DISTRICT ATTORNEYSHIP.

AFTER KENT.

Nov. 7th, 1892 ]                       

Very truly, &c.,
    Wm. M. Colvig.

COLVIG COMES OFF THE PERCH.

New Law Firms.

His Honor Is Wounded.

FOUND DEAD IN BED.

Medford Sun, August 13, 1911, page 3


    William M. Colvig gave one of his interesting and entertaining talks [at the meeting of the Oregon Development League in Astoria]. He is known to be one of the best and wittiest public speakers in Oregon, and he was at his best. He spoke as follows:
    "For three years past I have been the president of the Medford Commercial Club, and, with my associates, have induced a great many people to come to Oregon, many of whom are now basking in the sunshine of happier and more prosperous days than they had ever known before, and yet I am sorry to say there are a few others who seem to have been 'over-much persuaded,' and who have either returned to the familiar faces of their old homes in the East or are found wandering up and down the Pacific Coast cussing the country and everybody in it. These few need parental guidance and should not have crossed the threshold where the 'old folks stay.'
    "As loyal citizens of Oregon we should be glad to welcome among us all those who are not afraid to face the obstacles which lie in the pathway of every new civilization. We should not hesitate to sing the praises of our home in this land of rich endowment, but there is danger that we may overdraw the picture and offer inducements that will never be realized by those who may come. We must, therefore, be careful in all our statements so that we will not be afraid to face the newcomer when he arrives.
    "At the last meeting of the Development League one of the members who addressed it advocated the plan of sending agents to the cheap labor countries of Southern Europe for the purpose of inducing immigrants from there to this state. In my opinion no greater calamity could possibly befall us than to have a heavy immigration of that class to Oregon. We do not need them; they do not assimilate with our people nor add any strength to our civilization. They are incapable of appreciating the liberty which we enjoy, and so I am constrained to say that the fewer we have of such people the better it will be for the welfare of the commonwealth. But we may joyfully receive among us people from Great Britain, from the Scandinavian and Germanic countries of Europe, from France and from Russia, because their standards of life are not dissimilar to our own and they readily understand the duties of enlightened citizenship.
    "These fertile valleys, held aloft in the arms of the mighty mountains that surround them, are gems in the diadem of Nature's God, and the time will come when this power and the influence of the civilization here established will be recognized and felt throughout the nations of  Earth, and for these reasons it is not alone numbers that we should seek to attract hither, but quality as well."
"Awaken, Pleads Wilcox to Oregon," Morning Oregonian, Portland, August 15, 1911, page 1


    Because he called William M. Colvig, president of the Commercial Club and booster-in-chief of Medford and the Rogue River Valley, a liar, Jesse Houck had his face slapped--and Colvig did it.
    The passing of the lie came during an argument over the good roads bond issue. Colvig and Houck , who is fighting the issue, had had it up and down for several minutes when Houck asked:
    "And what have you got for all of your efforts in this valley?"
    "I've got about $5000," was the reply of the judge, "and I earned every dollar of it--that's more than you can say, for your father left you yours."
    "You're a liar," declared Houck.
    Thereupon Judge Colvig, though 66 years of age, slapped Houck's face, in spite of the fact that Houck is a much younger man. Then bystanders interfered.
Medford Mail Tribune, September 26, 1911, page 8


To the Editor of The Sun:
    In an article published in the Medford Tribune a statement was made in large headlines, "Houck Has His Face Slapped," and following purports to be a statement of an altercation between the undersigned and W. M. Colvig.
    I desire to state that Houck didn't have his face slapped by Mr. Colvig nor by anyone else, and the statement given by the Tribune regarding the altercation is entirely erroneous, to use the mildest term that can be applied to it. Perhaps the recital of the affair is maliciously wrong rather than simply erroneous.
    Mr. Colvig came into the Nash Hotel, where Elmer Oatman, W. M. Smith and myself were sitting, and engaged in a conversation regarding the proposed bond issue, when Mr. Oatman expressed his objections to the proposed issue, when Mr. Colvig replied that the country would amount to but little if we had such citizens only as several citizens whom he named, including myself, mentioning me by name, although I had not participated in the conversation or argument relative to it, Mr. Colvig's remarks being directed to Mr. Oatman more particularly. And at this juncture turned to me and said, "You haven't done anything for Medford." I answered by stating that I thought I had done as much as he had for Medford, when Mr. Colvig said: "You haven't done anything but what your father left you; you never earned a cent for yourself." I did not resent this statement at all.
    Mr. Colvig then said that the bond issue was opposed by George Dunn and Josh Japperson and other citizens because they were turned down and were "sore." To this statement I replied that if these men were opposing the bond issue it was for substantial reasons and not because they were sore--that they were too much of the gentleman class to be guilty of opposition for that reason, and that if anybody had asserted that this was the cause for their opposition it was a lie.
    When I made this statement Mr. Colvig struck at me while I was sitting in my chair. I warded off the blow with my shoulder, rising at the time, when he struck at me a second time. He did not strike me either time, although he struck with his clenched fist and not with his open hand. I backed away from him, saying: "Mr. Colvig, you are too old a man for me to strike." I repeatedly told Mr. Colvig that I did not call him a liar and did not intend to convey the idea that I was calling him a liar.
    The argument over the bond issue was started by Mr. Colvig and not by myself, nor did I make any statement during the course of the argument to call for Mr. Colvig's assertion that I had nothing but what my father had left me, and merely defended the reputation of George Dunn and Patterson against the assaults of Colvig, that they were "sore" and therefore were opposing the bond issue. My statement did not convey the idea that Mr. Colvig was a liar or that I thought he was--but did convey the idea and impression that these statements . . . made indiscriminately about Dunn and Patterson were lies.
    There was no occasion for Mr. Colvig's hostility to me, and the attack was unprovoked on my part. Mr. Colvig was entirely the aggressor in this trouble.
        Very respectfully,
                JESSE HOUCK.
    Medford, Sept. 27.
    We desire to state that we were present at the difficulty mentioned in the foregoing article, and the statement made above is a correct statement of the affair.
                W. M. SMITH
                E. R. OATMAN
Medford Sun, September 28, 1911, page 4






    Judge Colvig is the original and only booster--all others are imitations. He was born in Missouri, and lived in Jacksonville for a time, both for which we forgave him, as he now spends all his time convincing people that the best place on earth is Medford in Southern Oregon.
    At a recent meeting of the Chamber of Commerce in Los Angeles, during which all the local members spoke in glowing terms of their own city, Judge Colvig, being present, was invited to speak. The Judge arose and said he did not feel that he could add anything to the beautiful tributes that had been paid to Los Angeles, but that what he had heard reminded him of the following story:
    "A party of Los Angeles people who had departed this vale of tears were being shown through the Celestial Regions. As St. Peter pointed out the pearly gates and golden streets their admiration was unbounded, and they expressed themselves with such exclamations as 'Beautiful'; 'This reminds us of Los Angeles'; 'This is just like home.' As they proceeded they came to a beautiful place wherein a group of people were chained to the floor with heavy chains. Upon asking St. Peter who these people were, and why they [were] chained, he replied: 'Those people came from the Rogue River Valley, and we have to chain them to keep them here.'"
Minnie (Mrs. H. C.) Stoddard, "Medford's Hall of Fame," Medford Mail Tribune, December 18, 1912, page 4



COLVIG, William Mason, Lawyer; born  Ray Co., Mo., Sept. 2, 1845; son, William Lyngae and Helen (Mar) C.; grandson of Jacob Lyngae Colvig, who fought under Napoleon and received a medal of honor for bravery at Lodi. "Educated in a log school house." Married, Addie Birdseye, June 8, 1879, at Rock Point, Ore. Dir., Medford Natl. Bank; Pres., Medford Commercial Club. 3 years enlistment, 1863-66, Co. C, 1st Ore. Cav. Vols. 2 terms Co. Supt. Schools, Jackson Co., Ore., 3 terms, Dist. Atty., 1st Jud. Dist., Ore.; 12 years, member of Oregon Textbook Commission; 4 years, Adj. Gen., Ore. State Militia. Democrat, until McKinley campaign, since a Republican. Has lived in Oregon 61 years. Address: Medford, Ore.
Harper, Franklin, ed., Who's Who on the Pacific Coast, 1913, page 120




    William H. Crane [, "Dean of the American Stage,"] who is 68 years old, only one year younger than Sarah Bernhardt, says the reason he can gallop about like a young, frisky colt is because Sarah has lived abnormally and he has lived normally.
    Right in the midst of the chat Mr. Crane fished a long, yellow envelope out of his pocket, and, laughing as gleefully as a mischievous boy, spread out its two closely written pages and read this aloud. It was dated Medford, Or., and written on the 19th. After the usual preliminaries it began:
    Thirty-seven years ago I applied to you for a position with the Hooley Stock Company, of Chicago, and received the enclosed letter from you in which there is a promise to let me hear further in regard to the matter. Ever since then I have been standing on the very tiptoe of expectation--waiting for the opportunity to appear before the footlights and "hold the mirror up to Nature." I have always believed that your forgetfulness on that occasion robbed the world of a great actor and imposed on the innocent public a very indifferent lawyer. About the time your present appearance in Portland was announced I was overhauling some old papers and ran onto your letter of January 23, 1875. In those ancient days I often met you, thought it is not probable that you remember it. I think it probable that I will run down next week and be one of your audience. Sincerely,
                WILLIAM M. COLVIG.
    And this is the letter enclosed with Mr. Colvig's. It is dated January 25, 1875, in Chicago, and written on a sheet of ruled tablet paper:
    Your letter rec'd. Mr. Hooley desires me to say that there is really no position vacant in the Co. at present that could benefit you in any way. Will keep your address and should any chance occur where you could attain what you desire, will advise you of the same. Very truly yours,
                WM. H. CRANE,
                Stage Manager, Hooley's Theater.
Leone Cass Baker, "Crane Gives Secret," Morning Oregonian, Portland, March 22, 1913, page 9


    Along with a cartoon showing him taking his ease in an upholstered rocker, the Fort Worth, Texas Star Telegram devotes considerable space to our Judge Wm. M. Colvig, who returned from Dallas and the convention of Shriners Monday. The Judge says Dallas and nearby cities treated the visitors with hospitality never before equaled at a Shriners' meeting, and that the side trips and special features kept him busy every minute.
    As an example of how the Judge gently kidded the southern reporters, the following from the Star Telegram is quoted:
    "Judge William Mason Colvig, of Medford, Oregon, is lonesome no more. It so happened that Fred E. Johnson, who is chairman of the Shriners' publicity committee, heard that Judge Colvig was looking for a disciple of the art preservative."
    When Fred found the Judge he discovered him armed with an "original poem." It read:
    "I have wandered far from the sundown sea, o'er many miles of burning sand. I am lonely tonight as I can be, in Texas by the Rio Grande."
    "Instead of printing the Judge's lay of loneliness, Fred introduced him to a bevy of Dallas' dutiful daughters, who took charge of the Judge. One of them drives her father's auto, and they have been taking the Judge to and from the different 'doings' ever since.
    "Judge Colvig was representative to the imperial council from Hillas Temple of Ashland, Oregon, the smallest city in the world with a Shrine temple. He is also past potentate of Hillas."

    Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen of the Pioneer Association of Oregon:
    In the year 1878, I delivered an address to the pioneers of Southern Oregon. The subject was then new to my thoughts, and I was about forty years nearer the events that are pertinent to this hour and occasion than I am today. I will now find it difficult and well-nigh impossible to wander from the beaten track and avoid the pathway of thought then blazed through the dim and misty recollections of those early days. Nor will I, at this time, attempt to do more than make that pathway plainer, and bring before your minds a review of some of the wild scenes of Oregon's early settlement.
    In looking back over the history of the past, from the dawn of civilization down to the present time, we see that in every age and clime there have been bold and fearless pioneers in all the doubtful ways of human advancement--for not only have they discovered, explored and prepared for habitation the hitherto unknown wilds of earth, but they are also found to have been in the front rank in every struggle where the energies of the race have pushed a farther limit, or taken a more advanced position.
    All that we now enjoy of art, of literature, of science or of government has come to us in slow payments for unremitting toil and persevering labor.
    The whole earth was a vast wilderness, unpenetrated by the light and power of human knowledge and skill, and the mind of man was enveloped by the dark night of ignorance and superstition. He has in the long past but feebly comprehended his close relation to Nature's God, and the divine power of his own soul. Hence, his progress has been slow and toilsome. It is said in Holy Writ, "Knock, and the door will open unto you--Seek, and ye shall find," and we know that whenever man has knocked at any door of Truth, in any line, it has opened unto him, and has revealed the long-time hidden mysteries of the Divine law. But at last man came to a better conception of his own nature and of Nature's laws; then the horizon of his future destiny began to disclose the first faint rays of a brighter day, and to paint glorious prophecies on the borders of his moral night. Then it was that the onward march of progress commenced with accelerated pace.
    Daring pioneers led the way, and smote the rocks for the thirsty multitudes that followed. In one age, standing out in bold relief on the distant shores of Time, we see a Confucius--a Seneca--a Divine Christ and his apostles, teaching a better philosophy of human morals, and a more hopeful religion; and yet, along the three-thousand-year pathway of civilization, were other great leaders exploring the realms of art, of literature, of science and of government. An Appelles or an Angelo in Art. A Homer--a Virgil--a Dante, or an Olympia Morata in the fields of Literature. A Cicero or a Justinian teaching a clearer conception of Justice, and laying the foundations of nations yet unborn. A Galileo--a Newton--a Marconi, or an Edison, seeking, finding and revealing some of the great truths of the laws of Nature, and extending the domain of human knowledge. Many others could be named who have zealously knocked at the doors of Truth, and who have been the divinely appointed leaders in their respective fields of work; but these few are enough to show that pioneers have led, and must yet lead, the destinies of the race through all the unexplored mazes of the future.
    Foremost among the pioneers of earth must ever be the heralds of a new civilization. It is only the protecting aegis of national power that can foster the excellencies of the human heart, and make the pathways of life bloom with the varied flowers of culture and refinement.
    The March of Empire precedes all else, and has from the time that Moses led the rebellious tribes of Israel from the land of bondage, down to that era when you pioneers took up your long march to the shores of the Western sea. And it is of that migration, and its manifold results, that I now come to speak.
    When you old men and women were young, and some of you were but prattling children, there came across the sands of what was known as the "Great American Desert" rumors of a rich and fertile country in the far-off West, "Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound save its own dashings." Obeying a natural impulse of the Anglo-Saxon race to follow the Star of Empire into other lands, you pioneers of Oregon severed the ties which bound you to the homes of your childhood, and with firm steps and grim determination you turned your faces toward the setting sun, and commenced that long and weary march across the dreary wilds of the Western plains of North America. You toiled on and on for many weeks and months. Every day was burdened with trudging labor, and every night with sleepless vigils. Every step that you took was fraught with danger, and led you farther from home--from friends and kindred, and from civilization. Disease and death followed your footsteps, and many a brave adventurer was laid to rest in the sands by the roadside. Stealthy savages contested your right of way, and battles were fought to decide between you. No "pillar of cloud by day," nor "pillar of fire by night," moved on before, to guide and direct you on the perilous journey. You threaded the jungles of mountain chains, and crossed vast trackless deserts, where never before the feet of the paleface had trod. When rivers with swollen floods impeded your way, rude rafts were hastily constructed, and the journey beyond resumed. And thus, ever with hopeful hearts, you traveled on and on, till it seemed as joyous recompense for the trials passed, that the fair valleys of Oregon--uplifted in the arms of the mighty mountains around them, lay like beautiful pictures on the face of Nature, invitingly before you. No friends were here to give you welcome--no home to offer hospitality. You turned your lean and footsore oxen out to graze, and, shouldering your axes, walked into the primeval forests with yet undaunted hearts, and commenced the history of Oregon.
    Nearly three-quarters of a century has passed since those days. Happy homes now fill the valleys with joy and life. The sounds of clanging industry are heard echoing among the hills, along the rivers, and in the productive fields. The "dashings" of the lordly "Oregon" are drowned in the blaring tumult of thrift and enterprise along its shores. The red sovereigns, who once held kingly sway over the vast solitudes of mountain and vale, have "read their doom in the setting sun." The debris which marked the places where once stood their rude wigwams, has been cleared away, and palatial dwellings, lovely villages, and bustling cities now beautify the land.
    To you men and women who blazed the way to this great commonwealth, and who pushed forward and protected the infant growth of its many institutions, belong all the honor. The history of its past is but a record of your lives, and of the struggles, privations and hardships which you so bravely endured in those days that "tried the souls of men."
    Thus far I have dealt with the subject of pioneer life in a general way, and in its relation to those who first opened up the "Oregon Country" to civilization. I wish that I were better able to narrate some of the exciting scenes and events which occurred in those early days, for I see before me at this time, a few old gray heads, and bent and feeble forms, who were actors in those events. You were then in the strength of youth--men and women who only feared the God above and over you. Would that I had the power to bring before you at this time a mental vision of that long past--to call back from the Elysian fields of Heaven the company of your brave fellow pioneers, who, one by one, have made their last pilgrimage, and who now wait with outstretched hands to welcome you to that pioneer gathering on the other shore--and to hear from their immortal lips an account of the joys, the fears, and the sorrows of those wild scenes of earth. As this cannot be, you will pardon my feeble efforts in attempting to relate a few events connected with the early settlement of Oregon, as they occur to my own personal recollection, and as gathered from many scrap-written sources of information.
    I will first take up the subject of "Crossing the Plains," as I remember it, and while our trip was not so perilous as that of many others who preceded us, nor of some who came over in subsequent years, yet it is about the only way for me to proceed.
    On the 5th day of May, 1851, I was playing with my three brothers in the street fronting our home at Parksville, Platte County, Missouri--a small frontier town near Kansas City--when my father, and his hired man, drove up to the front gate with two ox-wagons; one was large and heavy, and drawn by three yoke of oxen; the other was much lighter of build, and was drawn by two yoke. The day before a sale of household effects had been held at the front door, and only those things retained which were thought to be absolutely necessary for the journey. Mother and the five children of the family (the youngest a baby of nine months of age) climbed into the lighter wagon, and then commenced the desert march to the far-off Golden West. Although I was quite young at that time, yet no event in life seems more vividly impressed upon my mind than that start. How the friends and relatives crowded around to bid us farewell and godspeed on our journey! At last the whips began to pop, and the line of white-covered wagons moved slowly up the main street of the village, enveloped in a cloud of dust raised by the feet of the many half-broke oxen that slowly dragged their heavy burdens along.
    A short halt was made at Platte City, where many other emigrants were encamped, and who were busily engaged in preparing for the trip. My father and four other men with families, acting as self-chosen charter members, began to organize a company from among the motley assembly that was there waiting for the "grass to start" before pushing ahead. A form of train government was drawn up and signed--each man pledging himself to abide by all the rules and regulations embodied and all binding themselves to stand by each other through every distress and in every adversity. A captain and other appropriate officers were elected. My father was second in command, and also physician for the company. Our whole organization consisted of twenty-seven families, and about fifty wagons. Only those who were well equipped were allowed to join us. The train was considered sufficiently large for self-protection, and not too large for camp facilities.
    At last all was ready, and we started on the long journey. He whose team headed the march today took the dust of the rear on the morrow, and it would be fifty long days before he again would be in the lead. How slowly the caravan moved over the treeless plains of the Platte! How tedious and wearisome every mile! The men walked beside the oxen, while the women and children sat in the front end of the wagon. Hundreds of miles of sagebrush and sand--not a living tree other than a few stunted cottonwoods along the streams. And do you remember the effort it required to make the wheel-oxen hold the wagons back on short pitches where it would not justify a stop to dead-lock with the chain? Not a brake on any wagon in the train. Such a simple convenience was not known--and yet, what a saving of teams it would have been if someone had suggested the idea. For protection there were no breech-loading guns, or revolvers--only the old-fashioned Kentucky rifle, and the Allen "pepperbox" pistol; the latter was a great deal more fearful in looks than in execution.
    Some people did not know how to travel even in the primitive way of those days. In our train was one of this sort. He was a little, short, bald-headed, old fellow by the name of Stump. His wife was just like him in every way--a little pudgy sort of a body, who referred every difficult problem of life to "Pa" Stump. They had started with one wagon, and two yoke of oxen. By the time we had reached Sweetwater, on past Laramie, two of his oxen had completely given out, and he called on the train government for assistance. The captain ordered an examination of Stump's outfit, for it seemed very evident that he was overloaded, and that possibly he was hauling some heavy articles which might be dispensed with. In overhauling his baggage, Captain Dunn found two brickbats, two smoothing irons, and a grindstone, besides other articles of like heaviness and equal utility. When these were thrown out, old Stump picked them up and said: "By Zounds, gentlemen! You shan't throw away my stuff. When we get out thar, them brick'll come mighty handy to scour knives on, and whar can you get any others?"
    In recent years I have traveled along portions of this same route--but while seated in a luxurious car. As I sat in the diner, choosing my breakfast from the delicacies of every clime, I thought how different from those meals I ate in 1851! Now in a comfortable chair, and in a dining car, clean and free from dust, with costly china and silverware, and napkins and finger bowls for use. In 1851, squatted on the ground, with tin plates and cups, steel forks, alkali dust, flies and bugs crawling over everything, and claiming a share; coffee, boiled in a kettle, heated by a fire made of dry "buffalo chips" and sagebrush, and bearing the odor therefrom.
    Buffalo meat was plentiful. We often saw droves of many hundreds of these wild cattle of the Plains, feeding northwardly with the season. At one place on the Platte we "laid over" for three or four days, in order to kill a few buffalo and "jerk" the meat. I remember how we had it strung in long rows along the ridgepole of the wagon cover. The meat was very black and coarse, but we youngsters found it to be good chewing as we rode over the long stretches of sand and sagebrush deserts.
    In the lighter one of our two wagons Father and Mother had their bed built in. It took up about three-fourths of the length, while the remaining one-fourth in front was the playroom for three or us younger children during the five-month journey. Mother, during the day, sat on the foot of this bed, with a babe in her arms--and I remember that she taught me to read during that summer, using an old "Elementary Spelling Book" as a textbook. At night, if tents had not been put up, which was often the case, we three older boys slept under the wagon.
    We did not have much trouble with the Indians. One day, however, a party of Sioux warriors came charging up on horseback, and began distributing their forces so that there would be a few riding at the side of each wagon. It looked like trouble was imminent. An old trapper who had joined us at St. Joe thought of a ruse to frighten them. The cholera had scourged the entire Missouri Valley in the summer of 1850 and had reaped a heavy toll from the Sioux and Blackfeet tribes. Pretty soon the curiosity of the Indians was attracted by a halt of the slow-moving caravan, and the sight of men, women and children gathered about one of the big family wagons. Some of the women were apparently crying. The Indians inquired the cause, and were told that one of the emigrant women was dying with the cholera. In five minutes you couldn't see an Indian for the dust raised by their hasty retreat. From that moment our train was marked for avoidance, and we did not see any more Indians until we reached the western side of the Rocky Mountains.
    Our train divided at or near the crossing of Green River. All but seven families took the Salt Lake route for California. Father would also have gone that way, but he had lived near "Far West," Missouri, at the time the Mormons were driven out of that state, and had made himself somewhat conspicuous in that raid, and so he thought it would be safer to avoid the domain of Brigham Young.
    Somewhere on Snake River, two ragged-looking Indians rode up near our camp, unsaddled their ponies without saying a word, and began to prepare their bed for the night. We had just had our supper. Captain Dunn said to Father: "I don't like the looks of those fellows; give them something to eat, and then we will order them to move on." The canvas cloth was yet littered with a few scraps left from our frugal meal. The Indians were beckoned to the spread. They approached and sat down opposite each other; then the elder one of the two removed an old, much-worn hat from his head, and, raising his hands in attitude of prayer, said, substantially, "Great Father! we thank thee, and pray that thou wilt bless our white friends, and guide them safely on their journey, etc." Captain Dunn was not a religious man, but when the blessing was ended, he said: "I guess those fellows are all right, and we need not disturb them." It transpired that they were from the Whitman settlement, and were going out on the emigrant trail to pick up wagons and household goods which had been discarded by the emigrants in order to lighten their loads on the last end of the journey. We left our large freight wagon standing by the side of the road up near old Fort Hall, as we only had six oxen left, and the lighter wagon was about all they could handle.
    At The Dalles, Mother and we five children, with a small amount of bedding and personal effects, were bundled into a Chinook canoe, and brought to the head of the Cascade rapids by two Indian boatmen. Father left us at The Dalles, and brought the wagon and team over the Cascade Mountains, arriving at Portland three weeks later than the rest of us, and with only three oxen left.
    At the foot of the Cascades, the family took passage on the steamer Lot Whitcomb, and on the morning of October 5, 1851, woke up at Portland. Here we were met by an old friend of my father--one whom he had known in Ohio, and later in Missouri. I refer to Thomas Carter, who lived on a donation claim which is now largely covered by the city.
