Journal, 1855, James Mason Hutchings papers, Library of Congress MMC-1892


    We have recently returned from a tour of six weeks, during which time we have visited the greater portion of Southern Oregon. The country lying below Corvallis, on the Willamette River, has been so often described, and is so well known, that we shall not inflict upon our readers a rehash of it. From Corvallis to the Calapooia Mountains, a distance of some eighty miles, the country is diversified between broad and rolling prairies and occasional belts of timber, principally oak, pine and fir. On either side of the upper Willamette Valley, which averages some fifteen or twenty miles in width, are the Cascade Range of mountains on the east and the Coast Range on the west, whose rugged crests and rocky summits present a bold and interesting as well as a picturesque landscape of more than common beauty. The traveler or admirer of nature's handiwork will find as he plods his way over these extensive plains a constant changing of these distant views, with an occasional glimpse through the notches of the mountains at some of the numerous peaks, whose summits are covered with the eternal snows of thousands of winters. This, together with the different appearance of the sides of the numerous buttes which extend from the mountains into the valley, present a diversified appearance on the whole route.
    We found the country much more thickly settled than we expected to find it. The farms are generally half sections instead of 640 acres, which are so universally held in the lower valley. The soil is rich and productive, as is evidenced by the growing crops and the quantity of grass and vegetation which nature has abundantly spread over the whole surface of these beautiful plains.
    The first place of note above Corvallis, on the west side of the Willamette River, is Jennyopolis--where we found our old friend Dick Irwin, snugly located on a good farm with a good stock of goods, wares and merchandise, ready to trade or to receive his friends with a cordiality which makes the weary traveler feel as if he had found an oasis in a desert. Starr's Point, some distance further up, is located on Long Tom, a stream of considerable size, upon which there are good mill sites and other advantages which will make it, at no distant day, a densely populated country. 
    Eugene City, the county seat of Lane County, is pleasantly located on high rolling ground, over which is scattered an occasional oak, as yet spared from the woodman's ax. There are adjacent to the town several large round mounds or hills of some one hundred feet in height, more or less. These hills are covered with scattering trees, which in the distance gives them the appearance of well-grown orchards. During our brief sojourn at Eugene City we had an opportunity of seeing the great majority of the people from the adjacent country, who came in to attend a public political meeting. The inhabitants appeared to enjoy the best of health, and carried the evidence in their physiognomies of possessing intelligence and happiness as well as thrift. There is at Eugene City an excellent hotel, kept by Heatherly & Bailey, where the wayfarer will find repose and quietness. From the number of stores and other places of trade we inferred there was considerable business done at Eugene City. From Eugene City to the Calapooia Mountains our route carried us over a fine farming and grazing country, well watered and timbered. Siuslaw can boast of one log house now, but may, in the future, number many more. A good day's ride carried us over the Calapooia Mountains, where we found a stopping place with Mr. Estes. The road over this mountain is comparatively in good order, and is one of the pleasantest mountain passes we have ever traveled in Oregon. There are but few difficulties in the way of calling it a good wagon road. Some of the ascents are rather steep for a common team to ascend with an ordinary load.
    After spending the night at Estes'--where we found a good bed and excellent accommodations--we left refreshed, and reached Jesse Applegate's at Yoncalla. Mr. Applegate is one among the early pioneers in Oregon, who has explored most of the mountain passes, rivers and forests throughout the length and breadth of Oregon in examining for routes and laying out roads as a surveyor.
    We found, as all will find, Mr. Applegate a very intelligent, hospitable, and somewhat eccentric gentleman, situated in a romantic place at the foot of Yoncalla Mountain, upon a large farm, well cultivated, with a good variety of bearing fruit trees, good buildings, outhouses, &c., which give his place the appearance of an old homestead. We spent the day with Mr. Applegate, and at his invitation ascended to the summit of Yoncalla Mountain, where we had a distinct view of the Umpqua and the Willamette valleys, as well as the whole surrounding country. The Umpqua Valley is a succession of hills and valleys with a great variety of scattering timber of different kinds, but mostly of oak. The whole valley is considered the finest grazing country west of the Rocky Mountains, besides being well adapted for agricultural purposes. From Yoncalla we followed down Elk River to its junction with the Umpqua at Elkton, where we struck the main traveled road leading from Scottsburg to Jacksonville. The route from Yoncalla to Elkton is mountainous and rugged, being simply a bridle path or trail most of the way. Elkton is the county seat of Umpqua County, recently located there by the legislative assembly. It is immediately at the junction of Elk River with the Umpqua, and surrounded by high, rolling prairies, thickly covered with grass and vegetation. From Elkton we took the road to Scottsburg. This is the best road of the same length we have seen in Oregon, and is creditable to those who contributed their means and labor in building it. This road, which was built by the inhabitants of Umpqua, intersects the military road about three miles above Scottsburg.
    Scottsburg is situated at the head of tidewater on the Umpqua, and at the highest possible point of navigation for any sort of watercraft. At this point the river becomes suddenly shallow and rapid, with occasional falls of several feet in a few rods. Unfortunately, at Scottsburg rival interests have brought into existence two towns, upper and lower Scottsburg, They are about two miles apart, both on the same side of the river, and both suffering in consequence of local jealousies and rival interests, which are entirely too common in Oregon. At this time upper Scottsburg appears to be doing the most business; yet it appeared to us the lower town would in the end have a decided advantage, from the fact that vessels can come there and no further without being favored by the tides.
    Mr. Allan, of the firm of Allan, McKinlay & Co., kindly proffered us a trip to the mouth of the Umpqua River, which is some twenty-five miles distant; we gladly accepted the liberality and kindness of Mr. Allan, and at an early hour we left, in company with several other gentlemen, on the steamer Washington. From Scottsburg, the Umpqua passes most of the way through a canyon of almost perpendicular rocks on either side of many hundred feet high. The scenery is grand and sublime--the river much larger than we expected to find it. There is but one obstruction, called Brandy Bar, to prevent any vessel engaged in the coast trade from ascending the Umpqua to Scottsburg at any stage of water--at high tide vessels drawing twelve feet pass over it. Umpqua City and Gardiner are situated near the mouth of the river.
    The custom house is located at Gardiner, some four or five miles from the ocean. We found A. C. Gibbs, Esq. the collector of the port, absent, but Mrs. Gibbs extended to us a cordial welcome, and provided a good dinner, which was relished by the whole party, whose appetites had become sharpened by the bracing sea breeze which we encountered below. After convincing Mrs. Gibbs that her dinner was duly appreciated we left upon our upward trip.
    On our way up we discovered a huge blacktailed deer deliberately walking down to the water's edge, when after drinking for a minute or so, plunged into the river and commenced swimming towards the other side. The captain of the Washington concluded to give chase with the steamer, and therefore put the helm hard up and headed his deership off the shore; after several tacks we finally succeeded in throwing a lasso over the horns of the deer, and bringing him up aside the steamer. It was then decided to bind the captive and take him to Scottsburg alive, which was finally accomplished after considerable difficulty. This is the first time, so far as we know, that a large, full-grown buck, in full strength, has been captured, bound and taken home alive and uninjured by even the Nimrods of Umpqua, who are celebrated as good deer hunters, At all events, it is the first time we ever hunted deer with success on a steamboat. The event created considerable excitement and much merriment to all on board.
    From Scottsburg we again visited Elkton, and from thence proceeded to Oakland. We noticed on the way one of the best arranged school houses we have seen in Oregon. It is built after the modern style of New England school houses--is well finished, painted and enclosed, and is a creditable monument to the intelligence of the people of the district. We advise other districts to go and do likewise. At Oakland there is a store and a post office, and a good farming country surrounding it.
