lie down to rest.
    Never having heard the report of firearms, they were fearless of the approach of men, and more than once did I stand only a few steps from a full-grown buck, eying me and wondering what sort of an animal I might be. Another time I passed through a large herd of elk, all standing still and looking at me without leaving their positions. Innumerable bear found feed on berries, such as grew there in immense quantities. Many a good story could be told by inhabitants of meeting them. Should you wish to hear one, just ask Adam Pershbaker, who with John Ragsdale was surprised once when sitting on a log under which a bear was hid, by having the animal rush out, running between Ragsdale's legs, he jumping up more frightened than a Comanche Indian, hollered for Pershbaker to shoot, while Pershbaker called back "Shoot yourself," to which the fleeing John answered: "I have no time."
P.
To be continued next week.
Bandon Recorder, May 6, 1909, page 2


Reminiscences
    As the forests here have undergone a wonderful change, so has the Coquille River lost much in romantic beauty. From the mountains to the ocean this river was a perfect mirror, with the clearest of water from its source to the sea.
    There were not many places in the river from the mouth to the Middle Fork or South Fork with less than twenty feet of water. So clear was the water that even to that depth one could see the gravel in the bottom. Innumerable fish enjoyed the cool and quiet-flowing stream. In every bend, ducks could be seen, winter and summer. Among them were the beautiful feathered myrtle duck, the mallard duck, and many other species.
    Farther down the river where the flats were, open grass land, geese in large flocks enjoyed their existence, although always watchful and on their guard, they were not wild and ready to flee.
    Still farther down in the community of where Prosper, Bullards and our own Bandon are now located, the beautiful black swan could be seen, swimming upon the surface of the river. A more beautiful and graceful bird could hardly be found on this continent than the black swan.
    Over the heads of all sailed the bald eagle, of ages and sizes such as we can never again find in the country. 
    Near the ocean, the seal and sea lions, the latter by the thousands, often yelping so loud that they could be heard for miles, here swimming, diving, floating, there resting upon the rocks and cliffs near the shore.
    Very few squatters and settlers had come to stay; some Hudson Bay and Astor trappers had come to find some of the many fine animals, such as the beaver, the otter and others, and carried away many pelts to exchange for gold and gold dust. These people enjoyed their existence according to their own nature; much of their pleasure was found in firewater, gambling and other amusements.
    Rich gold deposits were then found not far above the mouth of the Coquille River near Whiskey Run, then called old Randolph.
    The county at that time had about seventy persons living in it.
P.
To be continued next week.
Bandon Recorder, May 13, 1909, page 2


Reminiscences
    On the 26th day of May, Beaver Slough was left behind, and at this juncture a very sad accident occurred. One of the sons of Henry Shroeder Sr., in climbing over the freight on the scow, lost his balance and fell into the river. Without hesitating, Binger Hermann, then a boy of 15 or 16 years, jumped in and tried to save him. Unfortunately the boy in his struggle pulled Binger under, and only with great efforts could he release the grip and save himself.
    After this, the journey, which had been made lively by all kinds of entertainments, singing and laughing became a sad trip. Nothing of the great changes from city life to the existence among the western forests, with all its beauty and grandeur, was even noticed. Mile after mile the scow was propelled along toward the South Fork, the future home, until on May 29th the travelers arrived at the J. J. Wells place. June 1st the pack train arrived from its journey over the mountains and united with the party again. What changes have been wrought in this country since the landing of the first colony, and established the first settlement. What toil and hardships those people, unaccustomed to the work before them, many even used to a life of luxury and ease. But we all lived harmoniously as friends and neighbors, assisting and encouraging each other. We built log houses, cleared some of the land on which to plant the first vegetables raised here, aided each other in everything and tried to find the enjoyments of life. We visited regularly on Sundays and how hospitable was everyone! Wherever you were the house was opened for you and a welcome given. It is just fifty years ago the first of June since we old people came here and began the settlement of Coos County.
    Where are most of them now? Gone but not forgotten. Allow me to call on all those who are left to take a retrospective view and remember those who have passed over. Not long until we will also be called upon to join them again, and let the memory not die out. Remind the growing generations, your own children, that we all helped to lay the cornerstone of the present and future development of this county. And you, friendly reader, who has followed these reminiscences, you who dwell in comfortable houses in the different towns of Coos County. Build onward, upward, never lack in public spirit, in enterprise, in energy to accomplish the work and make our towns larger and greater with each and every year. There never has been greater opportunities opened for the young and active person than here. A great future lays before us all, and true manhood can accomplish much. With this I close, Farewell.
P.
Bandon Recorder, May 27, 1909, page 2


    M. G. Pohl received a card from Franklin Dye, secretary of the State Board of Agriculture of New Jersey, stating that he, Mr. Dye, would be in Portland August 16 and 17 and that he would be pleased to see Mr. Pohl at that time. These gentlemen are old-time friends, Mr. Pohl having served as a member of the New Jersey Board of Agriculture, himself, many years ago.
"The Talk of the Town,"
Bandon Recorder, July 22, 1909, page 8


"Kill a Friend--He Saves Your Life"
    Editor Recorder--By request of some of your readers, I will give a description of how I got my first white hairs. Nowhere have I found hospitality more freely extended than right here in Coos County. In the early days, however, this virtue existed to a greater extent than it does today, and the traveler was always given a welcome. The latchstring was always on the outside whether there was anybody at home or not, and you were invited to help yourself. Visitors were many after the Baltimore colony had settled down.
    One of the homes where I often paid a visit and stopped overnight was Daniel Pulasky's. Mrs. Pulasky was a very strong medium, and we often passed an hour after supper with what we called "spirit rapping."
    Daniel and myself had just returned from an unsuccessful elk hunt, the Middle Fork was high and from the side of the mountain back of Hoffman's we could see a great many elk on the opposite side, but could not get near them. Naturally I stayed overnight with the intention of calling on Abe Hoffman the next morning, and we three would then go out and kill something.
    That night we wanted to get information by the aid of Betsy's power what luck we would have, so after supper the old chest was pulled in the middle of the floor, we knelt around, placed our hands in proper position and the spirit showed that he was ready to answer, so I asked, "What luck will I have tomorrow?" By counting the number of raps we calculated the letters in the alphabet and thus found the sentence. The answer was: "You kill a friend, he saves your life." At the time we could not understand the meaning, but the story will explain it.
    Daylight found us ready; after crossing the South Fork, Hoffman was called and soon he was ready to go with us. About one mile above on the Middle Fork, we quite unexpectedly met a sentinel, a large buck elk, and the next moment he was gone. I, as the youngest and swiftest, was told to catch up with the band, and if they should take to the hills, to try and turn them toward Sugar Loaf Mountain. Before I left Abe asked me for some caps which I carried in a small pouch on my belt. I gave him some, but in doing so I neglected to fasten the top and then was swift after the game. They had gone about one-half mile upstream and stopped to see whether they were pursued or not. Not more than seeing me they took to a gulch leading upwards to the ridge. I cut them off from going down the other side, and they turned into a heavy thicket of greasewood. When I came to where their trail had crossed the ridge, everything was quiet; not a step could be heard.
    A large tree which had fallen leaned with its top across the ridge and projected many feet above the greasewood bushes, I jumped on it and walked toward the point. Thus elevated above the greasewood I could see what was hidden among it. There a fat cow, just mooing, noticed me, but before she made another step, I had sent a bullet. Just then from some cause I lost my balance, and down I went among the bushes, twenty feet or more. Gathering myself up I found I was not much hurt, so reloaded my rifle, but in falling the caps had been lost, and I could not find one. I made my way slowly up to where the elk had stood; yes, there she lay dead. I was at work cutting, off a hindquarter to take home when the report of several shots seemed to come from the opposite direction. After loading myself with the heavy hindquarter I began my trip, as I thought, towards Hoffman's, but soon found out that I was lost. Coming to a a very steep bluff, undaunted I descended; steeper and steeper became the incline, and only with the greatest effort I reached the Middle Fork below where the school house now stands.
    Meantime the sun had reappeared and thus I found my directions, and slowly following downstream I had just passed a large rock when something snapping behind me prompted me to turn around to see what was the cause of the sound. There, not more than ten steps from me, lay a panther with a bone between his paws. His pulling some meat from the bone caused the noise. I looked steadily into his eyes, while he did the same thing to me. He dropped the bone and rose to his feet, his tail striking first one side then the other. He was ready to jump, and only my fixed eyes held him back. In a moment I had the straps cut and with a thud the meat fell to the ground; slowly I stepped backward, facing the panther, ready to use the knife should he spring. I well remember it forced the thought into my mind: Great God, help me just this time. Still going backwards, each step I made the beast came one step toward me. He had reached the meat and stopped to smell it. The thought then struck me: You walk into the paws of another one behind you; around I turned to see. With this move all else was forgotten. I broke and ran and nothing stopped me.
    Just where the Middle Fork makes that sharp turn was a small myrtle bottom, now cultivated, but then in its virgin state. Here a band of elk stood, and I ran right among them. So fast did I pass that not one had moved.
    Rain and sleet had set in again. The trail became slippery, and the deerskin moccasins which we wore then would stretch and slip, thus increasing the exertion of the flight. A big log lay in my path; I wanted to mount it, but overexertion and the chilling rain gave me cramps and down I fell, unable to rise again for a long time.
    When I reached Hoffman's it was dark and they had already eaten supper. They hardly knew me, covered with mud, and my hair had turned white. Abe and Daniel had also killed an elk, and soon a good piece of meat refreshed me. The next morning we started out and found and killed the panther who had made a meal on the friend I had killed. Thus the friend saved my life.
POHL.
Bandon Recorder, June 16, 1910, page 4


Again Instinct or Reason.
    My experience forms my opinion, and this leans toward the decision of granting to the animals the power of reason and a way of expression to their kind.
    In the summer of 1870 I was prospecting in the Sweetwater Mountains, Wyoming Territory, two miles north of Atlantic City, on the Rock Creek. The Bunky boys, the owners of the Bunky mines, had an "arrastra," the Spanish name for a contrivance to reach gold-bearing quartz. Opposite to this mine was a high towering cliff, the walls of which were perpendicular, and in places were overlapping. The cliff could be approached from one side only, and then with great difficulty.
    Two bald eagles selected one of these shelves as a place to build a nest and rear a brood of young. Many times we watched their flight and their return, loaded with sticks and limbs.
    Finally we noticed only one eagle flying about. After many weeks the two were busy carrying nourishment for the young ones. One day one of the men attempted to take an observation tour and see if he could discover the young brood; but with all his skill in climbing he could not reach the nest by twenty feet, but plainly saw two young eagles. None of the old eagles seemed to be close by, at least they were nowhere to be seen. From that day one eagle was missing; we believed that someone had shot the missing bird. A week or so later all at once he returned and each of the old birds grabbed a young one and emigrated to other parts, where the missing eagle had built a new home. By following the direction of their flight, and by watching the going and coming of the birds, the same man finally discovered the new nest, and in time secured both of the young ones, raising them in a large cage. They would not thrive, and one of them died soon, and then the other one was liberated.
    How can we explain the action of those birds? Was it instinct or reason?
    If only instinct, it is a deplorable fact that many human parents are lacking in this power to protect their children.
POHL.
Bandon Recorder, July 7, 1910, page 4


Looking Backward.
    Time passes quickly, and before we realize it, we become old; vigor, electricity and even the bones of the body refuse to act as in former days. Sad, but it is nature, and we must accept the inevitable, and grin and bear it.
    In my younger years I was full of power, hardy and gifted with an iron constitution. My sole pleasure was excitement, and if possible, some danger. Hunting, trapping, prospecting were my delights, and allowed me to forget my early training which Father, with great experience, had kindly provided for me.
    I was in Colorado when the excitement of the Sweetwater mines was at its height and of course had a desire to be there. South Pass, Atlantic City and Miner's Delight were all spoken of as being full of gold. No wonder the gold fever struck me as well as the rest of the young men. There was only one drawback to these mines. The whole country was full of hostile Indians, and many a brave fellow lost his life by torture and death, which to avoid the golden rule was five balls from your revolver for the Indians, the sixth for yourself.
    The fall of 1869 had been a long and glorious season. No finer weather or purer air could be found in any part of the continent than in this high altitude. Thousands of miners and prospectors had increased the number of inhabitants, and everybody was full of hope to become, sooner or later, the owner of some rich mine.
    In the latter part of November heavy frost set in and by the first days of December, the winter, with all its might, put a stop to prospecting.
    The snow covered the mountains many feet deep. The wind in those elevated regions, 8,000 feet above the sea level, at times would blow in perfect fury, and when the heavy snows would fall it would drift into the ravines and canyons, filling them, in instances to a depth of 40 to 60 feet. But not only the higher portions of the Rocky Mountains had a hard winter, it was also extremely severe in the Wind River Valley, a part of which formed the reservation for the Shoshones and Bannock Indians. These two tribes were our nearest neighbors, and were peaceable. Chief Washakie was a friend to the white men. These tribes numbered about a thousand Indians. The strict and wise laws of this chief prevented all difficulties with the pale faces. One of his measures was to notify the white men whenever his tribes would come into the vicinity or passed through the mining locality. By this order no excitement would be created, and as his men were not allowed to straggle, no trouble arose and no conflict came between them and the white men.
    It was different, however, with the Arapahos; they were intruders and only tolerated by the influence of General Augur, who was then commander of the Platte division.
    The Arapahos under several chiefs, Littleshield, Sorrel Horse and Hole in the Day, had always proven themselves treacherous and more trifling than even the Sioux Indians, who later on were forever ready to raid on the settlements. Woe to the person who fell into their hands as prisoners, for long suffering and the most horrible torture were their lot.
    The principal chief for the Sioux at that time was Redoland. But more than either of those tribes were the Sheepaster band and bands of braves, who for some crime or other among their own people, had to flee, and forming marauding bands under chiefs, chosen by themselves, committed more deeds than can be expressed in writing.
    Without notice, they would appear, generally at the earliest dawn of morning. and rob, steal, kill and scalp, and in less than five minutes were on their flight as fast as their horses would carry them, scattering over the plains, thereby leaving so trails behind them.
    One of the robber chiefs was "Wah-tu-nah," or the Black Bear. He had become a terror to all the pale faces from the Missouri to the Columbia River. In his wake thousands of frontiersmen, emigrants and miners he and his gang had slain, their bones scattered and bleaching in all directions. Such demons as neighbors was our lot.
    Under the mantle of snow, Atlantic City appeared in peace, the stores, were well filled with provisions, so that the inhabitants kept close to the shelter. Now and then small parties of half-starved Indians would visit the town, and in every instance received most hospitable treatment, and never returned to their wigwams without some coffee, flour, sugar and tobacco. These visits were occasionally returned by some white men, going hunting and fishing, but they returned safe and well pleased with the results, and thus fear of those Indians had given way to more trust and hopes of better friendship.
    How little did we understand the nature of the savages.
    March finally came with its Chinook winds; snow and ice yielded to the warm blast of the wind and the rays of the sun. Grass and flowers began to change the color of the landscape. Prospectors, always ready to venture out, would take advantage of the opportunity; some would begin to work in the Strawberry Valley, others went farther to the so-called St. Mary Station. All were hunting for the so-called Hidden Hand lode.
    Washakie had sent his runners to inform us that his tribe would pass northward, consequently when on the morning of April 1st, when a band of Indians appeared in the distance, none of us expected any hostilities. It bad been a bitter cold night, and a little after daybreak young Irwin, a lad of 16 of 17 years, started for the Miner Delight, which was about four miles distant, he being engineer for the hoisting works. I, having a contract of mining shaft and tunnels for the Caribou Mine, at the highest point, near Atlantic City, and about one mile from where Irwin met the Indians. I witnessed a part of the following tragedy without suspecting the danger the young man was in. About a quarter of a mile beyond Atlantic City Irwin met the first Indians, three or four in number. They returned with him about a quarter of a mile to meet about twenty Arapaho warriors. His revolver was wrested from him, and his clothes and boots stripped off. In this condition he started to flee from the enemy, which followed him, shooting arrows and revolver bullets into him. Four arrows had lodged in his lungs, pistol shots had penetrated his limbs. Within a hundred yards of the first house of the town he fainted; the cold morning stopped the flow of the blood. A woman going for a bucket of water discovered him and gave the alarm. Knowing the danger a number of other men were in, scouting parties were sent in different directions, reinforcements from neighboring mines and from South Pass arrived and soon a small army followed the track of the Indians. The afternoon passed; by evening the first party returned bearing the bodies of two more victims who had been fastened to the frozen soil by having their picks driven through their chests, and afterward horribly mutilated. A few days later the last party returned from St. Mary's Station with three more victims.
    Returning to young Irwin, his father, Dr. Irwin, of Atlantic City, had been called. Meeting his only son in this condition completely unnerved him and another doctor was called. The strongest men, hardened by many bloody affrays, at sight of the agonies this youth underwent, when the arrows were being extracted, had to turn their eyes from the scene. At last the arrows were removed, the young man whispered "Mother,'' and died. On the 5th of April, 1870, the bodies were buried. This burial would afford the subject for another story if desired by the readers. On the 6th of April a body of 160 volunteers started out to avenge the crime.
POHL.
Bandon Recorder, September 1, 1910, page 3