    A man over on the East Side had a claim, and wanted to trade it to Father for his gun and team and wagon. Carter urged Father to take up the deal, but he replied: "Tom, I haven't crossed the continent from old Virginia to come out here and settle in a fir forest." So, in the spring of 1852, we hitched up old "John and Charley"--"Buck" having been drowned in the Tualatin River during the winter--and pulled out for Southern Oregon.
    At Winchester we found Colonel "Bill" Martin, an old Missouri friend. He was running a ferry at the crossing of the North Umpqua, but had located a "claim" about three fourths of a mile south up the river. It adjoined the donation claim of General Joseph Lane. We were very hard up, but the Colonel was willing to share what he had, so he said to Father: "Just move out thar into my cabin on the ranch, and stay thar till you have time to look around; and, say, thar is a lot of garden truck growing, which, if the little fellows here will weed out and hoe around, will give you what vegetables you need." This was a temptation not to be slighted, especially by a family of hungry boys, who had spent the preceding summer on the plains, without any garden vegetables.
    Colonel "Bill's" ranch was in that stretch of "sticky" soil between Roseburg and Winchester. In the summertime the heat of the sun causes the earth to crack open, and great fissures, varying in width from 4 to 8 inches, and to a depth of 16 inches, run in all directions. I can yet remember how industriously we boys worked over that little "truck" patch. It was July, and the melon vines were beginning to run; nice little watermelons were thickly dotted over the ground. What hopeful anticipations were aroused at the sight! They were getting almost large enough to "thump"--only a few more days to wait! But, alas, for human expectations! A hot spell ensued. The ground commenced to crack open--one by one the melons rolled in, and disappeared in the deep crevices. We yet had hopes, and would reach down in and "thump" them, but at last a heavy rain storm came--the cracks all closed up, the ground became smooth and black--not a melon in sight. We lost the whole crop, except a few that we recovered when we dug our potatoes at the close of the summer.
    We located on a claim near Canyonville, in Douglas County. We would have gone farther south, but the road through the "Canyon" seemed too formidable for our one yoke of oxen, and we were compelled to stop. The twelve miles of road immediately south of Canyonville follows a swift mountain stream, and in those days was but little more than a "pack" trail. In 1853 the government of the United States undertook the construction of a military road through the southern part of the territory. Lieutenant Joe Hooker--afterwards General Joe Hooker who fought the "Battle in the Clouds" at Lookout Mountain, Tennessee--was assigned to the work at Canyonville. I remember him quite well. He spent most of his time that fall in playing "seven-up" for the drinks at the hotel bar, while the boys were busy up in the Canyon.
    My father was postmaster in 1853, and mail day was a big event in that neighborhood. It happened about once a week, but not on any certain day. B. F Dowell, father of the present fire chief of the City of Portland, was the mail contractor, and also the carrier. His contract was from Oakland, Oregon, to Jacksonville. He rode one mule, and led another, upon which the mail was packed. Sometimes his mules strayed from camp, and he would be three or four days late in consequence, but time was nothing to us. News from the "States" was fresh if not more than three months after date. I remember a time, about the middle of January, 1853, when my father sent me on a pony some miles distant to borrow a St. Louis paper, called the Dispatch, which was reported to have been received by our neighbor, and which, rumor said, contained authentic news of Pierce's election. My father was a Whig, and wanted to hear that General Scott was the lucky man. I was given the newspaper, but under a strict promise to return it the next day.
    The first public school at Canyonville was taught by a man named Samuel Strong. On account of his great weakness for strong drink, he was required to enter into an undertaking to keep sober during the entire three months' term, and if he did not, his pay was thereby forfeited. Poor Sam! He earned his wages, but afterwards died with the delirium tremens, and now sleeps in the cemetery at Jacksonville.
    The Canyonville school in early days had a well-earned reputation of being hard to manage. I. N. Choynski, the father of "Joe" the pugilist, tried it one winter, but he lacked Joe's skill as a fighter, and the boys knocked him down and out. Then our ex-Congressman, Binger Hermann, drifted into the neighborhood and was employed to teach us. He shook hands with us every morning, and by his suavity of manner won our hearts, and we let him remain two terms.
    One of the first church buildings erected in the territory south of Albany was the present Methodist Church in Jacksonville. It was commenced in 1853. The Rev. Joseph Smith--sometimes known as "Carving-fork" Smith--had been sent out in 1852 to labor among the miners of Jackson County. He was an able man intellectually, but did not have the requisite tact for dealing with such a sportive community as the gold excitement had brought together at that place; so, after a brief sojourn, he became discouraged, returned to Salem, and married Julia A. Carter, of Portland, a sister of Mrs. Elizabeth Grover (who now resides in the city). Smith took up the study of law, and in 1868 was elected to Congress. During the time he was in Jacksonville, he succeeded in getting the frame of the church erected.
    In the fall of 1853, a Methodist preacher by the name of Thomas Fletcher Royal came in with the emigration, and took up the work where Smith left off. Royal was known as "Limpy" among the miners. He knew how to deal with them. He had a friendly and familiar way that took with all classes of society. On Sunday mornings he would saunter into a saloon, and watch the games, then he would say: "Boys, when you get through with the deal, let's all go down to the tent and sing some of the old songs, and listen to the reading of the Bible, like we used to do, back in the States." And the "boys" would generally turn out to hear him. One Sunday morning he stood by watching a game of faro, which an old gambler named Ad. Helms was dealing. Charley Williams, another noted gambler of that day, was playing the game. Royal spoke up, and said: "Boys, we must have some help in building our church, and I want you fellows to give us a lift." Helms said: "You would not use money got in this way for such a purpose, would you?" "Oh, yes," replied Royal, "and we would put it to a better use." Thereupon Williams, in order to test the preacher's sense of duty,spoke up and said: "All right, I'll lay a ten in the pot on this faro deal, and if it wins you take it all." Helms then said: "And if it loses, 'Limpy,' it shall be yours anyway." It was a winner; Helms handed Royal a twenty, and that was the first contribution to the little church on the corner at Jacksonville. [Helms' supposed contribution is not recorded in Royal's careful bookkeeping. Charley Williams only contributed $5. It's possible that this myth records an experience of Royal's predecessor, Joseph S. Smith.]
    When we take a comparative view of the wild freedom of life in those early years, its careless simplicity, and the utter lack of social distinctions, we old pioneers almost regret the advanced position into which we have been crowded. In those days we boys all wore buckskin breeches; you couldn't wear them out, and if there was any special reason for them to look clean, Mother would send us down to the river bank, where we had a kind of an "otter slide" in the sand, and we would sit down and slide, and then lie down and slide, until they were clean "fore and aft."
    The medium of conversation between the Indians and settlers was the Chinook jargon. Many of the words grew into common use among the pioneers, such as: "cuitan," for horse; "cultus," for worthless; "hiac," for hurry; "waw-waw," for talk; "illahee," for country; "cloochman," for woman; "tillicum," for friend, and many other words which almost eliminated the use of the English among the people of the country places. A small dictionary of the language was published in the early '50s by a man named S. J. McCormick, who lived in Portland. It became a household book in many families.
    The men and women who dared the struggles and dangers of pioneer days in Oregon were themselves mostly the descendants of those brave spirits who followed Daniel Boone and his adventurous fellows into the wilds of the Mississippi Valley states. Only a few, if any, of them had more than a common school education, and a large majority had much less. Yet there were some among those bold Argonauts whose mental equipment enabled them to shine on the "porches of learning," and hold successful dispute with the ablest men of the nation. I will mention a few of the mental giants of early Oregon, viz.: General Joseph Lane, J. W. Nesmith, Jesse Applegate, "Lish" Applegate, Joaquin Miller, Abigail Scott Duniway, Matthew P. Deady, Harvey W. Scott and George H. Williams.
    It seems almost invidious not to mention other names in this enumeration; but time forbids. I would like to characterize each of these prominent pioneers, and show why they were in the front at a time in the history of Oregon when men were needed who had empires in their brains, and who had been skilled by freedom and great events to lay the foundations of a new commonwealth.
    In the brief time allotted to me on this occasion it is not possible for me to give an account of the many stirring events connected with the Indian wars of Oregon. I have some remembrance of the Rogue River War of 1855. I particularly remember one bright day in October of that year, that myself and an older brother had been out in the hills hunting cattle during the day. Late in the afternoon we returned to father's cabin. We saw a white cayuse pony standing before the door, his body covered with blood, and with head down seemed to have been ready to drop. We went into the house, and saw a large man extended on the puncheon floor, with his clothing partly removed. Father was on one side of him, and Mother upon the other, bandaging up his numerous wounds. The only surgical instruments which father had were the butcher knife, with which we had cut meat while crossing the plains, and a pair of scissors. Mother was tearing up some of our old hickory shirts in order to furnish bandages. The man's name was William Russell. He is now in the Soldiers' Home at Roseburg, Oregon, and on the 10th of this month he wrote me a letter expressing a wish to be present on this occasion. He was shot by the Indians a few miles from my father's house. His comrade, a man by the name of Weaver, escaped injury, while Russell had several bullet holes in his limbs and body.
    I think that it was upon the same day that several men, women and children were massacred by the Rogue River Indians in the vicinity of Grants Pass. A Mr. Harris, his wife, daughter and son, lived in a cabin several miles north of Grants Pass. In the forenoon of October 9, 1855, a small party of Indians appeared at the door of the cabin, and before Mr. Harris suspected treachery he was shot down by one of the party. His wife and daughter dragged his body into the cabin, and seizing the double-barreled gun from the wall, commenced firing at the Indians. They retired to a distance of two or three hundred yards, and indulged in the drinking of liquor which they had procured at the home of Mrs. Wagoner, whom they had killed earlier in the day. Mrs. Harris' son, David, and a hired man were not in the house at the time of the attack. The hired man was killed out in the field, and the fate of the 10-year-old David has never been definitely ascertained, though the Indians said after the war that they made him a captive and that he died in a few days after the outbreak. Mrs. Harris and her daughter kept up a desultory firing during the afternoon and into the night, and finally slipped out through the back door and up into the brushy hills to the rear of the house, where they were found by a party of miners who had come from Jacksonville the next day to assist the settlers in their defense against the Indians. Mrs. Harris lived to an old age in Jackson County, and her great-granddaughter, Miss Agnes Love, is a music teacher now in this city.
    There were some men who took part in the Indian wars of Oregon who afterwards became prominent in the history of the nation, viz.: General J. B. Hood, General Phil Kearny, General Wool, General A. J. Smith, General George Crook, General Joseph Hooker, General Phil Sheridan and General J. C. Fremont.
    General A. J. Smith was known as Captain Smith. He commanded some United States troops during the trouble in 1855. I remember at one time that "Old John" and his band of Indians had surrounded Smith and his regulars near what is known as the "Big Meadows" on Rogue River. Smith and his men had dug a trench in order to protect themselves from the shots fired from the hills on either bank of the river. They were held in this trench for a great many hours, and the Indians were so numerous that they were afraid to venture out. Captain Mike Bushey, a volunteer captain, with fifteen or twenty rough-visaged mountain men under his command, learning the plight of Smith and his men, went to his assistance. When the Indians saw Bushey and his men approaching, they hastily fled. That night in camp, Captain Smith said to Captain Bushey: "How do you think, Captain, can we engage those Indians in battle?" There was no great love between the regular troops and the volunteers, so Bushey replied to Smith by saying: "Well, you let my volunteers change uniforms with your soldiers, and we'll go poking along down the river, and the Indians will think we are regular troops and they will come out and give us battle, and we will give them hell." [Colvig seems to here be confabulating accounts of the Battle of Big Bend and an engagement at the Meadows. Bushey is not known to have been at Big Bend. This last sentence is an illustration of the animosity between volunteers and regulars; the ruse did not actually come to pass.]
    At the close of the war, in the spring of 1856, after the treaty was concluded, Captain Smith, with some sixty regular troops under his command, escorted the Indians out of the valley and to the Siletz Reservation. In passing through the Grave Creek Hills, a man named [Timoleon] Love, whose brother had been killed by the Indians, fired from the hillside and killed one of the leading Indians. He was promptly arrested and brought to Canyonville as a prisoner. I remember seeing him, sitting in a tent with his hands tied and two regular soldiers in guard over him. Some of the citizens thought of raising a posse and by force take him away from Captain Smith, but better counsels prevailed. A night or two afterwards, while encamped at Roseburg, a man by the name of Major Cranmore, and one or two friends, came to the camp and asked permission to talk with Love, which Captain Smith granted. They left Love two quarts of whiskey in his tent. That night, Love, being a generous sort of a fellow, gave the sentry who guarded over him one quart of it, which soon rendered the soldier hors de combat. Love then took the sentry's knife and cut the ropes from his arms and legs, and, helping himself to the sentry's gun, walked out of camp. I knew him in after years. The government of the United States never had a chance to try him.
    The Indian wars of Southern Oregon were stubborn contests; for wherever civilization in its advance meets with barbarian force, an irrepressible conflict ensues, and civilization triumphs. The tribes that took part in the several wars of Southern Oregon were the Rogue Rivers, the Modocs, Shastas and Umpquas. The only honest acquisition of the Rogue River Indians was their name. On account of their treacherous and thieving habits, the early French trappers called the river flowing through their country the "Riviere aux Coquins" (River of Rogues). An early legislature in Oregon tried to change the name to Gold River, but it didn't "take."
    Before I conclude, let me say that no women of any war in which the American people have ever been engaged exhibited more courage than the pioneer mothers of Oregon. When their fathers, brothers, husbands and sons went out to meet their savage foes, these women were not left in well-protected cities, villages and home, but in rude cabins, situated in close proximity to the conflict, and, unlike the chance of civilized war, no mercy could be expected from the enemy. Surrender meant not only death, but torture and heartless cruelty. In every hour of those dark days, these women proved themselves to be fit helpmates to a race of daring men, and worthy of all the honors that are accorded the brave.
    We people of Oregon have reason to be proud of the country in which we live. It is a land of rich endowment, not only in its material sources of wealth, but also in relation to the history of civilization. Its pioneer citizens were not the weaklings of over-populous countries of either Europe or America, but were the brave-hearted, strong-armed sons of toil, from every quarter of the globe, who, with fearless courage and indomitable will, established themselves and their families in the midst of a wilderness whose very distance from civilization rendered their isolation complete. And thus, as the Star of Empire advanced across the North American continent, ever seeking a Western limit, the spirit of progress has followed.
    Shelley, the poet, was prophetic when, in 1817, he wrote concerning the United States as follows:
William M. Colvig, "Annual Address," Transactions of the Forty-Fourth Annual Reunion of the Oregon Pioneer Association, June 22, 1916, pages 333-350.  Colvig addressed the Southern Oregon Pioneer Association in September 1878; the Oregon Pioneer Association in 1898.


