The first travelers of the Applegate Trail in 1846. See also William Hoffman's diary and Daniel Toole's and Tolbert Carter's excellent memoirs. See the page on the "preacher train" for the emigration along that route in 1853.
   
Click here for more on the Southern Route.


    THE EMIGRANTS--SOUTHERN ROUTE.--We have no further information to give concerning the emigrants on the Southern route, excepting that which is contained in the following letter, received a few days since:
    Editor of the Spectator:--I have just arrived in the settlements of this valley from the Kenyon in the Umpqua Mountains. I left the people suffering beyond anything you have ever known. They must perish with hunger unless the people of the settlements go to their relief with pack horses and bring them in. They will have property with which to pay for such services. If they are not bro't away they must perish. Before I left, they had already commenced eating the cattle that had died in the Kenyon. At least one hundred head of pack horses should be taken out immediately. I implore the people of this valley, in the name of humanity, and in behalf of my starving and perishing fellow travelers to hasten to their relief.
    We have understood that a considerable band of horses have been sent out from Champoeg County, sufficient, probably, to bring in all or most of the emigrants.
Californian, Monterey, February 20, 1847, page 4


    Editor Statesman: Remembering my promise, I now write you. I crossed the mountains from Ashland to this place about three weeks ago, with a buggy and horse, and in company with the old pioneer Lindsay Applegate, now of Ashland, who crossed the plains in 1843, and built the first log cabin in Polk County. He will soon be an octogenarian. The road we now travel from Rogue River Valley to the Klamath Basin is the same, Mr. A. informed us, as viewed out by the "south road party" in [late June] 1846, of which party of fifteen men he was one. They were the first white men to cross the mountains by this route, and were six days hunting it out from Rogue River Valley to the Klamath River, a distance of thirty-three miles. They followed at times an Indian footpath. The old California trail ran south from Rogue River, crossing the Siskiyou Mountain ridge by the way of Pilot Rock. The road party left this trail about seven miles south of where Ashland now is, and struck out due east, finding and passing the soda springs, but it happened an hour or so before the road party left the California trail [that] a party of mountain men, trappers, traders and a few Columbia Indians, well mounted and armed to the teeth, had passed up the trail in the direction of Pilot Rock, and as the road party was passing along a ridge about a mile and a half from where it had turned east, the men then heard the Indian war whoop go up loud and shrill, seconded by the reports of many guns, only a few miles away. The battle of Pilot Rock had begun. The road hunters, however, appreciating the favorable turns of affairs, halted but a few minutes to listen to the conflict, but they heard distinctly while they tarried "the savage war whoop burst forth, and almost at the same moment a heavy volley ending in a perfect roar." All the sign of the deadly strife they could see was a thin cloud of blue smoke hanging along the side of the mountain, between their position and Pilot Rock, but as they continued their journey for several miles they heard occasionally the yells of the Indians and the reports of the rifles.
    The old mountain man Turner was one of the seventy-five men engaged in this fight. He said they expected an attack where it was made, and so were ready for the red devils when they announced themselves.
    The attack was made by three or four hundred warriors, their faces grim with war paint black and red--they came forth boldly from the shelter of rocks and bush, yelping and whooping like fiends and shooting arrows with great rapidity, but too high to harm the white men, who now with steady nerves returned the salute with a volley from fifty guns, which caused many braves to bite the dust, and sent the remainder back to shelter. This war party must have been under the influence of a "strong medicine," for the attack was repeated in less than a half hour, with unabated bravery, but being repulsed with a second volley more fatal in its effect than the first, the battle was finally over, though the Indians followed several miles shooting arrows from a distance and occasionally drawing the fire of the white men. Strange to tell, one white man was severely, and some horses slightly, wounded with arrows, and that was all. These Indians had no guns forty years ago.
    This severe rebuke of those Indians secured the little party of road hunters. The war cry died upon the lips of the young braves. They clasped the little brown hands of the dusky maidens in their own, and made the nights hideous with the "death song," for their war chief, Kink-i-coony, "scalp-catcher," caught a rifle ball in his mouth.
    Pilot Rock may be seen fifty miles away, as you pass up Rogue River Valley from the north, standing up against the sky like a large-sized wart on the backbone of the Siskiyou. Though not so broad at the base, it is higher than the great pyramid of Egypt, its top being exalted to the giddy height of six hundred feet from its base on the mountain. The sides are so precipitous that a man cannot scale them. There is, however, a crevice in the rock, running upward from the foot, along which people climb to the top, where there is said to be standing room for six hundred men.
Oregon Statesman, Salem, May 7, 1886, page 1


    After the lapse of thirty-one years (as there has been no history of this circumstance placed before the public), I propose to give a plain statement of facts from notes taken at the time and from memory, giving motives that led to the enterprise. Our immigration of 1843, being the largest that had ever crossed the plains, our progress was necessarily slow, having to hunt out passes for our wagons over rivers, creeks, deep gullies, digging down the banks where nothing but a pack trail had been before, cutting our way through the dense forests before we could reach the valley of the Columbia, and then it appeared as though our greatest troubles had begun, for here we had to encounter cataracts and falls of the Columbia and the broad and lofty Cascades, with their heavy forests.
    At Fort Walla Walla, on the banks of the Columbia River, with our teams about exhausted, we were advised to leave our wagons and animals over winter at that place in the care of the Hudson's Bay Co. A portion of the immigrants, including my two brothers' families and my own, accepted the proposition, providing we could secure boats in which to descend the river, as it was supposed we might secure them from the Hudson's Bay Co. Under these considerations we made arrangements with the said company for the care of the latter through the winter. We failed in our efforts to obtain boats; having a whipsaw and other tools with us, we hunted logs from the masses of driftwood lodged along the river banks, hewed them out, sawed them into lumber, and built boats, and with our families and the contents of our wagons commenced the descent of the river. Dr. Whitman procured us the service of two Indians to act as pilots to the Dalles. From there we thought we would have but little trouble by making a portage at the Cascades. We did well till we reached the Dalles, a series of falls and cataracts. Just above the Cascade Mountains one of our boats, containing six persons, was caught in one of those terrible whirlpools and upset. My son, ten years old, my brother Jesse's son, Edward, same age, and a man by the name of McClellan, who was a member of my family, were lost. The other three who escaped were left to struggle the best they could until we made the land with the other boats. Leaving the women and children on shore while we rushed to the rescue, it was only with the greatest effort that we were able to keep our boats from sharing the same fate. William Doake, a young man who could not swim, held on to a feather bed until overtaken and rescued. W. Parker and my son Elisha, then twelve years old, after drifting through whirlpools among cragged rocks for more than a mile, rescued themselves by catching hold of a large rock a few feet above water at the head of Rock Island. At the time of the disaster it was utterly impossible to render them any assistance, for it was only with the greatest skill that we succeeded in saving the women and children from sharing the same fate. It was a painful scene beyond description. We dare not go to their assistance without exposing the occupants of the other boats to certain destruction, while those persons were struggling for life in the surging waters. The whole scene was witnessed by Gen. Fremont and his company of explorers, who were camped immediately opposite, and were powerless to render us any assistance. The bodies of the drowned were never recovered, though we offered a reward to the Indians, who searched the river for months. We reached the Cascades without any other incidents worth relating.
    We then made a portage around the falls, packing the most of our effects on our backs, dragging our boats over the rocks, reloaded and proceeded on our way to Vancouver, ascended the Willamette River to the falls, there made another portage around the falls, reloaded again, ascended the river twenty-five miles, coming to a place called Champoeg, where we finally left our boats and made our way across the valley to Lee's Old Mission, ten miles below where Salem now stands, and on the first day of December entered one of the old buildings to remain for the winter.
    Previous to this, we had been in the rain most of the time for twenty days. Oh, how we could have enjoyed our hospitable shelter if we could have looked around the family circle and beheld the bright faces that accompanied us on our toilsome journey almost to the end! Alas, they were not there! That long and dreary winter, with its pelting rains and howling winds, brought sadness to us. Under these sad reflections, we resolved if we remained in the country to find a better way for others who might wish to emigrate, as soon as we could possibly afford the time. From what information we could gather from old pioneers and the Hudson's Bay Co., the Cascade Mountains to the south became very low, or terminated where the Klamath cut that chain; and knowing that the Blue Mountains lay east and west, we came to the conclusion there must be a belt of country extending east towards the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains where there might be no very lofty ranges of mountains to cross. So in 1846, after making arrangements for subsistence of our families during our absence, we organized a company to undertake the enterprise, composed as follows:
    Levi Scott, John Scott, Henry Boygus, Lindsay Applegate, Jesse Applegate, Benjamin Burch, John Owens, John Jones, Robert Smith, Samuel Goodhue, Moses Harris, David Goff, Benit Osborn, William Sportsman, William Parker. Each man had his pack horse and saddle horse, making thirty animals to guard and take care of.
    A portion of the country we proposed to traverse was at that time marked on the map "unexplored region." All the information we could get relative to it was through the Hudson's Bay Co. Peter Ogden, an officer of that company, who had led a party of trappers through that region, represented that portions of it were desert-like, and that at one time his company was so pressed for the want of water that they went to the top of a mountain, filled sacks with snow, and were thus able to cross the desert. He also stated that portions of the country through which we would have to travel were infested with fierce and warlike savages, who would attack every party entering their country, steal their traps, waylay and murder the men, and that Rogue River had taken its name from the character of the Indians inhabiting its valleys. The idea of opening a wagon road through such a country at that time was counted as preposterous. These statements, though based on facts, we thought might be exaggerated by the Hudson's Bay Co., in their own interest, since they had a line of forts on the Snake River route, reaching from Fort Hall to Vancouver, and were prepared to profit by the immigration.
    One thing which had much influence with us was the fact that the question as to which power, Great Britain or the United States, would eventually secure a title to the country was not settled, and in case a war should occur and Britain prove successful, it was important to have a way by which we could leave the country without running the gantlet of the Hudson's Bay Co.'s forts and falling a prey to Indian tribes which were under British influence.
    On the morning of the 20th of June, 1846, we gathered on the La Creole, near where Dallas now stands, moved up the valley and encamped for the night on Mary's River, near where the town of Corvallis has since been built.
    June 21--Moved up the valley and encamped among the foothills of the Calapooia Mountains.
    June 22--This day we traveled along the base of the Calapooias, our course being nearly southeast, passing near a prominent peak since called Spencer's Butte. In a little valley near the butte, on the south side, we discovered Indians digging camas. On perceiving us, most of them secreted themselves in the timber. One of our party succeeded in capturing an old Indian, and representing to him by signs the course we wished to follow, the old fellow preceded us two or three miles, and put us on a dim trail which had been marked by twisting the tops of the brush along the route. It had only been used as a foot trail and but seldom at that. It led us into a prairie at the base of the main Calapooia chain. Crossing the prairie, we found the little trail where it entered the mountains with difficulty, and being guided by the broken brush, reached at sundown a little stream on the Umpqua side, where we camped for the night in a beautiful little valley where the grass was good and the ground almost covered with the finest strawberries I had ever seen.
    The next morning, June 23, we moved on through the grassy oak hills and narrow valleys to the North Umpqua River. The crossing was a rough and dangerous one, as the river bed was a mass of loose rocks, and, as we were crossing, our horses occasionally fell, giving the riders a severe ducking. On the south side we encamped for the night.
    On the morning of the 24th, we left camp early and moved on about five miles to the south branch of the Umpqua, a considerable stream, probably sixty yards wide, coming from the eastward. Traveling up that stream almost to the place where the old trail crosses the Umpqua Mountains, we encamped for the night opposite the historic Umpqua Canyon.
    The next morning, June 25th, we entered the canyon, followed up the little stream that runs through the defile for four or five miles, crossing the creek a great many times, but the canyon becoming more obstructed with brush and fallen timber, the little trail we were following turned up the side of the ridge where the woods were more open, and wound its way to the top of the mountain. It then bore south along a narrow backbone of the mountain, the dense thickets and the rocks on either side affording splendid opportunities for ambush. A short time before this, a party coming from California had been attacked on this summit ridge by the Indians and one of them had been severely wounded. Several of the horses had also been shot with arrows. Along this trail we picked up a number of broken and shattered arrows. We could see that a large party of Indians had passed over the trail traveling southward only a few days before. At dark we reached a small opening on a little stream at the foot of the mountain on the south, and encamped for the night.