On the Warpath.
    At the time these occurrences happened, Wyoming was still a territory. Its inhabitants were a mixture of all kinds of humanity, character and color. Life was an uncertainty, much more so than now. Indian riots were a common occurrence; bad men, desperadoes, took a pride in flourishing their revolvers at the least opportunity. The man who could use his weapon the quickest and with the most accuracy was the best man.
    The only law in existence was the miner's law. There was not much disputing about such orders, given by a number of miners in their district. Red tape was an unknown affair--the miners having ordered a thing it was obeyed or the consequence followed at once.
    Young Irwin, whose sad death I spoke about in my last, was buried. Five more bodies were laid out to be brought to their last resting place. The town resembled a hive of bees just ready to swarm, each of the men carrying a rifle and a revolver, all centering toward the building from where the burial should start.
    At this moment, as if Providence had arranged it, the United States paymaster came through Atlantic City on his way to Fort Brown, on the Wind River, to pay the soldiers. He carried a good sum of money in the carriage pulled by four large mules, and guarded by eight picked cavalrymen. By whom, we do not know, the order was given to stop there to examine the bodies and report to the War Department.
    In a moment the coach was surrounded and stopped by hundreds of men, all armed and in a bad humor. At first the officer ordered to clear the road or he would force it, but one of the miners politely told him not to be rash and assured him that no harm should be done to anyone. All we asked was for him to see the murdered men and get protection for American citizens.
    Against his will, the officer left the money in charge of his men and a picked citizen guard, taken from the mountaineers, made some remarks, and was finally conducted to his coach and with best wishes was allowed to pass on.
    The officer was a man of his word. He reported, and an army of twelve men under Lieutenant Stambaugh. a nephew of General Sheridan, was sent to check the red men.
    Like all such youngsters, swelled with bravado and foolish ideas, he wanted to impress the miners with his ability, but lo! the Arapahos one fine morning made him travel the same road as the unfortunate miners had gone before him. His
mutilated body was sent to Washington, D.C. This last murder had a wholesome effect, and not long afterward, Major Gordon was sent with several companies of soldiers. He was the Indian fighter of the hour. More of him later.
    We return to our dead friends--the funeral over, 160 men, all volunteers, well armed and equipped, two wagons with necessary supplies and two fat steers presented by the butcher of the town, made camp outside the town.
    Next morning everything was ready to start, and we were on our way very early.
    Wells, Fargo & Co. express, which more than once had received help from the miners, furnished a number of horses, so that more than 60 of our number were on horseback--the balance were as the red men call the infantry of the army, "the walk-heaps."
    Up and down through long rough canyons we moved all day. It was exceptionally hot in such places, but when evening came the temperature changed. Our day's march was over, fires were kindled in the different camps and hungry, well-worn men prepared their long-needed meal, after which many had to lie down so as to get rest for the following day. Guards had been stationed, when to our surprise two Indians on their ponies, in full war dress, or rather undress, rode into camp.
    One of them was well knows to us, Bannock Jim, the U.S. interpreter. Only shortly before Wah-tu-nah had killed Jim's wife and the latter found our coming a good chance to revenge her death. His proposition to guide us to a place where we could trap a number of Sioux was readily accepted--then a short rest and sleep refreshed us for the next day.
    At 2:00 next morning we were aroused. No time to cook breakfast; a few morsels from the last night's supper were placed into the pockets to eat while we were on the move. For hours we wound our march through a rough country, when a wider space crossed our road, signs of herds of buffalo showed these animals had been there but a short time before; on the other side deep bluffs with plateaus arose. There we halted and allowed our horses to graze on the bunchgrass, which grew in abundance. Our scouts, the Indians, left us, leaving their mounts with our horses. After a while they returned and we divided into two sections, each led by one of the scouts. Again traveling between high walls of great hills, but gradually leaving the sagebrush land until we reached the plateau. Here we were presented with an exciting spectacle. A large number of Indians were slaughtering a band of buffalo--right and left the huge bison fell to the ground. All stopped at once when the hunters saw us enter the level ground which they had passed but a short time before, not thinking of pale faces, but of the great feast they were to have when the last buffalo was killed. Wah-tu-nah himself was there. He singled out from among his followers, and alone came straight toward the approaching white men. Bannock Jim also rode ahead to meet his enemy, and before anything was expected Jim raised his pistol, a flash, a report, and the other fell from his horse. The same moment Jim jumped from his horse and with a knife in his hand made a few quick cuts and the bloody scalp of Wah-tu-nah waved over his head. A war whoop was sounded by him and answered by the Sioux and the fight was on. Hundreds of arrows fell short of their aim, while volley after volley of gunshots reduced the number of the red men.
    At last all Sioux seemed to be out of sight, their horses flying in all directions. Only an old squaw escaped the shots of the avengers--straight for the steep bluff she made her way, and with a yell, over the precipice she and her horse disappeared.
    As soon as the fight began, Wah-tu-nah's squaw had thrown her baby to the ground and with her own body over it protected the child; thus she was found by the Bannocks, who claimed her as a prize. Our leaders, knowing that only the cruelest of torture would end the life of both the prisoners, refused to let such happen. She was fastened to one of the many ponies captured and taken along with us. Twenty-eight dead Indians was the result of the fight.
    Now began the chase alter the old squaw, who was far ahead of us to carry the news to her tribe. Perhaps an hour or perhaps less we had followed her, when way in the distance we saw an Indian village. Beyond it the inhabitants drove their horses in, and as fast as possible mounted and rode off, scattering in different directions. When we arrived at the village, all had gone--then the tepees were broke down, hundreds of buffalo robes, some finished and some partly finished, and a large quantity of jerked meat, bundles of arrows, blankets and tools were thrown together and fire was set to them. This done, we returned to meet the "walk-heaps." It was late at night when we found them close to the banks of Wind River. They only had arrived there long enough before to start fires and cook a hasty meal, but were so exhausted that many had fallen asleep.
    Again it was our Indian scouts which saved us--this time from destruction. The still burning campfires had directed the hostile to our camp. Perhaps it was midnight when they attacked us. Awaken an exhausted man out of his first sleep by yelling, war whoops, shooting rifles and screaming, and you may have a picture of the consternation that ruled us for a moment. Then the cool-headed command of "fires out" at once brought us back to action. The night being dark, there was grave danger lest one white man should shoot another, so four or five of my friends, including myself, slipped through the tall grass towards the river bank. By this time all was quiet again and we took our second sleep until daybreak awoke us.
--Pohl.
Bandon Recorder, September 29, 1910, page 4


Looking Backward.
    The morning broke with a clear and beautiful sunrise, in all directions small fires burned, the smoke curled up in the crisp air, men were busy finishing their breakfast which was not as great a repast as was expected. Our two steers had broken the ropes with which they had been tied the night before and had run away, and were probably caught and killed by the enemy, who, no doubt, had a great feast on them.
    Our horses saddled, we started off to find more work. We had not ridden many miles until we entered a beautiful valley, through the center of which a small tributary to the Wind River wound its way. Both sides of its banks were overgrown with tall willow bushes; beyond on a flat grazed a horse apparently alone. Having some fine rifles with us, a shot was fired, and the first one brought out an Indian hidden behind the horse. A few more shots and the horse fell while its rider made double quick over a ridge. Understanding the treacherous nature of the Indians, we sent several men on foot to inspect the willows; in a short time shots were heard, and as we approached, twenty Indians who were hidden on the other side retreated. We also discovered that the willows had been fastened together in different places so as to prevent any of the whites from passing and repassing in a direct line, and in other places those willows formed regular traps.
    We soon found that our horses, being sore and stiffened from overwork, could not keep up to the fresh horses of the Indians, so we took a stand to watch the Indians riding around us in semicircles and then breaking away as if coaxing us to come on.
    Just by chance one of our party shot at them and hit one of the Indians, who leaned over the neck of his horse, and finally fell. The Indians, not willing to lose any more of their men without injuring us, left us and we returned to our camp.
    Having but short rations and not a great deal of meat, we concluded to return toward the Sweetwater.
    Some of our men having lived among the Sioux Indians understood their language, and we offered the captured woman a chance to go to her tribe, but she refused, saying that she would be captured by the Bannocks or Shoshones if she would go now, but she would let us know when she could risk it. After traveling many miles she asked to be set free with her baby. Another horse was given her, upon which was put blankets, provisions, and other needed things were packed away. She had not gone more than two or three yards when she gave a peculiar call and before we knew it a number of the captured Indian ponies broke away and followed her with such speed that it was impossible to think of a recapture.
    Later on we learned that she met her tribe again near Fort Fetterman.
--POHL.
Bandon Recorder, October 14, 1910, page 1


Looking Backward.
    A HOT TIME.--The month of May had passed, the weather in those high altitudes was delightful and exhilarating, the snow had melted and filled the creeks with water, antelopes and deer were feeding in sagebrush districts and foothills of the Rocky Mountains; the sage hens by thousands were laying their eggs. All this could not help but arouse the instinct for sport in the strong young man. Meat was not plentiful in the market, and prices were high. What did it matter if there was some danger of becoming the hunted instead of the hunter? We wanted an outing and consequently four of us miners concluded to have a good time and bring home a load of meat and sell what we did not need for ourselves. While finishing the preparations for the undertaking, Washakie and his followers, the Shoshones and Bannocks, more than one thousand strong, had passed through Atlantic City and South Pass for their summer quarters, and the following day, all being ready, we four, with an able team of horses and light wagon, followed the trail of the Indians.
    Coming to the Little Sandy just where its waters tumbled and shot over rapids and boulders, we made the first camp. Fishing lines were used, but the water was still too cold for trout to take readily to the bait, but this did not matter; everywhere were nests full of eggs of sage hens and grouse, so we could easily get all we wanted to eat.
    The next morning we left the team feeding on the luxurious bunchgrass and two went hunting on the plains while myself and friend Albert climbed up into the mountains.
    Not a half mile from camp elk trail were fresh, so we followed but never could get a sight of them; finally we struck a flat, marshy piece of land, sparingly overgrown with alder and wild plums. In the soft soil we soon found the course of those elk, but could get no sight of them. Here we also saw four distinct tracks of grizzly bear, two old ones and two yearling cubs. It was a rather unexpected discovery, but what could spur us on more than the expectation of some trophy of the most feared and savage animal found in the United States?
    True, we looked for a safe position: a good-sized tree, a thing the grizzly will not and cannot climb, placed us so that we could see all around and do our shooting without being in reach of the game. We became hungry and would have turned back for camp, but every now and then the expected game could be heard splashing and grunting.
    The sun, too, was sinking in the west, and thus all return was cut off. A night in the cold mountain air, more than hungry, sitting on limbs of the tree, became finally unpleasant, but had to be endured. The night passed and daylight broke; our companions, fearing that something might have happened to us, followed our trail; we heard them coming, and called, perhaps louder than was necessary, but it was safer for all of us to be together. The bears had left and we were released from our uncomfortable quarters. A good breakfast of eggs and antelope gave us new strength and activity. We hitched up, not needing grizzly at present, and followed the course of the Little Sandy. We had not traveled very far when two antelopes were shot, and before evening came six of those fine animals lay in the wagon.
    We began to think of returning home, but matters came differently than we expected. Without claiming merit for forethought, we struck our night's camp next to the water of the stream. All around us a wide bottom, full of the tallest broom grass, under which young grass had sprouted and gave a fat pasture for the horses.
    After a good sound sleep we were awake by daylight, and while the others became busy getting breakfast and preparing for the homeward trip, I was to bring in the horses, which were grazing halfway between the camp and the bluff.
    I had removed the hobbles and had fastened the line to one horse when one of the companions cried out--"Indians! Look out!" and sure enough, right on the edge of bluff were a line of Arapahos, opening fire upon me. Quick as a flash I slipped under one of the horses, and thus protected by the animal from being shot managed to come to the second horse, and thus between the horses for protection, camp was reached. To leave a strategic place such as we were in would have been the height of foolishness, so we concluded to stay. Yes, we stayed because we could not get away without being greatly outnumbered by the Indians. The first day passed without any happenings; at night sleep was impossible for fear of being attacked; this night, too, passed, and the second day broke, warm and clear. Thousands of flies swarmed around our game, which was fast beginning to spoil.
    Another night came and passed; two of us stood guard for an hour while the others slept. Thus we changed about, being unmolested, and excepting the one day no Indians had shown up. There was a game to be played; were we green enough to fall into the trap? Hardly! One of our number was a powerful young man, rather reckless, and perhaps rude, but he did the work well. He committed an act which, among the Indians, is one of the greatest insults. With it, we raised a war whoop loud enough to be heard a mile or more. That was too much for our enemy, lying hid behind the sagebrush upon the banks of the bluff watching for us. Up they jumped and began firing, and we were not slow in answering.
    Not long until all was quiet again, but look, up there, see below, large bodies of smoke rose up into the air; they were burning us out, it was h---1 to come! The dead broom straw burned greedily, and sent large sheets of fire and smoke up into the air. Without waiting a moment, all four of us with hunting knives began to cut the grass beneath the wagon and around the camp and to set backfire. Then we led one horse next to the bank of the Sandy, threw our weight against it and down it went the steep bank into the water about five feet deep; the second horse being dispatched the same way, we grabbed the blankets, hid the rifles, ammunition and revolvers under the bank, and down we went; quickly the blankets were drawn over the horses' heads, water splashed on them, and underneath we awaited our doom. There was a roaring and cracking, a heat and a sharp choking smoke, but we held out; our backfire had done its work, burning a large circle around us, and when the two fires met, it was a fight between two giants. The flames shot up into the air more than fifty feet, and down they came; they passed us on both sides and nothing but cinders, coals and ashes, with smoke here and there remained. The district had been cleared of its vegetation.
    This day and the next we waited for further developments; we had fed our last flour to the horses, the meat was spoiled, but fortunately the trout began to bite and we pulled up some nice fellows; a good bed of coals served as a stove, the fish rolled in wet hay and placed in the ashes were cooked to perfection; the hay burned hard and was taken off and the scales and skin stuck to it, thus uncovering the most delicious white meat, which served to satisfy our hunger. However, all feed for the team was gone. Something had to be done, and the first thing was to find whether or not we were still besieged; so two of us went to scout the bluffs; some time passed when the first one returned with two blankets bespattered with blood, in one of them a bullet hole; then the other one returned: no Indians in sight. Now it was the turn for the two others to see what they could find; one went downstream, the other upstream. The one from below returned with encouraging news, as this was the outlet for the overland route; then the last one returned. "They are gone," he said. They had crossed the stream a mile or two above; they had horses with poles fastened to the saddles upon which they carried their wounded comrades.
    We struck out in a hurry.
--POHL.
Bandon Recorder, October 21, 1910, pages 2-4


Looking Backward.
    Major Gordon.--Not long after the mutilated remains of Lieutenant Spambaugh had been sent to Washington, the War Department did for one of the upper class what they had neglected to do for many visitors of the common people. Two full companies under the command of Major Gordon were ordered to the Sweetwater. They came quite unexpected; no one knew that they were coming. About half a mile east of Atlantic City, Wyo., they made their first camp in one of the small valleys through which abundant water flowed.
    Major Gordon understood the nature of the red warriors, and strict orders were given that no horse signals should be given, no guns discharged, no noise be made.
    At the close of the day all horses were fastened in long lines and very closely guarded by the sentinels. The night passed on. In the night a larger valley, the strawberry valley, much gold had been moved, owing to the dangerous locality. The most of the claim holders lived in Atlantic City, only three of them working a claim, which was a good-paying one. They had erected an adobe house with three rooms, one of which was used for a kitchen and bedroom; in the middle room they placed at night an old mule and the other room was a store room. In each room was a small window, four inches by twelve inches, through which in time of need observations could be made and the same holes could be used as port holes in case of an attack.
    The same night the soldiers arrived a large party of Indians had contemplated a raid on Atlantic City and their trail passed the last-named house. It was about three o'clock in the morning; the night had been cool, and a heavy fog had settled in every valley. All at once the mule began to bray, and outside the cabin horses could be heard approaching. The three men awoke, left their bed and each posted himself at one of the port holes awaiting the attack.
    More than an hour had passed, but it was possible that the Indians were there yet, as the mule kept on braying and no sounds had been heard to indicate that the body of Indians had moved on. The three men, knowing that in case of an attack they could not resist, owing to the one side which could not be defended, held a consultation and agreed that one of the three should mount the mule and make a dash for help. Straws were drawn; the one holding the shortest straw had to mount the mule, the door was opened, and with clubs beating the mule to get him to speed up, and with several godspeeds, man and animal rushed down the line. The Indians at once gave pursuit, and soon overtook the mule and rider, and for sport they pricked rider and mule with long sharp pointed sticks. Over the top of the first ridge they came and sped on down into the valley. The fog still covered the camp of the soldiers, but the clattering of many fast-running horses, the call for help by the pursued miner, awoke the soldiers before the sentinels were called out by the corporal of the guard.
    Major Gordon was posted on such night attacks, and before the chase had fully reached the camp, he ordered his men to mount and charge. Without saddling their horses, some half clothed, others with one shoe on or barefooted, some with saber and pistol or carbine, mounted their excited horses and a charge it was!
    The Indians, taken completely by surprise, stopped and fled in every direction, but they vastly outnumbered the soldiers, who were after them in grand style.
    Months after this noted daybreak, bones and skeletons of men and horses could be found, here or there an old gun or bow and arrow were picked up by prospectors. None of the soldiers were hurt; one after the other they returned, all tired out.
    It gave our neighbors an extremely good lesson, and for months no attack was made. Major Gordon was the man for the hour. Years afterward he had advanced to the rank of general in the United States army. He had earned his shoulder straps and star.
--POHL.
Bandon Recorder, October 28, 1910, page 2