    "When I was a boy of 17," said Judge W. M. Colvig, an Oregon pioneer of 1851, "they were raising two Oregon regiments to go to the front. Probably the recruiting officers acted in good faith in promising us we would soon be in active service and on the firing line, but the Secretary of War ruled otherwise. He took all the regulars from the West and had the Oregon troops take their places, so we never got any nearer Gettysburg and Cold Harbor than the Cascade Mountains or Crater Lake.
Fred Lockley, "In Earlier Days," Oregon Journal, Portland, August 19, 1913, page 6


    "Every once in a while I run across a graphic account of the fight with Indians at Table Rock, in Southern Oregon," said Judge William M. Colvig of Medford. "All of the accounts, while more or less interesting, have one fatal defect, and that is they are lies. There wasn't any fight at Table Rock.
    "There are not many people now alive who have first-hand knowledge of the fact, though. C. C. Beekman of Jacksonville, myself and one or two others are the only ones I know of who possess personal knowledge of the matter.
    "I came to Oregon 62 years ago. I was born in Ray County, Missouri, on September 2, 1845, not far from the birthplace of Jesse James. We are almost of an age. He was about a year old when I was born. Jesse James came of an excellent family. His stepfather and my father practiced medicine in the same town, and their offices were almost side by side.
    "We started for Oregon on May 5, 1851. We had 2 wagons. The one with our provisions and freight had three yoke of oxen; the wagon in which the family traveled had two yoke. We arrived in Oregon with the light wagon and three oxen. We lost seven of our 10 oxen, and had to abandon the heavy wagon on the plains.
    "There were five children in our family who came across the plains. My brother, Judge Volney Colvig, lives here in Portland. He was formerly county judge of Josephine County. Another brother, Judge George W. Colvig, lives in Grants Pass. My sister, Mrs. A. A. Emery, lives in Ashland. I live in Medford, and my other brother, John Lewis Colvig, was killed by the Indians. He was chief of scouts. There were five in his party when they were attacked by the Indians; four of the party were killed.
    "We arrived in Portland on October 5, 1851.
    "My father was born in Leesburg, Va. His father was born in Paris. When my grandfather came from France he Anglicized our name. It had been Colvigne, so he dropped the 'ne' when he came to Virginia. My mother was born in Hartford, Conn. My father and mother met in Ohio, where my mother was teaching school. Judge M. P. Deady and my father were raised as boys together.
    "Tom Carter, one of Portland's early merchants, and my father came from the same part of Virginia, so when we came to Oregon Tom Carter met us at Cascade Rapids and brought our family down to Portland on the steamer Lot Whitcomb. My father came with the three oxen and the wagon over the mountain trail.
    "Mr. Carter took us to his home. I remember he took all of us children to his store and gave each of us a hat and a pair of shoes.
    "The first school I attended was here in Portland, in the fall of '51. It was taught by a man named Stephen Outhouse.
    "We moved into the house next to Tom Dwyer. He had his newspaper office at his house. My brother and Frank Hall had the job once a week of running the hand press to print the Oregonian. If I remember correctly they ran off 200 or 300 copies each week.
    "In the spring of '52 my father took the gold fever, and with one light wagon and oxen we started for the mines of Southern Oregon. About 25 miles south of Roseburg the oxen played out and the wagon broke down, so he decided to stop there. He bought a man's right to a donation land claim. I think he gave him a rifle for the claim. At any rate Father went ahead and proved up on it. It was near Canyonville. There was an Indian village on one corner of the place, so we children soon learned Chinook.
    "I think it was on the tenth of October, 1855, that my brother and I came in from hunting the cows and saw a white horse covered with blood standing by the front door of our log cabin. We hurried into the house to see what was the matter. We found Father with a big knife working on a man lying on the floor, while Mother was tearing our hickory shirts into bandages. The man was Bill Russell, and he had seven bullet wounds. He told us that the Indians had broken out and killed Weaver, his partner, and a lot of other settlers, between Canyonville and Jacksonville, and around Grants Pass. [Grants Pass didn't exist yet, of course.] Russell stayed all winter with us. Father patched him up, and he got well and is alive yet. He lives at Ashland.
    "My father and J. C. Fullerton, the father of Judge Fullerton of Roseburg, and another settler, combined to hire a teacher. They built a log schoolhouse and employed Sam Strong as teacher. They put him under bonds not to get drunk during the four months of school. He didn't, either, though later he died of delirium tremens. Our next teacher was a mild and inoffensive little Jew, named Isidore Choynski. We boys knocked him out in two months. He was a timid little fellow. He was the father of Fighting Joe Choynski, the prize fighter.
    "Our next teacher was a young easterner, who had come out West to die of consumption, but who had become cured in crossing the plains. His name was Rufus Mallory, later destined to make his mark in Oregon politics. He was succeeded by a young German, Binger Hermann, who also cut a wide swath in politics. Binger Hermann had a wonderfully persuasive way with us, and we were soon his firm friends.
    "A little after that I enlisted in Company C, First Oregon Cavalry, but that is another and a longer story."
Fred Lockley, "In Earlier Days," Oregon Journal, Portland, August 25, 1913, page 6