    We visited Umpqua Academy, situated on the route from Oakland to Winchester. This academy was built under the supervision and by the efforts of Rev. J. H. Wilbur, who has done much to facilitate and provide the means of education in Oregon. We spent the night under Mr. Wilbur's hospitable roof, and received from him that kindness which he is accustomed to extend to all weary travelers who are without food or shelter. The academy is a fine large building, handsomely finished and pleasantly located in the midst of a beautiful grove, and bids fair to become one of the principal schools on this coast in a short time.
    Winchester is situated on the north side of the north fork of Umpqua River; there are several stores and machine shops, with mills nearby, where the inhabitants get their supplies.
    Deer Creek [Roseburg], a few miles further south, the county seat of Douglas County, is a place of considerable business, and is a pleasant location to live for those who admire the beauties of nature and enjoy a quiet life. The country from Deer Creek to the Canyon is one of singular beauty and possesses a rich soil, as was evidenced by the growing crops. This celebrated and never-to-be-forgotten "Canyon" (by those who have passed through it) we shall not attempt to describe, except to say that "the road" is the worst specimen of that name we have ever traveled over, and trust we may never see its like again. A portion of it is emphatically a canyon--a portion a mountain of unusual steepness, and the rest an unfathomable mud-hole, infinitely worse than the "slough of despond" as described by Bunyan. Portions of broken wagons, broken ox yokes and fragments of destruction to property are scattered along the way, from one end to the other, called 10½ miles in length--but which is a hard day's journey to get through it.
    Once through this canyon, the traveler will find himself in the valley of Cow Creek, which has a narrow interval of good tillable land for some distance where the road crosses and leaves it. We stopped at Mr. Turner's, who keeps an excellent house some eight miles from the south end of the canyon. From this to Jacksonville the road is comparatively good, except "Grave Creek Hills," and with here and there an occasional mud-hole for a short distance.
    We found good public houses at Grave Creek, also an excellent stopping place at J. B. Wagoner's, about thirty miles north of Jacksonville, also at the crossing of Rogue River.
    We found Rogue River Valley much more extensive than we had anticipated. It appeared to the eye to be thirty or forty miles long, and from twelve to fifteen broad, which is entirely occupied by settlers. There are a large number of well-cultivated farms, scattered over this whole valley. Jacksonville is situated on the south side, about midway of the valley, and is a place of considerable trade and business. It appears, like all mining towns, to have grown up suddenly. There are, however, a number of good buildings now going up. We noticed one brick store completed, and preparations making for the erection of others. The scarcity of water has stopped all mining operations or nearly so in the immediate vicinity. We visited Ashland Mills, some twenty miles further south, also Butte Creek, some twelve or fifteen miles east [north] of Jacksonville, both of which are pleasant locations. From Jacksonville we proceeded to Althouse, Canyon Creek, Sailors Diggings and back via Sterling. The whole route passes over a rough and mountainous country, with an occasional narrow valley along the small streams, on which settlers have located claims. Many of them present the evidence of good soil and a high state of cultivation.
    Upon all these streams there is gold to be found in greater or less quantities. We were told by all that miners could make from three to five dollars per day upon almost any of them. We found the miners doing well at Althouse and at Sailors Diggings, where they have sufficient water. At Sterling there is said to be the richest mines yet discovered in Southern Oregon, but the great scarcity of water has seriously checked all mining operations during the spring. The traveler will find an excellent stopping place at Thompson's, on Applegate, and at H. M. Hart's, at Sailors Diggings. We found our old friend J. W. Briggs the occupant of a fine farm in Illinois Valley, surrounded by many of the comforts of life. We were informed that there are several excellent claims yet untaken in Illinois Valley, as well as on Butte Creek and many of the small valleys extending far up into the mountains from Rogue, Applegate and Illinois rivers, &c. Jackson County, although very mountainous and rugged, will doubtless soon become one of the wealthiest counties in Oregon. She possesses considerable good tillable soil and a large quantity of excellent grazing country, in addition to her inexhaustible gold mines.
    We were accompanied through Southern Oregon by several gentlemen of opposite political creeds and sentiments, among whom were A. C. Gibbs, R. E. Stratton, S. F. Chadwick, Esqrs., and Dr. Drew, of Umpqua, Capt. Martin, of Douglas, Capt. Miller, L. F. Mosher, Esq., of Jackson, and others, all of whom we take pleasure in saying (with a single exception) we found honorable, fair, high-minded gentlemen, notwithstanding the scurrility and falsehoods which have appeared, and will continue to appear, in the Oregon Statesman in relation to this canvass.
    We also received from the masses of Democrats as well as Whigs throughout Southern Oregon, those civilities which make a man a gentleman, and which the editor of the Oregon Statesman and his echoes have never learned or cannot appreciate.
Oregonian, Portland, June 23, 1855, page 2  Attributed to T. J. Dryer in the Oregonian of July 30, 1950, page 73


Dear Brothers
    I have an opportunity of writing you a line & take pleasure in saying that I am well. I recd. a letter from Jarvis, the date of which I do not remember, but it contained a large cut of the improved iron grass cutter & it affords me real satisfaction to learn that you prosper so well and also that Mother continues so well. Business in this country is extremely dull, the mines have literally gone in, although we have had & are now having a great excitement about the discovery of gold on the waters of the Columbia, some 600 [sic] miles to the northeast from Oregon City. One family in the next house, about 60 years old, start for there bag & baggage tomorrow. Many are going daily, & many returning cursing the diggings as they come. All agree that gold can be found in all the streams, & equally as good on the sides of all the hills & mountains. The most reliable reports are that men make with pans & rockers from $1 to $3 per day. The same diggings will pay by the improved mode of washing with sluices about three times as much & I doubt not that good-paying diggings will be found in that region next season. I had some thought of going there, but the season has advanced so far & the distance is so great & the snow falls so heavily during winter (in lieu of the rain here in the valleys) that I shall not go this fall & not in the spring, unless the prospects are very flattering. I see by papers from the States that gold mines have been discovered on the Red River near the borders of Arkansas, also from the Salt Lake Mormon settlement that mines have been found on Sweetwater River, & from accounts numbers were leaving Salt Lake for the place. I have also seen men who found gold in the Black Hills a little above Laramie & in the Wind River Mountains. Within two years we shall hear of the discovery of mines that will prove more extensive than any yet known, or at least such is my opinion. A party recently left here on a prospecting trip up this, Umpqua River. One man returned in two days from above the settlements & reports $4 diggings [diggings that yield $4 a day]; the others continued up the river and if not interrupted by Indians may find good diggings. The latter part of this, or the first part of next week, I am going with a party up the south branch of the Umpqua River in search of diggings. Some men that have seen the country have strong hopes of it. If I should find diggings that will pay on either branch of this river I think I had better remain here during the winter and meet Jarvis in San Francisco in the spring, but of this I will write you more hereafter. The rights for Oregon & Washington territories for the reaper had better be sold for what they will bring, more or less. Times are so hard & money so scarce that men worth large amounts of property find it difficult to do business & pay taxes; hence I think you would hardly be justified either in building here or bringing any large number of machines to sell unless you chose to sell on a credit. In California people have more money to do business with. California supplies herself now & Oregon sells her but little. The wheat crop was ruined by smut & grasshoppers, & what there is cannot be sold for want of purchasers. It has no price. Cattle are the only thing that will sell, & yet a few years longer will reduce the price of stock till it will be hardly worth raising, unless mines shall be discovered or some unlooked-for impulse shall be given to business here. I consider Oregon about done over. People here have been importing almost everything they use, while they expect nothing but money. Their money is exhausted; they are without manufactures of any kind, have for the last 2 years only had something to sell & there are no purchasers. So you can readily comprehend our situation. I have money due me here & cannot collect enough to take me to the States & back. . . .