Looking Backward.
(Continued from Tuesday's issue.)
    To reach our destination, the Sweetwater, a stretch of 28 miles, became a difficult task. The oftener we rested the more we weakened, but at last the sun sank lower. Curlews, night birds, soared in large numbers through the air hunting their feed and calling their mournful monosyllables. Owls, which, during the daytime occupy the prairie dog's holes, rose and flew around us searching to find what we were after in such a desolate country; onward we dragged the weary body. The moon rose, and still no water. At last we reached a bluff and below was the river, the bank overgrown with bushes. Step back, boys! There is smoke rising over those bushes. Is it Indians or white men who camp there? For quite a distance we followed the bluff, then a gulch led down to the river. O what a relic to find this fluid! But now it was necessary to find out who our neighbors were; equipped only with rifle and pistol, crawling and sneaking among the thicket, I wound my way upstream. Coming near to the light, I found three men, who, by the sound of their voices, I knew were white. I called. Up went the pistols in my direction; again I called and my voice was recognized by the party, which also had come from Atlantic City. They were living high. A fat antelope had been shot and baked. Well, to be brief, we all went back to where my comrades were resting; our loads were carried by the others, and soon we had a meal sufficient to satisfy anybody as hungry as we were.
    What a hearty welcome we received. Now we were six friends instead of three. Such friends, dear reader, as you only find where danger lurks around you, from behind every boulder, every bush or tree or stream.
    For a long time we talked, smoked, and feasted on the juicy meat of nice roasted antelope, and drinking the pure, fresh water from the stream. It was a great feast after the hard trip we all had experienced. At last we sank to sleep and after a good night's rest we awoke much refreshed. But what was next to be done? So far we had no sign of any discovery of a rich find. Which way should we go or turn?
    Not far from where we were camped was the emigrant road, a much traveled highway in the former years, but the railroads have taken away the use of these thoroughfares. At the crossing of the Sweetwater used to stand an adobe house; it had its history, a tavern, a place where the vilest of rum and whiskey were sold at high prices and gambling for stakes, which meant life or death of the gamblers or visitors, a place where morals had been an unknown quantity. Many men had been laid low and buried, and now all was silent and uninhabited. The last proprietors had been sent to the beyond by the red men. Here we had to cross the well-worn road; each step made by us would have been a telltale to the trail-finding Indians. We had a plan to mislead them, so we spread blankets in our path, then backward we crossed, stepping into each other's tracks as much as possible. When all had crossed, the blankets were taken up but not dusted and cleaned, for such would have exposed us sure to the eagle eye of the enemy.
    We then climbed the bluff to get a view of what was around us, when in a certain direction our eyes detected a small herd of bisons on the flight. As to the pursuers we could not tell, so we again made our way down into the sheltered parts of the river bottom. We had not traveled far, when something was seen coming around the bluff--it was persons! We, too, were seen by them, yes, they were white men. We drew long fresh breaths, and went to meet another lot of prospectors who had killed a young bison; now we need not care, we found rest. All precautions were taken in the way of sending out sentinels, sufficient in number, while the rest ate, slept, and examined the soil and rocks of river and creeks.
    We worked for a full week up and down the stream; we had minor accidents, but gold we did not find; then we returned. A number of Indians had watched us, but they were afraid to attack, so we finally went home, a well worn-out set of men.
POHL
Bandon Recorder, November 4, 1910, page 2


Looking Backward.
LYNCH LAW.
    Strange what a fascination discoveries of new gold fields produces upon mankind. Any reasonable or unreasonable story is accepted without the least doubt. Men with brains and men without brains strive to go there, cast off positions, homes, forget wife and children or parents to get rich quick, and most of them return poorer than ever, broken in health, while others die, some a natural death and some at the hands of parties which once they called friends. But even after all these experiences, they are still so filled with the spirit of excitement that they could not resist any more than the professional gambler, or the thief will give up his hazardous way. Such a man, or some of them.
    Among such people flocking to the Sweetwater mines was an Englishman. He sold his property, bought team, wagon and outfit and drove as best he could, bringing wife and two children with him. On the road, far away from any settlement, it happened that he wanted to camp at a certain place overnight; two negroes, a man and a woman, were camping near the same place. After supper, the latter named persons made a visit to the new arrivals. There were yarns spun and stories told of the rich mines awaiting them in the mountains, and a feeling of companionship caused them to travel together. The negroes assisted the family whenever they could--the Englishman allowed them to ride and hauled their tools, blankets and provisions without charge. At last they arrived in Atlantic City. It being early in the day the English family bought some provisions and drove outside of town to locate for some time. Camp being made, the man and wife returned to town to get such information as they could about conditions in the locality, leaving their children in care of the colored people, who willingly accepted the charge. Stowed away among the different articles in the wagon was a capital of six thousand dollars in gold--the negroes, suspecting that money was in the wagon, ransacked the goods and found the money. When the owner and wife returned the children slept peacefully on the blankets, but the negroes were nowhere to be found.
    Suspecting something wrong, the man looked for the money. It was gone. Back to town he hastened to report his loss to some of the miners. A miner's meeting was called at once with the result that early next morning everyone decided to turn out and search for the negroes and bring them back if found. Meantime the negroes had traveled for miles, then they divided the spoils, each getting two thousand dollars. Finally they laid down to sleep. The woman, however, was not satisfied with the division; she arose in the night, appropriated the money of one of the party, called the other and the two struck out, leaving their friend behind.
    The next morning he found that his money was gone and he returned to turn state's evidence and thereby, if possible, escape punishment. It seems that this particular colored lady was brighter than her companion and by pure persuasive powers she gained possession of all the money and hid it among the rocks, so that in case they were caught the blame would all be thrown upon the fellow whom she had robbed out of his share. Then they went on so as not to be found in the neighborhood of their cache.
    A party of miners, meeting the first negro, listened to his story, then they compelled him to go with them and show them where it had all happened. Then they found the trail of the other two and finally found them apparently prospecting. All were made prisoners and brought to town. It being late in the day the prisoners were placed in a log cabin, fastened and guarded, to await trial the next day. Such trials are out of the general routine of the frontiersman, and everybody turned out. A large circle was formed and in the center were the prisoners and the family of the Englishman. A judge was elected by acclamation and he appointed twelve jurymen and the trial began. The complaint was made under oath. The first negro captured tells his story; then the second one, being of a nervous disposition, makes his statement declaring the woman to be the only one knowing where the money was hidden. The woman was called up and she had nerve enough and some to spare. She denied everything, accusing the two men of stealing and knowing where to find the money. In this dilemma something must be done to sift out the truth. Ropes were brought and application of the end of one of the ropes upon the backs of the men brought out nothing new, then the woman is taken in hand. Again she swears by everything, and something else, that the men tell lies. Finally one loud voice in the crowd calls out, "Hang her." A telegraph pole is handy, the lasso drawn over her head, the line drawn over the arm of the pole and "hoist it'' was called. Up she goes--her feet began to dance and kick. "Let her down'' is the order. After a few moments she swears by the Eternal that she knows nothing. Up she goes again. The strain on her neck begins to cut through the skin and some blood is flowing. Again she is lowered. This time a doctor, who is among the spectators, had to be called to bring her out of her unconscious state. The judge reasons with her that the next time would be the last, but she still holds out, but when the word "hoist" is given she sings out, "Hold on, gentlemen, I goes with you to find the money." Judge and jury accompany her and redeem the full amount stolen. Then the Englishman is reimbursed, minus a bill to treat the whole town, amounting to several hundred dollars, and the culprits are commanded to leave at once and not be seen in those parts again. They skipped in a hurry. The first we heard of them was when they arrived at Fort Brown, Wy., and the post doctor had to try his skill on a very sore neck.
--Pohl.
Bandon Recorder, November 15, 1910, page 2


Looking Backward.
REDCLOUD.
    Slowly--very slowly--over the desert moved a good-sized train of emigrant wagons. Only here and there was a dwarf sagebrush to show that vegetation still existed in a temperature nearly 110 degrees. Clouds of alkali dust covered the suffering draft animals, covered and filled the wagons, and worst of all, no water since the preceding day, no sign of any to be found nearby. Far in the west, gray mountains appearing more like clouds than anything else. There! there! was water and grass for the animals. Will, or can, they hold out until it is reached. Heavier and oftener the whips came down upon the poor beasts and more than once was left behind, not able to make another step. How the coyotes grinned and yelped--another feast for them and death and relief from suffering for the faithful animal which had worked for its master as long as its strength lasted.
    The sun began to sink, and with it the appearance of the mountains changed to grotesque forms or mocked the traveler by its delusions; here a lake of water brought hopes of relief, but mile after mile traveled to reach it, it disappeared at once. Perhaps a little owl would hoo-hoo and then fly away when strange men drew near. At last the wagon boss, who had ridden many miles ahead to locate camp, returned, waving his hat and bringing life to the drivers and with it hopes in the hearts of all the emigrants.
    Still, they plodded on for a long time after dark. The animals, scenting water too, became more active, until finally camp was reached with plenty of water and grass.
    Men, women and children, horses, oxen and dogs--how they plunged into the refreshing element to fill up with this priceless liquid--to roll in and wash that itching salt and alkali away. Others started fires to prepare a meal that had been denied them for thirty hours. Laughter and song and frolicking remarks took possession of those who so long had to suffer the pangs of heat and thirst.
    All were asleep, the animals had lain down to rest, even the guards sitting in the grass took naps--no danger tonight--nowhere had an Indian been seen.
    Overhead a dark blue sky bedecked with thousands of blinking stars and the refreshing cool of the night,; who would disturb this scene of perfect peace?
    It was near daybreak when the tramping of fast fleeing animals awoke the camp. Indians! They had sneaked up, stampeded our horses and were gone with their booty.
    Only a few of the strongest men followed on foot, in hopes to regain some of the animals, but in vain; one after another returned and increased the distress of the party. Only one was missing, a young, powerful man. He would never give up until he had found his team and recaptured it.
    No privation was too great; as long as he had his gun and ammunition he could kill something to sustain life, his feet! Yes, they gave him more trouble than anything else, he needed rest, he fell asleep, soundly he rested. Not far from him out of a gulch, a black-haired head became visible, then the man, an Indian, sneaked up and secured the rifles, then with a yell, he awoke the sleeper, a number of warriors of the tribe came running up, captured and bound the man before he had time to take in the situation.
POHL
(To be continued Tuesday)
Bandon Recorder, November 25, 1910, page 2


Looking Backward.
CLEANED OUT.
    The conditions on the Sweetwater mines became more serious after the troops had left, on account of Indian raiders. Hundreds of people left and of a once well-populated city of 3,000 to 4,000 inhabitants there was not a thousand left. Even in the winter, which is extremely cold in those high altitudes, every now and then some white people were tortured and killed. Out of nine men in our company, only four, including myself, were left to tell the tale.
    It was necessary at night, with the thermometer often twenty or thirty degrees below zero, for us to sleep outside, with our horses among the rocks, so as to not be found by our enemies, and there besides the cold we were surrounded by many gray wolves. Was it worth while to defend our valuable mines with the prospects before us.
    As has been said there were but five of our company left, including myself. Two of the other four made a break by going back to what we called the United States. The other two had to go away, and thus it came about that I boarded the Green River stage and from there I went to White Pine, Nevada. Here I met my brother, Richard, who was also well known on the Coquille River by early settlers. Of this trip I will perhaps give the readers some facts later on.
    After staying at White Pine a few days we came to the conclusion that we would come back to Coos County. It may have its faults, but nowhere can so many good qualities be found than in this country--my first love--my last.
    We stopped at the boarding house kept by Mr. and Mrs. L. Heller, and it was but a day or two when Heller and his wife became interested and decided to join our party.
    With four horses, a wagon and an extra animal to ride, we started. Heller had one small boy--many of our readers may know him, Mr. Charles Heller, one of the good citizens of Cherry Creek, Coos County.
    The trip to Winnemucca was of but little interest. We arrived in the town in the afternoon; made camp close to Main Street and west of the buildings. While visiting the town I was approached by a small man, who was lame, hunting for someone to drive a twelve-mule team with three wagons coupled together. "Young man," he said, "I will pay you well; in two weeks you can return and follow your friends."
    The next morning found me installed in the saddle of the rear wheelhorse, driving with jerk line, and the brake strap was over my shoulder. It was no joke to drive this team over to Paradise Valley; fine white sand which gave no resistance to the wheels; in the worst places the track was covered with sagebrush. At three o'clock in the morning I arose and my task was to feed, curry and harness twelve large mules, then prepare my own scant meal, consisting of coffee, bacon and chip crackers. This consumed and mules hitched up, the next ten or twelve hours on a burning hot sand, with the sun upon my shoulders. It felt sometimes like purgatory or even worse. However I made the trip and brought in my load to the satisfaction of my employer. Three double eagles were handed to me for my twelve days' service. Before starting on my trip I had left some gold dust, my surplus clothing, an excellent rifle and some other matter in a shed attached to one of the business houses in town. With money in my pocket I concluded to stay until morning. It was about 5 p.m. when the fire broke out in one of the stores. A strong wind fanned the flames, which consumed the buildings one after another and then crossed the street. All we could do was to save as much goods as possible.
    As soon as the building in which I had stowed away my sole belongings began to burn, I ran into it, now a mass of flames. The fire drove me back and before I reached the outside my hat and clothes were on fire and consumed, leaving only here and there some blisters, rather painful. Some of the citizens were generous enough to furnish me more clothing and some salve for my wounds. I retired into the bushes ornamenting the banks of the Humboldt River and fell asleep.

POHL
Bandon Recorder, December 2, 1910, page 2


Looking Backward.
BLACK ROCK DESERT.
    When I awoke the next morning a rather lonely feeling crept over me, sore, full of pain, it made me think of my former companions on this trip. Where were they now? A stretch of five hundred miles lay before me between my present location and my destination, the Coquille River.
    There was no use to philosophize--this meant action without fear of what might follow. I was firm in my resolution to face the circumstances and do the best I could.
    Once more I went to the ruins in which I had lost all, searching in the ashes. By good luck I found a part of the gold dust melted into lumps, the rest was lost.
    Purchasing an old pack mule and saddle, a necessary rifle and revolver and provisions and blankets for the trip, loading the animal, I shook the dust off and out I ventured.
    The Humboldt River is about the size of the south fork of the Coquille, and as many of the readers may know, it has a peculiarity worthy of mention. At Humboldt Sinks, the river ends mysteriously by sinking into the ground, never to rise again. No doubt during some former earthquake, large fissures were created in the lower stratification, into and through which the river sinks into the bowels of the earth.
    Mill City lay behind me when my trail turned northward into the desert.
    Late in the evening of the second day I came to Antelope Springs. It was a dreary camp, but little water and no feed whatever for the mule. Before me lay a stretch of twenty-eight miles of sandy plains, cut out by ravines, but nowhere a drop of water. Near sunset a great mirage formed, changing every moment, first mountains, upside down, then rivers with green bushes appeared and were gone silently as the came. It was night when I reached Rabbit Springs. Darkness prevented me from finding the water for which we were both in great need. Fortunately a small quantity of straw lay there on which the hungry beast could still the pangs of forty-eight hours' fast. During the night, the moon arose; this and thirst awoke me, and by moonlight I found the spring.
    Again more than twenty miles of desert lay before me, covered with miles of alkali crystals, so purely white that the reflection of the sun, striking the eyes, was extremely painful; the heat, too, was nearly unbearable. At three p.m. I reached the Black Rock, a formation of basalt, nearly black in color; beyond it stretched the desert, not a spur of vegetation, not a drop of water on this desert can be found. Its length north and south is one hundred and fifty miles, the width from ten to fifteen miles. Before entering this sand basin, a hot spring of nearly boiling water leaves the basalt rock; it is so warm that meat can be boiled in it. By following the small stream half of a mile, the water had cooled enough to be used for drinking purposes. The sun nearly roasting us caused me to stop and rest. With the blankets I formed a tent and under it, myself and animal found some shade and relief. Next to the water was some grass, which, after the sun was sinking in the western horizon, furnished the mule with feed for the coming march. For myself, I had the good luck to see a sand heron, which was shot and made me a good supper.
    Although it was sunset, it was still scorching hot, the whole atmosphere was in flickering motion, the night approached, one star after the other bedecked the clear blue sky, and now the North Star made its appearance; this my guiding star for the coming journey, this the only stationary star in the Northern Hemisphere, the direction I had to follow.
    In a line with the North Star are two others, known as the pointers, a part of the seven stars called the "Great Bear."  All the stars rotate around the North Star, and by observing the positions in which these constellations are at a certain hour, it becomes an easy matter to calculate correctly the time of night. When I left the resting place, the pointers and North Star formed a horizontal line; it was then about 8 o'clock p.m. The distance across the desert was fifteen miles; the pointers now stood within a few degrees of perpendicular with the North Star; consequently I had traveled five hours. it was near 1:00 o'clock a.m.