     An Oregon pioneer of distinguished lineage tells Mr. Lockley about his ancestry and about his coming to Oregon in 1851, and about a trip to Crater Lake at a time when few white men had seen that world's wonder. The narrative of this pioneer will be concluded in this space tomorrow.
     "I was born in Ray County, Missouri, September 2, 1845," said Judge William M. Colvig, when I visited him recently at his home in Medford. "My father, William Lyngae Colvig, was born at Leesburg, Va., September 19, 1814. My mother, whose maiden name was Helen Woodford, was born at Hartford, Conn. My father's father, Jacob Lyngae Colvigne, was born in Paris. His father, Jean Baptiste Colvigne, married Zelesta Lyngae, the daughter of a Greek sea captain. She was born in Athens. My grandfather, Jacob L. Colvigne, served as a soldier under Bonaparte. They were sent to the island of San Domingo to quell a slave insurrection. In those days Britannia ruled the waves and, not wanting to be captured by the English, Jerome Bonaparte, with my grandfather and other French soldiers, came to America.
     "Jerome Bonaparte was the youngest brother of Napoleon. He was born in 1784. On December 27, 1803, he married Elizabeth Patterson, one of the belles of Baltimore. His marriage was more or less of a tragedy, as Napoleon refused to recognize it. He made his brother, Jerome, king of Westphalia. His life was a stormy one. Napoleon refused to recognize his marriage to Elizabeth Patterson and compelled him to marry Catherine, daughter of King Frederick I of Wurttemburg. With the fall of Napoleon, he went to Switzerland. Napoleon's return from Elba resulted in Jerome's being made a peer. With Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo, he went to Switzerland and later to Florence, where he lived in exile for the next 30 years. His petition to return to France, in 1847, was denied by the chamber of peers. However, he was later allowed to return to his native country, where he died in 1860. There was born to Jerome Bonaparte and Elizabeth Patterson a son, who was named Jerome Napoleon. He was born in 1805 and died in 1870. One of his sons, Charles Joseph Bonaparte, became a well known and successful lawyer of Baltimore and was a member of Roosevelt's cabinet.
     "My grandfather, Jacob Lyngae Colvigne, settled at Leesburg, Va., where he married Winifred Hoffman. He became an American citizen. In making out his naturalization papers the clerk by accident wrote his name Colvig instead of Colvigne, so our family name became Colvig instead of Colvigne. My father, William Lyngae Colvig, married Helen Mar Woodford, whose people came to America from Banbury, England, in 1740. In looking over my mother's family tree I found the following relatives served in the Revolutionary War: Abel, Amos, Enoch, Isaac, Jonah, Joseph, Judah, Noah, Samuel, Selah and Zebulon Woodruff. You see my mother's mother was a Woodruff. She married a Woodford.
     "My father and mother met in Ohio, where they were married in 1836. From Ohio they moved to Richmond, Mo. That was in 1844. I was born there the following year. Jesse James was also born there, and was about a year old when I was born. His people were very fine people. Bad companionship when he was a boy led Jesse James astray.
     "There were 10 of us children. Mother felt she ought to have enough to make it worthwhile, so she took three of her brother's children. Their mother died when they were crossing the plains, so Mother reared these children and they were the same as our brothers and sisters. This made 11 boys and two girls in the family. Of these 13 children three are still alive. My brother Volney lives at Ashland, my brother George at Grants Pass, and I live here in Medford. We left Parkville, Mo., May 5, 1851. We had two wagons, our provision wagon and three yoke of oxen and the family wagon and two yoke. We reached The Dalles October 5. We left our heavy wagon at Fort Hall, on account of losing some of our cattle. Mother and the children came down the Columbia in canoes with Indian rowers. At the foot of the Cascade Rapids they transferred to the steamer Lot Whitcomb. We were met in Portland by Tom Carter, who took us to his home, which at that time was one of the best in Portland. His daughter Nancy married Lafayette Grover, later Governor Grover of Oregon. She now lives in Portland. In the winter of 1851 I went to school in Portland to John Outhouse. We had left Father at The Dalles. He was going to bring the cattle down the trail. For five weeks we thought he was dead, as we heard nothing of him. He had been caught in a heavy snowstorm in the Cascades, and all but three of our oxen starved to death.
     "A man who had a donation land claim in East Portland said to Father, 'I'll give you my claim for your two oxen, your light wagon and  your Kentucky rifle.'  Father said, `I haven't come from across the continent to settle in the dense forest.'  So he turned the offer down. Father put in that winter working in a sawmill. The next spring we struck out for California. Our team played out at Canyonville, so father took up a claim where the team lay down on him. This was in the summer of 1851. Another man had squatted on the claim, but was willing to relinquish his rights for $50; so Father paid him $50 for his 640-acre claim.
     "I look back upon my boyhood as a very happy time, for in those days the whole country was full of deer, elk and smaller game, while the streams were full of trout and salmon. I went to school to Rufus Mallory in 1862. Later I went to school to I. N. Choynski. This teacher was a rather timid man. He was no fighter. The larger boys in school threw him out of the window and kicked him out of the school yard, so our school quit before the term was half over. His son, Joe, was of a very different type, for Joe Choynski became a famous prize fighter.
     "I enlisted on April 5, 1863, in Company C, First Oregon volunteer cavalry. Company C was recruited at Jacksonville. Colonel C. S. Drew was in command of the regiment. We went to Klamath Lake where in the summer of 1863 we built Fort Klamath. In the summer of 1864 we rode across country to Fort Boise, returning that fall. I spent part of the summer of 1865 at Fort Douglas, in Utah, on detached service. When we came back to Fort Klamath, in the fall of 1865, Captain F. B. Sprague, who had been looking for a better route across the Cascades, told us he had seen a wonderful lake. One of his men while hunting had glimpsed Crater Lake. Dad Ross, our guide, a most excellent guide but a very illiterate man, said, 'I hearn tell of that there lake way back in 1852, from Hillman, but I ain't never seen it.'  The following Sunday, which was early in October, about 25 of us, on horseback, went to Anna Creek canyon and reached the rim of the lake at about where Crater Lodge now is. Colonel John E. Ross was with us. He said, 'Hillman stayed at my house and told me about this lake, but I didn't believe it.'  Hillman died a year or two ago in Louisiana. We named the lake Lake Majesty, though some of the men wanted to call it Mystic Lake. However, later it was named Crater Lake."   Fred Lockley in the Portland Journal.
Medford Mail Tribune, July 27, 1922, page 4  From the Oregon Journal of July 25, 1922, page 8


     Judge Colvig's story is here concluded. A feature of his account of his career as writer of local histories in eastern states and how he became such in the first place. His later career, after his return to Oregon, is traced in detail.
     Judge William Colvig of Medford came to Oregon by ox team in 1851. "After putting in three years in the army," said Judge Colvig, "I was discharged at Vancouver in 1866. I had saved over $700 and so I decided to see something of the world. I went to San Francisco, where I took passage aboard the steamer Moses Taylor for Nicaragua. From there I went to New York City. When I counted my money a few days out from New York City I found I had $480. Just before arriving in New York City I looked again and found my $480 had been stolen. My total capital was $1.75, so my plans for taking in the sights of the metropolis went glimmering. As a matter of fact, I didn't have enough money to get a room at a hotel.
     "Taking my revolver and some of my other possessions, I pawned them and raised $40. I went to Wheeling, W. Va., in search of work. Not succeeding in getting a job, I went to Ohio, where I struck a job drilling an oil well 14 miles from Zanesville. We struck lubricating oil at a depth of 300 feet. From there I went to Burning Springs, W. Va., and helped drill the Louis Wetzel well. We struck oil at a depth of 1750 feet. That became one of the famous producers of that district. I landed a job as an expressman, later worked on a steamboat, and in the winter of 1867 I got a job on General Joe Shelby's plantation in Missouri. He had 1200 acres in hemp. Most of his workers were negroes. After a while he made me foreman.
     "I saved my wages there until I had a few hundred dollars. I decided I would get an education. At Fremont, Tazewell County, Ill., I found a little college called the Fremont Collegiate Institute. I went to school there, and when my money ran out, Colonel Aquilla Davis, a relative of Harvey Scott, gave me a job as school teacher. Everyone in that county called me 'Oregon Bill,' because I talked so much about the beauties of Oregon. When I was there Abigail Scott Duniway came there and gave a lecture in the Presbyterian church. Because we were both from Oregon, I was asked to introduce her. I taught there until 1872. That was the year Greeley was running for president, and politics was very warm.
     "In the spring of 1873, after my school was out, I went to Bloomington, Ill., to land a job for the summer. The job failed to materialize. It is strange that a little incident will often change one's whole life. I have always been very fond of Shakespeare. As I passed down the street after supper I saw a sign in front of the theatre to the effect that Edwin Booth and his wife, Agnes Booth, were to appear that night in 'Hamlet.' I took in the play that night and greatly enjoyed it. The next day I went to Peoria, in search of work. That night as I walked down the street I saw that the Booths were appearing there in 'Hamlet,' so I decided to invest another quarter and take it in. The man at the ticket office told me all of the seats were gone and all he had left was a box at $10. Naturally I did not feel like investing $10. As I stood there a prosperous-looking man stepped up to the window and asked for a ticket. He was also told that all seats were gone and that there was nothing left but a box for $10. Pulling out a roll of bills, he peeled off a $10 bill and said: 'All right; I'll take a box.' Turning to me, he said, 'I'll have lots of room in my box; don't you want to occupy a seat with me?' I accepted with alacrity. He said: 'My name is Captain A. T. Andreas. I am president of the Lakeside Publishing Company of Chicago. What is your name and where do you hail from?' I told him my name was William Colvig, that I was a teacher, and was looking for a job during the summer. He said: 'How would you like to write up a history of the old pioneers? I am getting out a state history,' I told him that was the very job I would like. He hired me on the spot at a very satisfactory salary.
      "At Mansfield, Ohio, I ran across Judge Brinkerhoff, who had a wonderful memory of the early days and who had files of the early papers. I camped right at his place and secured the data I needed. I have always written a good hand, so I wrote out the early history of the county and sent it in to Captain Andreas. He was delighted with my work and persuaded me not to go back to teaching. He made me advertising manager for the state histories he was getting out of the states of Iowa and Minnesota. I worked with him for the next year or two, with profit to myself as well as to him. He sent me to San Francisco as manager of the Pacific Publishing Company. After staying in San Francisco a while I came north to Jackson County to visit my people. That was in the fall of 1875. In the spring of 1876 I visited all the old pioneers of Santa Clara and Sonoma counties in California, and got out county histories.
     "That summer I came back to Oregon and campaigned for Tilden. All of my people are Republicans. I was the only Democrat in our family. In 1878 I ran for the Oregon legislature on the Democratic ticket. There were two wings of the democracy that year, the Pintos and the Bourbons. I was defeated by nine votes. On June 8, 1879 I married Addie Birdseye. My wife was born in the stockade at Fort Birdseye, 21 miles west of Medford, in 1856. I was elected school superintendent of Jackson County and served two terms. I was then elected district attorney and served three terms. My district embraced Lake, Klamath, Jackson and Josephine counties. When I was elected district attorney I knew very little about the law. At that time it was not necessary to be a lawyer to be elected to the office. While serving as district attorney I studied law and was admitted to the bar. Some time later I was the author of a bill which provided that unless one had been admitted to the bar he could not be elected district attorney or judge. After having served three terms as district attorney I practiced law at Jacksonville. Clarence Reames, who married my daughter, was my partner in the law business. Some years ago W. D. Fenton, the Southern Pacific attorney at Portland, offered me a position of right of way agent for the Southern Pacific. I stayed with them five years.
     "I have seven children. My daughter, Helen May Gale, keeps house for me. My daughter, Mary, married William J. Warner, who is postmaster at Medford. My son Donald Lyngae is a lumber operator at Weed, Cal. Another son, Vance DeBar, is a newspaper illustrator. He signs his work by the nickname we have always called him, 'Pinto.' He syndicated his work and it is published in a number of newspapers." Portland Journal, Fred Lockley.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 1, 1922   From the Oregon Journal of July 26, 1922, page 10.