John C. Danford, letter probably written to his brother Ebenezer Danford (manufacturer of a mower and reaper) in Chicago. "Letters of John C. Danford, Oregon Territory 1847-1856," transcribed by Frank Richard Sondeen June 1961. Fremont Area District Library, Fremont, Michigan.


    Early  in October, 1855, with an old companion of my peregrinations--one of those golden-tempered, delightful traveling companions with whom to associate is a perpetual treat--I found myself on board the staunch steamship Columbia, bound from San Francisco to Oregon.
    On the evening of the second day we came in sight of Trinidad, a little hamlet situated about two hundred miles north of San Francisco. It was quite dark as the steamer came to, near a black, sea-beaten rock, through whose caverns the sea roared with a dismal moan. An inhospitable coast is that of California and Oregon, where, from San Diego to Puget Sound, a distance of thirteen hundred miles, there is found but one port--that of San Francisco--to which the dismantled ship may fly for refuge in a gale from seaward. Trinidad is a "port"; but justly regarded with terror by the mariner in times of tempest. The fog limited our observations from the quarterdeck to a few dimly discerned huts far up the bank, and the only sound of civilization was the distant crying of a child ever and anon mingling with the surf's roar. Freight was discharged, and a speedy leave taken of sorry-looking Trinidad.
    On the following morning the discharge of a gun from the bows brought us to the deck, when we found the steamer heading into the bay or roadstead of Crescent City. This, like most of the harbors on this coast, can only boast of its capacity. It extends from the houses of the inhabitants entirely across the Pacific. It is proposed to build a breakwater here, and so form a natural harbor. An indefinite number of millions of dollars are named as an estimate of the cost. Crescent City is three years old, situated on the sea beach, backed by a dense mass of pine and cedar forest, inhabited by several hundred traders, packers, Indians, dogs, and mules. A brisk ride to Cape St. George, taken during our stay here, satiated our curiosity. The country becomes uninteresting after the forest and green undergrowth of coast trees have ceased to be novelties. The men were mostly "Pikes" of an exceedingly rough cast, and the Indians, who were the first specimens of the Oregon savage we had met with, were decidedly to us the lions of the town. Wandering out toward a rocky promontory north of the town, and designated as the Battery, we found an encampment of the Chetco tribe. Three old women among them were quite blind, and, squatting in the sand, were feeling nervously around for some bits of willow which they were fashioning into baskets--time out of mind the Indian's occupation. Several young squaws accosted us in broken English. One of them was really pretty, and but for some barbarous tattooing, nose and ear pendants, and a villainous smell of decayed salmon, would have been a very Fayaway. This young lady was in dishabille as we passed, and, though making her toilet with otter fat, glass beads, and shells, did not shrink at the unexpected visit. The entire party wore a dress composed of equal parts of cheap blankets, castoff coats and shirts, and the usual savage finery. The men sported the bow and arrow armor with a coyote or fox skin for a quiver. All had the ears or nose slit, and one or two coquettish young jades of squaws wore fish bones through their nostrils, and were otherwise scarified and marked.
    On the same afternoon we bade adieu to Crescent City, and were quickly again on our way to the northward. On the following morning the ship's reckoning showed us to be opposite Port Orford, and this being our proposed landing place, we watched with some curiosity for the lifting of an impenetrable veil of fog which shut out all view of the coast. The speed was slackened, and the "blue pigeon" kept constantly moving. Suddenly, on our starboard bow, appeared a lofty rock looming out of the mist. It was a grand and startling spectacle. Though the sea was comparatively calm, the ground swells surged up around its base in piles of boisterous foam, roaring among the caverns and gulches, and rushing up to the height of forty feet; then, as the swell receded, the whole surface presented a bold front of yeasty rivulets, white as milk, and trickling down the rough sides of the rock in hissing cascades, as one might imagine they would down the furrowed cheeks of some awful giant of Scandinavian romance. Clouds of birds hovered around the peak, screaming and dipping down to the waves, and scolding at our sudden intrusion. Our new acquaintance disappeared astern almost as soon as we had descried it. It is the southwestern point of Port Orford harbor, and is one of the enormous boulders rolled by some convulsion of nature from the steeps of Humbug Mountain, which rears its head far above the surrounding country. We could now run with some degree of certainty, and heading boldly in, a gun was fired, the echo of which had scarcely done rattling through the Coast Range when it was answered from on shore. A moment after the shrill scream of a rooster came across the water, and the fog lifting, opened to our view a bluff bank, perhaps forty feet high, upon which was situated a small town, with some forty houses, half-deserted, and standing at the verge of a bank of lofty foliage, forming the great fir and pine region which skirts the Oregon coast from the California line to Puget Sound.
    From under the lee of a promontory known as "Battle Rock," and the history of which we shall presently review, a boat put forth through the surf, into which we bundled, and grasping the hands extended in kindly parting, we had soon made our first landing on the Oregon coast. As we rounded the point we looked back upon the steamer heading out to sea, and pursuing her way to the Columbia River.
    We landed at a little lumber wharf, whence a short walk brought us to the United States Barracks; and entering the house of Dr. Glisan and Lieutenant Kautz, we were soon engaged in conversation with a party of educated gentlemen, whose cultivated talents shone the more conspicuously in the wild region that duty had made their place of residence. About three hundred yards from the government reserve, and hidden from it by an intervening range of hills is situated the little town of Port Orford. Its history is that of the sudden and too ephemeral growth of the coast villages of Oregon.
    In 1851 a party of men from Portland, Oregon, selected this spot for the site of a town, depending upon its roadstead and the facility of communication with the interior for the basis of its success and growth. The discovery of the auriferous sands of Gold Bluff, which were found to extend along the entire coast, from Rogue River to Cape Arago, also augmented the progress of the place. The original party consisted of eighteen men; but finding their stock of provisions becoming exhausted, and there being no means of supplying the deficiency, half returned to Portland, leaving nine of their number to await their return. At that time the character of the country between the California line and the Columbia River was unknown. Its deep rivers, bays, tribes of Indians, and topography, were a sealed book, save to a few venturesome old hunters and trappers who had wandered down the coast even to the Humboldt; but their accounts, vague and uncertain, were unknown.
    This section of Oregon contained about two thousand Indians, divided into numerous tribes, who soon became aware that the whites had settled their country, and, with savage hostility, determined to crush the band at Port Orford. Their rapidly increasing numbers alarmed our little garrison, who retreated upon what is now known as "Battle Rock"--a natural fort showing three precipitous sides toward the ocean, and only accessible from land by a regular causeway. The parapet of this fortification stands not less than fifty feet above the tide. Here they encamped, and barricading the only vulnerable point, they directed a brass six-pounder field piece from a porthole left for the purpose, and, loading their rifles, prepared for the worst. The precaution was well timed. The day following this removal, the tribes from the Umpqua, Coquille, and Rogue River congregated, and mustered nearly a thousand braves. Armed with bows and arrows, and ignorant of the deadly qualities of the American rifle, they advanced up the passageway with yells that made the little band within quail with apprehension. The besieged were under the command of a Tennessean, who restrained the men until their tattooed assailants had approached in an irregular mass, four or five deep, to within a few yards of the field piece, when the order to fire was given. My informant, who was one of the party, described the scene in Texan vernacular, which I regret I am unable to repeat. It would depict the scene a thousandfold more graphically than I could write it.