POHL
Bandon Recorder, December 13, 1910, page 3


Looking Backward.
FORTY-FOURTH PARALLEL.
    On both sides of the 44th parallel and the eastern boundary of Dakota, there is historical ground well worth the attention of your readers. It is marked on some maps and known as "Pipe Clay Rock."
    According to the tradition of the Sioux and Dakota Indians, this very rock was the place upon which Manito, the Great Spirit, rested from his labors after creating the earth. He slept for some time and again awoke and around him was a mellow light so dense that no object was clearly defined; thus by his will the light was brightened and cleared, and thus objects so far unfinished were changed by its wonderful power--animals, flowers and grass bedecked the land and beautified his work, enjoying the magnificence of Manito. Only he was lonesome, sitting on the new, soft rock not fully hardened, yet he picked up some of the clay, molded and shaped it and behold the figure turned out a mostly lovely figure of a squaw. Then he breathed life into her mouth and he was lonely no longer.
    In due time the squaw gave birth to a pair of twins; the first born became a great chief, War Eagle, the second child a sweet little maiden. This pair of Indians became the parents of all the different tribes of Indians on the continent.
    So far it is their legend of the creation and a part of their religious belief, dear and true to those people as other nations proclaim their belief as the only right one leading those Indians to the happy hunting ground as we claim to be transfered to a happier condition which we call "Heaven." In consequence of this it became a sanctified and holy place as Mecca is to the Mohammedan or Jerusalem to the Israelites and Christians. By the order of War Eagle this place became a neutral territory upon which no enmity among the different tribes should be allowed, only peace and good will must prevail among those entering this ground.
    Every year the red men came from far and near in numbers; friend or foe, here they dwelt in harmony, here they gathered a new supply of clay for their pipes.   
    Here on this sacred ground all were children of the great Manito and woe to the one who violated this command; there was no hope of gaining the happy hunting grounds, he would become the enemy to all the different tribes and an outcast. Indians annually made the pilgrimage for hundreds of snows; their numbers are decreasing, being debarred from entering there by the laws of the white man who let them forget the greatness of Manito and the happy conditions in their happy hunting ground their statute loses in its fearless carriage of the noble red men of former years, their eyes are failing in luster and keenness, for they see plainly the sunset of their race.
    The graves so long sacred have been lost to them, for capital of the white man has bought the right to work this deposit of clay and systematically destroyed the glory where once Manito had been worshiped by acts of brotherly love.
    Manito is at sleep and rest, and the white man has no reverence for others than himself. 

POHL
Bandon Recorder, December 16, 1910, page 2


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
TROUBLE ON HAND.
    The moon had not risen, but by groping about with my hand I found myself surrounded by sagebrushes. Nothing was left for me to do but to await moonlight. I took off the pack and saddle from the animal, fastened the rope to its neck and the other end to my ankle in order to feel the attempt of him getting away, lay down on the hot soil and was asleep in the next minute.
    How long I had lain I do not know; the moon had just risen in the eastern skies when the howling of coyotes brought me to my feet. Without thinking, I fired a shot to drive them away. It scared the mule, which to my great astonishment started to run; those villains had cut the rope. Hoping to get a hold of the end of the rope I followed the animal. Hour after hour passed; morning began to dawn and still I had not accomplished my purpose. By this time I recrossed the desert; the mule stuck out on the run and was soon out of sight.
    I was more than sixty miles from the nearest house, my feet were blistered, eatables I had none. To find relief I bathed my feet in the hot mineral water and in a half hour all pain had left me. Feeling refreshed, I again took up the trail of the mule, I passed Rabbit Springs and close to Antelope Springs I caught up. There stood the mule resting. If ever I sneaked up on any game, I did so here. Inch by inch I neared the rope, the mule did not notice me; at last! what a leap of my heart; I held the rope; no kicking or trying to get away--I hung on as grim death; as soon as the mule found there was no getting away it gave up. You may expect that I was near given out, fatigued, and weak from fasting, I needed rest.
    Fastening the animal securely and extra hobbling it, the next moment, I feel sound asleep, and only the next morning's sun awoke me; then I mounted the old fellow and made him come up to time double-quick.
    Perspiration rolled off of us, but there was no more delay. Twenty-four hours later I had crossed the desert again and found that nothing had disturbed my belongings.
    Without stopping, the mule was saddled and loaded, and in less than an hour I arrived at Deep Hole; here we found the best of water and plenty of grass, thus making an ideal camp, for both of us needed nourishment and rest. In the evening a flock of brants, a kind of wild goose, had settled to feed and ere long two of them were shot. Not far from Deep Hole there as a fork in the road; so far I had followed the wagon tracks made by my friends; here, however, a large flock of sheep had crossed and entirely eliminated every sign of which way they had gone. To the right? To the left? I selected the right-hand road; not far had I traveled when I entered a beautiful valley; its name was "Squaw Valley." For several miles I advanced, then the road turned across a clear creek and from there I entered the Granite Mountains.
    Up, up I went, warmer and warmer became the temperature, less and less vegetation, until the last scrap, the last spear of grass lay behind us. Onward we traveled, crossing canyons and ravines, nothing but granite rocks, but not a drop of water. At night I had reached a high plateau, dead of anything living but a few lizards.
    Have you ever traveled in a more than torrid heat without refreshing water to drink? If not, you cannot understand the suffering myself and mule underwent; pain in all the limbs, pain in the head more than the severest headache, parched and dry are the lips and mouth, the least spittle in the mouth acts as glue and fastens the lips, the tongue begins to swell, filling the cavity of the mouth; it becomes maddening to suffer thirst in such conditions.
    As we walked, slowed every hour; at last I gave out; I fell down and knew nothing.
    Before sunrise it had became cooler; I filled my mouth with small rocks to create some saliva; the mule, with saddle and tack set, also lay not far from me, but suddenly it began  to sniff the air, up it jumped and away it went; I lost sight of it going down an incline; I followed and when I found it it stood in a pool of water, such as it was, warm and slimy with millions of long, white worms creeping and twisting about; I could not resist--a drink I had to have--so I spread a handkerchief over the face and through it I sipped some of the uninviting liquid.
    Then I started a fire and boiled some coffee, and refreshed slowly, then bathed the body and ere long began to feel partly relieved of the misery; no use to wait here longer so I returned to the road which inclined downward, a sign that I descend the mountains; by noon, I reached the lower end of Surprise Valley.
Bandon Recorder, December 23, 1910, pages 2-3


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
SURPRISE VALLEY.
    Eleven days had passed since I saw a human being. It was with a glad heart when the first habitation hove in sight; the roaring of waters and the barking of dogs was music to my ear.
    A good lady before the cabin, surrounded by flowers and a vegetable garden, welcomed me and invited me to come in.
    My narrative was soon told. She did not ask whether I would accept a warm meal. It seemed like magic, while she was listening and talking, a meal had been served and "a sit down, stranger," was all, and I did my best.
    In the meantime her husband had returned from a journey to Honey Lake in California, and he in return informed me that Louis Heller and family, and my brother, had passed through there about a week before.
    Before leaving they were good enough to sell me some flour and bacon, and presented me with some potatoes; gave me some information about how to travel and we parted. This valley is very appropriately named "Surprise Valley." Fertile soil surrounding several lakes, it extends northward about sixty miles, while its width is from two to eight miles; the surroundings west are the steep and high mountains of the Sierra Nevada, eastward stretches the plains. These mountains differ greatly in formation from Rocky Mountains or the Sierra Colorados. Here hardly any foothills are traceable, but massive mountains arise abrupt, wearing lofty peaks covered with snow and mighty forests. Deep canyons, often more than a thousand feet high with perpendicular walls, afforded an entrance and passage over them. Through these canyons rush streams over boulders, forming rapids and whirlpools, with ever-changing wild scenery. Before we enter the mountains we take a view of the beautiful valley. Many small streams carry their water to the lakes, located in about the center of it. Cold as ice, the temperature of this element nourishes the lady of the lake. The east side, on the contrary, feeds them with large springs, some of them nearly boiling hot, warming the water to such a temperature that in the coldest of weather parts of the lakes do not freeze over.
    Here too, as in Humboldt Sink, there is no visible outlet--with all the amount of water flowing into this center, it never rises or falls summer or winter. Remarkable too are the springs, not ten feet apart, one pouring out boiling hot water and the water from the other spring is cold. These springs are a great convenience to some settlers in hog-killing time, and a great many porkers are raised. They do their killing there and have scalding water without an effort.
    Surrounding the lakes are extensive meadows that yielded very large crops of excellent hay, which then generally sold at $20 a ton and was a good revenue to its owners. In the open spaces of the lake during winter are large flocks of aquatic fowls, sage hens, prairie chickens, and cotton-tailed rabbits were to be found in large quantities.
    About midway in the valley is a village called Cedar City; west and somewhat north of this town is the corner post of California, Oregon and Nevada.
    Like other localities on this earth, this valley had a pest to do damage when it appeared. About each four years tremendous swarms of crickets did march, hop and crawl down from the mountains; swarms a quarter of a mile or more in width and from six to twelve inches deep and would eat up everything softer than iron or stone. Nothing would turn them--on they came, eating up everything, not refusing harness, old clothing or shoes, while grain, grass or other vegetation they made short work of. These insects, when full grown, measured about two inches in length, of dark brown, nearly black color, wingless and are propelled by long, strong legs. The approach of these pests is closely watched by the inhabitants, for as soon as they are discovered, all the hogs are gathered and set to battle the insects. Here is where Greek meets Greek. Here is a feast for the hogs and a battle to the finish for the insects. Hundreds of hogs jump into the advancing column of insects, the former devouring them greedily--the others seeking for spots to pinch and bite, attacking the eyes and ears. Then the shrill squeals, and rolling beasts will crush hundreds to get rid of the tormentors. New attacks follow as long as insects can be found. It is a powerful undertaking by the swine, but complete the destruction.
    The Digger Indians of California relish this insect ever so much. They catch them and hold them by the strong hind legs, the body is held with the teeth, then a twist with the hand, the hard legs pulled out, a smack with the jaw and the thing is gone and another follows. Peculiarities of mankind--some eat snails and oysters and consider them just as delicious as the Digger Indian does the cricket. Why not? Habit and taste is different.

Bandon Recorder, January 3, 1911, page 2


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
INDIAN SUMMER.
    It was now the latter part of October, fairer days and brighter nights could not be asked for. I slept that night, near a farm house. By and by the children, then grown people came to give me a call and before long I was invited to share their supper; then the fireplace in the house was filled with wood. It gave an agreeable light and the room was comfortably heated. Neighbors came, an hour or so was passed in telling of my experiences on this trip and in picturing the beauties of the Coquille Valley, my destination, which seemed to greatly interest these good people. Before the neighbors departed we had a good old-fashioned prayer meeting and then found rest and repose.
    The next morning my newly made friends gave me a full description of the route I had to take to get over the easiest pass to Goose Lake.
    "Cedar Pass, you can not miss it. Take the first wagon turning to the left," and we parted. I had not traveled two miles when I came to a wagon road turning to the left. According to advice I turned and followed it. For about a mile it was a plain road and then it branched off and became more and more indistinct and rougher. This too ceased and a trail was left leading upwards into the mountains. A suspicion arose, can you be on the wrong road? However the summit of the mountains were not many miles from me, the bright weather led me onward; feeling that I would come out somewhere on the other side at the end of my two days' travel, I pushed on. It was noon. I stood on an elevated point and the view was grand--over plains in the east and rough peaks in the south. North of me I could see a lower pass than the one I was on at present. There was Cedar Pass. Had I gone a mile further before I turned off, many a hard day would have been saved me.
    Return? No. All I had to do was to work my way over there a mile or so. Just then I entered one of those beautiful mountain glens. Grass in abundance for the mule, tall trees surrounding the edges, their limbs close to the ground, under which were excellent dry spaces for camping purposes. Through the park flowed and wound a spring of the purest water. Several deer stood on the upper edge gazing at me. A moment later one of the tallest lay on the ground. The others left and I rejoiced at having such fine meat to feast upon.
    Fresh and pure was the atmosphere, beautiful mountains spanned by a cloudiness azure sky, no trace of care or haste. Although rather early to stop, I made camp, enjoyed a good meal and made everything ready for the night. During my sleep something cold and wet fell on my face. It woke me up, and pulling the blankets higher up I rested well the balance of the night. Drawing aside the cover a shower of snow fell on me--a white cover of snow had settled down. Not a breath of air, yet the large white flakes came thick and fast. Too late to reflect. Yes, I was sorry I had stopped so early. I looked for the mule and it was not in sight. Where was the trail I had come up? Completely covered, the bushes bent by the weight of snow, hemmed and held me here. Soon I consoled myself, what of it? I had provisions for over a week and plenty of meat, but how I hoped for the snow to pass over so I could resume my journey again.
    It snowed and kept on doing so. A chilly wind set in and more rapidly the snow settled down.
    The second night had come. Still it snowed and blew and the snow began to drift and make my shelter uncomfortable. Near the close of the third day the snow ceased falling, the white cover lay considerable over a foot deep on the level and had drifted into the lower gulches. Escape was cut off and the situation became desperate.
    The setting sun brightened the scenery and gave new hope. A few small clouds floated high in the air; stars began to brighten the sky. Then the thought entered my mind, never fear, only make the best of the situation and all will come out right, I fell asleep. Refreshed, I arose. With good cheer I built a brush shanty out of fir and cypress limbs, which I cut from the trees, laying them points downward against a ridge pole in roof fashion. Then with a flattened piece of wood I covered the whole with snow, fixed a layer for a bed, started a fire in front and moved into my primitive home. What a smoke out of a pipe is and what a comfort can be derived from such a so-called bad habit, can only be learned in situations similar to the one I was now in. It helped me wonderfully to drive away discouraging thoughts.
    November had set in with fresh snow storms and colder weather. My provisions were at low tide and the deer meat nearly gone. Wood to keep up a good fire was plentiful. It was my principal work. More and more my loneliness and desire for companionship discouraged me. The dismal sound of the wind passing through the tree tops, the squeaking noise of limbs rubbing against one another had a marked effect on me.
    For days I was near giving up the fight for life; nothing to eat but an unfortunate owl or crow which came around for crumbs which I had not; thoughts went back to days of childhood and pictured the love and kindness bestowed upon me by parents, brothers and sisters, or memories of honorable toil, study of my profession--it all passed me and made me a weakling for the time.
    Hunger and frost became great teachers; I began to hunt; a half-starved wolf was my first reward; in it I found a sign of Providence to exert myself, and energy revived.

Bandon Recorder, January 6, 1911, page 2


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
WISHING A HAPPY NEW YEAR.
    Again another spell of delightful weather had set in. Gradually the snow began to melt on the most southerly exposed points of the mountains. In such locations green grass and a pleasant warm temperature attracted deer, mountain sheep, and occasionally a grizzly bear found its way there to hunt mice and squirrels. Otherwise the melting of the snow caused it to become more compact, forming a crust to keep up the weight of a man with snow shoes of home manufacture.
    Thus one day I attempted to reach the valley. It was a failure. The canyon I had come up was filled with snow from twenty to forty feet deep. To break in here was sure the end of any living thing. After my return I became more lonesome than before. To hear the sound of a human voice, I began to talk to myself. To pass the time gathered willow twigs, peeling the outside bark, used the inner white bark for tobacco. For me it became a luxury and a means to assist me in collecting my thoughts, which were straying off and would have led me to insanity.
    One stormy day I had a good fire before the entrance of my snow hut and some sparks were blown inside, setting the dried brush on fire. However, not a great deal of damage was done. The smoke had but one way to escape, and it closed that up and soon the fire was smothered. Nevertheless I had to build a new and better one.
    Another day on endeavoring to enter the valley, I selected a new direction. The ridge between my snow hut and Cedar Pass had been swept of snow by the fierce winds; only here and there it had formed into long combs overhanging the almost perpendicular bluffs. Frost had hardened it, and no one could see how far it extended beyond the incline. To see where I had to go, I stepped too far out, the comb broke, and down I went at a breakneck speed and when I struck I fell on my back, feet foremost. On I slid, and how far I went this way I could not say, the motion was too rapid. On my way I ran foul of the top of a tree which pierced a few feet above the surface; the next motion was a number of somersaults.
    At last the ride ended. I stuck up to my breast in snow with perhaps a hundred or two [feet] of snow below me.
    I was somewhat bleeding and knocked a trifle senseless. Just then a herd of Rocky Mountain sheep which had been lying on the opposite side scented me; across the snow they went, one jumping into the track of the foremost one and thereby packing the snow. To reach their trail was the next move. How ever, how to get out where I stuck was the problem; with each move of my feet I felt that I was sinking.
    In this fix a cold sweat began to flow from my forehead. Keep cool and calm were the thoughts coming next; then I bent the upper part of my body over the edge of the snow, then with one foot, then with the other, I began to pack the snow under me; with the hands I secured a grip in the crust of snow; it was a slow process, but inch by inch my body rose, then taking a chance, I turned over on my back and succeeded in getting free; thus, lying on my body I slid until I knew I was out of danger, then I arose.
    The day was near its end, shadows of night creeping over the side hill.
    I noticed that there was no sense of feeling in my feet; I had woven boots on and the snow had filled them and had frozen to my feet. With the aid of the knife I cut them open and finally freed my feet and then plunged into the snow, where I kept them for a long time until I had to overcome the chill of the night air stiffening my whole body and limbs; with difficulty I started a fire, what a night I experienced there the reader may imagine. In a roundabout way the next daylight found me struggling towards my hut, and when I reached it I was ready to fall down and sleep.
    For days I suffered much; one afternoon, trying to shoot something to keep me alive, I came to an open hillside. Here under juniper tree I found a good place to watch the surroundings; nothing moving could well escape my sight. There--not far away, something was coming--still hidden by some bushes--a man, wading through the snow--coming my way. I began to call and jump, and by my antics no doubt the man thought I was a wild man, and he stopped. I called again and asked him to come and help me if he could. At last he came; he carried a flour sack well filled. My first question was, have you got something to eat? He invited me to get some biscuits out of the sack; how I pitched in! Oh, what a treat to me.
    Meantime he had started a fire, and we exchanged why we were here.
    Then I learned from him that this day was the last day of the year 1868. We had much to talk; about he was on his way to cross to Surprise Valley; accepting my experiences he concluded to return the next morning; at 12 o'clock we still were enjoying each others' society; then we wished one another a happy new year, piled a number of large chunks of wood on the fire, and laid down to sleep.
    The next morning he returned whence he had come from, inviting me to go with him, but the condition of my feet were in I could not undertake a walk of twenty miles or more, so we parted--never to meet again.