    On the morning of the 26th, we divided our forces, part going back to explore the canyon, while the remainder stayed to guard the camp and horses. The exploring party went back to where we left the canyon on the little trail the day before, and returning through the canyon, came into camp after night, reporting that wagons could be taken through.
    We found everything all right on the morning of the 27th, although the Indians had hovered around us all night, frightening our horses a number of times. From the tracks we could see that they approached very closely to our encampment. Making an early start we moved on very cautiously. Whenever the trail passed through the cuts we dismounted and led our horses, having our guns in hand ready at any moment to use them in self-defense, for we had adopted this rule, never to be the aggressor. Traveling through a very broken country the sharp hills separated by little streams upon which there were small openings, we came out at about noon into a large creek, a branch of Rogue River, now called Grave Creek, on which we rested about two hours. During the afternoon our course was over a more open country--through scattering pine and oak timber. Towards evening, we saw a good many Indians posted along the mountainside and then running ahead of us. About an hour by sun we reached a prairie of several hundred acres, which extends down to very near the bank of Rogue River. As we advanced towards the river, the Indians in large numbers occupied the river bank near where the trail crossed. Having understood that this crossing was a favorite place of attack, we decided as it was growing late to pass the night in the prairie. Selecting a place as far from the brush as possible, we made every preparation for a night attack.
    In selecting our camp on Rogue River, we observed the greatest caution. Cutting stakes from the limbs of an old oak that stood in the open ground, we picketed our horses with double stakes as firmly as possible. The horses were picketed in the form of a hollow square, outside of which we took up our positions, knowing that in case of an attack there would be a chance of losing our horses and that that would be a complete defeat. We kept vigilant guard during the night, and the next morning could see the Indians occupying the same position as at dark. After an early breakfast we began to make preparations for moving forward. There had been a heavy dew, and fearing the effects of the dampness upon our firearms, which were muzzle-loaders, of course, and some of them with flintlocks, we fired them off and reloaded. In moving forward, we formed two divisions, with the pack horses behind. On reaching the river bank the front division fell behind the pack horses and drove them over, while the rear division faced the brush, with gun in hand, until the front division was safely over. Then they turned about, and the rear division passed over under protection of their rifles. The Indians watched the performance from their places of concealment, but there was no chance for them to make an attack without exposing themselves to our fire. The river was deep and rapid, and for a short distance some of the smaller animals had to swim. Had we rushed pell mell into the stream, as parties sometimes do under such circumstances, our expedition would probably have come to an end there.
    After crossing we turned up the river, and the Indians in large numbers came out of the thickets on the opposite side and tried in every way to provoke us. Our course was for some distance southeast along the bank of the river, and the Indians, some mounted and some on foot, passed on rapidly on the other side. There appeared to be a great commotion among them. A party had left the French settlement in the Willamette some three or four weeks before us, consisting of French, half-breeds, Columbia Indians and a few Americans; probably about eighty in all. Passing one of their encampments we could see by the signs that they were only a short distance ahead of us. We afterwards learned that the Rogue Rivers had stolen some of their horses, and that an effort to recover them had caused the delay. At about three o'clock, we left the river and bore southward up a little stream for four or five miles and encamped. From our camp we could see numerous signal fires on the mountains to the eastward. We saw no Indians in the vicinity of our camp, and no evidence of their having been there lately. They had evidently given us up, and followed the other company which the same night encamped in the main valley above. Under the circumstances, we enjoyed a good night's sleep, keeping only two guards at a time.
    On the morning of June 29th, we passed over a low range of hills, from the summit of which we had a splendid view of the Rogue River Valley. It seemed like a great meadow, interspersed with groves of oaks which appeared like vast orchards. All day long we traveled over rich black soil covered with rank grass, clover and pea vine, and at night encamped near the other party on the stream now known as Emigrant Creek, near the foot of the Siskiyou Mountains. This night, the Indians having gone to the mountains to ambush the French party as we afterwards learned, we were not disturbed. Here our course diverged from that of the other company; they following the old California trail across the Siskiyou, while our route was eastward through an unexplored region several hundred miles in extent.
    On the morning of June 30th, we moved along the north bank of the creek, and soon began the ascent of the mountains to the eastward, which we found gradual. Spending most of the day in examining the hills about the stream now called Keene Creek, near the summit of the Siskiyou ridge, we moved on down through the heavy forests of pine, fir and cedar, and encamped early in the evening in a little valley, now known as Round Prairie, about ten or twelve miles, as nearly as we could judge, from the camp of the previous night. We found no evidence of Indians being about, but we did not relax our vigilance on that account. We encamped in a clump of pines in the valley and kept out our guard.
    On the morning of July 1st, being anxious to know what we were to find ahead, we made an early start. This morning we observed the track of a lone horse leading eastward. Thinking it had been made by some Indian horseman on his way from Rogue River to the Klamath country, we undertook to follow it. This we had no trouble in doing, as it had been made in the spring while the ground was damp and was very distinct, until we came to a very rough rocky ridge where we lost it. This ridge was directly in our way. Exploring northward along the divide for considerable distance without finding a practicable route across it, we encamped for the night among the pines. The next morning, July 2nd, we explored the ridge southward as far as the great canyon of the Klamath but, having no better success than the day before, we encamped at a little spring on the mountainside. The next day, July 3rd, we again traveled northward farther than before, making a more complete examination of the country than we had previously done, and at last found what seemed to be a practicable pass. Near this was a rich grassy valley through which ran a little stream, and here we encamped for the night. This valley is now known as Long Prairie.
    On the morning of July 4th, our route bore along a ridge trending considerably towards the north. The route was good, not rocky, and the ascent very gradual. After crossing the summit of the Cascade ridge, the descent was, in places, very rapid. At noon we came out into a glade where there was water and grass and from which we could see the Klamath River. After noon we moved down through an immense forest, principally of yellow pine, to the river, and then traveled up the north bank, still through yellow pine forests, for about six miles, when all at once we came out in full view of the Klamath country, extending eastward as far as the eye could reach. It was an exciting moment, after the many days spent in the dense forests and among the mountains, and the whole party broke forth in cheer after cheer. An Indian who had not observed us until the shouting began broke away from the river bank near us and ran to the hills a quarter of a mile distant. An antelope could scarcely have made better time, for we continued shouting as he ran and his speed seemed to increase until he was lost from our view among the pines. We were now entering a country where the natives had seen but few white people. Following the river up to where it leaves the Lower Klamath Lake, we came to a riffle where it seemed possible to cross. William Parker waded in and explored the ford. It was deep, rocky and rapid, but we all passed over safely, and then proceeding along the river and lakeshore for a mile or so when we came into the main valley of the Lower Klamath Lake. We could see columns of smoke rising in every direction, for our presence was already known to the Modocs and the signal fire telegraph was in active operation. Moving southward along the shore we came to a little stream coming in from the southward, and there found pieces of newspapers and other unmistakable evidences of civilized people having camped there a short time before. We found a place where the turf had been cut away, also the willows near the bank of the creek, and horses had been repeatedly driven over the place. As there were many places where animals could get water without this trouble, some of the party were of the opinion that some persons had been buried there and that horses had been driven over the place to obliterate all marks and thus prevent the Indians from disturbing the dead. The immense excitement among the Indians on our arrival there strengthened this opinion. Col. Fremont, only a few days before, had reached this point on his way northward when he was overtaken by Lieut. Gillespie of the United States army with important dispatches and returned to Lower California. The Mexican War had just begun and the "Pathfinder" was needed elsewhere. On the very night he was overtaken by Lieut. Gillespie, the Modocs surprised his camp, killed three of his Delaware Indians and it is said that, had it not been for the vigilance and presence of mind of Kit Carson, he would probably have suffered a complete rout. At this place we arranged our camp on open ground so that the Indians could not possibly approach us without discovery. It is likely that the excitement among the Modocs was caused, more than anything else, by the apprehension that ours was a party sent to chastise them for their attack on Fremont. We were but a handful of men surrounded by hundreds of Indians armed with their poisoned arrows, but by dint of great care and vigilance we were able to pass through their country safely. On every line of travel from the Atlantic to the Pacific there has been great loss of life from a failure to exercise a proper degree of caution, and too often have reckless and foolhardy men who have, through the want of proper care, become embroiled in difficulties with the Indians, gained the reputation of being Indian fighters and heroes, while the men who were able to conduct parties in safety through the country of warlike savages escaped the world's notice.
    On the morning of July 5th we left our camp on the little creek (now called Hot Creek), and continued our course along the shore of Lower Klamath Lake. This threw us off our course considerably, as the lake extended some miles to the southward of our last camp, and we did not reach the eastern shore until the day was far spent. We camped on the lake shore, and the next morning, July 6th, we ascended a high rocky ridge to the eastward for the purpose of making observations. Near the base of the ridge, on the east, was a large lake, perhaps twenty miles in length. Beyond it, to the eastward, we could see a timbered butte, apparently thirty miles distant, at the base of which there appeared to be a low pass through the mountain range which seemed to encircle the lake basin. It appearing practicable to reach this pass by passing around the south end of the lake, we decided to adopt that route and began the descent of the ridge, but we soon found ourselves in the midst of an extremely rugged country. Short lava ridges ran in every conceivable direction, while between them were caves and crevices into which it seemed our animals were in danger of falling headlong. The farther we advanced the worse became the route, so that at length we decided to retrace our steps to the smooth country. This was difficult, as our horses had become separated among the rocks, and it was some time before we could get them together and return to the open ground. Then we discovered that one of our party, David Goff, was missing. While in the lava field he had discovered a band of mountain sheep, and in pursuing them had lost his way. Some of the party went quite a distance into the rocks, but could hear nothing of him. We decided to proceed to the meadow country, at the head of the lake, by encircling the lava beds to the northward, and encamp until we could find our comrade. While we were proceeding to carry out this program, we discovered a great number of canoes leaving the lake shore, under the bluffs, and making for what appeared to be an island four or five miles distant. We could also see a lone horseman riding leisurely along the lake shore, approaching us. This soon proved to be our lost friend. The Modocs had discovered him in the lava fields, and probably supposing that the whole party was about to assail them from the rocks, they took to their canoes. He said that, seeing the Indians retreating, he concluded he would leave the rocks and ride along the lakeshore where the going was good. We nooned in a beautiful meadow, containing about two sections, near the head of the lake.
    After spending a couple of hours in this splendid pasture, we repacked and started on our way towards the timbered butte, but had not proceeded more than a mile before we came suddenly upon quite a large stream (Lost River) coming into the lake. We found this stream near the lake very deep, with almost perpendicular banks, so that we were compelled to turn northward, up the river. Before proceeding very far we discovered an Indian crouching under the bank and, surrounding him, made him come out. By signs, we indicated to him that we wanted to cross the river. By marking on his legs and pointing up the river, he gave us to understand that there was a place above where we could easily cross. Motioning to him to advance, he led the way up the river about a mile and pointed out a place where an immense rock crossed the river. The sheet of water running over the rock was about fifteen inches deep, while the principal part of the river seemed to flow under. This was the famous Stone Bridge on Lost River, so often mentioned after this by travelers. For many years the water of Tule Lake have been gradually rising, so that now the beautiful meadow on which we nooned on the day we discovered the bridge is covered by the lake, and the back water in Lost River long ago made the river impassable; is now probably ten feet deep over the bridge.