    In loading the gun, which was done with slugs, stones, and bits of iron, to the muzzle, they had exhausted their slender stock of powder to two rounds of pistol and rifle charges. As the eyes of the savages gleamed through the chinks of the brushwood barricade, the death-dealing discharge tore through their ranks. This, followed by a well-directed volley from the rifles and revolvers, of which every shot told, sent such of the Indians as were not wounded pell-mell back. What with the roar of the cannon, the cracking of the firearms, and the yells of the wounded, the whole mass took to their heels and fled affrighted into the forest. Numbers were dashed into the boiling surf below, or killed among the rocks in their descent. This was the first and last volley. No estimate was made of the slain. Indeed they stayed not to count, but after a hurried consultation, and fearful of the return of the Indians in still greater force, and knowing their own want of ammunition, they abandoned the fort, and, taking to the forest, traveled for several weeks, entering the Willamette Valley, and so reaching Portland.
    It was a bright sparkling morning, the sun pouring down a flood of radiance after the rain of the previous night, when we mounted two shaggy but strong Indian ponies, and set out for Empire City, at Coos Bay. Every leaf seemed to glitter in the light, and dewdrops sparkled in every bush. It was a morning to make one "love to live," as the lungs expanded with the respiration of the cold and bracing air. One rides through the undulating country of Oregon with an exhilaration of spirits like that following the inhalation of laughing gas. The characteristic dryness of the autumn months of California is not found among these verdant woods. Green and fragrant heath blossoms adorned the sides of the road, and at times we crossed some noisy rivulet, scolding its way toward the sea, half concealed by an overhanging drapery of verdure fed by its waters.
    This continued for some miles, when we came out upon the seashore; and now, joined by a couple of horsemen bound to some point above, we scampered over a hard sand beach, until we reached the Elk River. H-----, having passed this way about a year before, and anxious to display his knowledge of the route, selected the ford and dashed in, but was soon up to his middle, and reached the opposite banks, having partaken of a cold bath much against his will. The rest, more cautious, mounted the tops of their saddles, and escaped with only wet feet. This river during the winter months is impassable. The distance from a log house standing on the bank to the Sixes River is some six miles, the road leading through a thickly wooded country. On the route we crossed Cape Blanco, which, until the completion of the recent coast reconnaissance, was supposed to be the most westernmost point of the United States. Cape Mendocino, however, in California, is believed to be a mile or two farther seaward. Our new friends had left us, and we galloped along the verge of the beetling cliff, where we paused to "breathe our horses," and gaze off into the blue ocean beyond.
    Here, since the creation, these foaming breakers have chafed, and the rocks skirting the base of the precipice have dashed them defiantly back. From the pitch of the Cape a dangerous reef of rocks, standing high above the water, stretches out to sea; the rocks, as we stood and held our hats on in the face of the sea breeze, were sometimes hidden in the toppling foam. A line carried directly west from where we stand would nearly touch Jeddo, and meet with no impediment on the way. All is "deep blue ocean" between. Here the footsteps of Young America must pause a while. From this point we may look back upon the continent. The Cape is a prominent landmark to the mariner, and from here the land trends away to the northeast, giving to the headland the appearance of a shoulder thrust far into the sea. The bluff, crested with pine trees, standing almost upon the very brink, and sloping thence inland, forms a plateau, or piece of table land, finely wooded, across which the sharp sea gales whistle with unchecked fury. From the Cape to "the Sixes" is about two miles. The country slopes to the northward, forming a valley through which the river flows to the ocean. The Sixes has not yet been traced to its source, though it takes its rise not above forty miles in the interior. It can be ascended with canoes about twelve miles, and is said to wind among fertile bottoms and reaches of prairie land hitherto only traversed by Indians and wild beasts. It empties into the ocean under the lee of a huge rock, but the bar is impassable even for a canoe. From seaward no entrance can be discerned. At its mouth stands Dan's cabin.
    "Dan" is an old Norwegian sailor, whose half century of adventures have carried him thrice around the world. He has sailed under every flag in Christendom, has fought in numerous naval engagements, and has been often wounded. Among the otter and bear hunting community in which he is now located, and who never saw salt water or ship until their journey across the continent to the Pacific shores, he is regarded as a curious ocean monster, to be listened to respectfully, and heeded with more than ordinary awe. His fearful oaths--almost unintelligible, from the Dutch jargon with which he mingles them--his rough, outlandish appearance, his undisputed courage, and kind simplicity, have made him notorious, and the traveler along the coast looks forward with sharpened appetite to the roasted salmon or broiled bear steak at "Dan's."
    We arrived at the ford at dead low water, and H----- determined to push across, though the quicksands are said to be dangerous at that point. However, we plunged in, and by dint of spurring and shouting, reached the opposite side. Dan's hut is about two hundred yards from the northern bank. We rode up to the door of a log cabin situated at the mouth of a ravine, and partly embowered in its tangled foliage. From this issues a rivulet discharging into the river; and here the old Northman has decided to pass the rest of his days, within hearing of the ocean's roar--just near enough to be reminded of his many adventures, and yet secure from its dangers.
    Dismounting, we tied our horses to a post, while the door opened, and a long-haired, sober-faced trapper, with a face like leather and with the seriousness of a parson, gazed out upon us with Indian stoicism. He was about thirty-five years of age. Around his head was a dirty handkerchief, the ends of which hung negligently down his face. Slashed buckskin pants, hunting shirt, and moccasins made up his apparel, while the short black pipe, which he held firmly between his teeth, showed that our arrival had disturbed him in the enjoyment of the hunter's Elysium. He regarded our operations with silent indifference, and when we inquired for Dan, replied by throwing open the door, which hung on wooden hinges, and re-entered the cabin, leaving us to follow if we pleased. After fastening our animals we entered, and found the trapper already stretched before the fire, gazing immovably at the smoky rafters, and pulling gently at the digestive pipe. It was evident that an attempt to disturb our new acquaintance again would be useless, so we shouted, "Dan! Hallo there, Dan!" whereupon a savage growl from one of the hide beds in the corner announced that the lord of the manor was taking an early snooze.
    "Can you get us something to eat, Dan?" said I, in my blandest tone.
    "Are you Coos Bay people?" asked the voice from the bed.
    It flashed across me that a slight fib in such a strait would be excusable, and thinking that the Norwegian might have a peculiar regard for the denizens of Coos Bay, I replied "Yes!"
    "Well, get out o' my cabin den, you bloody sneaks! Da don't no Coos Bay man get no grub in my cabin--they're mean enough to pack their own grub!"
    It was evident I had made a mistake, and I hastened to explain, when H-----, who had known Dan, came to the rescue.
    "Dan! don't you know me? It's the Doctor; Dr. H-----, that cured you of the rheumatics last year. Don't you remember me, old fellow?"
    At this the heap of bed-clothes began to move, and the old Norwegian, grunting with pain, came out of his lair. He speedily knew the Doctor, and welcomed him, but without deigning me a word or look. The sight of a fat haunch of elk hanging from the ridgepole obliged me to smother my feelings.
    Without a dozen words he got to work, and in another ten minutes was roasting several fine steaks before the fire, which crackled in a huge chimney of mud and stones. Silence seemed the order of the day in this hermit's abode, so, without saying, By your leave, I stepped over the prostrate body of the trapper, and took down from the fireplace notch a soot-begrimed pipe, half filled with the "dear weed," coolly lit it by an ember, and puffed away.