Bandon Recorder, January 10, 1911, page 2


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
THROUGH THE DEVIL'S GARDEN.
    So, as cold increased, so increased the trouble I had with bands of timber wolves; they had not sufficient game to kill and became bolder with each night; their howling at times became maddening to hear; for security's sake I made a strong, high log fence around my hut and thereby had nothing to fear while I was asleep. The bitter cold days accomplished one good thing to me; it froze the snow and covered the same with a strong crust.
    Thus enabled to travel, all my efforts concentrated on the trip to the valley.
    With the aid of a roughly constructed sleigh with long runners, upon which I placed my blankets, a few clothes and rifle, I started; all went well; several crossings of difficult passes the ice carried the weight. The last hill with a steep incline was reached; with houses scattered along in the distance hope was restored, down, down I glided over the snow at what rate I could not measure, but it was only a short time until the mountain lay behind me.
    My condition of health was badly shattered, as the diet of most miserable meat, seasoned with gunpowder after the salt gave out, had weakened me greatly; my throat was swollen, I could only whisper.
    The people were astonished to see me again, as I was nearly forgotten by them. Very quickly they asked me to step in and did everything to relieve me of my suffering--both in the throat, and my feet, which were wrapped in parts of a blanket.
    In two weeks their kindness to me restored me so far that I thought of making myself useful. One pleasant day I was accompanied by one of the neighbors who wished to look for some horses; we went into a canyon not far off and there, in a well-sheltered place, with sufficient grass, we found them, and among them my mule; instinct had caused it to leave me when the storm in October began; here it found companions and I found it well and in a good condition.
    After returning to the house I inquired for employment; I received it, but to do such work I had to return to the mountains, splitting rails. The price for doing it was much beyond my expectations; six dollars per hundred.
    The grove of yellow pines in which I commenced operations was in a narrow, deep canyon, and so high and steep were the walls on the south side that during the whole day the sun could only be seen for not longer than an hour from two to three, then the pleasant sight came straight down the canyon.
    My work proceeded well. The trees were frozen, and in this condition splitting them was not hard work. More orders came from another man, who was willing to come up with me. The pay earned was so much that we could buy even luxuries.
    At the end of April the contracts were filled; I was in possession of several hundred dollars. With a part of this I bought an extra horse, double harness, and a light spring wagon with a sufficient outfit to begin the finishing trip for the Coquille Valley.
    May had arrived. Seated in a comfortable wagon, I had reason to be pleased when I set out. This time I knew where to turn off.
    Reaching the summit of the Rocky Mountains [sic] a grand panorama spread out before me; towering mountains covered with snow, meadows, timber glistening with the reflection of the sun upon the crystals of snow and ice; to the northwest the great Goose Lake; beyond this, large expanses of low land, and in the southwest, marked by outlines of Mount Shasta, which an inexperienced eye easily would have taken for a heavy cloud.
    At the foot of the mountains in Goose Lake Valley I made the first camp. The road, next morning, if it could be called so, passed me over different spurs of the Rockies; large and small rocks, fallen trees, and brush obstructed the advance; in a number of places I had to clear the track or lift one wheel or the other over such obstructions. At one of those large rocks the horses started too quick; over went the wagon, breaking one of the forewheels.
    The only thing for me to do was to take off the front axle and with the hind axle form a cart; fastening the tongue to this axle, then shortening the box, and in less than an hour I was ready to proceed. Later on I found that such a vehicle answered my purpose better than a four-wheeled wagon.
    Two days I traveled along the shore of Goose Lake, passing only one house; by rounding the upper end I overtook a detachment of U. S. Cavalry en route to Fort Klamath. The soldiers cracked many a joke about my cart; as rapidly as possible I passed them.
    For days I had no noteworthy adventure, except the meeting with a party of Indians out on a hunt; I had a good rifle--they invited me to go with them and kill plenty of game, but I knew better; they wanted the horses and the rifle; perhaps they would not have stood back to shoot me.
    Link River is the connection between the Upper and Lower Klamath Lake; this I crossed on a ferry. The people here had been fishing and had captured a good supply of whitefish weighing from five to ten pounds apiece with excellent taste.
    The country around is low and marshy, summers short and winters severe; still, the meadows gave pasture to many cattle and much hay is cut.
    Passing now through timbered district myself and horses were badly annoyed by thousands of black flies; where they bit the wound would bleed profusely.
    The next morning I reached the lava beds; this particular spot was called "The Devil's Garden."
    Rocks--nothing but rocks--not a tree, not a spear of grass, nor a drop of water; no mistake--this must be the garden spot where his Satanic Majesty goes promenading, taking along perhaps an unfortunate soul for his enjoyment and the the torture of the other. Torture! indeed, mosquitoes by the millions, hungry and lean, then fell upon us in sheets; and worst, no avoiding them by any device; but all has an end upon this earth, so with this notable garden. We entered a very wide valley nearly level and excellent to travel. Leaving all tormentors behind us I speeded on with my remarkable team and vehicle.

Bandon Recorder, January 13, 1911, page 2


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.
    There is little more to say about this trip. My way brought me to Olalla; here the settlers were working to open the first wagon road to Camas Valley; before I could pass them I was requested to show my receipt for road work done; since I could not produce such I was ordered to get out and do my two days' work right here; might was on their side; my remonstrance was of no avail, so I made a good face to the demand, done my two days' work and was allowed to move on without a receipt, perhaps to fall into the hands of another gang, which, however, did not happen.
    I found my brother working in the black sand mines for Col. Lane, then visited some of my old friends. Four weeks later an investigation for some land brought me back to the Umpqua River; in crossing the ford, which, by this time was only two feet deep, I noticed some object in the water; got off of the horse and fished out my lost rifle. Thus ended a rather hard trip long, long ago.
    In short I will be able to say something of the present time on this river, with the hopes that I may please the readers who were kind enough to accept my writing with favor, for which accept my sincere thanks.

Bandon Recorder, January 17, 1911, page 2


Old History of Coos County.
    HISTORIC FACTS.
    The narrative given below is one which was written several years ago by M. G. Pohl of this city. it contains historic facts of interest regarding that place and the country in general, and is contributed for publication in the Recorder by Mr. Pohl.
----
    Will you allow me to call some of the reminiscences up from the forgotten? Perhaps we may find memories worthy to preserve. As far back as 1856 this county was a perfect paradise for the original inhabitants, the Indians. The tribe or tribes of Coos County belonged to the Coquilles. The name is attributed to different origins; the most plausible one is: A French sea captain was the first white navigator that entered the waters of the Coquille River. He found the inhabitants living on and gathering great quantities of shellfish, mussels, etc., the remains of which we still can find piled up in different localities. The French word for mussels is "Coquille" and this gave rise to name the river by this navigator "Coquille." The number of the aborigines in Coos County is estimated by the earliest yet alive to have been over five hundred. The last chief of all those tribes located in different villages was Chief Washington; his headquarters and the principal town being situated at the foot of Sugar Loaf Mountain, about one mile above the junction of the Middle and South Forks; now the place is the orchard belonging to Mrs. Pressley. Lower down the river a village was to be found near Levi Gant's place. Here Weston and his relatives were living. Some other Indians had a temporary village near R. C. Dement's house; this locality was known as Cascushin. The present Arago was another large village where Chief DeCumsa (a French name) resided. Many other villages were scattered along the river. A more suitable place for people as those savages were could not be found anywhere.
    Game of all description filled the dense forests, fish and mussels were in abundance, berries in profusion, the climate mild and without extremes. So rich in all kinds of game was this country that Chief Setawaw, from the present Multnomah County, would come once a year with his tribe to hunt with the Indians here. Their method of capturing elk was to dig holes five to six feet deep in the main trails, plant a sharpened stick in the center, cover them with boughs, surround a number of bands of elk and start them in the direction of the pits. The best of the buck elk in the lead would break in and by doing so generally spear themselves, thus becoming easy prey to the hunters.
    The Indians were great lovers of music and dancing--somewhat different though than the present inhabitants enjoy.
    On Hoffman's place, south of the bridge across the Middle Fork, was the regular burying place, although many graves could be found above the present Myrtle Point. Baskets, weapons, tools, paddles and utensils lay on top of such graves. The last battle between the Coquille Indians and a tribe from Douglas County was fought on the above-named place, and there was where most of the Indians rested while their souls feasted in the happy hunting rounds.
    In 1845, two years before gold was discovered in California, gold at the Randolph Beach was found in great quantities in the rich black sand deposits; this was the beginning of the coming of white men to this river. Trappers followed the gold hunters, as there were many fur-bearing animals to be found.
    Among these latter was one named Ephraim Catchin--a man of good qualities, peaceable, tall and athletic. The Indians not averse to peaceful palefaces, had no objection to their visits at different villages. Catchin, trapping much near Weston's settlement, taught them the language of the King George men. To some of the best of his scholars he added writing and reading, and to encourage his best pupil, the daughter of the chief, he exchanged so-called "wawa" papers, which were mystic to the rest, and which, later on, had greater results than anticipated.
    Gradually white men built houses and squatted. Eventually, some sort of a government and laws were formulated, and the first executive officer for Coos County was elected, Tim Terman, by name. In the latter part of the summer of 1854, a trouble arose between the old and new inhabitants. In a slough, since then named and still known as Dead Man's Slough, the body of a white man was found. Shortly after it was reported that among the followers of Indian David, who lived between the present Coquille City and Johnson's mill, blankets had been seen which were formerly carried by the unknown dead man. Tim Terman, as sheriff, raised a posse well armed and still better supplied with firewater, went to the small camp of David. However, only two old men and a boy 12 years of age were present, the two old men making good their escape. The boy, not fearing the whites, remained, when the ball of a reckless [white man] shot him in the hip. He fell, begging for his life, but every man of the posse emptied his rifle and killed the boy as revenge. The Coquille Indians made a plot with the Rogue River Indians, who were already on the warpath and wished to exterminate all the white men here.
    During the many meetings of Catchin with the girl she had fallen in love with him and desired to live with him always. When the plot was agreed to by the two tribes a letter was written by her and placed in a hollow log known to Catchin, the secret revealed aroused Catchin and the neighbors to build a log house surrounded by palisades. It was located on the hill where the present railroad cut is, opposite Hermann's store. Some say this fortification stood a few hundred feet higher on the river bank. However, I have taken a number of meals there later and remember the position well. The elk meat and a few provisions were packed in the house; the time had arrived when the assault should be made. However, the Indian girl, although suspected of treachery, got away and informed Catchin, who notified all the settlers to come in and fight together.
    Abraham Huffman, his wife at that time being absent, staying at home to see to his stock and attending the ferry which was of great use to the settlers, one afternoon was approached by an Indian who assured him of the friendship of the red men; he however kept his own counsel and after darkness had set in left his house and went to the fort. That night his house with all his belongings was destroyed by fire and his scow set adrift. The next morning the fort was attacked and the Indians repulsed with a loss of several men.
    The next day the Indian girl claimed the protection from Catchin, as the Indians would kill her. From this day she was named Francis. Her real name at present is a myth. Catchin, averse to having her there, told her that such was not possible. She went outside and tried to kill herself by hanging to a tree. Ephraim, hearing the commotion, went out and cut her down, exclaiming that a girl trying to give her life for his sake was good enough to be his wife. His mother, living in the Willamette Valley, was surprised by the pair. After hearing the circumstances she assented to their marriage and in her home the ceremony was performed. Mrs. Francis C. was one of the women who captivated all the settlers and was gladly accepted by the wives of the white settlers. Modesty, cleanliness, neatness and hospitality were her virtues. With the little they had she always made the best out of everything and became a most worthy wife of a pioneer and mother of four children--Charley, Jennie, Andrew and Amie. About ten years after her marriage she died of consumption. At her death bed were Mrs. Bosel, a sister to Mr. Cathcart, Mrs. Harry, now Mrs. Laird, Mrs. Thos. Clark; Mrs. Jemima Huffman, of of her sisters and other relatives. The medicine man of the tribe spoke for two hours at her grave, and the wailing of numerous squaws lasted four days and nights. Mrs. Francis Catchin was buried near where R. C. Dement's house stands.

Bandon Recorder, January 27, 1911, page 2


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
JACK.
    One of the trappers was Jack. Jack who? Well, Jack alone. Seemed he had no other name attached to it, except a title of which I will tell you now.
    Many years before the pale faces made their appearance in the neighborhood of the Yellowstone River, he found a suitable retreat in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains. No one interfered with him; beaver and other fur animals were plenty, so that once or twice a year when the trader came around he received all and more necessities of life than needed and he was ruler of all.
    He had only one enemy and that was the Flat Head Indians. Why? He had nobody around to tell, and surely nobody would have asked him to explain, for he had by his steady fight against wild beasts and many years' exposure gave him a most unpleasant disposition.
    Arguments, if anyone would have tried to create such, would simply be answered by a bullet or a lunge with his sharp-pointed hunting knife.
    However, there were a few men who knew about the affair which happened many years before Jack founded his home up here. Jack had a partner. Many years they toiled together; the dangers they passed through, and the help one gave to the other had created a true brotherhood between them, which only death could sever.
    At one time a young Flat Head Indian just entering the stage of a brave wanted to add a scalp to his ornaments, killed and scalped this friend of Jack, who was not far away.
    He came too late; without waiting he shot at the Indian, but for some reason or other he missed his aim.
    Then it took time to reload a muzzle-loading gun; while doing so, the Indian ran straight towards him. Again the rifle was reloaded and aimed--now the Indian jumped from side to side, and with each jump approached Jack more and more. Another shot was fired and again it was a miss--on came the Indian straight for Jack. The third shot was ready--the red man only ten or fifteen feet away raised his arm, in his hand was the scalping knife and threw it at Jack. This moment was enough--dead dropped the Indian, but the knife stuck up to the hilt in Jack's side, and the loss of blood caused him to faint.
    Another hunter hearing the shots came to aid if such was needed. He stopped the flow of blood and took Jack to his home and waited on him until danger was past. Through this spell of convalescence the trapper told Jack that if he ever killed another Indian to eat his liver and this would be the means of making him immune and no Indian could wound him again.
    It fell on fertile soil, from that time on jack hunted Flat Head Indians, and every notch he cut in his rifle stock gave him a feast of Indian liver. From that time on he became known as Liver Eating Jack.
    Many years he lived alone, then the Yellowstone Reservation was laid out and all hunting of wild animals forbidden. Unfortunately a certain part of this reservation included Jack's territory; he defied the law and became an outlaw.
    At one time a young lieutenant just from the East had been posted there to uphold orders.
    One day he made an investigation and found Jack at his home; without ceremony he began to lay the laws of the United States down, but before he had said much Jack got hold of his knife, and if it had not been for the quick retreat of the lieutenant Jack might have feasted on liver.
    Shortly after he was found dead, shot by some unknown person.