    After crossing the bridge we made our pilot some presents, and all shaking hands with him, left him standing on the river bank. Pursuing our way along the northern shore of the lake a few miles, we came to a beautiful spring near the base of the mountains on our left, and encamped for the night. After using the alkali water of Lower Klamath Lake the previous night, the fresh, cold water of this spring was a real luxury. There was plenty of dry wood and an abundance of green grass for our animals, and we enjoyed the camp exceedingly. Sitting around our fire that evening, we discussed the adventures of the past few days in this new and strange land. The circumstances of the last day had been particularly interesting. Our adventure in the rocks; the retreat of the whole Modoc tribe in a fleet of thirty or forty canoes across the lake from Goff; the singularity of the natural bridge; the vast fields of tule around the lake, and the fact that the lake was an independent body of water, were subjects of peculiar interest and only intensified our desire to see more of this then-wild land.
    July 7th, we left the valley of Tule Lake to pursue our course eastward, over a rocky table land, among scattering juniper trees. We still observed the timbered butte as our landmark, and traveled as directly toward it as the shape of the country would admit. This butte is near the state line, between Clear Lake and Goose Lake, and probably distant fifty miles from the lava ridge west of Lost River, from which we first observed it, and supposing it to be about thirty miles away. In pursuing our course we passed through the hilly, juniper country between Langell Valley and Clear Lake without seeing either the valley or lake, and at noon arrived at the bed of a stream where there was but little water. The course of the stream was north or northwest, and appearances indicated that at times quite a volume of water flowed in the channel. This was evidently the bed of Lost River, a few miles north of where this singular stream leaves the Clear River marsh.
    Leaving this place, we pursued our journey through a similar country to that passed over during the forenoon, and encamped at a little spring among the junipers, near the base of the timbered hill, and passed a very pleasant night.
    On the morning of July 8th, we passed our landmark and traveled nearly eastward, over a comparatively level but extremely rocky country, and nooned in the channel of another stream, where there was a little water standing in holes. On leaving this place we found the country still quite level, but exceedingly rocky; for eight or ten miles almost like pavement. Late in the afternoon we came out into the basin of a lake (Goose Lake), apparently forty or fifty miles in length. Traversing the valley about five miles along the south end of the lake, we came to a little stream coming in from the mountains to the eastward. The grass and water being good, we encamped here for the night. Game seemed plentiful, and one of the party killed a fine deer in the vicinity of the camp. From a spur of the mountains, near our camp, we had a splendid view of the lake and of the extensive valley bordering it on the north. On the east, between the lake and mountain range running nearly north and south, and which we supposed to be a spur of the Sierra Nevadas, was a beautiful meadow country, narrow, but many miles in length, across which the lines of willows and scattering pines and cottonwoods indicated the courses of a number of little streams coming into the lake from the mountain chain. A little southeast of our camp there appeared to be a gap in the mountain wall, and we decided to try it on the succeeding day.
    July 9th we moved up the ridge towards the gap, and soon entered a little valley, perhaps containing a hundred acres, extending to the summit of the ridge, thus forming an excellent pass. The ascent was very gradual. The little valley was fringed with mountain mahogany trees, giving it quite a picturesque appearance. This shrub, which is peculiar to the rocky highlands, is from fifteen to twenty feet high and in form something like a cherry tree, so that a grove of mountain mahogany strikingly resembles a cherry orchard. About the center of the little valley is a spring of cold water, making it an excellent camping place, and for many years afterwards it was the place where the immigrants were wont to meet and let their animals recuperate after the long, tiresome march across the so-called American Desert; for this Sierra ridge separates the waters of the Pacific from those of the Great Basin which extends from the Blue Mountains far southward towards the Colorado. The little stream on which we encamped before entering this pass is called Lassen Creek, taking its name from Peter Lassen, who led a small party of immigrants across the plains in 1848, following our route from the Humboldt through this pass, thence down Pit River to the Sacramento. From the summit of the ridge we had a splendid view. Northward the ridge seemed to widen out, forming several low ranges of timbered mountains, while southward it seemed to rise very high, as we could see patches of snow along the summit in the distance. East and south of us, at the foot of the ridge, was a beautiful green valley, twenty or thirty miles in extent, and containing a small lake. A number of small streams flowed from the mountain into and through the valley, affording an abundance of water for the wants of a settlement. This fertile valley on the border of the desert has since been called Surprise Valley, and now contains quite a population.
    As we stood on the Sierra ridge, we surveyed the vast desert plains to the eastward of Surprise Valley, apparently without grass or trees, and marked by numerous high rocky ridges running north and south. After deciding on our course, we descended the mountain and soon came to a little stream, the banks of which were lined with plum bushes completely loaded with fruit. There was a grove of pines at hand, and there we decided to noon, as the day was extremely hot. Game seemed plentiful about this rich valley, and while we were nooning a large band of antelope grazed in sight of us. Spending about two hours among these pines, which were the last we saw during our long and weary march on the desert, we packed up and moved across the valley eastward. After crossing the valley we entered a very sandy district, where the traveling was laborious, and next ascended to a table land, the surface of which was covered with small gravel. By this time most of our horses were barefooted, and our progress through the rocky country was consequently very slow. The country was so desert-like that we had about despaired of finding water that night, but just at dark we unexpectedly came to a little spring. There was but little water, but by digging some we were able to get quite enough for ourselves and horses, though it kept us busy until about midnight to get the horses watered. Although we had met with singularly good fortune in thus finding water at the close of the first day's march on the desert, we could not always expect such good luck in the future; and as we lay down in our blankets among the sagebrush that night, we could not help having some gloomy forebodings in regard to the future of our expedition.
    On the morning of the 10th of July we found an abundance of water in the basin we had scraped out at the little spring early in the night, so that we were able to start out on the desert much refreshed. Our horses, however, looked very gaunt, as there was a great scarcity of grass about the spring. The landscape before us, as we made our start this morning, was anything but inviting. It was a vast sand plain. No trees or mountains were in sight. Far in the distance were some dark-looking ridges. There was no vegetation excepting dwarf sage and greasewood growing in the sand and gravel. At about three o'clock in the afternoon we came to a huge volcanic wall, varying in height from twenty or thirty to several hundred feet, extending north and south as far as the eye could reach and apparently without any gap through it. We divided at the wall so as to explore it both ways. The party going southward, after proceeding a few miles, came to a little stream forming a beautiful meadow at the base of the wall, and flowing through a narrow gateway into the ridge. They immediately dispatched one of their party in pursuit of us with the good news, and we returned to the meadow early in the afternoon, and decided to turn out our horses and give them a chance to feed and rest, while we explored the defile on foot. We found it a very remarkable chasm, extending nearly due east. The gateway was about sixty yards in width and the canyon was, at some places, a little wider than that perhaps, and at others, was only wide enough for a wagon road. The little bottom was grassy and almost level, and, indeed, a remarkable track for a road. In many places, the cliffs on either side towered to a height of several hundred feet, and, in some places actually overhung the chasm. Those overhanging cliffs afforded excellent sheltering places for the Indians, and the signs betokened that it was a great place of resort for them. Sage hens and rabbits were plentiful, also mountain sheep, but the latter were so wild that we did not succeed in killing any of them. After making quite an extended trip into the canyon, we returned to the little meadow and spent the night.
    On the morning of July 11, we again entered the gorge and traveled ten or twelve miles to a place where the stream formed quite a pool, and nooned. At this season, the stream ran no further than the pool. Here another canyon comes in from the north, and at the junction there is quite an area of level ground--perhaps two acres--mostly meadow, forming an excellent camping place. After noon we proceeded on our way, following the dry bed of the stream, and, after a march of perhaps ten miles, came out on the east side of the ridge. Here we found a lake basin of several acres in extent, where there was but a little water and a great deal of mud, hence strongly suggesting the name of Mud Lake, which it has since always borne. Earlier in the season, when the little stream that feeds it flows all the way through the canyon, this is doubtless quite a lake. The country eastward had a very forbidding appearance. Rising from a barren plain, perhaps fifteen miles away, was a rough, rocky ridge, extending as far as the eye could reach towards the north, but apparently terminating abruptly perhaps fifteen miles south of our course. Along the base of the ridge, towards its extremity, were seen green spots, indicating water. After considering the situation pretty thoroughly, we concluded that it would be the surest plan to depart from our usual course and travel southward to the extremity of the ridge, as, by so doing, we would probably keep clear of the rocks and be more certain to find water. So we followed the dry outlet of the lake, in a southwesterly direction, for a distance of three or four miles and we camped at a little spring.
    In this vicinity quite a tragedy occurred while Capt. Levi Scott, accompanied by a detachment of regular troops, was en route to meet the immigration of 1847. It was his intention to make an effort to hunt out a direct route from Mud Lake to Humboldt, thus saving the distance lost by our change of direction in 1846. It appears that Mr. Scott and a man named Garrison, leaving the train encamped at Mud Lake, started out in a due easterly direction towards the black ridge to ascertain the practicability of finding a way across it. When out about ten miles they came across two Indians. Not being able to talk with them, they undertook, through signs, to learn something about the country. The Indians appeared to be friendly, but, taking advantage of Scott and Garrison while they were off their guard, strung their bows and commenced shooting with great rapidity. Garrison was mortally wounded, and Scott, while in the act of firing, was shot through the arm with an arrow which, passing through, entered his side, pinning his arm to his body. Scott fired, however, killing his Indian, and the other took to flight. Scott's were, fortunately, only flesh wounds, but Garrison had been pierced by two arrows and died soon after being conveyed to the camp. Thus the effort to make the cutoff failed, and to this day has never been made.
    The little spring, where we encamped, furnished an abundance of water; the grass was good, but fuel extremely scarce, there being nothing in this line but dwarf sagebrush.
    On starting out on the morning of the 12th of July, we observed vast columns of smoke or steam rising at the extremity of the black ridge. Reaching the ridge a few miles north of its extremity, we traveled along its base, passing a number of springs, some cold and others boiling hot. At the end of the ridge we found an immense boiling spring from whence the steam was rising like smoke from a furnace. A large volume of water issued from the spring which irrigated several hundred acres of meadow. Although the water was strongly impregnated with alkali, it was fit for use when cooled, and the spot was, on the whole, a very good camping place for the desert. The cliffs, at the extremity of the ridge, were formed of immense masses of black volcanic rock and all about were vast piles of cinders, resembling those from a blacksmith's forge. This place has ever since been known as "Black Rock," and is one of the most noted landmarks on the Humboldt Desert. At this place we rested a day and consulted as to the best course to pursue in order to reach the Humboldt, or, as it was then called, Ogden's River. The result of the council was that we agreed to separate, one party to travel eastward and the other to pursue a more southerly direction.
    In pursuance of the plan decided on at Black Rock, on the morning of July 14th, we separated into two parties; eight men starting out in a southerly direction and seven men, including myself, towards the east. The country before us appeared very much like the dry bed of a lake. Scarcely a spear of vegetation could be seen, and the whole country was white with alkali. After traveling about fifteen miles we began to discover dim rabbit trails running in the same direction in which we were traveling. As we advanced the trails became more plain, and there were others constantly coming in, all pointing in the general direction toward a ledge of granite boulders which we could see before us. Approaching the ledge, which was the first granite we had seen since leaving Rogue River Valley, we could see a green mound where all the trails seemed to enter, and on examining the place closely we found a small hole in the top of the mound, in which a little puddle of water stood within a few inches of the surface. This was a happy discovery, for we were already suffering considerably for want of water, and our horses were well nigh exhausted. The day had been an exceedingly hot one and the heat reflected from the shining beds of alkali had been very oppressive. The alkali water at Black Rock had only given us temporary relief --our thirst was really more intense from having used it. Unpacking our horses, we staked them in the bunchgrass about the granite ledge, and began digging down after the little vein of water which formed the puddle in the rabbit hole. The water seemed to be confined to a tough clay or muck which came near the surface in the center of the mound, thus preventing it from wasting away in the sand. Digging down in this clay we made a basin large enough to hold several gallons and by dark we had quite a supply of good pure water. We then began issuing it to our horses, a little at a time, and by morning men and horses were considerably refreshed. Great numbers of rabbits came around us and we killed all we wanted of them. This is the place always since known as the Rabbit Hole Springs.