    Dan said nothing. Thus encouraged, I addressed a few words to him with a view of opening a conversation, but without success, and a garrulous attempt upon the still motionless trapper was equally without avail. Foiled so far, and determined to draw the old fellow out, as I learned he had a fund of anecdote, I produced a flask of brandy, saved as a precious relic of San Francisco, and taking a swallow to prove it was not poisoned, passed it silently to the old sailor. He smelled at the mouth, and immediately took a strong pull at its contents, uttering a prolonged and satisfactory "A--h!" as he returned it. The fountains of his loquacity were opened at once, and turning a curious glance toward me, he observed,
    "You didn't get dat at Port Orford, no how!"
    "You say right," replied H-----.
    And therewith commenced a conversation of an hour's duration; but the trapper, though paying his respects to the flask, said nothing. Throughout this class of men it will be observed that being alone and in the silent forests or mountain solitudes the greater part of their lives, they acquire a taciturn habit, which seldom leaves them.
    We found, by actual experiment, that the sand in the bottom of the rivulet near the house contained gold in fine particles. Dan hobbled out and washed a pan of earth, in which were hundreds of minute specks of the precious metal. The whole ocean beach of Oregon is thus impregnated with gold, to a greater or less extent. Among other facts, Dan stated that a law went into operation last winter in Oregon, prohibiting the sale of liquors except by the payment of a quarterly license of fifty dollars. No sooner had the law gone into effect than the deputy sheriff started from Coos Bay, and traveling rapidly through the country before the law could become generally known, had taken every place in his route where liquor was sold, and imposed the fine for selling without a license. Dan's was among the proscribed number, and to this day he heaps anathemas on Coos Bay and its entire population, not one of whom need apply at his door for entertainment. This explained his ominous question on our entrance,
    "Are you Coos Bay people?"
    We gradually grew to be good friends with both Dan and the trapper, and both took particular pains to direct us on our route. By the time our horses were rested we had learned all the necessary facts regarding the country, and paying our score, we mounted and started away to the northward, Dan's old white mare breaking away as we dashed past, and he and his companion performing a series of indescribable gyrations to arrest her evident intention of following us. We soon reached the ocean beach, where the nature of the sand admits of no faster motion than a walk. The sky to seaward began to thicken, and soon we were riding through a fog so dense that the banks of surf, a few hundred yards from us, were scarcely visible. After an hour H-----'s black beard was sparkling like hoar-frost--the glittering drops standing upon his mustaches as in a winter's morning in New England. The fog was driven inland by a keen wind that searched every seam and opening. It was like riding in the rain. Such weather may be counted on two-thirds of the year along the Oregon beach.
    While on the route we met Ben Wright, the sub-Indian agent, an experienced hunter and trapper, whose life has been passed in the mountains and on the Western frontier. He was a man of some thirty-two years, with black curling hair, reaching, beneath a slouched Palo Alto hat, down to his shoulders; a Missouri rifle was slung across his back, and he rode a heavy black mule with bearskin machillas. [Wells is using the word incorrectly.] Altogether, he was a splendid specimen of a backwoodsman, of noble stature, lithe as an eel, of Herculean strength, and with all the shrewdness and cunning acquired by a lifetime passed among the North American Indians. Almost disdaining the comforts of civilized life, and used to the scanty fare of the hunter, he seemed peculiarly fitted for the office he held. I am thus particular in the description of Ben Wright, as his name has just been published among those who were butchered by the Chetco tribe at Rogue River in February last. He was in company, when we met him, with several others, any one of whom would nearly answer to this description. Some of them have shared his fate in the massacre above referred to.
    Our next crossing was at Floras Creek, which we now easily forded; but in winter it becomes a formidable stream, and during the heavy rains is impassable. The ford is two miles above the mouth. This crossed, we again struck the monotonous ocean beach. The route for many miles is one of the most uninteresting that can be imagined. The scenery is the same for twenty miles. A shouting conversation must be maintained to be intelligible against the high wind. Even the romantic associations attending the tumbling in of a heavy ocean surf is in part denied--the mist often entirely hiding the outer breakers, and leaving one to imagine their force by the half acre of foam, which, rushing up the slant of the beach, expends itself in tiny ripples around the horses' hoofs. Presently we observed something in the distance resembling machinery, and a nearer inspection introduced a veritable gold-beach washing apparatus in full operation, under the brow of a tall sand bank, and superintended by three stout, contented-looking fellows, who assured us, in answer to our queries, that they were making from $12 to $25 per day "to the hand." Not unused to the "tricks of the trade," as practiced in the California gold regions, we were disposed to be incredulous until, by a few fair "prospects" of the gold sand, and an explanation of the modus operandi, we were finally convinced of the truth of the statement. In a word, the entire sea beach, from Rogue River to Cape Arago, is more or less impregnated with fine gold sand, much of it an impalpable dust, and only to be extracted by the use of quicksilver. It is precisely the same thing as quartz mining--minus the labor and expense of crushing the rock preparatory to the amalgamating process. A stream of water, conducted from a neighboring ravine, is led through wooden flumes to the "tom heads," and the workmen "stripping," or clearing away the drift, leave nothing to do but shovel tons of the black sand into the sluices, the trickling stream performing the process of separation, the fine dust. escaping over these miniature riffles being arrested and amalgamated in a series of quicksilver deposits below. The greater part, however, is caught in the upper riffles. The stream was stopped a few minutes for our accommodation, and we found the bottom of the trough sparkling with innumerable minute specks of gold, and in half an hour the quantity had so increased that we could distinguish the fine gold sand glittering through the volume of water. It was a crystal brook, with golden pavement.
    The sand from the beach, however, drifted rapidly over their works, urged by the diurnal gales which sweep with full force across the place, and obliging the miners to erect high brush and board fences to prevent being buried by a slow process. I had often heard and read of these diggings; but until now had never realized the fact of a "golden ocean beach." The Oregonians assert that, notwithstanding the constant working of these sands, they are found to be quite as rich the succeeding year--a fact which we could scarcely doubt when we learned that the present is the third working over of the "Stacy claim."
    Bidding adieu to our friends, and leaving them to their solitary fate of washing gold, we spurred onward, and another two miles brought us to the famous Coquille River, discharging from the southeast into the ocean. An abrupt descent brought us to the bank, where we found two log houses of considerable pretensions, and owned by a Yankee and an Englishman, who have here established a ferry "for man and beast."
    Descending the bank, we stopped at the house--a couple of blooded dogs issuing from the yard and smelling suspiciously around our horses. The owners of the establishment made their appearance directly after, and the scow being hauled to the beach, we entered, horses and all, and were soon ferried across the river, which is above one hundred yards in width. The bar has about seven feet at low water. Availing ourselves of the directions given us by the ferrymen, we pursued our journey along a bluff bank overlooking the sea some fifty feet--occasionally getting close to the brink, where we looked down upon abandoned claims and gold-washing machines until, at nightfall, we came to the now deserted town of Randolph.
    A few lines will suffice to narrate the rise and fall of Randolph. Captain Smith, U.S.A., while on a visit to this part of Oregon, in the winter of 1853, discovered gold mingled with the sands of the beach. The story got wind, and thousands crowded from all parts of Oregon and California to these shores of the latest El Dorado. On the bluff immediately above the most thoroughly worked claims, a town (Randolph) was commenced in the following June, and by the next winter about two hundred persons were located here, awaiting the breaking-up of the southeast gales to prosecute their labors. Their efforts, however, were not crowned with the success they anticipated. Some abandoned the place and left for California; others went to Rogue River, and soon the place was deserted.