Bandon Recorder, January 31, 1911, page 2


A Breakfast Guest.
    I now will pick up little incidents which happened here or there in my many and large travels in different countries.
    After leaving Wyoming en route to meet my brother Richard, who then was mining engineer in Hamilton, Utah,. I left the railroad at Elko.
    There was yet 160 miles to be traveled by stage and it would have cost me twenty dollars; to avoid this expense I shouldered my blankets, gun and crop stake [grubstake?], and started on foot. It was mostly uphill work with the exception of many long and dry deserts; the trip in itself was interesting, and in a five days' march I could have completed it.
    The second night I had made my camp at the edge of one of the small flats between two ridges, and a few scrubby pine trees gave shelter from the heavy night dews; I rested well.
    As morning appeared I kindled a fire, placed a peach can, as a substitute for a coffee pot, in the hot ashes next to the fire, and waited for the boiling of the water to make a cup of mocha.
    Attracted by the heat of the fire a tarantula moved up towards me; it was the first of its kind I had met alive; however, the information I received from other travelers I accepted their instructions; they were aggressive, their bites very dangerous and painful, and more often deadly.
    When within five feet of me it arose upon its strong hind legs; stepping to one side I had the fire between me and the ugly-looking thing, thus gaining a good opportunity to watch its actions.
    The body seemed to be about as large as a walnut; it and the legs were covered with brown-black hair about a quarter of an inch long; an imaginary circle around the feet would have covered the size of the palm of a man's hand.
    It moved quickly, making starts to raise and then jump towards me.
    What plans it had I don't know exactly, but I could see that my neighborhood was irritating to it and my keeping the fire between it and myself seemed to increase its temper. The fire, too, when coming too near it, made it hastily retreat; then it rose up and stood without a motion; at such times a little drop of clear liquid was at its mouth and the little black eyes sparkled like small black diamonds in different colors.
    In one of those position my coffee water began to boil; slowly, very slowly, I picked up the can and poured the contents over it.
    This finished the tarantula; however it put off my breakfast and the early start I had contemplated.

POHL
Bandon Recorder, February 7, 1911, page 4


Looking Backward.
By M. G. Pohl
    The time has arrived when I must do more work on my farm and had intended to let up on the writing for awhile, but a number of people have urged me to continue--one man yesterday from the headwaters of Floras Creek--who seemed to be very much interested in reading the stories of Looking Backward, so I shall do all I can to interest others.
    In all my hunts the only personal encounter I ever had was with a spike buck, and it might be added that he came near "getting my goat."
    It was the last of June 1860, and it was necessary to have some meat for the glorious Fourth of July celebration to be held on the Coquille River.
    Early that morning I left Dr. Hermann's, where I had stayed the previous night, and entered the hills in the rear of the house. Years before a fire had burned the timber off those hills and buckwheat had grown all over; here and there a small willow had sprung up.
    Entering a small flat I spied a deer and fired; the next moment he had disappeared. I crossed over to where the deer had stood. There it lay on its side, apparently dead. Placing the rifle against a log, drew my hunting knife and stooped down to examine the place where I had hit it, which was just in front of the shoulder. Then I placed my foot on its neck and wanted to cut its throat, when with a powerful leap the deer rose to its feet. So quick was the move and so strong the force that it threw me to the ground; in falling the knife slipped out of my hand and fell to the ground. The buck had stepped back a few paces and on he came, ready to send his sharp points of his antlers into me; however, I was on my feet as quick he was and when he came near me I grabbed his horns and pressed his head down and away from me. We struggled quite awhile; finally the crown around the horns had cut my hands considerably and the onslaught of the deer was so furious that I lost my grip. Released, the buck came the second time. This time I got in a good kick with my foot to his side, took hold of one horn and twisted the head upward and sideways and down went the deer with me on top of him. Another struggle began. This time the buck used his legs, clawing and hammering me and tearing my clothes and wounding me in different places; we turned and twisted about and luckily for me we came to where the knife lay. I picked it up and sent the blade repeatedly into his side, the struggle ended and it was high time for me as I was well winded. The deer had about exhausted me, but I had my reward when I ate a good roast from it [during] the celebration.

POHL
Bandon Recorder, February 14, 1911, page 2


Some More About Black Sand.
    Whether I do right or not to say more about this theme, I have to leave it to the judgment of the Editor. At the same time the friendly reader must not accept the quintessence of my writings as my own views; true, I have combined personal observations with the studies and expressions of many of the most prominent geologists, and thus I speak of the numbers, of the action of the world's forces generally called "Laws of Nature."
    Any opinion arising in the reader differently than I express, would it not be a most pleasant pastime of a half of an hour to write such for the Recorder, and in so doing become helpful to extend information to those who seek such. I, for one, should be thankful for it.
    Our journey has brought us to the mouth of Whiskey Run, six miles north of Bandon.
    In itself it is no scenic location nor any beauty to be discovered, however there is something most interesting in these with me. Thousands of people have passed there, have seen it, but to most of them it is a book closed, not worthy their notice.
    But a very short walk up the beach we find under the high bluff of sand a black muck, filled with decomposed logs; this, my friends, has been, God knows how long ago, the mouth of the Coquille River, emptying its waters at present as you find it.
    Do you doubt such? Then let us climb the bluff and follow the marks which here and there can be found substantiating foregone expression; for three miles we follow such, then at once the depression turns east, and shortly southward, and we can distinctly see where the Coquille used to flow; this location is at the beginning of the island above the present Randolph.
    We now take an outing and prospect and investigate the country lower down.
    One of the points to speak of is the rock at the beach below the lookout of the life saving station. At very heavy storms and high tides this is a locality where much more gold is thrown up in the sand than anywhere in the neighborhood.
    Old Mr. Lewis, the first settler in this locality where Bandon now stands, took advantage of this fact and upon a small sledge, drawn by his horse, he hauled this sand upon high ground and washed it out whenever he needed gold dust; money, then, was not in circulation here. It might pay someone to watch his chances, winter storms being more to an advantage than any other time.
    Further down we go. There are several creeks, in which neighborhood much gold has been mined in former years, and the same storms which covered up the beach at Whiskey Run also destroyed these mines.
    At the present time good paying sand is found back of Col. Rosa's sawmill on Mr. Little's place.
    After a pleasant march we arrived at Cape Blanco. Those who have not been there miss a rare opportunity and a point worthy to visit. Upon its furthest western point stands the lighthouse, much larger than the one in Bandon. Far out into the ocean are many rocks, towering above the seas. Close to it also is a wireless telegraph station; the officers in charge of either one of these places are extremely well pleased to show visitors those great aids for the navigators. Before the United States bought Alaska from the Russian government, Cape Blanco was the most western point of the United States.
    A short distance below we find that the bluffs are very high and perpendicular; a hundred feet or so west and parallel with those bluffs is a long reef; at many places, the waves which in storms break themselves against those rocky walls have washed deep caves into them, the tops overhanging the waters below, which are always surging and never calm, giving a good picture of the unbridled forces of God's great nature and reminding me of the Scylla and Charybdis in Italy of which the great German poet Schiller speaks in his poem "The Diver" when he says--and it rolls and beams and hisses as if the sea will bear another sea.
    From here we will branch off, leaving the beach to follow the Sixes River upstream. Not many miles and we come to the Madden mine; this no doubt is one of the richest gold deposits this side of Gold Beach; however, when we consider that this mine is one hundred and seventy feet above the present sea level we must be astounded when we consider that this black sand, too, has been washed there by the surf, such as is done at the present beach.
    You may doubt such, you have right to do so, however, what will you say when from there we go up into the mountains and find, seven hundred feet above the Madden mine, another heavy layer of black sand?
    To those who have doubted or explained that those mountains have been raised by volcanic eruptions, I only will answer--go and examine those deposits; if your explanation would be correct such deposits would not be as they are, on a perfect level, but rolling and broken up; but such is not the case.
    We must accept the unexpected facts that many millions of years ago the Pacific Ocean had its terminus eight hundred and seventy feet higher, as we find such now.
    Incredible! and still it was so! Go to other continents, for instance--the North Sea between England and Germany. Ages and ages ago the very ocean which washes the sands of Holland and Borussia bordering the East Sea, or Baltic, reached many hundreds of miles inland and ceded and had its beach there covering all this land now inhabited. In Saxony, the southern part of Germany, below Meissen at Hirschberg, was the beginning of the Atlantic Ocean.
    Geology has taught us and the proofs of such facts are written in all those different formations of the the crust of the earth, that once, many millions of years ago, the continent of North and South America was covered by water and nothing but the Appalachia Mountains, the Rocky Mountains, the Sierra Nevada and Colorado and parts of the Cascades were visible above the level of such a vast expanse of water; the Andes were all of it reaching above the water in South America.

POHL
Bandon Recorder, March 4, 1911, page 1


Mount Butler.
    Slowly, very slowly, the process of cooling of as large a body as the earth is proceeding. Thousand years are but one day; with the cooling process is the shrinking of the body itself, gases, vapors, heat, steam, different elements when brought in contact produce fire, heat of enormous high degree, or explosive furies; all those active, or better, destructive powers enclosed in such cooled-off place cannot be prevented from causing eruptions, called earthquakes, raising portions of the crust, lowering other parts, opening veins in rock formations thus to allow more water to seek or rush into the molten interior and with it producing new outbreaks.
    Thousands of such volcanoes were active, but more and more the cooling process advanced and volcanoes, once very active, died off.
    One of those now-dead volcanoes was the Butler Mountain in the Sixes River district, Curry County.
    This mountain had changed this district many times; formations and stratifications, one after the other, was partly completed when now outbreaks leveled them, again filling up canyons in which tropical plants had flourished, and those bodies of decaying vegetation, hundreds of feet deep, become covered, forming extensive coal deposits such as we now find below Rusty Mountain on Coal Creek.
    It is said that the deposit there is mightier than any other known coal vein, over one hundred feet thick; however, this coal bed has been broken up so often and surface dirt mixed with the vegetable matter that it is of no commercial value at the present time.
    Not far away is Mount Avery; the northern part of this mountain shows the original formations, while the south side is composed of conglomerates, showing that enormous powers have crushed that first formations, moved them more than once to the height of two thousand eight hundred feet above the present sea level.
    Not less effects were produced on Salmon Mountain, Johnson Mountain as far as Iron Mountain. Mount Butler was active until one side, the east side of it, became so weak that it could not withstand the pressure of the interior; the wall caved and thousands of feet fell inward, filling up the crater with such an amount of debris that it choked the same and extinguished it.
    Three sides of the former crater are still to be found in existence; the east side now forms the west branch of Butler Creek, while way up a cone composed of rocks which filled the crater is still to be seen. The outflow of lava had been mostly towards the Elk River, but was covered by the top of Butler Mountain in its dying struggle and convulsions.
    With this description of four mountains, the Butler, Avery, Rusty and Salmon, I come back to the wonderfully large gold deposits of our rivers, the black sand and coarse gold deposits in those mountains.
    Miners found and still find gold of three different qualities, value and character.
    To explain such qualities the coarse gold is found on the Johnson Mountain side as well as on the South Sixes River; this gold has once been melted out of the mother vein, quartz, and is found in localities on these two rivers as well as in the streams; its nuggets are seldom larger than from three-quarters of an ounce to an ounce, but much is smaller down to large colors. Some is found in high bars on the Elk River; there it is in the shape of grains of wheat.
    Many times the bars on the South Sixes have been worked and much gold has been won; after a few years new deposits form again; this shows that the mountainsides contain rich reserves of this metal, which with the yearly winter rains is washed into the creeks and riverbeds.
    The color of this gold has a dark color; its value is eighteen dollars per ounce.
    It would lead too far were I to speak of the different successful miners, some of whom still work up there. In my next description I shall write of the other mountains. For this time enough.

POHL
Bandon Recorder, April 14, 1911, page 2


Rusty Mountain.
    We now will leave Butler Mountain and proceed to look for other fields of observation. Following the trail which passes upward, we cross the South Sixes River and come onto the Bear Pen flat; at the upper edge of this flat used to stand an old cabin, the bear pen; a little below, myself and three other men attempted to sink a prospect shaft with the intention of finding the old river bed; however, hard work without pay has cooled off many a prospector, so here, at the depth of twelve feet, the first of the company left us to go home and see Mother, then the second one and the third one gave up, and leaving me alone I was compelled to follow the rest.
    Some of these days some pushing parties may take it up and go deeper and will, without doubt of failure, find the old river bed, there to strike it rich. From Bear Pen we cross Huckleberry Flat; a once-tremendous mountain slide, which, at the time this happened, forced the river out of its original bed and washed a new channel there where it flows now.
    The next flat we reach, its name has passed my memory; there we climb some very steep hills; upon the top we find an old elk trail and follow such until we are at the eastern end of Rusty Mountain; here, too, stood an old board house; like Bear Pen, it was set afire.
    Years ago the Harrison boys and their father made their home here and did some successful mining. The gold found here is of an entire different character. It is a gold, which no doubt is forming even at the present time, found only in decomposed manganese and this only in veins of porphyry, such as have formed on the level; any other direction of such veins is bare.
    The color is very pale yellow, as much silver is alloyed with it. The value is only sixteen dollars an ounce, some of it of less value.
    A mountain slide which broke off from Rusty Mountain, filling up the ravines leading to Rusty Creek, no doubt has washed quantities of this metal into the creek and thence it worked its way clear to the ocean.
    Different parties in former years worked high bars with good results; now there are but pockets there and it is hard to say whether many are left. The Harrison boys were extremely good prospectors, and strong, willing and hard-working miners.
    From here Salmon Mountain is in sight and appears not far off; so it is, but the steepness of the mountains to climb down and the same difficulties from the middle fork of Sixes up to the top of Salmon is not a light march. In former years this was the home of many deer, but hunters have destroyed hundreds of them; not to use the meat, but only to slaughter, to destroy. Those brainless persons have succeeded remarkably well, not many being left.
    At one trip I made over this part there were eight deer which had died from wounds received by such men; not one had been found by the murderers of those innocent and graceful animals.
    The game warden at the time was a deaf and dumb man who could not hear a shot fired right behind him.
    At one time a number lodged overnight in an old shack; accidentally some blasting powder, which was hid alongside the chimney, exploded, knocked the roof off of the house, and threw the game warden upon the floor; after raising up he inquired--"What was that?"

POHL
Bandon Recorder, April 18, 1911, page 2


    Yesterday was M. G. Pohl's 76th birthday, and he is still enjoying the good health and has the vivacity of a man twenty years younger. It is also 52 years ago this month since Mr. Pohl came to Coos County, consequently he is certainly entitled to the distinction of the pioneers of this county, and there were but few people here when he came. He has consequently witnessed the many improvements in Coos County during this long period of time.--Recorder.
"Additional Local," Coquille Herald, May 18, 1911, page 2


GET IRON CROSSES
    Dr. M. G. Pohl received a postal card from a sister in Germany several days ago stating that Gabriel and Rudolph Schutloff, two of his nephews in the Kaiser's army, have each received iron crosses for bravery. Gabriel is an officer and Rudolph a private. The card also stated that only one of the two other nephews recently reported missing were dead. One, Ernst Bearwalt, an officer was injured when his horse was shot down under him. He was found several days later and is now recovering.--Bandon World.
Coos Bay Times, Marshfield, January 14, 1915, page 4


Won't Quit Smoking
    M. G. Pohl, one of the first settlers in this valley, who is now living near Bandon, was in town Saturday. He is taking treatment for a cancer which has developed on his lower lip. When asked if it were a tobacco cancer, due to smoking, he intimated that it made no particular difference, as he did not propose to quit smoking, which had been a comfort for many years and was one of the few remaining to him.
Coquille Herald, March 2, 1915, page 3


MONEY IN HAY MAKING
M. G. Pohl Has a Suggestion for the Needy or the Thrifty
    M. G. Pohl brings to our office a suggestion that may result to the benefit of a few citizens of Bandon who are willing or anxious to turn an honest penny. The suggestion comes as a result of Mr. Pohl's own personal experience. In 1862 he made a trip to the mining district in the neighborhood of Walla Walla, Wash. He experienced miner's luck and as a result found himself next to the proposition of making any kind of a living at all. In desperation he asked a friendly bartender for advice and was advised to cut hay and sell it to horsemen who carried freight from the Dalles to the mines.
    Mr. Pohl examined his finances and found he had $11.50 left. This he invested in provisions and in haying tools and made for the nearest green spot. In the course of events he found a market for his hay, and although the weather was hot, persevered until in a short time he had made $500. At that time pack horse men got a dollar a pound for carrying food and machinery from the Dalles, the head of navigation to the mines.
    Mr. Pohl thinks a similar opportunity exists in Bandon. Hay is always in demand, and there are many spots where a man can beg or buy the opportunity to cut hay and prepare it for sale.
Bandon Recorder, June 8, 1915, page 1


San Diego, Nov. 11th
    Editor Recorder:--At the beginning of the war in Europe I reported at the Recorder office that I had 28 relatives in the German army. The first year only one was killed and one disabled. Since the neutral U.S. sent war materials to England, France and Russia the death rate has changed. Two them were captains, and the other two of the four were lieutenants--the last had gained the Iron Cross.
    The two first weeks in October three more have been killed and two are not to be accounted for. One was a doctor, serving in the field hospitals. One of the three first named also had the Iron Cross. He was a lieutenant, the same as the rest.
    Besides this, two others are at home now; the heavy cannonading, day and night, and the uninterrupted fighting against the Russians has shattered their nerves to such an extent that they are between life and death.
    All of this misery I have to thank to the neutral nation of which I have been a naturalized citizen for 58 years.
    And at the end of a respectable life during which I have done more good than received, I am condemned for sympathizing for blood relatives.
    When a man gets married to a female she gives up father's name; nobody, justly, will find fault when her sympathy still is for father, brother, sister. But if a German born, then naturalized, still loves his relatives, the land where he was educated, raised to manhood in honor, such a man must be condemned because another part of citizen of such country are that what under George Washington were called Tories, in other words not independent humans, but subjects to England. Have you or all of your readers been at Washington, D. C.? Have you been in the capital? What did you find there? Two busts; who were they? General Schurz and General Sigel, both generals in the army of the North during the revolution with the South.
    Who was the great help to Washington? General Steuben. His monument also is erected. Only one Frenchman aided the U.S.--General Lafayette.
    There were no English or Russian prominent. But now, high society has caused to adopt English rules and there where we all should be equal and good citizens of the United States, the Tories do all they can to make the United States subject to England, just as Canada is today.
    God save the United States and its population from such results.