    Looking eastward, on the morning of July 15th, from the elevated table lands upon which we then were, we saw vast clouds of smoke, completely shutting out the distant landscape. The wind, blowing almost constantly from the southwest, kept the smoke blown away so that we could get a tolerably good view towards the south. Our wish was to continue our course eastward, but the country, as far as we could see in that direction, being a barren plain, we concluded to follow the granite ledge, which extended in a southeasterly direction from the spring, believing the chances of finding water would be better by following that route. The smoke, as we afterwards learned, was caused by the burning of peat beds along the Humboldt River, the stream we were now wishing to find, though we had no correct idea of the distance we would have to travel in order to reach it, nor of the difficulties to be encountered. Pursuing our way along the ridge, searching everywhere carefully for water, at about eleven o'clock a.m. we observed the rabbit trails all leading in the same direction, and following the course indicated, we found a basin in the side of a rock large enough to hold a few gallons of water. Into this basin the water oozed from a crevice in the rock, very slowly, so that when the basin was emptied it was a long time filling. There was no way of improving this spring, for whenever the basin was full and the water running over, it would waste in the loose gravel and sand, and we did not get a sufficiency of it for ourselves and horses until late at night. Appearances indicated that it was a great resort for Indians, though there did not seem to be any in the vicinity while we were there. During the afternoon and evening, great numbers of little birds came for water, and were so tame that we could almost put our hands on them.
    On the morning of July 16th, we proceeded along the ridge for four or five miles and came to quite a large spring, but so strongly impregnated with alkali that we could only use it in making coffee. Here we rested an hour or so while our horses grazed. This morning we passed over a country abounding in quartz. At this spring our granite ridge terminated, and before us was a vast desert plain, without a spear of vegetation, and covered with an alkaline efflorescence which glittered beneath the scorching rays of the sun. The heat was intense as we rode slowly out to the eastward upon the great plain. After we had traveled a few miles, we observed what was supposed to be a lake, even fancying that we could see the waves upon its surface, but after riding in that direction awhile, we discovered that it was only one of those optical illusions so often experienced on the desert. Next, we saw what we supposed to be a clump of willows to the eastward and rode in that direction with all possible dispatch, but, on nearing the place, we discovered, to our intense disappointment, that it was only a pile of black volcanic rocks, fifteen or twenty feet high. The sun was now getting quite low, and the heat was somewhat abating, yet it remained quite hot as we rode a few miles to the eastward on the desert. As night closed in upon us we selected our camping place in a little sag where there were some strong sage bushes growing. To these we tied our horses securely, for, as there was not a blade of grass and they were suffering for water, we knew they would leave us, should they break away from their fastenings. The only camp duty we had to perform that night was to spread our blankets down upon the loose sand. Then we stretched ourselves upon them, with little hope of rest, for our thirst had by that time become intense; worse, no doubt, from reason of our having drunk the strong alkali water that morning. Our reflections that night were gloomy in the extreme. Even if we could have heard the cry of a night bird or the familiar note of a coyote it would have given us encouragement, for it would have indicated the presence of water somewhere in the vicinity; but not a sound was heard during the livelong night except our own voices and the restless tramp of the half-famished horses.
    As we started out on the morning of July 17th to the eastward we could see only a short distance on account of the dense clouds of smoke which enveloped the country. We spent much of the day in searching in various places for water and at about four o'clock in the afternoon we came to some ledges of rock. They afforded a shelter from the scorching rays of the sun, and we halted to rest for a while as some of the party were now so exhausted that they could scarcely ride. From the top of the rocks we could discern a small greenish spot on the desert, five or six miles distant, and, hoping to find water there, we decided to ride towards it. Robert Smith was now suffering severely from a pain in the head, and, as he was not able to ride, we were compelled to leave him under the rocks, with the understanding that he would follow us as soon as he felt able to ride. After going four or five miles, we beheld a horseman approaching us. This soon proved to be John Jones, one of the party who left us at Black Rock on the morning of the 14th. He had found water at the place we were making for, and, in searching for the rest of his party, had accidentally fallen in with us. We of course made a "stampede" for the water. On our arrival there two of the party, filling a large horn with water, started on their return with it to Smith. They met him on the way, hanging on to the horn of his saddle, while his horse was following our trail. By the time they returned the other party also arrived, so that, at about six p.m., we found ourselves all together again. The other party had fared almost as badly as we had, not having had any water since ten o'clock in the forenoon of the day before.
    Although a godsend to us, this water was almost as bad as one could imagine. It was in the bed of a little alkali lake, thickly studded with reeds. There were about four inches of strong alkali water resting upon a bed of thin mud, and it was so warm and nauseating that it was impossible for some of the party to retain a stomachfull very long at a time. It was a grand relief to our poor horses to have an abundance of water and grass once more, and, tired as they were, they worked busily all night upon the reeds and grasses about the little lake. Much exhausted, we retired early, and arose considerably refreshed the next morning.
    On the morning of July 18, our course was nearly southeast along the edge of a vast level plain to our right. Immense columns of smoke were still rising in front of us, and at about ten or eleven o'clock we came to places where peat bogs were on fire. These fires extended for miles along the valley of the Humboldt River, for we were now in the near vicinity of that stream, and at noon had the great satisfaction of encamping upon its banks. We found this sluggish stream about thirty feet wide, and the water strongly alkaline and of a milky hue. Along its banks were clumps of willows, affording us an abundance of fuel, and as there was plenty of grass for our horses, our camp was a good one. Since leaving Rabbit Hole Springs we had traveled much too far south of our course to satisfy us, and our desire was now to travel up the Humboldt until we should reach a point nearly east of Black Rock, and endeavor to find a route for the road more directly on our old course.
    On July 19, we traveled perhaps twenty miles in a northeasterly direction along the river bottom, and encamped. The next day, July 20, we pursued our way along the river, on a good, easy route, making about the same distance as the day before. On the 21st we continued our march up the river and at noon came to a point where the river bottom widened out into quite an extensive meadow district. From this point we could see what appeared to be a low pass through the ridge on the west, through which was a channel of a tributary of the Humboldt, now dry. Here we decided to encamp and send out a party to examine the country towards Black Rock.
    We had nothing in which to carry water but a large powder horn, so we thought it best not to risk sending out too large a party. On the morning of the 22nd of July, Levi Scott and William Parker left us, and, following the dry channel of the stream for about fifteen miles, they came to a beautiful spring of pure water. Here they passed the night, and the next day, July 23rd, they ascended by a very gradual route to the table lands to the westward, and within about fifteen miles of their camp of the previous night they entered quite a grassy district from which they could plainly see Black Rock. Exploring the country about them carefully they found the Rabbit Hole Springs. The line of our road was now complete. We had succeeded in finding a route across the desert and on to the Oregon settlements, with camping places at suitable distances, and, since we knew the source of the Humboldt River was near Fort Hall, we felt that our enterprise was already a success, and that immigrants could be able to reach Oregon late in the season with far less danger of being snowed in than on the California route down the Humboldt and over the Sierra Nevadas. The sequel proved that we were correct in this opinion, for this same fall the Donner Party, in endeavoring to cross the Sierras, were snowed in, suffered the most indescribable horrors, and about half of them perished.
    The Humboldt Meadows affording us a splendid camping place, we concluded to remain there and recruit our jaded animal* for a few days before pursuing our journey farther.
    Our object was to locate the road direct from near the head of the Humboldt to Bear River, leaving Fort Hall forty or sixty miles to the northward. Our stock of provisions being almost exhausted, we decided to dispatch a party, with the strongest animals, to Fort Hall at once for supplies. while the rest of us would move along more slowly, making such improvements on the road as seemed necessary. and perhaps reaching the head of the river in time to meet the Fort Hall party there on its return. Accordingly, on the morning of the 25th of July, Jesse Applegate, Moses Harris, Henry Boygus, David Goff and John Owens left us for Fort Hall. The place decided on for the reunion of the party was known as Hot Spring or Thousand Spring Valley, on the Humboldt. I shall not undertake, after this date, to give a detailed statement of our experiences until the conclusion of our journey in the fall, only mentioning the most important incidents of the long and wearisome campaign.
    The journey up the Humboldt, through a country so uniformly alike the entire distance, was quite monotonous. The sluggish stream, fringed with willows on either side, flowed through a narrow valley bounded by dry volcanic ridges, gradually increased in volume as we advanced towards its source, as the water wastes away in the dry, sandy region through which it flows. Like the Nile, this stream rises sufficiently every year to overflow and fertilize its valley, so that it produces the finest grass. Since 1843, immigrants had occasionally traveled down this stream to its sink, and had thence crossed the high, snowy range of the Sierra Nevada, from Truckee run via Donner Lake to the Sacramento Valley; and as we proceeded up the river we frequently met small parties, like ourselves, sunburned and covered with alkali dust, and worn and wearied by the long and difficult journey.
    Game was our principal dependence for food, and this we found exceedingly scarce along the Humboldt, and the thousands of Indians who inhabited the valley at this season seemed to subsist chiefly upon grasshoppers and crickets, which were abundant.
    One day, during our march through this country, Capt. Scott and myself, leaving the party on the west side, crossed the river for the purpose of hunting, and, while pursuing a band of antelope, came upon wagon tracks leading away from the river towards a rocky gulch among the hills, two or three miles distant. Several wagons seemed to have been in the train, and on either side of the plain tracks made by the wagon wheels in the loose sand were numerous barefoot tracks. Following the trail into the mouth of the gulch, we found where the wagons had been burned, only the ruins being left among the ashes. We found no human remains, yet the evidences were plain that a small train of immigrants had been taken here not a great while before, and that they had perished at the hands of their bloodthirsty captors, not one having escaped to recite the awful tale of horror. Possibly the bodies of the victims had been thrust into the river. Possibly the drivers had been compelled to drive their teams across the sage plains into this wild ravine, here to be slaughtered and their bodies burned. By a more extended search along the river and among the hills, we might possibly have found some of the bodies of the victims, and might have obtained some clue as to who the ill-fated immigrants were, but even this was not practicable at the time, and we could only hurry on with sad hearts to overtake the train far up the river.
    On the 5th of August, we reached Hot Spring Valley, having traveled, as nearly as we could judge, about two hundred miles along the river. On the 10th the Fort Hall party returned to us with a supply of provisions, and on the 11th we turned our faces towards our homes, which we judged to be eight or nine hundred miles distant.
    Before the party of five reached Fort Hall, one of them, young Boygus, hearing that a son of Capt. Grant, commander of Fort Hall, had recently started for Canada, via St. Louis, concluded to leave the party and, by forced marches, endeavor to overtake Grant, as he was anxious to return to his home in Missouri. Boygus was brave and determined, and expecting to meet immigrants occasionally; he set out alone on his hazardous undertaking. We never heard of him afterwards, and his fate has always remained a mystery. There was, perhaps, truth in the report current afterwards that his gun and horses were seen in the possession of an Indian at Fort Hall, and it is most likely that he was followed by Indians from the very moment he left his companions and slain, as many a poor fellow has been while all alone upon the great plains.
    At Fort Hall the party of four met with a considerable train of immigrants, with some of whom they were acquainted, who decided to come to Oregon by way of our route. This train closely followed our companions on their return, and reached Hot Spring Valley before our departure. Before starting on the morning of July 11th, a small party of young men from the immigrant train generously volunteered to accompany us and assist in opening the road. These were: Thomas Powers, Burges, Shaw, Carnahan, Alfred Stewart, Charles Putnam, and two others whose names I now disremember. A Bannock Indian, from about the head of Snake River, also joined us. This increased our road party to twenty-one men, exclusive of Scott and Goff, who remained to guide and otherwise assist the immigrants on their way to Oregon.
    Nothing worthy of mention occurred during our return along the valley of the Humboldt, and not until we left the river and proceeded westward towards Black Rock. The first night after leaving the river we spent at the spring found by Scott and Parker, on the 22nd of July. This we called Diamond Spring. Reaching this point about noon, we spent several hours in digging out a basin at the spring, which soon filled with pure, cold water.