Dear Star--
    Was so glad to get your letter and I'll try to answer it at the office this afternoon--
    As you know Uncle Wes died Sun. so I went down to the farm early Mon. A.M. & stayed till after the funeral. I felt some of us ought to be with Aunt Effie. As usual Dad "played sick" so he wouldn't have to go. I am a poor consoler and about the worst person anyone could have around them at a time like that, but as usual & always Effie thought of everybody but herself & made it easy. I surely did spend an awful night in that old tumble down farm house. I slept in one of the close, little rooms up on the "men's side"--It was so hot, and the rats ran over the bed & around the room and two bats flew against the ceiling half the night--the customary fleas were in attendance too, & the bed sagged from both sides as well as from top to bottom--It was like paying a freak election bet or trying to spend a night in a haunted house. The old place is about ready to tumble down. As soon as the news of Wes' death spread over the countryside the neighbors began to come. Some in Fords, some in buggies, some on horseback & some afoot. They didn't just drop in for a minute but came & spent the day. Old ladies, women with their husbands & kids, all bound on doing their duty of "sitting with Effie." They went over the details of every death that had occurred in the community for the last ten years--told of each deceased's suffering, last words & last wishes. It was very cheerful.
    Poor Effie. Of course she felt very badly, but I don't believe she realized, till Wes was dead, how tied down she has been all these years, & I think she is enjoying her liberty, unconsciously; for instance, she immediately bought a lot of things to eat that Wes never allowed in the house, some dress shoes for Glen, the first he ever had because Wes said it was all nonsense to get dress shoes for him. It is pathetic to see how proud Glen is of the shoes. Effie & Glen & David are visiting us for a few days while Dad helps her get things straightened out legally; last night I spoke about some silk underwear she had on & some silk stockings & she said they had been given to her a long time ago but "Wes didn't like for her to wear them--said they looked like fast women's finery." But she said she just loved the feel of them. I think she was enjoying her visit & I'm sure Dave is. He has never been in town before & the toilet simply fascinates him--he keeps the faucets running if we don't watch him constantly & the lawn mower is a joy to him--a piece of ice gives him delight beyond words.
    Of course I have to work at the office all day & don't have time to do much for Effie while she's here, but I did take her to a show last night. She said it was the first movie she'd been to in over a year. My worst worry is to give them all enough to eat. Dave ate a big lunch today & as soon as he was thro he spied 8 cold pancakes on the kitchen table & ate them, too.
    Clarence was here for two weeks & left Thurs. night, taking Rowen with him. The Hylands at Seattle wanted her to spend a few weeks with them out at their summer home on the Sound. So she will have a fine time. I miss her like everything as she is so much help to me this summer. But I'm glad she is going to have such a good vacation--yes! We've had some doings here in Medford this summer.
    What with the Ku Klux trying to run the primary election, the school election, the recall--not to mention the governorship recount and the grand jury investigation we have torn the town wide open--feeling is very bitter on both sides & friendships of years standing are broken up. The recall was the worst fight of all. Dad got a great kick out of it. He made speeches all over the county at mass meetings & everyone is still talking about what wonderful speeches they were. For one thing, he said, in attacking the churches, that he never went to church anymore because he is a religious man. He sure did go after the preachers.
    He is now working on Judge Kelly's election, & also is trying--along with other leading Republicans--to get Allie Hanley to run Independent for State Representative--as Cowgill is a Kluxer--& the anti-Koo-Koos don't want him. Wouldn't Allie make a peach of a Representative. I'm sure for her, executive, economical, practical, honest & capable. Just what we need since Ben Sheldon stepped out. I had to appear before the grand jury--twice. I guess my testimony was important. This has surely been a long hot summer. 108-110°. Some days we got to where we thot 102° cool, but today is like a fall day--had a little shower last night & it is still cloudy today. I've stood the heat pretty good, for the first time in my life, this year, thanks to chiropractics. Got all my house cleaning done, put up a lot of fruit & stayed on the job at the office thro it all, & feel fine.
    Don said he might be over before long. I do wish he'd be here Sept. 2nd. I'm going to have a surprise stag dinner for Dad, as that is his birthday. Tell him to let me know if I can count on his being here--but not to say anything to Dad about it, as I want the dinner to be a complete surprise. Dad would rather have Don here than anyone else, & so would I. Well, I have been interrupted several times & guess I'd better close. Do write again. I don't know when I'll ever get down there. At least I'll wait till the hot weather is over. I'd like to run down in Oct. & maybe I will. Clarence wanted me to go with him while he was here, but it was hot & I couldn't get away.
    C. looks fine, doesn't drink anything at all, & seemed in good spirits.
    With love to you & Don & all the kiddies--as ever
   
Had to write this [on] my lap; hope you can read it.
   
Monday--Didn't get this off so will add a postscript to make you jealous. Took Effie out to spend yesterday afternoon at Allie Hanley's & when we went out to get in the car to go home this is what I found--½ bushel of new potatoes--3 doz. ears of sweet corn, a bunch of carrots, red beets, 1 gal. of new milk, big sack of walnuts--a watermelon and big bouquet of flowers. I'll vote for Aunt Allie, all right.
    Effie seems to be enjoying her visit immensely, and this was the first time she had been away from home on a visit since she was married--and I was thinking I was abused because I didn't get any vacation this summer! I hope she doesn't get spoiled because she is worth a whole bookful of sermons the way she is.
From Helen Colvig to Mrs. Don L. Colvig, Weed, California. Postmarked August 15, 1922. Tim Colvig collection.


    To the Editor:
    Mr. Jeffrey on the 15th instant made quite a furious attack upon me--he even went so far as to call me a "has-been"! With equal verity, permit me to characterize him as a "never-was."
    In his article he tells many falsehoods. He says that during the Civil War I enlisted in the home guards. Anyone who is not an ignoramus knows that Oregon had no home guards during that period, and that home guards are not allowed any pension, nor can they belong to the G.A.R. I do not claim that I put down the rebellion, but I did give three years' service under the call of President Lincoln for "300,000 more."  Four brothers of us enlisted--one never came back--he was killed in a battle with Indians at San Carlos.
    By the way, Mr. Jeffrey would make a very imposing-looking soldier. He has good health, athletic proportions and has had two grand opportunities to show his loyalty to country. He could have volunteered in 1898 in the Spanish War or more recently in the World War.
    John, you are wrong. I wore the blue three long years at thirteen dollars per month and I am getting an old age pension. I have never displayed my patriotism by wearing a "hood and nightie."
    To make my word good that you are known as the I.W.W. lawyer in Portland, that you did violate the city ordinance by speaking to a crowd of "Wobblies" from the street corner, that you were imprisoned and gave a bond which was accepted, I herewith append what was said at the time concerning your affiliation with I.W.W.'s and other seditious persons by three of the leading dailies of the city of Portland. I do this so that the reading public here may know which one of us is guilty of falsehood.
    Oregon Journal, July 26, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey, attorney, defended Rudolph Schwab, who was convicted for soapbox speaking and abuse of the American flag.
    Oregon Journal, July 27, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey again defended Schwab.
    Oregonian, July 27, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey, one of the speakers before a crowd of 4000 or 5000 I.W.W.'s in Gypsy Smith's tabernacle, 19th and Taylor streets, abused the mayor and sheriff and started a recall petition against them. (He never succeeded in getting signatures enough to start the recall against these officers).
    Oregon Journal, July 30, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey defended Ramsey and 19 other I.W.W.'s and that all were convicted.
    The Oregon Journal again says, August 2, 1913, that J. A. Jeffrey, attorney for the I.W.W.'s, failed to get an injunction against mayor and sheriff enjoining them from interfering with street speaking.
    Oregonian, July 31, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey defended Frank Scheletski and 19 other I.W.W.'s.
    Oregon Journal, August 3, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey spoke at the Gypsy Smith tabernacle advising the recall of the sheriff for arresting the I.W.W.'s.
    Oregonian, August 16, 1913, says that Seneca Fouts and J. A. Jeffrey held another recall meeting at the Arion Hall for the I.W.W.'s.
    Oregonian, August 23, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey was in a crowd agitating I.W.W.'s, advising them to speak from the street corners and to bring suit against the sheriff for $20,000.
    Oregon Journal, August 14, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey representing ten I.W.W.'s in court trial
    Oregonian, August 23, 1913, says that Jeffrey and Lennon filed suit against Sheriff Word for $20,000 for arresting I.W.W.'s who were charged with violating the city ordinance in speaking from the street corners.
    Oregon Journal, August 25, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey defended Henry Lambert, an I.W.W., for trying to speak from the street corner in violation of the ordinance.
    Oregonian, October 28, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey, attorney for 19 I.W.W.'s, appeared in court today and requested a stay in the trial for ten days.
    Oregonian, October 23, 1913, says that J. A. Jeffrey was arrested while attempting to address an I.W.W. meeting on the streets of Portland. It says that he came out of the I.W.W. Hall to the court house with a large American flag and mounted a box and started to speak. That he was pulled from the box by an officer, arrested, and taken to the county jail and LOCKED UP and held until bail was given and accepted by Judge Bell.
    Portland Telegram, August 23, 1913, says that attorney Jeffrey was MADE to carry the American flag that he had brought out of the I.W.W. Hall to the court house, where it was taken from him.
    Mr. Jeffrey also says in his letter of the 15th instant that the Portland Klan never published a little booklet showing who among the business men were 100 percent Americans. This statement is probably true--Klan ordered 5000 copies of a booklet which was published by one S. C. Berry, known as "100 Percent Berry."  The little booklet is entitled "100 Percent American Directory."  The business names given in it embrace all lines--it includes seven attorneys, none of whom I believe have ever been known or recognized as prominent attorneys. Some of them are notorious. I find the following among the seven:
    Bdwy. 7206 John A. Jeffrey, Trial Advocate, 414 McKay Block, 3rd and Oak streets.
    I have a copy of this directory which I will be glad to show any inquiring mind.
    Somebody has lied!
    Now, having had the opening and closing of this discussion, I will retire from the field.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 22, 1922, page 8


    Wm. M. Colvig leaves today for Eastern Oregon via Portland, Bend, Warner's Valley and Lakeview. At the latter place he will testify as a witness for the state in a swampland case involving several thousand acres of land which is claimed was swamp land at the time of the federal grant to the state of Oregon in 1862. The character of much of this land has undergone great changes since the grant was made. What was then swamp has in many instances become dry and is now claimed by squatters. As the grant was in presenti, as of that date, it is necessary for the state to show its condition at that time.
    Mr. Colvig is one of a few men now living who traveled over it in early days. He was in the Col. Drew expedition in 1864 and luckily kept a diary of each day's events during the summer of 1864, in which he recorded the topographical features of the country over which they traveled, and gave an account of each camp, the water, the grass, the soil, etc.
    This diary he still has, and to refresh his memory of the conditions then existing, the government is sending him over the route he traveled fifty-eight years ago. The Drew expedition spent twelve days in Warner's Valley that summer. For a distance of over three hundred miles eastwardly from Fort Klamath there was not a white settler.
Medford Mail Tribune, November 7, 1922, page 5


Dear Don & Family,
    I am nurse to the 4 Pintos tonight. Vance & wife have gone down to Venice to attend a try-out of a comedy that his company has just finished (ink all gone). The film is entitled "The 3rd Strike." It has to do with a baseball game. I have witnessed the making of some of the parts, and it is very funny. Vance named it, and is the author of the "gags" & the explanatory notes. It is the custom to run a new play before an unsuspecting audience--and see what kind of a reception the public will give. The company will have 8 to 10 people scattered through the audience to observe--and if 60% of the people laugh, the owners will pronounce it O.K. and release it to distributors over the U.S.--but if it falls below, it will be worked over. Vance is one of the critics tonight. I wanted Margaret to go, as she has every hour taken up with the babies, and seldom or never gets out. So I screwed up courage to propose caring for the whole outfit tonight, including Bourke--the latest Sinn-Feiner that has added hilarity to his house. It takes 50 minutes to go to Venice. They left @ 7 & it is now 8--and "all is well"--not a squawk from any of them--and they are, without doubt, the noisiest bunch of kids I ever knew. They will fight at the "drop of a hat" and drop it themselves--but they are very bright and interesting.
    I have been here just 1 week. I stayed 3 days at Byron Springs for "rheumatiz"--but without effect. I am no better than when under the sunny skies of R.R.Vy.
    We have a fire in the fireplace nearly every morning and evening since I came. Last night it rained enough to lay the dust.
    Everybody in this part of the city is connected in some manner with production companies (moving pictures). These people do not spare expense. Vance's company has been at a cost of $2000 per day for 10 days in getting out the 3rd Strike.
    Some of the dogs earn $10 per day--educated ones, & with their master included--but the money comes rolling back in increased volume.
    A company near here are filming the story of Myles Standish. They are making an exact replica of the Mayflower here, in sight of the front door, 20 men working at it--and have been ever since Helen was here. It is nearly finished, at a cost of $100,000. They will not use it after it is filmed. Every detail is perfect, but of course only a shell. Last week the Jack White Co. bought 2 second-hand Ford cars. They filmed a collision--a complete wreck--and the cars were a pile of junk when they finished.
    I am going to Tijuana and San Diego this week--will be here next Sunday. About 15th I will stop off and see you.
    It is now 9 o'clock--and all is well--no sound breaks in on my solitude. Every day in every way &c.
Tim Colvig collection