M. G. POHL
Bandon Recorder, November 23, 1915, page 4


Concordia Bärenriege.
    Unser Landsmann Herr M. G. Pohl, nebenbei einer der ältesten Optiker in diesem Lande, erhielt kürzlich von seinem Schwager, Herrn Pastor Schüttoff in Constappel, bei Dresden, die Nachricht, dass von seinen 28 Neffen und Vettern, die mit in den Krieg zogen, durch amerikanische Geschosse bereits acht den Heldentod gestorben sind, während einer vermisst wird. Drei aus der Familie wurden für bewiefene Tapferkeit mit dem Eisernen Kreuz ausgezeichnet.
    Our compatriot Mr. M. G. Pohl, who also happens to be one of the oldest opticians in this country, recently received news from his brother-in-law, Mr. Pastor Schüttoff in Constappel, near Dresden, that his 28 nephews and cousins, who went to war with him, were killed by Americans. Eight have already died a hero's death, while one is missing. Three of the family were awarded the Iron Cross for proven bravery.
Süd California Deutsche Zeitung, December 17, 1915, page 10  Translation by Google Translate. Please contact me if you can improve the transcription or translation.


Mining Experiences of M. G. Pohl
    San Diego, Cal., Dec. 25th, 1915
    Editor Bandon Recorder: An item in your issue of Dec. 21 awakens my interest as an old prospector and miner. This the article headed "Find Gold Nugget" on page one, column 5.
    With your permission I will give you a few items of former days, prospecting over and on the Salmon Mountains. This is taken out of my daybook, which I have kept for over 50 years.
    Some of your old settlers can substantiate such, if new to 1869-1870. Old Mr. Dunbar, once a merchant in Port Orford, being out prospecting in the Salmon Mountains, found a specimen of quartz rock. It contained nearly $3,000 in fine gold. Size of the specimen, 6x4x4 inches. Gold sent to the San Francisco mint was found to be .896 fine, averaging $10,000 per ton.
    Much mining has been done since, however; with all their great and little experts employed up there. These experts have accomplished only the squandering of more than $40,000 in money paid for shares in the different companies. Such was a profitable business to experts and a few closely allied to the principal stockholders.
    I have had the privilege to hold shares in the Salmon Mountain Coarse Gold Mining Co.
    But, yes but, these experts would not listen to geological principles and therefore advice was not accepted until the company's money was exhausted.
    In 1872 Dunbar and Joe Lane of the Eagle Black Sand Mine near Randolph made contract with me, then on a trip to pay a visit to my parents in Germany to seek capitalists over there for a certain interest in their mines.
    A banking house, Thode & Sons in Dresden, were willing to take matters up, their conditions however being to have the mine worked though officers and expert miners brought here. This did not suit. Letters to come and go took at that time six weeks for the round trip. Finally Thode & Sons withdrew.
    Since that time, our experts operating around there have shown that the principal gold they were after was the stockholders' gold, who were done to a finish.
    To give you a geological report on the wealth not discovered yet and still there, I am a little afraid to tackle. A number of the attempts were taken up by preachers not any more gifted as mining experts. As teachings averse to their teachings, their evangelism was so lame that only at your wish I shall try again and then I must get the promise from you not to have my words misconstrued as anti-religious.
    The Book of Nature, written by God the Creator and the Bible, written by some Babylonian prophets, are two different works.
    I for my part do not attack the latter, but once and for all uphold that what the Creator of the universe has written on the rocks, their formation, and the consequences of the forces of Nature are just as valuable to understand as other books and writings.
    The finding of those gold nuggets should interest the thinking man with lessons which will not fail to develop gigantic wealth yet undiscovered.
Respectfully,
M. G. POHL
Bandon Recorder, January 4, 1916, page 4


A FEW HINTS FOR THE GOLD SEEKERS
M. G. Pohl Writes of Gold Strikes and Pay Dirt Possibilities
    San Diego, Cal., Jan. 13.
    Editor Bandon Recorder: In my opinion there be a great many persons during the coming summer who will go out to prospect. Some may go to have a good time, sticking a shovel here and there into the soil, making a hole a foot or two deep, and if they find not a lump of gold, hunt some other place where to look for more of a nothing, then report a total failure and say that all the gold is mined out.
    I know such men personally. To such, I would say: "Have a good time but don't try to be experts. But stay at home and do something in the way of earning an honest living and save the money necessary to grub stake them in the mountains."
    In this letter I will not go into geology but will relate some experiences which may hold some value to the prospector. In the first place let me name a few localities where you may depend on it that gold may be found in paying quantities. Let me say a few words of Mount Butler on the South Sixes. This is the mischief maker. A hundred years ago, perhaps thousands, Butler was an active volcano. By its eruptions it turned the whole country upside down at different times and nearly broke up all formations, veins of metal, changed the flow of water in streams and created pockets.
    Many of these pockets were found and worked out; some were very rich. Other pockets are not located yet. That they are in existence there can be no question.
    One of these places is on the east side of Butler Creek, up the mountain southward. To prove this, all you have to do is to see this locality of the South Sixes. it has been worked to the bedrock many times. In six or eight years after there is sufficient gold there again to work it and make a stake. There is a feeder, and a rich one, in the locality above mentioned. The west side of Mt. Butler toward Elk River has been but very little prospected. When found there the gold has the shape of wheat grains. It is rather difficult to value them.
    Only men with backbone and energy should go there.
    Following the South Sixes upward, we find different places where in former years mining was successfully carried on. These locations are worked and on the Bear Pen Flat there is a probability. The high flats prove that the river has been blocked, perhaps more than once, by slides and the original river has moved perhaps 20 ft. by such slide and no doubt contains some good ground yet.
    Next you come to Rusty Gulch. A few high bars have paid good. There is only one place which should pay good, but it is difficult to handle. This is the deep hole at the foot of Rusty Mt. This is filled with logs and slides from the mountains. The poor miner will hardly dare to attach such except he has will power enough to overcome the difficulty.
    Going further east from Rusty, we come into the middle fork of the Sixes. Some gold and weak prospects of mercury have been found in the rocks there.
    The results on Rusty I have reported years ago. I would not be in favor of prospecting there. But you know there is more gold there yet than was found by the Harrison boys. I should know, as I have seen it myself. Old Harrison panned out of one pan over $16 in gold and I, myself, panned 42¢ out of the tailings of this same pan.
    Gold here is different than in any of the neighborhoods. It contains more silver and is of less value--from $12 to $14 per ounce. Wherever found here this gold has been dissolved in magnesia and will answer to the magnetic pole of the earth. It is younger and appeared after Mt. Rusty became dead.
    Crossing the middle fork we come east to the Salmon Mountains, southeast of Johnson's Creek, Salmon Creek. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in gold have been mined there. Millions of dollars are buried yet. The Salmon Mountains vein is there. Specimens found tell us that the quartz vein is four feet thick. The walls of this vein are porphyry west, the footwall slate shale.
    The eruptions of Butler have caused the fall of this formerly very steep mountain, thereby breaking off this vein and washing gold down in the Salmon Gulch and down in the Coquille River.
    In a southerly direction is Johnson Creek. I need not say anything about it because many men have made good there. Inhabitants of Coos County know it. One thing of the Coarse Gold patch on Salmon Mountain--I will say that all those tunnels generally made under the direction of experts are located too high up. The vein is below the brake and filled up by the slide.
    Only hydraulic work, by washing the whole slide away, will locate the vein, and rich returns await the company which will go to work with an understanding of the origin of this neighborhood.
    This vein is the mother lode, and rich finds to the south are only a part of it.
    Miners who savvy will know how to prospect springs, creeks and gulches. They will begin at the lower ends of such and when a color is found, move higher up and so on until they reach the plain where no more colors are found and then begin to work by making cuts to the bedrock as found there and work upwards. Even the smallest signs of quartz may be only a fissure. Follow it up; it may be a fizzle but keep on and it will bring you to success.
Yours Truly,
M. G. POHL
Bandon Recorder, January 25, 1916, page 1


    M. G. Pohl returned on the Elizabeth from San Diego, San Francisco and other California points. Mr. Pohl left last fall for the south to spend the winter, and while in that section traveled extensively. He comes back hale and hearty after his sojourn in the land of "No se inquiete Ud." (which south of San Diego means don't give a hang), and is busy telling his friends of his experiences.
"Local News," Western World, Bandon, June 1, 1916, page 4


Answers for Mr. Hughes.
    Myrtle Point, Or., Aug. 13.--To the Editor of the Journal--I have noted the list of questions addressed to Mr. Hughes by the 37 professional writers on August 2 and reprinted on the editorial page of the Journal Saturday, August 12. Mr. Hughes is too busy to answer fools' questions. I shall do it for him.
    1--Intervention in behalf of Belgium: Never. The United States has no right to stick its nose into business belonging to England.
    2--As to action to have prevented the Lusitania sinking: That some of your men are not posted any better is the fault of Lansing. Two days before the sailing of the Lusitania the warning had been sent to Washington. Come, don't forget old Abraham's saying that "You may fool some of the people, but you cannot fool all the people all the time."
    3--Embargo upon munitions: Indeed he would, as a neutral citizen of the United States, as you and others, "Tories," wish plenty of blood money for the rich.
    4--Universal compulsory military service: Yes, he would. The life of a millionaire is not any better than the life of a mechanic.
    5--Recognition of Huerta. No, he doesn't mean that. Wilson assisted Villa, not Huerta, in the first place, until pressure was brought upon him to swing about like a weather vane.
    6--Intervening in Mexico: You mean to assist the Mexican government? Yes; more so after the murder of Madero.
    7--Ship subsidies: Yes, for the welfare of the United States merchant marine.
    8--Attitude toward the working man: The working class in the majority are better citizens and truer than the wealthy, who are to a great extent Tories.
    9--Attitude toward the federal reserve law: He will show you when elected. Just have a little patience. You need not know all my views. It would not be diplomatic.
    10--Opposition to income tax when governor of New York: also, attitude on income, inheritance and munitions taxes: Conditions were different then. Any good citizen, even the German-Americans, are ready to do full service when needed.
    You fellows who are Tories out and out should know that to be prepared means years of drilling and training. Your minds are not in condition, nor ever will be, to become true soldiers. You may try to fight even the Mexicans, but cannot stand climate or conditions without getting sick or deserting. It takes men of nerve to fight.
    Got any more questions? Send them on and they shall be answered, even by Hughes when installed President.
    With wishes of good luck to him.
M. G. POHL,
    True and independent citizen of the United States for 58 years.
Oregon Journal, Portland, August 22, 1916, page 8


Mr. Pohl Talks Gold
    M. G. Pohl, of Bandon, who is one of the oldest residents of the county, having come here with the Baltimore colony back in 1859, was a caller last Saturday morning on his way over to the Bay. Although past 81 years of age, Mr. Pohl was up in the Salmon Mountain country prospecting a couple of months ago and has very convincing evidence for his statement that the gold is there in large quantities if one knows how to go after it. One nugget he showed was nearly pure gold, about the size of a nickel but thicker. According to his assertion, a ton of ore like it would assay $125,000. Others would run around $50,000 a ton. He expressed the utmost contempt for the mining experts who claim the deposits there to be slight, and wonders why the people of Coos County are not awake to the possibilities of the southern part of the county, instead of leaving them for newcomers to come in and grasp.
    He also suggested that instead of bonding for good roads, the county could have the finest roads obtainable and with a total tax of not more than 50 cents a head for all purposes, if it would mine the gold within its borders. Why should not the county, as well as an individual or a private company, receive the reward of our natural resources.
    Although his hair is white, having turned within a short space of time after a hand-to-hand fight with a panther 35 years ago, Mr. Pohl is still active and would like to form a company for the purpose of seeking the gold and getting it out, and would take an active part in the prospecting.--Coquille Sentinel.
Western World, Bandon, September 7, 1916, page 6


    Dr. M. G. Pohl left on the Elizabeth for San Diego, where he intends to engage in the poultry business. He said that he deplored the idea of leaving Coos County, having been here for more than half a century, but he thought the climate near San Diego would be better for him. He is several years past eighty but still keen of mind and able to make his own way in the world.
"Local News," Western World, Bandon, March 8, 1917, page 4


SAYS POHL IS INTERNED
Former Bandon Resident Reported to Have Been German Spy.
    Local people will be interested in the following from the Coquille Sentinel, regarding Dr. M. G. Pohl, the old German optician who for many years made his home here:
    "From the San Francisco Examiner we learn that our friend, M. G. Pohl, who came to this section as a member of the Baltimore colony in 1859, and is the oldest living member, being along in the eighties, has been arrested and interned as a German spy. It is charged that he has been in the employ of the German government for 40 years. He left Coos County about the time this county got into the war and went down to Southern California. From Los Angeles he wrote some letters to us that were published in the Sentinel. At one time early in the war he claimed to have 27 nephews in the German army. We are sorry the old man couldn't be true to the country of his adoption; but it is evident that from this time on German propaganda will be at a discount and the German spies out of a job."
    A letter was recently received from Mr. Pohl by Gallier Bros., in which he inquired about certain property he owns in this section. The letter was dated Point Loma, California.
Western World, Bandon, November 28, 1918, page 4



OBSERVATIONS AND IMPRESSIONS
OF THE JOURNAL MAN
By Fred Lockley
    (A man who represented Oregon in Congress when the entire state was one congressional district sketches his career for Mr. Lockley, who here presents it to Journal readers. That the lot of a member of the lower house in those days was a busy one may well be believed.)
    "One's life is a drama, and as I review mine I like to linger upon its different phases," said Binger Hermann. "I was born in Western Maryland, on a tributary of the Potomac River, February 19, 1843. My father, Henry Hermann, was a physician. The maiden name of my mother was Elizabeth Hopkins. As a boy I went to the village school, and from there to Independent Academy, near Baltimore, later called Irving College.
    "When I was 16 years old my father organized a company in Baltimore to come to Oregon. We left Baltimore April 7, 1859, for the Coquille River, in Coos County, Oregon. At New York we embarked on a Vanderbilt Line steamer, the Northern Light, for Aspinwall. Crossing the Isthmus, we boarded the steamer Uncle Sam and arrived at San Francisco on May 7. My father had gone to Oregon in 1858 with a party of friends, and after making extensive investigations had decided to bring a colony to Coos County. He took up a place on the South Coquille, where he built a cabin. He then returned to Baltimore for his family and their relatives and friends. I helped Father cut down the timber on our place to make a clearing for a garden.
    "I taught the first public school in the Coquille Valley, which, by the by, was the second public school in Coos County. In 1862 I went to the Umpqua Valley, where I secured a position as teacher at Yoncalla. Later I taught at Canyonville. Here I assisted in the recruiting of a cavalry company to serve against the Indians during the Civil War.
    "I studied law in the office of Stephen F. Chadwick, who later became governor of Oregon. In 1866 I was elected to the lower house of the legislature. That same fall I was admitted to the bar. Two years later I married Miss Flora A. Tibbetts, daughter of a pioneer Methodist clergyman. I celebrated my marriage by becoming a successful candidate for the position of state senator from Douglas, Coos and Curry counties. I was appointed deputy collector of United States internal revenue, serving under Medorum Crawford and later under Dr. Wilson Bowlby. I was then appointed by President Grant receiver of public moneys for the Roseburg land district. The Oregon & California railroad at that time was building north toward Portland. The road was owned by Ben Holladay. Because of the coming of the road land sales and land grant selections were at their maximum.
    "Before I became an officeholder I started a store on our old homestead. Our principal customers were gold miners, prospectors and lumberjacks. Business became so good that I decided to get a more central point, so I moved the store to the site of what is now Myrtle Point. At that time the place was a dense fir forest interspersed with myrtle trees. One of the principal enterprises in those days was the shipping of Port Orford cedar lumber for the San Francisco market.
    "During the administration of Governor Z. F. Moody he appointed me judge advocate with the title of colonel, in the Oregon militia. In 1884 I ran for Congress and won, succeeding Judge M. C. George. During the first eight years I served Oregon had but one congressman. I served 12 years, the latter four representing the First District. Being the only representative of Oregon in the lower house, I had a strenuous job, for there were constant demands for harbor improvements, for additional mail routes and for surveys of the public lands, and it seemed as if almost everyone had an Indian depredations claim he wanted me to have passed. I was kept busy giving advice and assistance in homestead or donation land contests, as well as in trying to obtain relief before the committees of the House and Senate for various Oregon citizens on all sorts of matters. One of the jobs I had to attend to was the establishment of Indian reservations. In those days Congress did not allow clerical aid to a representative. Then, too, I had to try to secure pensions for Civil War veterans as well as for Indian war veterans in Oregon.
    "During my vacations while in Congress I traveled all over the state  by horseback or buckboard, covering Harney, Malheur, Klamath and Lake counties as well as the more settled districts. I also crossed the bar of every Oregon river and familiarized myself with conditions at the mouths of these rivers, so I could secure appropriations for improvements. I must say that United States Senators J. H. Mitchell and J. N. Dolph worked in thorough harmony with all I was trying to do. We agreed upon the division of patronage, each of us knowing just what offices he had to give out to the more or less clamorous public.
    "When McKinley became President he appointed me commissioner of the general land office. I served until he was assassinated, and also for some time under Roosevelt, completing six years of continuous service. Resigning from the land office, I came back to Oregon, and upon the death of Congressman Tongue I was elected to Congress from the First District. I put in four years in the House of Representatives, thus completing 16 years in Congress.
    "After retiring from public service I made a tour of Europe, and also traveled through Egypt, Syria and the Holy Land. On my return to Oregon I lectured on my travels. I then resumed the practice of law. During the last few years I have been gathering material for a history of the Pacific Northwest. My public service served to acquaint me with many of the pioneer empire builders. You will remember the book I issued entitled "The Louisiana Purchase," so you will see that the writing of history is not a new game for me; it is something I have studied for many years. A man must have some interest in life or he cannot retain his youthful enthusiasm and is apt to die from lack of interest in life. I am 78 years old, but I find I am just as much interested in current events as I ever was."