    Fifteen miles' travel the next day over a good route brought us at noon to the Rabbit Hole Springs. We soon improved this spring considerably, and, at about two p.m., took up our line of march for Black Rock, which we reached at nightfall. After we were out two or three miles from Diamond Springs this morning, our Bannock Indian discovered that he had left his butcher knife and, tying his pony to a sagebrush, started back to the spring on a run, supposing he could easily overtake us, as we would be delayed considerably at Rabbit Hole Springs; at any rate, he would have no trouble in following our trail. We saw him no more, and conjectured that he must have fallen a prey to the Diggers, who continually shadowed us as we traveled through their country, always ready to profit by any advantage given them.
    No circumstances worthy of mention occurred on the monotonous march from Black Rock to the timbered regions of the Cascade chain; then our labors became quite arduous. Every day we kept guard over the horses while we worked the road, and at night we dared not cease our vigilance, for the Indians continually hovered about us, seeking for advantage. By the time we had worked our way through the mountains to the Rogue River Valley, and then through the Grave Creek Hills and Umpqua chain, we were pretty thoroughly worn out. Our stock of provisions had grown very short, and we had to depend, to a great extent, for sustenance upon game. Road working, hunting and guard duty had taxed our strength greatly, and on our arrival in the Umpqua Valley, knowing that the greatest difficulties in the way of immigrants had been removed, we decided to proceed at once to our home in the Willamette. There we arrived on the 3rd day of October, 1846, having been absent three months and thirteen days. During all this time our friends had heard nothing from us, and realizing the dangerous character of our expedition, many believed in the news which some time before reached them that we had all been murdered by the Indians.
    As soon as we could possibly make the arrangement, we sent out a party with oxen and horses to meet the immigrants and aid them in reaching the Willamette settlements. For this assistance we made no demand, nor did we tax them for the use of the road, as was alleged by parties inimical to our enterprise. It had been the distinct understanding that the road should be free, and the consciousness of having opened a better means of access to the country than was afforded by the expensive and dangerous route down the Columbia, which we had tried to our sorrow, would be ample compensation for all our labors and hardships in opening the South road.
    Of course our enterprise was opposed by that mighty monopoly, the Hudson's Bay Company, whose line of forts and trading posts on the Columbia afford them rare opportunities for trade with the immigrants. Many of the immigrants who followed us during the fall of 1846 had a hard time, though not as hard as they would likely have experienced on the other route; and some of them, not understanding the situation fully, became infected with the spirit of persecution, which had its origin with the Hudson's Bay Company, and joined in charging us with leading the travel away from the northern route for purposes of personal speculation. Certain members of the party were singled out to bear the burden of persecution, whereas, if any member of the party was animated by improper motives in seeking to open the road, all were equally guilty, as the party was governed in all its proceedings by a majority vote of its members.
    The efforts of the Hudson's Bay Company to put down the road proved an eminent failure. Its superior advantages were better and better known and appreciated every year. It never ceased to be an important route of travel, and a large portion of the population of our state entered by this channel. It is a very significant fact that the great thoroughfare of today, from the Willamette to the Siskiyou chain, and thence out through the lake country and on to the Humboldt, departs rarely from the route blazed out by the road company thirty-two years ago.
    Those who are conversant with the facts know that that portion of the route from the Humboldt to the lake country presents no serious obstacles in the way of the construction of a railroad, and had the Central Pacific company located their road on that route, from Humboldt as far as Goose Lake, and thence down Pit River to the Sacramento Valley, they would doubtless have saved millions of money in the original cost of the road, as well as in keeping it in order, since the snowfall would never have been seriously in the way, even in the severest winters.
    In conclusion, I will recall the names of the road company, with a few facts relative to their history. I regret that it is not practicable to make this record more ample, but the company was made up, almost to a man, of active, energetic characters, who were not satisfied with a quiet, spiritless life, and many of them long ago were lost to the little community, "over in Polk," where they first settled, as they moved to other portions of the state or went out into adjacent territories to seek their fortunes. Under the circumstances, it has been impracticable to learn the whereabouts of some of them, or to gather such facts relative to their later history as would amplify and add interest to their biographies. Perhaps few companies of men ever performed such a campaign without repeated quarrels and even serious altercations, but the members of the Old South Road Company bore together the trials and privations of the expedition with a "forgiving and forbearing" spirit, and their mutual burdens and the dangers to which they were exposed, continually developed and strengthened their friendship. A reunion of them, were such a thing practicable, would be a season of peculiar joy, one to be remembered by the veteran survivors with pleasure, until they, too, shall pass away into the great unknown.
    Capt. Levi Scott, a native of Illinois, came to Oregon in 1844, from near Burlington, Iowa. He was in the early days quite a prominent man in Oregon affairs. He was a member of the State constitutional convention. Capt. Scott located Scottsburg, on the Umpqua River. He is now over eighty years of age, and, I believe, resides in Lane County.
    John Jones, usually known as "Jack" Jones, the wag of the south road expedition, came to Oregon from Missouri in 1843. Since then, he has been quite a wanderer. For many years he resided in California, and, if living, is now in Idaho, I believe. Native state, Missouri.
    John Owens crossed the plains in 1843 from Missouri. He was, I think, a native of that state. Have no knowledge of his whereabouts.
    Henry Boygus came from Missouri in 1843. He was a fine-looking, jovial and intelligent young man, and we were all much attached to him. Was probably murdered by Indians, near Fort Hall, after he left us in 1846 to return to his home in Missouri. Native state, Missouri.
    William Sportsman crossed the plains in 1845, from Missouri, which was, I think, his native state. He left Oregon in 1847, and I have no knowledge of his whereabouts.
    Samuel Goodhue, a native of New York, came to Oregon in 1844. He afterwards became a son-in-law of Davidson, the old pioneer, and a number of years resided about Salem. When I last heard of him, he was in Ohio.
    Robert Smith came to Oregon in 1843 from Missouri. Native state, Virginia. He now resides at the head of the Yoncalla Valley, in Douglas County. Mr. Smith is a son-in-law of Charles Applegate, and brother to Mrs. Governor Chadwick.
    Moses Harris, called "Black Harris," came to Oregon in 1844 from the Rocky Mountains, where he had been a scout and trapper for many years. He spoke the Snake language fluently, and was of great service to us on the plains. He returned to the States in 1847, as guide to Dr. White, the Superintendent of Indian Affairs in Oregon, and died in Independence, Mo.
    John Scott, a son of Capt. Levi Scott, came to Oregon with his father in 1844. He now resides near Dallas, Polk County, Oregon.
    William G. Parker, a native of Missouri, came to Oregon in 1843. He resided many years in California, but is now a resident of Lake County, Oregon, and keeps the Half-Way House, on the road from Ashland to Linkville. Mr. Parker is a son-in-law of Capt. Solomon Tetherow, the old mountain man, and a brother to Mrs. Jesse Applegate.
    David Goff came to Oregon from Missouri in 1845. He resided in Polk County, Oregon, until his death, which occurred, I believe, in 1874, and was universally respected. He was the father-in-law of Gen. J. W. Nesmith.
    Benjamin F. Burch came to Oregon from his native state, Missouri, in 1845. Mr. Burch has long been a prominent man in Oregon affairs. He now resides at Salem, and is Superintendent of the State Penitentiary.
    Jesse Applegate was born in Kentucky, and came to Oregon in 1843. He now resides on Mount Yoncalla, in Douglas County, Oregon.
    Lindsay Applegate, also a native of Kentucky, came to Oregon in 1843. Now a resident of Ashland, Jackson County, Oregon.
    With the consciousness that I have endeavored faithfully and impartially, though briefly, to relate the history of the South Road expedition, I close this narrative, hoping that my effort to preserve this much of this history of the early days may inspire other "old timers" to relate their experiences also. I am fully aware that memory is uncertain, and that a number of errors may have occurred in my narrative from this reason, but I place it before the people with confidence that it is, in the main, correct. In doing so, I ask no other reward for the labor of the preparation than that its perusal may cause the people to think more kindly of the old pioneers.
Oregon Historical Quarterly, March 1921, pages 12-45.  Originally printed in the West Shore, beginning September 1, 1877, page 16; reprinted in the Ashland Tidings, beginning October 26, 1877, page 1. Later serialized in the Capital Journal, Salem, beginning April 15, 1926, page 1. A brief biography of Lindsay Applegate appears on page 9 of that issue.


Dear Brother:
    I arrived here yesterday alone and on foot from the Willamette Valley at the head of a party to meet the emigration. We left our homes on Willamette the 22nd June last to explore a southern route into that valley from the U. S. After much labor and suffering we succeeded in our object though it occupied us so long that a part of the emigrants had passed our place of intersection with the old road before we could possibly reach it.
    The new route follows the California road about 350 miles from here; it then leaves Ogden's or Mary's river and enters Oregon by the way of the Klamath Lakes, Rogue River, Umpqua and the head of the Willamette Valley--it shortens the road--avoids the dangers of Snake & Columbia rivers and passes S. of the Cascade Mts.--there is almost every place plenty of grass and water & every wagon, ox or cow may enter Oregon.
    I would give you a more lengthy description of this road if I had time or opportunity but I cannot escape the importunities of the emigrants who are pursuing me into every room of the fort and besieging me with endless questionings on all possible subjects--so much am I confused that I scarce know what I have written or wish to write. Suffice it to say that we fully succeeded in our object though not a man of us had ever been in the country before--of your acquaintances, Lindsay [Applegate], David Goff, B. F. Burch & Wm. Sportsman were with me. I am pleased with Mr. Burch; he is a good boy and of correct principles--as he may not reach here in time to write tell his father that he is well and well pleased with the country and if the opportunity presented itself intended coming on to Missouri after him this fall--but as his horses were very tired when I left the balance of the company and I hear of no party going back I expect he will return with us to Willamette.
    I met Larkin Stanley going to California & Oregon who told me you were coming to Oregon next year; if it is so I am glad to hear it--and gladder still that I have assisted in finding a new route. I believe I have no reason to change any part of the directions I gave you last spring. It is a pity you have not come sooner to Oregon. Gov. Boggs and almost all the respectable portion of the California emigrants are going on the new road to Oregon, and nearly all the respectable emigrants that went last year to California came this spring to Oregon--and as long as you are actually coming I venture to say that "you never will regret it." I am better pleased every day. I would write and wish to write much to you but at present I have no opportunity; the emigrants will give me no peace.
    Capt. Grant has done his best to give me an opportunity to write but all in vain. Speaking of Capt. Grant reminds me of a favor I have to request of you and Betsy. Capt. Grant, the gentleman in charge of Fort Hall, has two sons and a daughter at school in Canada; he wishes them to come to Fort Hall next year with the emigration. He says his son, a young man of 20 or thereabouts, with little experience in the world, is his only dependence to bring his daughter a girl of 15 and a younger brother over the mountains. He appears anxious to place his daughter in the care of some respectable lady who is coming to this country.
    Now if Betsy will take the girl under her protection and you will see to the comfort and safety of the sons, you will confer a great favor upon me, and serve a gentleman to whom I owe many obligations, not only for kindnesses extended towards myself, but for the assistance he daily renders to the emigrants to Oregon. If you are coming next spring to Oregon and will take charge of these young people, write to Richard Grant Jr. (care of Phillip Burns esq., Three Rivers, Lower Canada) when and where to meet you which it would be better probably your own house before you leave, as in that case you could see that they were properly prepared for the journey.
    If I have the opportunity I will write more.
Dale Howell Morgan, Overland in 1846: Diaries and Letters of the California-Oregon Trail, Vol. II, Talisman Press, 1963, pages 634-636


To the Future Emigrants to Oregon
Gentlemen:
    The undersigned are happy to inform you that a southern route to the Willamette has just been explored, and a portion of the emigration of the present year are now upon the road. Owing to unavoidable delays, the exploring party did not arrive at the forks of the road until some of the front companies of the emigrants were passed, perhaps eighty or one hundred wagons.
    The new route follows the road to California about 320 miles from this place, and enters the Oregon Territory by the way of the Klamath Lake, passes through the splendid valleys of the Rogue and Umpqua rivers, and enters the valley of the Willamette near its southeastern extremity.