    I met a distinguished-looking man on the street who wore an emblem that suggested a certain conventional relationship. He returned my salutation with a friendly handshake, and we at once became very communicative. He admitted a residence in this valley of only fifty-one years, during which he seems to have prospered, for he has one of the finest residences in the city, and has retired from the active practice of his profession at the age of going on eighty-five. He was born in Missouri, served throughout the war in the Union army and voted the Democratic ticket until the party declared for the free and unlimited coinage of silver. After the war he settled in St. Paul, Minn., and it was like a visit back home to hear him tell of his acquaintanceship with such of the old politicians as Mark H. Dunnell, William Windom, John S. Pillsbury, Cushman K. Davis and the inimitable and unquenchable Ignatius Donnelly.
    In helping to compile a State Gazetteer for Minnesota this man, who admitted that his name was William M. Colvig, says he visited every county seat in the state, when it was necessary to traverse some of the distances on horseback. Old as he is, and nearing the time when he must give an accounting of his earthly stewardship, he boosts for Oregon as against anywhere also on earth. Nineteen above is the lowest recorded temperature here this winter, he says, while California went 2 degrees lower. And he chuckled when he said it.
Ammi L. Bixby, "Daily Drift," Sunday State Journal, Lincoln, Nebraska, December 23, 1923, page 18




    Judge W. M. Colvig has just returned from a month's visit to his son, "Pinto" Colvig, and family at Hollywood, Calif. He also visited in San Francisco and Los Angeles. The judge says he saw about all there was to see in Hollywood and says one of the best pictures he ever saw is "The Ten Commandments." The judge also says the weather was miserable and he sat by the fire every morning, that grass is dead, water is scarce and being afraid of foot and mouth disease came home to the land of flowers, sunshine and fine weather.
"Local and Personal," Medford Mail Tribune, April 14, 1924, page 2


    One of the big surprises of their lives was met with Monday forenoon when John M. Scott of Portland, assistant passenger traffic manager of the Southern Pacific; A. S. Rosenbaum, district passenger and freight agent of the same railroad, and Judge Wm. Colvig of Medford were driving in Rosenbaum's car between Anna Spring camp and the south entrance of Crater national park, en route to Klamath Falls.
    They were discussing the probable effect of a bumblebee sting on a piece of steel plate, paying no attention to a car ahead of them in the distance. Suddenly a burly man with an ugly-looking revolver strapped about his body sprang out from the roadside and, halting them after exhibiting his badge, said: "I am a government officer after four bootleggers in that next car who are desperate Indians from the Klamath Reservation and will shoot as soon as I tackle them."
    "Drive and pass that car," tersely continued the officer who had commandeered Rosenbaum's car. Then he got into the car and repeated the command.
    "Did y-y-you say those men would sh-sh-oot?" inquired Rosie tremulously.
    "Yes, drive on and hurry."
    The Medford railroad man did as commanded and as his car passed that of the bootleggers the officer sprang out and brought the latter car to a halt with his gun, while Rosenbaum sped on for the south entrance as he, Scott and Colvig expected to dodge bullets every second.
    They finally looked around, and the last they saw of the officer and the bootleggers was one of the Indians handing over to the officer a bottle. That is all they know about the case.
    However, when the cars passed Judge Colvig gave the other car a good look and saw that one of the men in it was an Indian he had prosecuted forty years ago for being mixed up in a shooting affray when the Judge was prosecuting attorney of this district, which then comprised Klamath, Lakeview, Jackson and Josephine County.
    He regards the coincidence of Monday as rather remarkable.
Medford Mail Tribune, August 19, 1924, page 8


    Today is the 80th birthday of Judge William M. Colvig, one of the best-known residents of Jackson County. The distinguished pioneer, who for years has played a leading role in the affairs of Jackson County, is today receiving the congratulations of friends, in all parts of the state. The judge was downtown this morning as spray as a chipmunk, making philosophic observations, and whetting up his larynx for the presidential campaign. Judge Colvig was county prosecutor for two terms, and practiced law for years here. He started life as a school teacher after a period on the farm. 
Medford Mail Tribune, September 2, 1924, page 3




    "I wonder if you have ever heard of 'Carving Knife' Smith," said Judge William M. Colvig, of Medford. "His real name was Rev. Joseph Smith. He was a Methodist circuit rider, and came to Jacksonville in 1853. In the late fall of 1851 two young men panned out some gold on Jackson Creek, near where the City Brewery was later built. They told James Clugage and J. R. Poole about it. Clugage and Poole happened to be camped there when the gold was found. Clugage and Poole began prospecting and struck gold in Rich Gulch. Word got out that new diggings had been discovered, where a pint of gold could be panned out daily, so by February, 1852, Rich Gulch was staked, and within a month the hills and gulches nearby were staked. The first store was in a tent, and was operated by Appler & Kenney, packers from Yreka. 'Blackstrap' tobacco, whiskey, clothing and boots were the principal articles carried in this tent store. In March, W. W. Fowler put up the first cabin in Jacksonville. Lumber was $250 a thousand. W. W. Fowler was chosen as the first judge of the first miner's court held at Jacksonville. A man named Brown was found guilty of murdering a miner named Potts. The jury found him guilty and sentenced him to be hung. He was taken to the oak grove near where the Presbyterian church was later built, and hanged and buried under the tree.
    "In the winter of 1852 flour sold in Jacksonville at $1 a pound, tobacco at $1 an ounce, and salt was worth its weight in gold dust. In the spring of 1853, U. S. Hayden was elected chief justice of Jacksonville. The first case tried was represented on one side by P. P. Prim, later a supreme court judge of Oregon, and by Orange Jacobs, another young miner, who later became chief justice of Washington Territory. The last session of the people's court in Jacksonville was held in the fall of 1853, for Matthew P. Deady came that fall to hold court, as he had just been appointed United States District Judge for Oregon. L. F. Grover served as district attorney, Columbus Sims as prosecuting attorney, Joseph W. Drew as deputy marshal and Matthew G. Kennedy as Sheriff.
    "You can readily imagine that in a camp where gold dust was as plentiful as at Jacksonville the rough element was attracted and that saloons, gambling places and dance halls were abundant. 'Carving Knife' Smith, or, to give him his proper title, Rev. Joseph Smith, had come to Jacksonville to organize a Methodist church. He was very dignified and very religious. He simply did not fit in; he couldn't tolerate the freedom and lack of formality of the miners. His wife, with two young ladies, Miss Royal and Miss Overbeck, solicited funds for the erection of a church, and the framework was soon up. Rev. Smith, however, was so unhappy in his environment that he resigned, went to Salem, married Tom Carter's daughter, Josephine, thus becoming a brother-in-law of Governor Lafayette Grover, gave up the ministry, studied law, became wealthy, and was sent to Washington as Oregon's delegate in Congress.
    "In the fall of 1853, 'Limpy' Royal, as Rev. T. F. Royal was usually called, came to Jacksonville to carry on the work of organizing the Methodist church. James Clugage, the town site proprietor, donated lots for the church, and David Linn, Tom Pyle and Jim McDonough were hired to erect a church building. 'Limpy' Royal had a habit of dropping into the saloons on Sunday mornings, and saying, 'This saloon will adjourn for an hour, and we will all go over to the church and have some preaching. The barkeeper and the customers would usually go with him to church. At other times he would drop into the back room, where poker, faro and other games were in progress, and say, 'Gentlemen, the proceeds of the next jackpot are to go toward the erection of the church.' What he said went, for he was universally respected and admired.
    "In the spring of 1863, I enlisted in Company C, First Oregon Cavalry, under Captain William Kelly. We located at Fort Klamath in the summer of '63. John W. Hillman was the first man to see Crater Lake. This was in 1852. No one believed his report of it, however, until Captain F. B. Sprague and his soldiers rediscovered it in 1865. I was at Fort Boise in 1865, and was sent to Vancouver to be mustered out. I received my discharge on April 5, 1865, and five days later I left Portland by steamer for San Francisco. From San Francisco I went on board the steamer Moses Taylor, en route for the Isthmus of Panama, crossed the Isthmus and went to Santiago, Cuba. I was on my way to New York City. I had $480 in gold coin in a buckskin pouch, which I carried in the inside pocket of my shirt. I tied the purse strings to my suspenders, so I could not lose it. The day we got to Santiago someone cut the buckskin strings of my purse and took my purse. I landed in New York with less than $2 in my pocket. I went to the Hotel Lovejoy, opposite the city park. I had a silver watch worth $40, a United States army Colt's revolver and some gold nuggets which I was taking back as presents to my friends. One of them weighed $20. I also had a new copy of Byron's poems. I took all of these things to a pawnbroker, who loaned me $47 on the lot. That was the last I ever saw of them.
    "I bought a ticket for Wheeling, W.Va., where my father's brother had a store. I visited him for a short while and, borrowing $50 from him, I went to Zanesville, Ohio, to the oil fields. The oil wells were about 300 feet deep. The drills were operated by manpower. At first I got work running a drill. Later I learned to run a portable engine that pumped oil from the wells. I was paid $2 a day in greenbacks, which were worth 60 cents on the dollar. My employer later installed me as clerk in his store while he went to the mountains in West Virginia to drill a well at Burning Springs. Later he sent for me to run the engine, and we drilled the Lewis Wetzel oil well, which later became a big producer. I ran a store for him there all winter.
    "I cast my first vote in 1864, when I was stationed at Fort Klamath. I was 19 years old, and I voted for Abraham Lincoln for president. There was some question about my voting before I was of age, but they finally decided that if I was old enough to fight for Lincoln, I was enough enough to vote for him."
Medford Mail Tribune, May 22, 1927, page B2  Reprinted from the Oregon Journal, May 13, 1927, page 16


    Fred L. Colvig, deputy revenue collector for the past six years, and Dan Herring, who has held the same position for the past five years, have both resigned, it was learned today. Both had offices in this city.
    Mr. Colvig is manager and part owner of the Oriental group of mines west of Jacksonville. This is the old Norling extension of the Opp mine. Ore that assays at $54 gold per ton is being taken from the mine at present. They are trucking it to Medford for shipment.
    Dan Herring has accepted a position with the Rogue River Studios and is now employed by that company.
    Both Mr. Herring and Mr. Colvig have excellent records for efficiency with the internal revenue department, according to Clyde Huntley, collector, and it is with regret that he has granted their resignations.
Medford Mail Tribune, July 30, 1927, page 2