    We found two or three disconsolate families collected in the public pound, or corral, making an "arbitration," as a very talkative lady informed us, of the cattle of a couple who, having been married a year, had found the hymeneal chains to hang heavily, and were about separating for life. Leaving nearly the entire population, consisting of nine men and women and a number of children, to this occupation, we drew up at the door of the least ruined house, and dismounted, to the satisfaction of a flock of flaxen-haired urchins, to whom our arrival was evidently a matter of great moment. A very pretty and interesting woman welcomed us, and was soon busily engaged preparing our supper. Meanwhile we strolled out to see the lions of Randolph. Several vacant lots in a "streak" of deserted pine dwellings attracted my curiosity enough to inquire what had become of the houses; when our hostess responded that they had fallen a sacrifice to the fuel-gathering hands of the remaining population--in a word, they had been used up as firewood. What a picture! A town springing from nothing--growing--culminating in its career of prosperity, and burned as fuel in its decadence!
    In another year not a clapboard will remain to tell the whereabout of Randolph. Our hostess--whom we thought far too pretty to be wasting the bloom of her beauty in this bleak corner of Oregon--soon spread before us an excellent supper, to which we did such extreme justice that even she, not unused to the voracity of her Oregon visitors, stared up from her sewing at the rapid disappearance of the edibles. The master of the house announcing that our beds were ready, we tumbled into our blankets and slept soundly until daybreak, when the adjacent frizzling of some elk steaks operating upon the olfactories of H-----, he opened his eyes, sprang out of bed, and hastened to array himself. Breakfast dispatched and the bills paid, we remounted, and leaving the silent town to its requiem of the eternal surf, we struck off from the coast, and plunged directly into the woods. The most interesting part of our ride had now commenced.
    The forest we were entering extends along the Oregon coast from Rogue River to Washington Territory, except where broken by rivers or belts of other timber. It is composed of spruce, fir, and yellow and white pine, and forms a mass of motionless woods of giant growth and dark as a Gothic cathedral. Five minutes took us beyond the sound of the restless surf, and even the waving of the pines, as they wagged their tops in the gale, ceased as we penetrated deeper into the solemn silence of this grand old forest. The path, which had been cut through it at public expense, just wide enough to admit a horseman, was crossed in every direction with gnarled and crooked roots, forbidding our passage at a rate faster than a walk. The view, unobstructed by jungle or shrubbery, was bounded on every side by a perspective of great trunks, not twisted into knees, or protruding unsightly branches like the oak, but straight as arrows, and reaching, in some instances, an altitude of nearly three hundred feet.
    No sound save the rustling of our stirrups against the low whortleberry bushes and blackberry vines disturbed the impressive stillness of the scene. Here and there lay the decayed form of some ancient monarch of the glade, and of such age that the twisted roots of pines not far from a century old were straddled athwart their trunks, and which had evidently sprung into life since the fall of the older tree. We thus estimated the age of several fallen cedars, which must have been growing centuries before Columbus discovered the continent. The soil over which we were passing was a rich loam, extending to an unknown depth, and the face of the country slightly undulating, not unlike the surface of the Pacific still heaving with the long swells of a past tempest. Occasionally, in the deepest of these dells, appeared a growth of oak or myrtle, among whose more extended foliage the sunlight glimmered in fine contrast to the darkening woods around; but every tree grew straight upward, as if shunning the deep shadows below, and following their instincts by stretching their arms toward the only point where sun and blue sky were visible. As we got deeper into the timber we gradually ceased conversation, and each occupied with his own thoughts was speculating, perhaps, upon the probable time when the advance of civilization should sweep away this cloud of foliage, when we came suddenly upon a large tree lately fallen across the trail, its broken limbs piled high before us, and offering an impassable barrier to our further progress.
    An impenetrable growth of thickly matted bushes prevented our tracing the trunk to the stump, and thus regaining the path on the opposite side, while toward the left the path, having been cut along the edge of a steep glade filled with young myrtle and hemlocks, gave little encouragement for our passage by that route. While we were calculating the chances of forcing a way through to the right, H-----, who had ever prided himself upon his woodcraft, discovered a newly made path to the left, which he at once pronounced to be the track of two horsemen whom our hostess at Randolph informed us had gone to Coos Bay some days before. "It is evident," said he, with a peculiar logical accent common to most professional men--"it is evident that this tree has fallen previous to the passage of these two men, and, depend upon it, we shall come out right if we follow their trail."
    H----- was generally right in his conclusions, and as this appeared a reasonable one, and none better suggested itself, we spurred the unwilling horses down the descent, slowly breaking our way through the thick bushes, and following as near as possible the direction of the road. We were soon at fault, however, as the opening disappeared after a few yards, and my companion, who was in front, had just signified his intention of retracing our steps, when his horse suddenly started, and, with a snort of terror, reared into the air, and plunging up the hill at a pace which defied the impediments of bush or briars, dashed into the road, and back in the direction to Randolph, H----- shouting,
    "Good G--d, see that bear! Whoa! Look out! Whoa, boy! Look out for yourself W----! he's coming this way!"
    The whole occurred so quickly that before I could collect my thoughts my horse had sprung up the hill, and now the animals, somewhat removed from the immediate vicinity of his bearship, stood facing the jungle, and with nostrils distended and ears erect, stared wildly at the spot where Bruin had been seen.
    Neither of us were bear hunters or trappers, and as little acquainted with the method of attacking so formidable an animal as any good citizens alone in an Oregon forest. In the few bear stories I could recall at the moment, the main feature which presented itself to my recollection was climbing a tree, but the enormous trunks around offered very dubious facilities for such an operation.
    "Now then," said H-----, "we must pass that tree, and how to avoid a fight is the question. I'd certainly rather retrace our steps than hazard a pistol battle with the monster I just saw."
    For my part I had not yet seen the enemy, and with my rifle ready in my hand, was wondering where he would next make his appearance, when the crackling of the bushes showed that he was on the move. With eyes fixed upon the copse, we awaited his appearance. Luckily, however, Bruin was as little disposed for a battle as ourselves, and probably overrating our forces, made his way out above us, and disappeared in the woods.
    By noon we had penetrated fourteen miles into the forest, sometimes crossing elk and bear trails, now cantering along an even tract of country, bereft of shrubbery, and overshadowed by the same huge trees, or plodding slowly through green copses of underbrush, the vines clambering up the mighty trunks, hanging in long green festoons from the branches, and forming natural arbors through which the path was barely discernible. A small log hut, erected in an open space, and nearly in ruins, is known as the " Halfway House," and is the only sign of civilization along the route. Here we dismounted, and tying our horses by their riatas, allowed them to nibble a while at the grass, while we attacked the whortleberries, hanging in profuse clusters upon the bushes.
    We were a month too late for the blackberries, the vines of which spread in all directions, and showed traces of the visits of numerous beasts, who are decidedly epicures in their taste for fruit. Here we began to discover evidences of the great coal deposits, which are eventually to make this section of Oregon the Newcastle of the Pacific, and as effectually terminate the importation of that article around Cape Horn as has already nearly been done with flour.
    Remounting, we struggled along through the labyrinth of trunks, until at sundown a slight rise in the ground gave us a glimpse of daylight through the forest. A citizen of Empire City suddenly appeared, and paused aghast in his route at sight of two strangers. The grip on his trusty rifle was a little tightened as we approached, but seeing we were immigrants, and probably not connected with any of the local issues of the Coos Bay country, he shouted,
    "Dern my skin, but when I heered the brush a-crackin', I thought I had ketched that cow at last. How are ye strangers--bound to Coos?"
    We replied, and after a brief interchange of news, we pursued our way. He pointed out, as we parted, the graves of five children who had been crushed by the falling of a tree some twelve months before.