    The advantage gained to the emigrant by this route is of the greatest importance--the distance is considerably shortened, the grass and water plenty, the sterile regions and dangerous crossings of the Snake and Columbia rivers avoided, as well as the Cascade Mountain--he may reach his place of destination with his wagon and property in time to build a cabin and sow wheat before the rainy season. This road has been explored, and will be opened at the expense of the citizens of Oregon, and nothing whatever demanded of the emigrants.
    Gov. Boggs and party, with many other families of respectability, have changed their destination, and are now on their way to Oregon. Some of the emigrants intend stopping in the Umpqua Valley--which, though not so large, is quite equal to the Willamette for fertility.
    A waybill, fully describing the road, will be prepared and sent to the United States, or to Fort Hall, for the use of the emigration of 1847, and no pilots will be required.
    The exploring party left the upper settlements of the Willamette on the 25th of June last, crops were most promising, and farmers in high spirits. They met a large emigration from California, consisting of the Hon. Felix Scott, late of St. Charles County, Missouri, and many others who left the United States. They give a decided preference to Oregon over California
    The exploring party consists of John Jones, John Scott, Robert Smith, John Owen, Samuel Goodhue, Henry Boggs, Wm. Sportsman, Jesse Applegate, Levi Scott, David Goff, Lindsay Applegate, Moses Harris, Wm Parker, Benj. Osborne, Benj. F. Birch.
    Editors in Missouri, Illinois and Iowa friendly to the prosperity of Oregon will please insert the foregoing communication.
Dale Howell Morgan, Overland in 1846: Diaries and Letters of the California-Oregon Trail, Vol. II, Talisman Press, 1963, pages 637-638.  The letter was excerpted in the Indiana State Sentinel, November 21, 1846, page 1, the Indiana American, November 6, 1846, page 3, and the New York Daily Tribune, October 27, 1846, page 1, among many others.


    Leaving Fort Hall [in 1846] we traveled down Snake River, passing the American Falls. There we met a company from Oregon, Mr. Applegate, Goff, Scott and others; this company turned many of the emigrants on to what is called the Southern Route to Oregon, and when we come to the fork roads, I to my sorrow took the Southern Route. This for a distance was the California road; it passed through the Warm Spring Valley and so on to the Humboldt River which in many places was dry; other places it was running a little. This is a dry barren country; willow and sagebrush was our dependence for fuel. By this time many of the emigrants began to suffer, an abundance of sickness and destitution, Martin Hoover still growing worse; sometimes of a morning all hands that was able went after cattle, leaving no strong men about camp, so in order to get Hoover from the tent to the wagon I would get on my hands and knees and he would crawl on to my back and I crawl along holding to the wagon tongue until I got to the wagon and so help him in, but poor man he was not long to remain with us. He was a good fellow, just as good as could be in every particular; he was moral and had good looks with him. Sickness and suffering increase. We traveled down the Humboldt to within a short distance of the Sink; here the Oregon road turns to the right and we enter the great desert. All credit is due Mr. Goff, who remained back to assist and cheer the hind part of the emigration, while credit is equally due to Mr. Levi Scott, who kept in the advance as pilot, and also doing all in his power to assist in opening the road, and doing everything that he could to assist the emigrants. Mr. Applegate left soon after turning that portion of the emigration that followed him, saying that he would send assistance from the Willamette to open the road, which if he did I never knew it. He sent provision to meet the emigrants, which he sold to them at a very high price. I will here remark that upon one occasion Mr. Scott and I was in advance with our axes opening the road; he remarked to me with tears in his eyes and said he would have to leave, that his life was in danger, which I did not think was altogether correct. True, he and others was the cause of our misfortune, but he did all he could to help us. I knew the emigration was terribly enraged, often swearing they would take Applegate's life on sight, but I thought no violence would be committed on the person of Mr. Scott. I said to Mr. Scott, he must not leave, that the lives of the emigration was in his hands; he was the only man that could take us out of the mountains, that while I had a bite of bread I would divide with him, and if I got to the valley I would do my part in remunerating him. So like a gentleman he remained until the front wagon got into the Willamette Valley. I think I fully satisfied him for all his trouble, as for me some time afterward I saw an article in the Spectator which acknowledged the receipt of $21.00 from one emigrant, which was all that he had received for piloting in the emigration of 'forty-six. I knew very well that I paid that $21.00. Where we left Humboldt the river was dry, but by digging holes in the sand we got water, all that had kegs filled them, but there was but few that had them. We now take the desert early in the morning, traveling all day; in the afternoon Mr. Scott sent me ahead, to save all the water that could be saved at a very weak spring there was ahead of us, and while I was damming the water my son David came up and said Martin Hoover was dead, this was my hand, that he died in the wagon as it was moving, that his ma did not know it, she being in the other wagon. About sundown the train came up. We buried the man immediately, got a bite of supper and started on a night drive, getting no water to amount to much. The moon is now about full and we traveled all night. Up to this time my wife had been as stout and rugged as she could be. I cannot see how we could have got along had it been otherwise. The wind being very cold during the night she took a cold, losing the entire use of herself except one limb. Now I had trouble, my wife having lost the use of her limbs and myself very feeble. Many times as she lay in the wagon and could not turn over I was so weak I could not do it only by getting my shoulder as near under her as I could with my hips against the wagon body, and by this means would partly turn her. We got to Rabbit [Hole] Springs about 10 o'clock a.m.; these springs are some holes in the ground about four feet deep, the water dribbling in these holes no faster than a man could drink, so we got no water to amount to much here, and now both stock and people began to suffer most terribly. One thing I remember that was a little funny and not very funny either, Mr. Lancefield, who was my old neighbor in Missouri and my traveling companion had a dog with him he called Queen. As we passed [through] the desert we passed many dead cattle left by those ahead. When we would come to one not quite dead Lancefield would say "Queen," and Queen would take the animal by the nose, and often the animal would make a desperate effort and rise. This would make a great laugh, but the poor animal would give a low moan and fall down. It would seem astonishing that we could laugh over such suffering, especially not knowing but the next hour it would be our fate to lose our team. And now my pen cannot describe the suffering, both of people and animals. We traveled that day, and the next night at 2 o'clock a.m. we came to a hot spring, at the Black Rock. The spring was very deep and about twenty feet in diameter and would cook meat in a few minutes, but we went down the branch and found it cool enough to use. Everything bore the marks of intense volcanic action. A little above the spring was a black-looking mountain which was black rock; it looked like a mass of black cinders, while at its base were fragments of lava and cinders, resembling those of a blacksmith forge. Here desolation reigned around to the fullest extent, the desert and mountains were all the eye could view beyond the little oasis where our almost famished cattle were feeding. We moved on a short distance to another oasis and in about five miles another with plenty of water and grass. Sickness of the train continued, and many deaths. The hardship of Thomas Crowley of Polk County, Missouri was immense. The family when it started was large, but before it got in the valley was reduced to but very few. His daughter Lelona I helped to bury on Grave Creek, afterward changed by the Legislature to Lelona [Leland] in remembrance of Lelona Crowley that was buried on that creek by the emigration of 1846. Mr. Crowley died at the foot of the Calapooia Mountain. After leaving Black Rock we continued westwardly over bad rocky roads; many places the wagons did not make a track, other places it was sandy desert, with an occasional oasis. Here we came to one of the most remarkable curiosities among the mountains. It was a canon or narrow pass through the mountains just wide enough for a smooth level road. In going down into the canon the hill was so steep that one wagon with all its wheels locked fell over forward on the team. When we got down then looking up the perpendicular wall on either side four or five hundred feet high, it was truly frightful. We traveled down the canon some twenty miles. Sometimes the rock on either side would get lower, then higher again. In ascending the hill on leaving the canon we found as before a rocky country. We are now in sight of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and on approaching one of the spurs of the Sierra to our great joy we did not find it difficult to ascend. Crossing over we soon found ourselves at Goose Lake. Here the Indians made a break on us, killing several head of our cattle and driving off quite a number, leaving many wagons almost without a team. Here my old friend Mr. Lancefield lost several of his oxen but supplied the place with cows. Passing Goose Lake we soon came to the river with a natural bridge, then Klamath Lake. The Indians yet remaining troublesome, here they killed my teamster. The teamster had pleurisy in his side and could not ride in the wagon. I tried to get him to ride, but he said the jolting of the wagon hurt his side. One evening he had fallen behind the train. I was terribly alarmed at him for doing so and scolded him much, telling him of the danger. The next day he did it again, the Indians came on him and filled him full of arrows, then stripped him of his clothing. This was on Klamath Lake. We crossed the Klamath River just at the outlet of the lake at a very rocky ford. Next was the Siskiyou Mountains, which was heavily timbered. And a great job it was to cut a road across, but we had a long way back provisioned and sent young men ahead to open the road, so we got over the mountain quite well. One incident that transpired here I will speak of. On one occasion in the mountain we had to make a dry camp; the next day was a drive of about four miles and a good camp, but one of my cows was missing. We knew that the Indians were all around us doing all the mischief they could, yet my old friend Mr. Lancefield and I took our rifles; I filled my mouth with bullets, if he did not he had everything convenient for loading, and in Daniel Boone style we returned to our old camp. We had scarcely got out of sight of where the train was camped when we found plenty of Indian tracks in the dust of the road we had made a few hours before, so we kept a sharp watch for Indians I assure you. We intended to have the first fire if there was any show, but the Indians kept so hid that we saw none, although we went back to and around our old encampment in search for our lost cow, but did not find her and returned, supposing the Indians had captured her. But next morning the lost cow was on hand. Leaving the Siskiyou Mountains we descended into the Rogue River Valley, the Indians yet remaining troublesome. At our camp near what is called the point of rocks, when we started in the morning, and the wagons fairly strung out, the Indians made a raid on our loose cattle, but was so well defended by our cattle drivers that the Indians only killed one cow. A dispatch being sent to the front, the wagons were soon put in order for defense and the teamsters returned to have a jolly old time, but the Indians had skedaddled. That night I dreamed the Indians met us at the crossing of Rogue River, and we sent over some horsemen and drove the Indians back. I told my dream to my wife in the morning, and it became true to the letter. The Indians held the opposite shore; we sent over a number of horsemen who fired several shots. I saw Indians when I got over, and my wagon was about the fourth wagon; in crossing our train was about a hundred wagons strong. Here is another little incident. On one occasion in those mountains the train was late getting into camp. We camped near a very pretty branch; my old friend John D. Woods, who started with me from my home in Missouri, stepped down to the branch a little after dark to get a pail of water, but quickly returned pretty badly frightened, stating that as he went to dip his water zip-zip went some arrows by his head; at that moment a flintlock gun snapped in a few feet of him. We were soon called to arms, and let the Indians know that we were on the alert. We discharged a few volleys, which made the mountains fairly ring. The Indians went off a short distance and with their old musket fired a few rounds; this ended the fight. Sickness yet continues, the health of my wife gradually improves, and so does my own. We now approach the much-dreaded Umpqua Canon. We had taken the precaution to send a good many young men ahead to open the road. Those young men deserve much credit for their hard and laborious work, both in the Siskiyou Mountains and Umpqua Canon. As we have said we was a hundred wagons strong; this was a large train, and as we made a corral with our wagons every night in order to defend ourselves against the Indians, and it was very convenient to keep our oxen together in yoking, we were now within a few days' drive of the Canon, and the teams that went in front had the easiest time and there was some of the train who had a strong force, could yoke their oxen quick and turn out with their wagons, breaking the corral [and] making it very bad on those not ready. On one occasion as usual the corral was broken while many teams were yet unyoked and ladies engaged, some mending the gap where the corral was broken, others yoking up oxen, while their men were gathering up the cattle. I could yoke as soon as any, but on seeing the trouble I called out to those that had caused it, that they had not acted the gentleman, at the time saying to those that remained to keep quiet and we would make two companies, and we did so, the front company sending back and getting their loose cattle. We now have two trains and we moved on in this way until we came to the Canon, coming each night close together, and now comes a joke. We beat the other company at their own game. Both companies the last camp before entering the Canon as usual camped within sight of each other, but we did not let our cattle mix. We had to work several