    Last rites for Judge Wm. M. Colvig, Oregon pioneer, who crossed the plains in an ox wagon from Missouri in 1851, to become one of the state's first citizens, were held at the Perl Funeral Home Monday afternoon with friends present from many sections of the state to pay their last tribute to one who was interested until his death in the development of the Oregon country.
    Polk Hull and J. C. Woods, fellow veterans of the Civil War, stood the guard of honor at the funeral home, where services were in charge of the Warren Masonic Lodge No. 10 of Jacksonville, of which Judge Colvig was a member. Ritualistic services at the graveside in the old Jacksonville Cemetery were conducted by the Medford Post of the American Legion. The last military salute was fired by the National Guard.
    Acting as pallbearers were A. S. Rosenbaum, A. E. Reames, Col. W. H. Paine, W. F. Isaacs, T. W. Miles and W. R. Coleman.
    All veterans' organizations of the city were represented at the services, including the Grand Army of the Republic, whose few remaining members were in the guard of honor.
    As a veteran of the Civil War, a pioneer, whose stories of the early days were told in inspiring words; a friend of the American Indian and a citizen, working always for the advancement of Jackson County, Judge Colvig will be remembered in varied circles of the valley.
    He was a self-educated man, whose learning extended far beyond the walls of the little log schoolhouse where he studied for the few years that schooling was possible in the early date in Oregon. He was a student of Shakespeare, an orator of note, whose addresses were the life of many pioneer reunions, and an able attorney.
    From the Indians he learned to speak their language, and to understand many beauties of the Oregon country, not always appreciated by the settlers. He often said that he could speak "Indian better than English." His friendliness for the Indians developed when he was six years old and a group of red men appeared when the emigrant train, of which he was a member, reached the Snake River. There the Indians sat down to supper with the whites and offered an English prayer, which Judge Colvig never forgot. The Colvig family lived at Canyonville, Oregon, throughout the Indian war, but no one was harmed.
    In 1853 the government undertook construction of a military wagon road through the southern territory. The work was directed by Colonel Joe Hooker, who later fought in the "battle of the clouds" at Lookout Mountain. Judge Colvig remembered him well and the stories, which circulated about the territory. The colonel put in most of his time "playing seven-up for the drinks at the hotel bar," he often related.
    Interesting stories of his first schooling were also among Judge Colvig's favorites. His first teacher, Samuel Strong, he used to tell, was so fond of liquor that he had to sign a contract not to get drunk during the school term. If he did he would forfeit his wages. He got the money but later died of delirium tremens at Jacksonville.
    Judge Colvig's tales were always told with authenticity. That is why his death has deprived Oregon writers of an outstanding and dependable source of information.
    Judge Colvig was born at Knoxville, Mo., September 2, 1845, the son of Dr. William L. Colvig and Helen Woodford. Crossing the plains in '51 the family settled near Canyonville in Douglas County, which was scene of some of the most interesting stories recalled by the late narrator. In 1862 he enlisted in Co. C 1st Oregon Cavalry and was with the party which mapped a greater part of Klamath, Lake, Harney and Malheur counties. He was with the group of soldiers who first saw Crater Lake.
    Following his discharge from the Union Army, he spent eight years in the East and Middle West. Returning to Jackson County, he was married in 1879 to Addie Birdseye, a member of one of Southern Oregon's best-known pioneer families. He served as school superintendent of Jackson County, district attorney for the first judicial district, including Jackson, Lake, Josephine and Klamath counties. He was attorney for the Southern Pacific Railroad in Jackson County for several years, and in 1913 was appointed tax and right-of-way agent for the company with offices in Portland.
    In 1918 he retired and came to Medford, where he had since made his home with his daughter, Mrs. William Warner. He also leaves a daughter, Mrs. Floyd Cook of Portland, and two sons, Vance (Pinto) Colvig of Hollywood and Don Colvig of Weed, Cal., all of whom were here for the funeral services. Grandchildren present were: David Colvig of Weed, Courtney Colvig of Hollywood and Gordon and Margaret Warner of Medford.
    Among others from out of town for the funeral were Mr. and Mrs. James Lathrop of the Southern Pacific offices in Portland, Sam Mathis and Mrs. Effie Birdseye of Rogue River.
Medford News, January 22, 1936, page 1


    "Canyon Passage!" The story of my grandparents' life might well have been the inspiration for Ernest Haycox' book.
    My maternal grandmother, whose maiden name was Clara Fleming, was 16 years old in 1850 when she arrived in Oregon from Virginia, via the covered wagon. Soon after her arrival in Portland she met David Nelson Birdseye, and in 1852 was married to him. Both Clara and David came from Colonial stock, so in pioneering it to the Far West they each did their part in carrying out the vision which their Colonial ancestors had cherished when they landed on the eastern shores of America almost two centuries before.
    Immediately after their marriage, the youthful bride and groom set out on horseback to "the bad Indian country," as the Rogue River Valley was called in those days--and where my grandfather previously had taken up his donation land claim.
    They set up housekeeping in a one-room log cabin with dirt floor and paper windows, and for a time the Indians gave no trouble and little fear to them or the other widely scattered settlers of the valley. In fact, my grandmother had made friends with some of the squaws, and there were two of them who helped with the work in and around the cabin. What housework there could have been in a one-room cabin which necessitated inside help I've never been able to figure out, but Grandma had been used to Negroes in Virginia and if she couldn't procure their help in Oregon she utilized what native help was available.
    When the Lupton affair took place in 1855, the Indians, upon whom the white men, led by Lupton, had fired, killing some of their tribe, retaliated by killing settlers and burning their homes all through the valley. One of these squaws whom Grandma had befriended gave her warning of the coming massacres. Nearby settlers were hastily summoned to the Birdseye place and the men constructed a stockade 80 by 40 feet, out of logs two feet thick and 14 feet high. From October, 1855, to the following March of '56, these settlers "forted up," living in comparative, yet alert and nervous, safety, while death and destruction struck suddenly and cruelly all around them through the entire length of the Rogue River Valley. There were a few women and children gathered there, but the majority of people behind the stockade were men. General Lane made his headquarters at the Birdseye place and at one time, counting in the volunteers and soldiers, there were over 500 people in the fort, and to this day the ranch is known as "Fort Birdseye." [Lane's presence at Fort Birdseye is otherwise unknown to history. Lane participated in the 1853 war, but not that of 1855-56.]     At the time of the Indian war my grandmother had one small child (I think he, James B., was the second white child to be born in Jackson County) and in January, 1856, in that log cabin, behind the stockade, my mother, Addie Birdseye, was born. Twenty-three years later she was married to my father, William M. Colvig.
    In the spring, after the wars were over, a new house, quite large and pretentious, compared to the one-room cabin, was built about 200 yards from the site of the original fort buildings. It was made of hand-hewn logs, and many of the settlers who had found safety behind the stockade helped in the construction of it. How well they built is testified by the fact that the house is still standing today and is occupied by my aunt, Mrs. Effie Birdseye, and her son, Glen. In 1929 the D.A.R.s erected a monument there to commemorate the part which Fort Birdseye played in the early history of Southern Oregon.
    I was born on my grandparents' farm and spent all of my summer vacations there until I was grown up. With my brothers, sisters and cousins, I played endless days through, building dams in "Birdseye Creek" and boats to sail or float on the deepened water. Whenever we wanted building material for our projects, we got it from a pile of rotting logs behind an old smokehouse, and I now have reason to believe that those old logs, which also made a good bonfire on pleasant evenings, were part of the stockade which surrounded the fort during the Indian wars. Now that some children of the fourth generation occasionally visit the Birdseye farm, a few of these salvaged original logs are treated with proper awe and respect by them. My grandmother lived to be 80 years old, living out her years on the ranch. Grandfather died about 15 years before she did.
    My aunt keeps the old house in its original state and with its original furnishings. A "Chickering" square piano, which came around the Horn and was brought into the valley on muleback from Crescent City, graces the living room. Scattered through the house are some other pieces of "round the Horn" furniture. Mingled with pioneer homemade chairs, tables and bedsteads, flintlock guns, powder horns, muzzle-loading rifles, candle molds and endless other museum pieces are kept in their age-old accustomed places./
    From the exterior one cannot quickly discern the adzed logs of the house, for the honeysuckle, jasmine and Virginia creeper, imported years ago from Grandma's native state, now entirely cover the walk and room of the entire structure. The tiny window panes peer through these vines like the almost sightless eyes of an old, old person, and like an old, old person seem to turn their vision inward, dwelling on long-cherished memories rather than seeing the exciting, hurrying changes rushing by one's very doorstep.
Helen Colvig Cook, Medford Mail Tribune, February 20, 1949, page 14


    Orchids for one of the week's most interesting conversations go to Mrs. Floyd J. Cook of Portland, in Medford to visit her sister, Mrs. William J. Warner, and other relatives. Mrs. Cook and a brother, Don Colvig, came to the valley last weekend to attend the annual Jacksonville Jubilee and for a family reunion.
    Jacksonville is "home" to the Colvigs, for the family lived there for many years, and Mrs. Cook was married in the Colvig home. She and her brother and Mrs. Warner enjoyed strolling the streets of their former home town and meeting friends they had not seen in many, many years. The family had hoped that Vance, known to thousands of movie and radio fans as "Pinto" Colvig, could be here, too, but that proved impossible.
    Mrs. Cook and her brother, Don, went back to Jacksonville Monday after the crowds were gone and the town was settling down to normal and went to see the house in which they had lived as children. Strangers now live in it, but the two visitors were made welcome and were allowed to walk through the familiar rooms.
    After we had chatted some time Mrs. Cook apologized for taking so much time and added, "I'm a great talker--all the Colvigs are, and I'm the worst." She then told how one of her traveling companions on the bus which brought her to Medford tapped her on the shoulder at Roseburg and said how much he had enjoyed listening to her on the trip down from Portland. "Do you know you've talked all the way from Portland to Roseburg?" he asked the embarrassed Mrs. Cook. When she began to apologize he hurriedly added that he had enjoyed her conversation very much, even though it wasn't addressed to him, and he'd had to sort of lean out into the middle of the aisle to hear. "I thought ail the time he was trying to look through the window beyond me," said Mrs. Cook, "and I wondered why he didn't look out of the one on his side of the bus."
    The conversation over the phone progressed from the Army academy scandal to education methods for present-day high schools. Mrs. Cook's son attended the U.S. Naval Academy, so she was more than interested in the West Point exposé. Her grandson, who lives with her, graduated this spring from a Portland high school, so she is up to date on that age, too. Mrs. Cook said in the particular school which her grandson attended anyone who studies hard to get good grades is considered ever-so-slightly stupid to bother with such nonsense, and most of the young people do just enough studying to stay in school and be eligible for athletic teams and school activities.
    Mrs. Cook said, however, that she believes the home is just as important as the school in education of the child, and told how her father read Shakespeare and other classic literature to his family, continuing his own education as well as helping to lay a foundation for that of his children. "I can still quote passages from Wordsworth and Shakespeare," she said with satisfaction.
Olive Starcher, "Potpourri," Medford Mail Tribune, August 12, 1951, page 7


    At the Gordon Warner home the reporter and photographer spent a fascinating two hours looking at historic diaries, maps, letters and journals, many written by the late William Mason Colvig. W. J. Warner, son-in-law of the well-known early day lawyer who was termed "judge" by many of his friends and "governor" by the younger men of the family, has many stories of this colorful man.
    William Colvig came to Oregon from Platte County, Missouri as a small boy with his parents, arriving in Portland in 1852 and later moving to the Canyonville area. William's father, William Lyngae Colvig, was a physician.
    William and his brother, Volney, were among the men who made up the volunteer Company C, First Oregon Cavalry. They thought they were going to be sent south to fight in the Civil War--instead they remained in Oregon and William, who was company clerk, went on an expedition into the area which is now roughly Klamath, Lake and Malheur counties. William drew a crude map of the territory--the first ever made--and the map was later sent to Washington, D.C. for copying. The original is one of the family's most cherished possessions.
    Mr. Warner recalls that Doctor Colvig and his wife, who had 10 children of their own, also raised two of the Woodford boys, the Woodfords being related. The Woodfords also remained in this area and became one of the well-known families.
    William Mason Colvig, who married Adelaide Birdseye, spoke the Indian language well and set down in his writings material which the Indians told him. The includes the beautiful Indian fable, told to him by the Klamath chief Lalek, about the origin of Crater Lake. The "judge" always defended the Indians, and maintained that they were honest, intelligent, honorable people whose lives had been ruined by the coming of the whites.
    When Potpourri asked Mr. Warner about Mr. Colvig's judgeship, Mr. W. smiled and said his father-in-law had been given the title by fellow citizens and recalled that the "judge" had been wont to say in fun that the only thing he was a judge of was good whiskey.
    Mr. Warner enjoys telling another story about "the governor," who remained rugged and individualistic until his death when he was in his 80s. One day a man called the judge an insulting name. Without hesitation Mr. Colvig, then well past 80 years of age, drew back his fist and socked the offender.
Olive Starcher, "Potpourri," Medford Mail Tribune, March 1, 1959, page B7


    News of the death of Mrs. Helen Colvig Cook, who died at her home in Portland Friday, has been received here by relatives.
    Mrs. Cook, a daughter of the Southern Oregon pioneer couple, William and Addie Birdsey Colvig, was born and reared in Jacksonville and lived in Jackson County until her marriage.
    She is survived by a daughter, Mrs. Rowan Leckenby, with whom she had made her home in recent years, and two brothers, Donald L. Colvig, Templeton, Calif., and Vance (Pinto) Colvig, Hollywood. She was a sister of the late Mrs. William J, Warner (Mary Colvig) of Medford, and Mrs. Clarence L. Reames. A son, Winsor Colvig Gale, was  killed in World War II while serving with the United States armed forces.
    Funeral services were scheduled this afternoon at the Finley home, Portland.
Medford Mail Tribune, November 14, 1961, page 9