    After the discovery of the coal deposits, there was "a rush" of some twenty families to the mineral region, most of whom cleared and claimed, under the law of 1847, six hundred and forty acres of land each. To avoid the danger of falling trees, it is necessary to burn and fell all suspicious ones within a few hundred yards of the dwelling. One night the father heard an ominous crackling in the direction of a giant pine which had been steadily consuming under the action of fire for a week past. The family was asleep, but like lightning the danger flashed upon the settler, and arousing his wife, they seized two of the children, and hurried the bewildered little flock into the night air. But the warning had come too late. As they issued from the hut, the tree--a monstrous pillar of wood, little lower than the cross of Trinity Church in New York--toppled from its center and fell to the earth. The cabin was directly in a line with its descent, and was smashed to atoms. A little mound, over which clamber a few blackberry vines, marks the lonely grave.
    As we neared the edge of the forest, the regular strokes of an ax resounding in echoes through the shadowy silence showed we were nearing our place of destination. The horses, now quite worn down with the wearisome route, pricked up their ears at the sound, and quickening their pace, we issued from the woods upon the banks of a beautiful and spacious bay, stretching some three miles directly beyond us, and about five to the right and left. The surrounding woods were clearly depicted in its glassy surface, while the swelling tide swept nobly up to the spot where we stood. It was the famous Coos Bay, of which some indistinct accounts had reached San Francisco, but which, passed over in the reconnaissance of the United States Coast Survey, had remained unexplored and almost unknown. Indeed, no maps or charts, save the one afterward made by myself from rough sketches, exist of this fine sheet of water.
    To the right lay the little town of Empire City--every collection of dwellings in Oregon and California is a city--composed of some thirty houses, mostly of boards, and from the midst of which a half-finished wharf projected into the bay. A hasty glance at the scene sufficed; for our animals were already gazing wistfully at the place, with visions of corn or barley, doubtless, rising in the dim perspective. So with as brisk a gait as we could assume, we entered the town--the entire population completely electrified by our arrival, and crowding around us as curious specimens of humanity, which, in truth, we were.
    Our friend, Mr. Rogers, hastened out to meet us; and, rescuing his visitors from the crowd, hurried us into his store, where we were not long in making ourselves at home.
    Behold us now before a crackling fire of pine knots, alternately sipping the contents of a copious bowl of whiskey punch--and such whiskey, shade of Bacchus!--and detailing to the attentive listeners the news from "Frisco," as San Francisco is here familiarly termed. The mail facilities between Coos Bay and the great commercial metropolis of the Pacific are extremely uncertain and by no means regular; so our arrival was a matter of the greatest moment.
    Mr. Rogers's store is the commercial and political headquarters of Coos Bay. The stout proprietor himself, a rosy-cheeked, educated Vermonter, has held some of the most important offices in the gift of the people, and his hearty manners and good-natured laugh have won for him the reputation of the most popular man at Coos. The store is the resort of the inhabitants for many miles around on Sundays; when, seated on the counter, they discuss the most important topics, and select goods from the assortment of our host. A glance around the shelves revealed the extent of his stock. which, as a racy informant remarked in answer to my look of inquiry, consisted of "green groceries"--i.e., black bread and vinegar!
    As the fire lighted up the interior of the rough dwelling, and brought into bold relief the stalwart forms of men whose tastes and occupations had led them into this corner of the world for a livelihood, it was difficult to realize that four years ago the bare existence of such a place as Coos Bay was unknown.
    The evening wore away with songs and stories; jolly great pipes of tobacco black as "sooty Acheron" were smoked and refilled; more logs were piled upon the fire, and rough jokes flew around the merry circle. At last, weary with the ride, and perhaps a little overcome by the hospitality of our entertainers, we were shown to a species of shed, the sign over the door of which read thus:
and denoted the sole public house of Empire City. Here we addressed ourselves to sleep, and, after a round twelve hours, came out on the following day, brisk as larks and prepared to see the lions.
    Coos Bay is about twenty miles in length and from three to four in width. It is entered from the ocean--or, rather, the ocean discharges into it, as the inhabitants affirm--by a narrow channel, perhaps half a mile wide from land to land. The navigation is somewhat intricate, but not dangerous. There is depth of water for vessels loaded to ten or twelve feet, and numerous cargoes of coal have been taken to San Francisco--a distance of about four hundred miles. The mines are some twenty miles from the bar or entrance, and facilities already exist for the rapid loading of vessels. The coal, which extends over a country some thirty miles by twenty, is abundant, accessible, and of good quality. As yet only a few banks have been opened. An immense trade--that of supplying the Pacific Coast with coal--is destined to spring up between this point and California.
    During our four months' stay at Coos and vicinity, we took frequent advantage of the numerous offers of our acquaintance to make excursions across and up the bay--sometimes to join in the excitement of the chase, salmon fishing, or surveying the interesting country about us. The scenery around the bay is made up of deep, silent pine and fir forests, often relieved with the gayer-tinted foliage of the birch and maple. Toward the ocean, where the northwest winds prevailing in the summer months have heaped up symmetrical mounds of sand, all traces of vegetation disappear, and a desolate expanse of white mingles in the horizon with the blue line of the sea. An incessant roar, mellowed by the distance into a hoarse murmur, marks where the surf chafes among the rocks skirting the entrance to the bay.
    Days and weeks may pass away, and if you go beyond the small circle of civilization around the town, you will meet with no living thing but the passive Indian squaw dragging her load of fish to the cabin, or some startled wild beast, quickly darting out of sight into the depth of the woods.
    Early one morning I was roused out by appointment to join in a tramp to the South Heads in search of otter. This trade has already assumed an importance among the whites of Lower Oregon, who purchase these and other peltries of the Indians. We made a party of three, and taking a narrow path, which to me became utterly lost in five minutes, we were soon traversing a dense mass of woods, in which the crinkling of our steps among the leaves were the only disturbing sounds. An hour's walk brought us out upon the coast, which here makes into numerous tiny inlets and bayous, formed by the large rocks around, and among which the sea lashes with resistless fury. Beyond us the surf made out in high successive banks of foam, any one of which would have proved the death warrant of the stoutest ship afloat. A stiff breeze blew from seaward, and as the roaring walls of water toppled inland before the increasing gale, I could scarcely imagine how otter or any other living creature could be shot, much less captured in such wild commotion.
    My companions, among whom was an Indian known as Chu-wally, bid me have my rifle in readiness. Cautiously descending toward a battlement of dripping rocks, serving to break the force of the sea, but still streaming with thousands of milk-white rivulets of foam, we halted, while Chu-wally, stripping himself to the buff, crawled to the ledge and looked over into the little calm space of water under the lee of the rocks. For some moments he remained motionless, and then, without changing his position, raised his hand in signal to us. "Down! close down !" whispered Billy Romanes, the best rifle-shot in the country, as we moved silently toward the spot. Slowly we crept up the steep crags, the booming surf wetting us to the skin as we ascended.
    We reached the summit, and peering over the brink, gazed down upon four beautiful otter sporting in the little nook beneath. A single unguarded motion would have alarmed these timid creatures, and the utmost caution was necessary; for while the deafening roar of the ocean is a noise they are accustomed to, the click of a lock, or the bungling hitting of a rifle stock against a rock, sends them out of sight in an instant. There were apparently two old females, each with a young one, though the difference in size was scarcely perceptible to a novice. At times, in the long smooth swell of the cove they would gracefully throw their entire forms out of the water; but this is rare, and the hunter is only too glad to get a moment's sight at the head above the surface. These appeared to be in a frolicsome mood, chasing each other about, now swimming rapidly on their backs, and disappearing to shoot up again in another moment. We lay perfectly quiet until both could bring our rifles to bear, when, as the two appeared together, they received our fire. Simultaneously with the flash of our rifles they disappeared, but leaving a streak of blood to prove the accuracy of one or both of us.