days on the Canon before we could venture in, so each company furnished their quota of men each day to work on the Canon, so my old friend Mr. Lancefield and I looked after each other's interest. When he would work I would look after his cattle, and when I worked he would look after mine, and it so happened that it was my turn to work the last day. Before starting in the morning I suggested to Mr. Lancefield that he should complain that the corral was getting very muddy and that he should give the wink and pretend as though he would move the corral. Said I, the other company is watching every motion, and said I there is a patch of grass right at the mouth of the Canon, sufficient for our cattle, and when you yoke to move corral move right into the mouth of the Canon. This would place our company in the front and give us the advantage in the morning, knowing that those wagons that got into the Canon first would be most likely to get through, so I went about my work and at the appointed hour, which was about sundown, sure enough our train camped in the mouth of the Canon. It so happened that when we got through work for the day that Capt. Vanderpool and I was returning, he was Capt. of the other company, and on our return as we neared the mouth of the Canon we heard wagons coming. He became terribly alarmed, saying he must hurry, for his corral was broken and his teams would be scattered, but on coming up he stopped suddenly, and looked, saying Garrison it is your company. By this time the corral was formed across the road, but left the way open on each side, but what tickled me most was he had been fairly beaten at his own game. Here let me refer to the great amount of suffering for food; many were entirely without, and the cry of children for bread came to our ears daily. None but those who have been in like condition or have been eyewitnesses can sympathize for the almost starving emigrant, shut up among the mountains without hope of relief. I think I would have had plenty to have done me through, but I could not hear children crying for bread without dividing, I divided by the cupful, and biscuit, until I was without. People starving will eat anything that can be eaten; among other heart-rending sights I saw one lady digging roots on which to subsist. Let me here speak of a personal case, and I might give the man's name, he is a good citizen, well off and a resident of Salem. As we was passing through the Umpqua Canon, my wife was sitting in the wagon eating a piece of bread. He looking wishful to her, she broke off a piece and handed to him, and he passed on. The next summer there was a camp meeting near Dayton, and though poor yet we did the best we could under the circumstances, and spread our tent on the ground. A stranger came and introduced himself to my wife, asking her if she knew him. She said she thought not. Well, said he, I am the man you gave the bread to in the Canon. I did not eat it, although I had ate none for twenty-one days. I took it, said he, to my sick children. When we were met with beef from the Willamette, I was on guard, and it seemed to me if it had saved a world I could not have kept from crying. We now enter the great Canon; the evening before however my brother Joseph met me. He and Enoch came to Oregon in 1843. He brought to my relief provisions, a yoke of fresh, fat cattle and a number of pack horses. I pray Almighty God that I may never forget the kindness of this brother. When morning came all hands at an early hour were ready for the Canon; my brother attached his fresh oxen to one of my wagons but said it was impossible for the wagons to go through the Canon. I put two yoke of my weak oxen to the other wagon and after sending the loose cattle all in the advance we started. The Canon was not more than twenty miles through, and we were five days in it, so you may judge the amount of trouble we had. Oh! how many cattle died by starvation and many wagons were broken all to pieces. Much of the way we had ropes fastened on the wagon and men holding by the ropes. Allow me here to speak of a joke. Quite a stream flowed through the Canon, and we traveled much of the way in its bed. We came to a horrible bad place at which place many wagons were broken. At the lower end of the terrible rapid over which we descended was the running gears of a good wagon. I knew the owner and supposed he had abandoned it for good, and it being public property and better than mine I laid all the front part of the running gears of one of my wagons and supplied the place from the abandoned wagon. A neighbor whose wagon was broken left his front wheels and took mine, and another came along who took the hind wheels of the abandoned wagon, and so all hands was well pleased with their bargain, and why not, for each had made his own trade, but now comes the joke. When the owner of the abandoned wagon got through the Canon he sold it to my old friend Perry Durbin who took the trouble off my hands in crossing the Missouri. Durbin took a yoke of oxen and started back for his wagon. When I met him I asked him where he was going with his oxen. He said he was going after a wagon he had bought of Mr. Tod, so I laughed. What is up said he. There, said I, is part of your wagon, but go on and get mine that I left and you shall have yours. All right, said he, so on he went with much difficulty. Finally he met my front wheels coming, so that was all right, but on he went after his hind wheels, and by the way making inquiries he found his hind wheels coming. So all his wagon and mine too was on the way out, but then the other poor fellows who had left parts of their wagons they were out of luck finally when we all got out. Then came the rub. I was ready to give up the part I had when Durbin got mine as he said he would do. He had some trouble in getting my wheels but succeeded, and the poor fellows that was out of luck had to make carts. All hands now out of the Canon, and by the way the Indians were now friendly, so we could travel as we pleased. By this time the health of my wife had improved so she could ride on horseback. My brother, having brought out pack horses, took my family except two boys and bid me goodbye, and here my heart ached. I thought possibly I should never see my wife again, as she could scarcely walk alone, but then we must do the best we could, and bidding her goodbye they went on, and I remained a few days to let my oxen rest. Finally my old friend Mr. Lancefield and I gathered up our cattle preparatory for an onward move, and just now I am waited on by a committee. The emigrants had held a meeting and notified me by the committee that they must have the fat oxen my brother left me to eat. I knew full well to resist was useless, so I begged them to accept a couple of heifers which I offered them. They kindly agreed to it, and my oxen were spared. By this time a large portion of the emigrants had got out of the Canon, and of course it made a large encampment. Here I learned there was a young man by the name of Garrison in camp and that he was from the valley, so like Joseph and Mary of old I made search and found him, and who should he be but my nephew from the valley. Sure enough he had come out to assist me, and let me say although I may never be able to reward my kind friends, yet I am sure that he who has said "inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren ye have done it also unto me," will not let them go unrewarded. Morning comes and we make the start. That day one of my oxen died, and in the evening I sent the boys back to take off some of the hide for ropes as I might need them in crossing the Umpqua. On the return of the boys they told me they found the dead ox and that the family of Mr. _____ was busily engaged cutting off some of the best pieces to cook. Mr. Lancefield's team was now very weak. I had six yoke of my oxen and one of my brothers, so when we would come to a bad place I would send relief to Lancefield and help him along. Finally we came to a horrible hill on the South Umpqua. After I got up the hill I sent back several yoke of oxen to bring up Lancefield but he refused any assistance, sending me word that I would kill my team, that he had concluded to abandon his wagon and try to pack his oxen. So I felt dreadful bad but had to go on and leave him. Not long after [that] I abandoned one of my wagons. We now travel alone until we came to the North Umpqua. This is quite a river. We came to it in the evening; there was a few wagons ahead  of us, and the Indians had assisted them in crossing, so when morning came I looked about but could find no Indians. One emigrant was camped on the opposite side a short distance below. I saw a canoe on his side. I hallowed to him to bring it over; he said he had nothing to eat and had no breakfast. I said to bring it over and I will give you your breakfast, so he brought it over. Soon quite a number of Indians came and I engaged them to ferry me over. I swam my oxen over, then with ropes I made a boat of the two canoes, placing a canoe on each side for the wheels to stand in. When I got to the opposite shore the hill was very steep to ascend, so I placed my oxen on the top of the hill then attached several log chains to the tongue of the wagon and then with the oxen pulled it up the hill, all over. We now moved onward over a handsome rich rolling country until we came to the Calapooia Mountain. There being no wagon road across the mountain and falling in with several other wagons we left them at the foot of the mountain, and all hands went to work to cut the road across, our old friend Mr. Scott the pilot yet remaining and working like a good fellow. It was several days before we got to the summit, but when we got the road opened up to it we returned and got our wagons and brought them to the summit, then took our cattle down into the Willamette Valley, and now for the first time I place my foot on the soil for which I had been so long traveling, that of the Willamette. We returned to the wagons, taking up flour with us which we purchased at the high price of Applegate. Here my brother Enoch Garrison met me to assist me, and let me say that [although] over twenty-five years have passed since, yet I have not forgotten the kindness of those relatives who came to my assistance and I hope I never shall, and Jeptha, as his father had come to my assistance, returned home taking with him my son David, and now my brother takes hold to help cut the road down the mountain, and it did appear to me he was able to do as much work as three of us. The fact is we were like our worn-out oxen, just alive and that was all. When we got the road cut we took up our oxen to where the wagons were left, and now I hear that my old friend Mr. Lancefield was camped at the foot of the mountain, and I was satisfied he was without flour so I took about twenty pounds on my shoulder and started down the mountain, a distance of about six miles, intending to carry it to him, weak as I was.. Here a man came up with a pack of flour taking out to sell to emigrants, so I returned and put my flour in my wagon and went down to the foot of the mountain with the packer, and the first camp I came to was Lancefield who bought what flour he wanted. He had failed in getting his oxen to pack so he spliced teams with Isaac Lebo and had worked his way along until he got to the foot of the mountain. I rendered him all the assistance I could in getting up the mountain, and this was the last I saw of him until I saw him at the Methodist mission farm on the Willamette. He and Mr. Lebo as soon as they struck the Willamette dug out a large canoe and leaving their wagon and cattle descended the river with their families. This I suppose was the first time the river had been navigated by a white man, so that all honor is due to those pioneers of 'forty-six for paddling the first craft that ever descended the Willamette from its source down to the mission farm. That is truly a feat that history should not lose sight of. I am now in the Willamette Valley and now I began to look for the valley called PARADISE OR THE GARDEN OF EDEN.
Albert Ellison Garrison, Life and Labour of Rev. A. E. Garrison, 1887, pages 27-43


    If you have ever been in Salem you have probably heard of "the Pringle neighborhood," south of town. O. M. Pringle, for whose family it was named, lives in Portland, his home being at 925 East Burnside Street.
    "I was born in Warren County, Missouri, on March 12, 1831," said Mr. Pringle. "My father and mother were both born in New England. They went to Missouri in 1815, which in those days was considered the Far West. My mother's maiden name was Pherne Brown. She was the daughter of Tabitha Brown, who founded the Pacific University at Forest Grove.
    "My father and mother with their family of seven children started for Oregon on the 15th of April, 1846. My mother's brother, Orus Brown, had come out to Oregon in 1848 and returned in 1846 to get his mother, Tabitha Brown. There were 16 wagons in our company when we started from Warren County, and we were joined by 50 more wagons in Kansas. I was 14 years old, and the incidents of that trip are more vivid than any other part of my life.
    "At Fort Hall we were advised to take the southern route. About a hundred wagons left the main emigrant road at Fort Hall and went to the Thousand Springs, where we arrived on August 12, and met Captain Levi Scott and David Goff. Some young man from our party went ahead with Jesse Applegate to cut the trail and improve the road. We went by way of Humboldt, Diamond Springs and Rabbit Hole mountains. We crossed the Cascade mountains and entered the Rogue River Valley and came north through the Umpqua Valley. The Indians were troublesome. Captain Levi Scott, who was acting as our guide, was shot by one of the Indians with an arrow, but the arrow wound did not bother him much. Captain Scott, who later founded Scottsburg, was one of the best woodsmen and plainsmen I ever saw. He was very self-contained, but a very intelligent man and had a quiet manner and a low, pleasant voice.
    "As our stock became more and more worn we got rid of all unnecessary things. I remember we kept our crosscut saw and broad ax and a roll of leather. Father and myself both worked at shoemaking. We had started out with several bushels of parched corn, plenty of bacon, flour, beans and other supplies, but we got so short of food that we had to eat the peas and other garden seed Mother had brought along. We finally had eaten everything we had, and it was decided that I should take our last remaining horse and go to the head of the Willamette Valley and secure some supplies. Two young men went with me the three days' journey, which was something more than a hundred miles. I had to return alone. I loaded my saddle horse with all the graham flour and dried peas she could carry and started back. I walked beside the horse all day and camped that night under a tree. I stirred up some graham flour in a tin cup and ate it for supper. I had seen some very large bear tracks, so I was very nervous. It was enough to make a 14-year-old boy nervous. During the night I heard the brush break and saw a large animal. I put  the sack of graham flour and the sack of peas across a limb, where they would be safe, and then climbed up the tree and stayed there all night.