Oregon Journal,
Portland, March 18, 1921, page 10


OBSERVATIONS AND IMPRESSIONS
OF THE JOURNAL MAN
By Fred Lockley

    (The story of an early pioneer of Coos County is here written by Mr. Lockley. It was told him by a son of that pioneer, who resisted tyranny in an Old World country at a time when resistance meant peril. In a succeeding installment the story will be completed.)
    The principal inhabitants of Coos County 63 years ago were elk, deer, bear, bobcats and Indians. There was only a scattering of settlers, for there were no roads, no schools and no market except for gold dust and beaver pelts.
    At Myrtle Point a few days ago I met Theobalt Manell Hermann, who has lived in Coos County 63 years. I spent an afternoon with Mr. and Mrs. Hermann and Mr. Hermann's sister, Mrs. Bender.
    "Before I tell you about myself I want to tell you about my father, Dr. Henry Hermann," said Mr. Herrmann. "My father was born in Hesse-Kassel in 1816. All of his people were army people and he was to follow in his father's footsteps and become an army officer. When he was not over 9 or 10 years old his uncle broke a leg. Father visited him. The leg was so painful that he asked my father to take the bandage off so he could secure relief from the pressure. My father did so. After an hour or so he asked Father to replace the bandage. Presently the doctor came. When he looked at his patient's leg he asked, 'Who took the bandage off?' My father, very much subdued by the doctor's look and tone, said, 'I did.' 'Who put the bandaging back again?' inquired the doctor. 'I did,' answered my father. When the patient had confirmed my father's statement, the doctor said, 'You shall study medicine. You have a deft touch. You will make a famous surgeon.' My father shook his head and said, 'No, I am to be an army officer.' The doctor said, 'Let me tell you something. I want you to think seriously over what I tell you. A physician and surgeon spends his life helping others. His life is devoted to service. He heals the sick and succors the suffering, whether they can pay him or not. Often his only payment is his own knowledge that his skill has won a victory over the grim reaper. An army officer in times of peace struts around in a showy uniform like a peacock, and in times of war does all he can to destroy and kill. It is an unworthy occupation for a boy as bright as you are. There are plenty of vain and stupid people to become army officers. You must be a doctor and make your life count for something.'
    "My father pondered his words, for the doctor had put a new thought into his mind. The more he thought of the future the less he thought of his first choice of a life work; so, against the opposition of his relatives, he decided to study medicine. He went to college. There he found that the right of free speech and free press was forbidden. One could not write or speak his own beliefs but could say or write only what the authorities said should be believed. He, with other students, secured a press and type and published a college paper in which they said that resistance to tyranny was service to God and to humanity. The students were arrested. Some were convicted, some acquitted. The judge who presided at the trial of my father was a longtime friend of our family. He decided the evidence was not sufficient to convict.
    "My father, after his release, worked harder than ever to secure freedom for his fellow students, and freedom of speech. One night the judge came to my father's room and said, 'I am taking my life and liberty in my hands to come here to warn you. The time will come, but it is not yet, when we shall have the freedom you seek, to express our views. In an hour the soldiers will be here to seize you. A ship is leaving for America. Go quickly. I cannot save you if you are again arrested and tried.'
    "With a fellow student my father went to the American consul, who told them that in America all men had freedom of conscience and of speech and they would be welcome there. He took them to the captain of the ship sailing for America. The captain hid them in a large hogshead in the hold and packed freight around and over them. The next morning, when the shores of Germany were fading from sight, he sent the sailors to release them from their hiding place. This was in 1834, when my father was about 18 years old.
    "The students refused to submit to repression and soon many more were arrested. To save the expense of supporting them in the jails and penitentiaries many of the ringleaders were deported to America, where they became great leaders, like Carl Schurz, or military leaders, like Sigel. Finally, in 1848, the storm broke and resulted in revolution, and though many of the leading Germans--men like Colonel Henry E. Dosch of Portland, and men of that type--had to flee to America, yet the government had to give the people more liberty.
    "Father lived at Baltimore several years and continued his medical studies and organized a singing society. He owned a drug store and had established a profitable practice. He decided that he was having things too easy and that he had lost sight of his ideal of service, so he took a job as a physician at a coal mine at Lonaconing. There, through a peculiar twist of fortune, he met his fate in the person of Elizabeth Hopkins, who had recently come from Wales. Her father was a collier and iron founder. He had been foreman of an iron foundry in Wales. The owner discharged a man without consulting Mr. Hopkins, so he stopped then and there and sailed for America. The Lonaconing company employed him to build an iron furnace to be erected in Maryland. He sent back to Wales for his family and also for a lot of his former workers.
    "My father met his daughter shortly after she had come here from Wales in 1844. Father was young, handsome, a good singer, loved poetry and had great personal charm and magnetism, so it was not long before Elizabeth Hopkins became Mrs. Henry Hermann.
    "In 1856 my father moved to Baltimore so that we children might go to school. In those days the country east of the Rockies was restless and unsettled, the slavery question creating friction. Father decided to gather his friends and neighbors around him and move to the Willamette Valley. In 1858 he went by way of the Isthmus of Panama to San Francisco and thence overland to Coos County, where he decided he had found the land of promise, so he returned to Baltimore and the next spring the Hermann colony sailed for Port Orford."

Oregon Journal, Portland, May 23, 1922, page 8


OBSERVATIONS AND IMPRESSIONS
OF THE JOURNAL MAN
By Fred Lockley
    (In this, the second and concluding installment of the narrative of Manell Hermann, there is told the story of a colony that went into the wilds of Coos County more than three score years ago. It is a tale of absorbing interest and of historical value.)
    Manell Hermann is 77 years old. He has lived in Coos County for the past 63 years. In 1858 his father, Dr. Henry Hermann, and John Ousterhous came from Baltimore to seek a location for a colony. At San Francisco they arranged to take a boat for Portland. When they reached the wharf the boat had sailed and they were told there would not be another for two weeks. They bought horses and started overland for the Willamette Valley. At Roseburg they met John Yoakam and J. J. Hill, who had taken claims on the Coquille and who told them of the Coquille country. They accepted Yoakam's and Hill's invitation and went with them to inspect the Coquille River district. They were charmed with the country. On the open prairies were hundreds of elk, while innumerable deer were to be seen on the grass-covered hillsides.
    Dr. Hermann returned to Baltimore and on April 7, 1859 what is called the Baltimore colony started for Oregon. From Baltimore they went to New York City and took the Vanderbilt line steamer Northern Light for Aspinwall. At Panama they boarded the Uncle Sam for San Francisco. The party consisted of Dr. and Mrs. H. Hermann and their children--Binger, Manell, Washington, Cass, Thrusenelda and Franklin; Mr. and Mrs. Henry Schroeder, with their children--Henry, Augustus, Fred, Louisa, George and Charles; Mr. and Mrs. William Volkman and their son Carl; Mr. and Mrs. August Bender and their son Edward; Mr. and Mrs. David Holland, Herman Leeke, John A. Bothe, Charles Linderman, Gustave and Julius Pohl, Sara Holland and her three children and Mrs. Edward Pagles and her three children.
    "We had to wait 10 days at San Francisco for a boat," said Mr. Hermann. "While we were awaiting the sailing of the steamer Columbia, August Bender went to Santa Cruz to visit Andrew Trust, a former resident of Baltimore, who had come to California in 1849. They persuaded him to located at Santa Cruz. He was to have been the merchant of the colony and had brought along a stock of goods. When he decided not to go on to Coos County, my father and several of the other colonists bought a stock of goods in San Francisco, which they shipped on the schooner Cyclops. The Cyclops was wrecked coming in over the bar and the goods were lost. Our party landed at Port Orford, where we met Louis Knapp, who ran a hotel there, of which he was the proprietor for more than 50 years. He retired only a few years ago. My father went on horseback to the Coquille Valley to hire a pack train to take our goods. Meanwhile, Charley Hillborn, with his ox team, took us to the mouth of the Coquille.
    "Here we met my father, who had secured canoes to take us up the Coquille. While going up the river, George Schroeder, who was 10 years old, fell out of the boat and was drowned. My brother Binger jumped in to rescue him, but George was carried away by the swift current and disappeared. Some of the men stopped at Port Orford to help bring on our goods with the pack train.
    "I presume there never was a more inexperienced party than ours. None of us knew anything about roughing it. All of us were city men. My father was a physician, Volkman was a tinsmith, Wilde and Leeke were cigarmakers, Schroeder was a cobbler, Holland was a coal miner, Payles was a locksmith and Pohl a music teacher. The others were cabinetmakers, pianomakers, carpenters and laborers. Empire was the only town in Coos County, and its population was only 30.
    "We started to build log cabins on our claims. Mr. Wilde took up a place on Catching Creek. In going through the heavy brush a twig caught the hammer of his muzzle-loading shotgun and it was discharged, blowing Mr. Wilde's head off. Father had shipped his library, his surgical instruments and a supply of drugs at Baltimore on a clipper ship that was bound for San Francisco by way of the Horn. It took six months to make the trip. Others of the party had also sent goods by this ship, including a Page portable sawmill, a grand square piano, a violin, engine, gristmill burrs and other heavy articles. These had to be portaged between the headwaters of Isthmus Slough and Beaver Slough, a distance of two miles. I remember there was a heavy stove. Two Indians tried to carry it, but it was heavy and awkward and was too much for them, so finally one of them called his squaw and with lots of puffing and grunting they loaded it on her back and she carried it the two miles.
    "Our people, knowing nothing about packing goods, had shipped their goods in big square boxes that were difficult to handle on a pack horse or in a canoe, and they caused lots of grief and needless trouble.
    "Father secured a scow to transport his library, his surgical instruments and his drugs. In the swift current of the river it foundered when within a mile of the landing. The medicines, especially the powders and such things as Epsom salts, melted away and were lost. Many of the books were ruined. Some of the instruments he did not recover until the following summer.
    "So many additional expenses had been incurred and so wild was the country, with its bears and cougar and its loneliness, that some of the city-bred people could not stand it, so Mr. Pagle and Mr. Ousterhaus, with their families, and Mr. Finkeldie, went to Santa Cruz, while Mrs. Wilde, whose husband had been killed, went to San Francisco, as did Mr. Leeke. Coleman and Mackey went back to Baltimore. The rest of us stayed and soon learned to row a canoe, kill elk and cut down the trees and clear the land. Father was the only doctor in this part of the country and went on horseback or by canoe all over the coast, his district including the country as far inland as Roseburg and as far south as Port Orford.
    "S. M. Dement, whose son is now president of the bank here in Myrtle Point, had come from Jacksonville, in Southern Oregon, to this district four years before. He was a fine hunter. He took us out and showed us how to shoot elk and deer and bear. He took my brother Binger out and posted him on an elk trail and said, 'When I drive the elk down the trail, pick out a big one and shoot it just back of the foreleg.' The elk came along, but they were all big ones and my brother got buck fever and fired at the herd. Mr. Dement soon came down the trail and said, 'Where is the elk you shot?' Binger said, 'I didn't get any.' Mr. Dement said, 'Did you pick out a big one and aim just back of its foreleg?' Binger said, 'No, I fired at random.' 'That's no place to fire at. You ought to have aimed where I told you,' said Mr. Dement. 'Don't ever shoot an elk in its random, if you are out after camp meat.'
    "Mrs. E. B. Lockhart taught the first school in the county, at Empire City. My brother Binger was the second teacher. He taught in 1860 and 1861. In 1863 I went to the Eastern Oregon mines and got a lot of experience. My sister, Thrusenelda, married Edward Bender in 1876. He was the first postmaster of Myrtle Point and held the office for more than 20 years. Her eldest son, August, is assistant postmaster at Coquille. Her next son, Ernest, lives at Broadbent, and her youngest son, Dr. Charles Bender, is an optician in Portland. Of my nine children, seven are yet living."
Oregon Journal, Portland, May 24, 1922, page 10


    J. F. Schroeder is one of the few survivors of the Baltimore colony that came to the Coquille country in 1859. When I met him recently at Myrtle Point, he said:
    "I was born at Baltimore, September 15, 1844. My father, Henry Schroeder, and my mother, whose maiden name was Dora Dietz, were born in Germany. There were six children in our family--five boys and a girl. Augustus, the eldest, was born in 1843. I was the next. Then came my sister Louise, who married Orvil Dodge, the historian, whose son is city recorder of Myrtle Point. The next child was my brother William, who was drowned in the Coquille River in the spring of 1859. Charles, the next child, lives at Pasco.
    "Dr. Henry Hermann came to this country to look it over and select a site for a colony. He had planned to locate in the Willamette Valley, but when he saw the country here he decided this was the place he was looking for. With a number of families from Baltimore he came here the following year, in the spring of 1859. At that time the only post office in this whole district was at Empire City. The mail came in by Scottsburg. It took two months to send a letter to Baltimore and get an answer. Randolph, a little mining village, long since abandoned, was the next post office. It was located on the beach where the miners were mining for gold in the black sand.
    "Mrs. E. B. Lockhart taught a school at Empire. She was the first teacher in the county. Binger Hermann, who now lives at Roseburg, was the second teacher. He taught in a log school house and had 10 pupils. In those days we had but few cattle. We only needed a few cows for their milk. There were no roads on which oxen could be used, and there were no wagons, and we did not need cattle for meat. We traveled by boat on the rivers and on horseback or on foot on the trails. Elk and deer could be shot from our cabin doors. Ducks, geese, salmon, trout and meat of all kinds were abundant. Those old days are gone, never to return, for we have settled the last West, and no more can a man hitch up his oxen and go to a new country where he can get all the elk, deer and bear he wants or where there is plenty of land to be taken."
Fred Lockley, "Observations and Impressions of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, June 9, 1922, page 10


Man, 93, Missing.
    SEATTLE, Wash., Oct. 14.--(AP)--On request of Mrs. C. L. Golchy, Aberdeen, Wash., police here today sought her father, M. G. Pohl, 93. Mrs. Golchy telegraphed that Pohl "ran away and bought a ticket for Seattle." She expressed fear that he would go to San Diego, Cal.
Oregonian, October 15, 1926, page 13


    POHL--At Highland Park, on February 5, 1929, Mary F., wife of Maxmillian [sic] Pohl.
    Relatives and friends of the family are respectfully invited to attend the funeral from the residence of her daughter, Mrs. William Thatcher, 116 Harper Place, Highland Park, Thursday afternoon at 3:30 o'clock.
"Died," Central New Jersey Home News, New Brunswick, New Jersey, February 6, 1929, page 9. Mary's grave is mistakenly listed on findagrave.com under "Maxmillion G. Pohl." Max Pohl apparently died in 1930 and is buried in Washington state under "Maximilliam Gustavus Pohl."


    [William Edward Rackleff] took over the store from his father, Wm. Rackleff, and moved same over to the old Forks house at [the] junction of North and South Forks of the [Coquille] River. While living at forks of river, he operated a ferry across the North Fork. Latter part of year, 1870, and forepart of 1871, he built the steamer Mary, a small vessel designed to carry passengers, freight and towing. . . .
    In 1872 the store at the Forks was turned over to Stephen Tripp, and Wm. E. Rackleff removed to Pohl, Grube and Rink's mill about a mile above the point where Bear Creek empties into the river, the mill being on the north bank of the river. He then sold the hull of the steamer Mary to Alfred Machado; he rigged the vessel up and started to San Francisco but ran ashore and wrecked the craft at Point Reyes.
    He then built the steam schooner Cordelia, using the machinery from the steamer Mary. Operated the Cordelia a while between Coquille and for a short time along California ports. Later part of 1874 he sold the Cordelia to Pohl, Grube & Rink. The vessel was operated by the new owners for a few years; finally some years later she was likely capsized in a storm, for her hull was found bottom side up on the coast of Vancouver Island, B.C., and none of the crew were ever heard from.
Ed Rackleff, "Captains William and Wm. Edwards Rackleff," Coquille Valley Sentinel, Coquille, January 29, 1942, page 5



  
Last revised January 1, 2024