    "In the morning at daylight I discovered the animal that I thought was the bear was a poor, thin old cow, abandoned by some emigrant. I ate some more flour mush raw for breakfast and pushed on. That night at dusk I ran into a camp of Indians. I thought of course I would be killed, but they took me in, fed me and cared for my horse and gave me a big haunch of roast venison to eat on my way when I left next morning. I reached my family with the supplies and we came on as far as Eugene Skinner's ranch, where the city of Eugene now stands.
    "Our stock could go no farther, so we left them there for the winter with a young man named Jim Collins. My father helped built a boat to go down the Willamette River, but before starting Orus Brown, my uncle, arrived with provisions and horses, and with some Indian ponies we hired we pushed on, reaching Salem on Christmas Day. We started at once making shoes, and Grandmother Brown started making buckskin gloves. We soon used up the roll of leather we had brought, so we had to use leather tanned in troughs with alder bark. It was red like morocco.
    "Father took a claim where Aumsville now stands, but in the fall of 1848 came back to Salem to make boots for the men going to the California mines. There was such a demand for them that he got from $12 to $15 a pair for all the boots he could turn out. Charles Craft had started a tan yard, so we had plenty of leather to work with.
    "I took my primary, intermediate, collegiate and postgraduate course all in three months under Joe Smith, afterward a senator. That was at the Oregon Institute, later to become the Willamette University. I stayed at work and helped send all the rest of the children to school.
    "On September 1, 1847, my sister Virginia married Fabritus R. Smith. My father sold his claim where Aumsville now is to a man named Harley, who sold it to a man named Turner, for whom the town of Turner is named. Father bought a place south of town near John Minto's place. It should have been called the Minto neighborhood, but as we had the larger family the schoolhouse was built on our land. It was called the Pringle schoolhouse, and finally it became known as the Pringle neighborhood. My brother, Clark S. Pringle, married Catherine Sager, one of the survivors of the Whitman massacre.
    "She had lost her parents coming across the plains and with the other Sager children had been adopted by Dr. and Mrs. Whitman. After their death she was adopted by Rev. W. H. Roberts, a Methodist minister at Salem. She went to school at the Oregon Institute, where she met my brother Clark. When I was 18 I took up a half section of land on what is now known as Minto's Island at Salem. I built a house on it and that winter the water was so high that I could row over where my house had been and not touch bottom with my oar. I sold several thousand cords of wood from my claim, selling one man 500 cords. Then I traded it for 240 acres in the Pringle neighborhood. I lived in the Pringle district for 13 years. Forty years ago I moved to Crook County and became a pioneer of that section."
Oregon Journal, Portland, September 3, 1913, page 8

From Fort Hall to American Falls on Snake River,	24 miles
Good camps to the big spring 2 miles above the falls.
Crossing of Cajeux Creek,	26    "
A rough road and scarce of grass; the last water is at the crossing of Fall Creek, 10 miles above Cajeux.
Up Cajeux Creek,	35    "
At the crossing of this creek the roads fork; the northern route continues down Snake River; the southern route goes up the creek, good grass along the Cajeux, and camps plenty.
To Goose Creek,	17    "
The road when it leaves the waters of Cajeux Creek follows up a brook into a narrow rocky pass of the mountain--it is 8 or 9 miles to the next water, two springs about a mile apart; the next water is about 3 miles from Goose Creek, a good camp--road hilly and rough.
Up Goose Creek,	20    "
Good wood and good grass--the last camp on the waters of Goose Creek is a sulfur spring, on the north side of a hollow, and opposite to the place the road climbs the hill.
First spring in Hot Spring Valley,	12    "
Crooked, rough road.
Along Hot Spring Valley,	25    "
From the first it is about 5 miles to the next water, 3 or 4 more to some sulfur springs, 10 miles to the next water, from which there is plenty of grass and water to the head of the valley. The hot spring from which the valley takes its name is about 5 miles from the head of the valley.
First waters of Ogden's River,	8    "
Ogden's River,	22    "
The road formerly run around the S. end of the mountain, and was a day's travel longer than at present. The right road follows the little stream through a narrow defile about 3 miles in length, which a party in advance of the wagon could much improve in a short time.
Down Ogden's River,	200    "
Springs in the pass,	12     "
Rabbit Hole Springs,	13     "
Black Rock,	20     "
From Ogden's River to the Black Rock is known as "the dry stretch," and to perform the journey in safety, emigrants should send a party 2 or 3 days in advance to dig out large reservoirs for the water at the springs, by which means water may be had for their animals. At the first springs there is some grass; at the second there is little or none, but at Black Rock there is abundance.     Emigrants should encamp at the first springs and perform the journey from there to the Rock in the next day and night. The loose animals should be driven ahead as fast as possible until they reach the Rock, and not suffered to drink at the second springs, as the water should all be reserved for the teams. Care should be taken to prevent the loose animals from leaving the road during the night travel, as many have been lost by neglecting this precaution.     From the Rabbit Hole Springs, Black Rock is in sight in a N.W. direction across a level plain; it is the south end of a range of naked burnt mountains, and all the water in its vicinity is nearly boiling hot. There is about 5 miles south of the Rabbit Hole Springs a hot spring and a plain of grass. If the road passed that way it would be longer, but a night drive would be avoided; it is worth examination.
Last Flat Spring,	5     "
Salt Valley,	20     "
First camp in High Rock Canion,	10     "
Up High Rock Canion,	20     "
The High Rock Canion is a great natural curiosity, a good road, handsome little meadows and excellent water enclosed by beetling cliffs, rising in places hundreds of feet perpendicular.
Little Mountain Pass,	18    "
Four miles from the last water of High Rock Creek to a good camp at a running brook, two miles further there are springs left of the road, fine grass and water at the pass on both sides of the ridge.
Warm Springs,	12    "
Summit of Sierra Nevada,	18    "
The road in 1846 run directly across the dry lake to Plum Creek about 12 miles from the warm springs. The front company last year, having nooned at the warm springs, left the road and struck off to the left for the foot of the mountain in order sooner to make a camp; the rest of the emigrants followed--the old road is 3 or 4 miles shortest. Plenty of grass and water all along the mountainsides on both sides of the pass within half a mile of the summit.     Keep close watch here; the Indians are very mischievous.
Goose Lake,	10    "
Immigrants to California should follow the Oregon road to this point and turn down the the foot of the mountain; by doing so they would avoid those tremendous mountains so difficult on the present route.
Around the Lake,	20    "
Canion Creek,	8    "
Down Canion Creek,	10    "
Goff's Springs (warm water),	8    "
Big Spring,	4    "
Shallow Lake,	10    "
Sacramento River (long drive),	20    "
Crossing of Sacramento (Rock Bridge),	4    "
First camp on Klamath Lake	10    "
First Creek,	7    "
Second Creek (Fish Creek),	3    "
Third Creek (Big Spring),	6    "
Leaving of the Lake,	6    "
Crossing of Klamath River,	10    "
First water in Beaver Creek,	18    "
At the leaving of the Klamath River, the road enters the timber of the Cascade Mountain, and on Beaver Creek is the first camp; parties should make an early start, and the first one should send persons ahead to open the road. Good grass on Beaver Creek.
Crossing of Beaver Creek,	6    "
Round Prairie (good camp),	2    "
Headwaters of Rogue River,	8    "
Down South Fork,	20    "
Rogue River,	15    "
Umpqua Mountain,	35    "
First 14 miles good road, next 14 very hilly, last 7 up the valley of a creek, good road.
Through Umpqua Mountain,	12    "
Send a party before you to open the road, make an early start and you will get through in a day--you go over other mountains, this you go through.
Down South Fork to crossing of Umpqua River,	30    "
Scott's Farm,	20    "
Calapooya Mountain,	5    "
Over the mountains to Willamette Valley,	10    "
From the Sierra Nevada to Willamette Valley there is no scarcity of grass or water--camps may be had every few miles except as before noted.     As the emigrants may be days without seeing an Indian, the indolent and incautious may think there is no necessity to keep a strict watch over their animals.     And the humane may think it wrong to refuse a poor Indian a piece of bread.     To the first I would remark that it is better to spend a few hours every second or third night in guarding their cattle than to be left in the desert without a team, or arrive in Willamette without a cow to give them milk; the people here are poor and hardhearted. The humane I would remind that gratitude is a sensation unknown to a savage; the beings you would tame by kindness will take the life of the living or disinter the dead for the sake of the clothes that cover their bodies.     And as they give only to those they fear they ascribe your charity to the same motive. Fear in you encourages aggression in them.     In 1846, Mr. Newton gave to a poor Umpqua some powder and balls to kill a deer; the Indian returned the same night and murdered him with his own ammunition. When you see the bodies of your deceased friends torn out of their graves and stripped by these ghouls, you will not consider the sentence a harsh one which keeps them at a distance.                              JESSE APPLEGATE.

Oregon Spectator, Oregon City, April 6, 1848, pages 1-2


    The following has also been furnished by Mr. [Jesse] Applegate, and is inserted here from a desire to give as near an absolute correct version of every historical event as can be obtained from the memoranda and recollections of the early pioneers:
    "Pages 148 and 149.--On these pages you notice what has been known as the 'Southern Route' to Oregon. The notice is very imperfect and essentially untrue. The fall of 1846 was one of exceptional drought and sterility west of the Rocky Mountains, and immigrants suffered much more for grass and water on the old established routes to Oregon and California than upon the new. It is true the teams of the immigrants were much weakened by breaking a new road through the sage plains of Nevada, but the timbered portions of it were opened before them by the labor and at the expense of the explorers. The loss of wagons and other property at the Umpqua Canyon was great, but it was not suffered by the company that led the van and broke the road, but as usual by the loiterers in the rear. As the leading company passed through the canyon in a single day and suffered no loss--so might the rest had they used due diligence, but they were a week behind and the fall rains came on before they had passed this defile, so it was the abundance of water and not its scarcity that caused them loss and suffering. It was not 'a few years later' as you state but every year from the time of opening the road in 1846 (until 1855 when the fierce hostility of the Modocs and other Indians along the route closed it)--'this route through Nevada * * * was used by thousands of immigrants entering Northern California and Southern Oregon.' The desert that everywhere surrounds the lower Humboldt is the only one on this route 'a level plain of twenty-five miles.' There is no lack of grass and water at convenient distances elsewhere.
    "Steve Meek never saw the canyon in 1843, nor did any other white man before it was explored and opened in 1846. The canyon, instead of being a shame and disgrace to its explorers, is an honor to everyone engaged in the arduous undertaking, for though frequently undertaken, in the interim of 38 years no other route has been found by which a wheeled vehicle has passed between the Umpqua and Rogue River Valleys, and consequently staging and all other land intercourse (except a very little east of the Cascades) between Oregon and California has been carried on through this much abused, though wonderful, natural route. As to the motive of the exploring party, it is enough to say it was neither selfish nor pecuniary as none of them received or asked a cent from anyone who traveled that road. The Oregon legislature authorized Capt. Levi Scott, one of its explorers, further to improve it, and charge toll for its use (see Acts of 1847); but he only traveled it once and made a few changes."
David D. Fagan, History of Benton County, Oregon, A. G. Walling publisher, Portland 1885. These paragraphs were "tipped in" to the volume after printing, pasted after page 196.


    I recall now the names of the fifteen South Road explorers--Father, Uncle Jesse, Parker, Levi and John Scott, Henry Boygus, Ben Burch, John Owens, John (Jack) Jones, the man who moved the pioneer orchard, Robert Smith, Sam Goodhue--who was periodically insane; Moses (Black) Harris, David Goff, Bennett Osborn and William Sportsman. At the time this party went through Rogue River Valley so quietly another company was fighting every rod of the way!
Elisha Lindsay Applegate, quoted in Reese P. Kendall, Pacific Trail Camp-Fires, Chicago 1901, page 313