    After a few moments we were gratified to observe one of them floating dead upon the water, and scarcely had we reloaded when a second, badly wounded, showed his head; both fired, and the game was our own, and Chu-wally plunged in and dragged them successively to the shore. They were of the silver-gray species, the most valuable fur, except that of the marten, taken in this section of Oregon, and worth in San Francisco about $35 each. We soon had them skinned, and throwing away the flesh, which is unfit for eating, we trudged homeward, quite satisfied with our good fortune. These furs, which, when dressed, are extremely beautiful and soft, are fast becoming rare and more valuable. The Chinese in San Francisco pay the highest price for them for shipment to the celestial regions, furs being a mark of dignity and power in China.
    On the smooth ocean beach the marksmen of Oregon sometimes shoot the otter through the surf. As the bank of water moves majestically toward the shore, the otter, who understands better than all other animals how to maneuver in the breakers, spreads himself flat on the outer or seaward side, and moves rapidly in to the land. His form is plainly visible through the thin water, as through a plate of glass. The hunter stands beyond the force of the surf, and when the game has been borne to within rifle-shot, the unerring bullet cuts through the transparent element, and it is rarely that the shot is not rewarded with the much-coveted prize. The land otter has a smaller and less valuable fur, and, like the beaver, is often taken in traps on the Coquille, Umpqua, and Rogue rivers. The rifle, however, that unfailing reliance of the frontiersman, is the common weapon used against the entire brute creation in Oregon.
    The world offers no better hunting grounds than these wild woods of the north. Here are found a variety of deer, and the brown and black bear (the grizzly is not seen north of the California line). The stately elk, with such antlers as the hunters of the Eastern States have no conception of, runs in bands of hundreds in the interior; the black, gray, and white wolf, and the numberless little delicately furred creatures who are made to contribute their soft coverings to the rich robes now so fashionable in the Northern United States, are all found in this region.
    In midwinter, when the huntsman plods his way amidst the world of pines, bending their lofty tops beneath a continuous roof of snow, the muffled echo of a rifle will sometimes indicate the presence of man, when no other sound than the hungry howl of the wolf, or the sudden rush of the elk, disturbs the silence. Let the wanderer issue from the forest, and climbing the nearest hill, gaze through the rarefied atmosphere toward the north. If he is beyond the Siuslaw, he will see a blue cone far away, rising into the clouds, and traced in feathery outline against the sky. It is Mount Hood, the fourth loftiest peak in the world. Apparently nearby, but yet weary days' travel apart, as the traveler will find, should he make the journey, stand two others, Adams and Jefferson. At early dawn these huge landmarks present a deep indigo color; but as the ascending sun flashes against their steep declivities, the blue suddenly changes into a glitter of eternal ice, white as a glacier, and of all spectacles in the great north the most splendid. But let not my unworthy pen desecrate these grand old mountains with an attempt at description. Descend we again to the game.
    Partridges, quails, woodcocks, or prairie hens have never yet been seen, but the clouds of curlew, snipe, teal ducks, and geese, greedily feeding along the marshes and river banks, are incredible. Some sportsmen deny the existence of the canvasback duck on the Pacific Coast; but the puntloads which our party slaughtered last winter would soon convince them of their error.
    The Indians of this section of country are by no means the fierce and warlike race found further to the northward in Upper Oregon and Washington Territory. Although viciously disposed, they have long since learned to estimate the character of the whites at its proper value. Under the protection or rule of the Indian agents they are furnished with a certain amount of blankets and food throughout the year, and from their association with the whites have lost much of their savage ferocity.
    An Indian dance or merrymaking having been announced near the bay, the whole available population turned out to "assist" at it. Entering an open space in the woods toward midnight, we found about thirty braves and squaws gathered around an immense fire of pine logs, the flames from which lit up their grotesque accouterments and hideously painted faces, while the surrounding forest, echoing their monotonous chants, was dimly illumined with the red glare. For a space of twenty yards around the fire the scene was a blaze of light, but from that point the woods receded into an impenetrable gloom. We dismounted, and fastening our horses to the limbs, entered at once among them. Here an old squaw, whose leathern hide, naked from the waist up, lay like the folds of oiled parchment over her attenuated form, sat rocking herself to and fro, mumbling an indescribable jargon. She was stone blind. There a bevy of young ones, tattooed and bedaubed beyond all description, joined their voices to a jumping, jolting dance, hand in hand, back and forth, toward and away from the fire. Beyond were seated, as near to the flames as the heat would allow, a row of Indians all fantastically dressed, beating time to the chant with sticks, which they held crossways in their hands, and at given signals rattled nervously together.
    Several old chiefs seemed to act as leaders in the festivities, and at their signal a wild, unearthly yell arose, which, but for the presence of my companions, I might easily have construed into a war whoop. All were in motion; rocking, dancing, jumping, or stepping, in uncouth gait, to the time of the music or chant. Perspiration flowed in streams, and the decidedly careless display of female animated nature would have driven less interested, and perhaps more scrupulous, spectators than ourselves from the scene. As the flames roared their chorus with the hideous noise of these creatures, it seemed like a dance of fiends incarnate in some orgy of Pandemonium. Hanging up in elongated wicker baskets, so closely woven as to be waterproof, were some dozen papooses strapped to the straight back of these portable cradles, and nothing but the head of the little imps visible from among the firs and dirt.
    An Indian burial is scarcely a less remarkable scene. Formerly the body was burned, and the wife of the corpse killed and interred with the body. This, and numerous other like horrible practices, have been summarily abolished by the settlers. When one of the community begins to show signs of dissolution (which is usually hastened by the sweating or other sanitary process to which the sick are submitted), the whole tribe commences a terrible outcry, which generally lasts through the dying agony of the sufferer. The body is then stretched upon the ground and sprinkled with sand and the ashes of seaweed or kelp. The legs are forcibly doubled up toward the head, and the ankles tied as closely as the rigidity of the corpse will permit, to the neck. The relatives of the deceased shave their heads and place the hair upon the body--thus rolled into a heap--together with some shells and nutritive roots for the dead to subsist upon. The body is then lowered into the grave, which is made of a length to accommodate the diminution of size to which the defunct has been submitted. The earth being thrown in, the whole tribe jump alternately upon it until the ground becomes quite solid. The baskets, clothing, spears, and all personal property, is formed into a heap, packed upon the grave, and covered securely with sticks and stones. With a chief, the ceremonies are more impressive and lengthy.
    The wolf of Southern Oregon is the fiercest animal--not even excepting the bear--to be found in the country. These prowling fellows, when driven to extremities, will approach a herd of cattle, and a band of three or four spring upon a cow, and in a short time completely devour the victim. The white wolf, which is considered the most dangerous, is about five feet in length, and nearly as high as a yearling calf. The strength and ferocity of this beast is wonderful, and many a mortal struggle has occurred between the wounded white wolf and the hunters. On two occasions, while at Coos Bay, we heard of the depredations of wolves, and joining parties to start in chase, were disappointed by the incredible cunning which seems to guide them from all pursuit. Once a party of four left Empire City, in a small sailboat, for Wappalo, or Isthmus Creek, in the upper part of the bay, where two large wolves had been seen for several days,
    With plenty of provisions and ammunition, we shot away from the wharf, and, giving the sail to the wind, were soon scudding "like mad" before a staggering westerly breeze, rapidly passing the wood-crowned headlands, and awakening the echoes with an occasional rifle report, at which some doomed pelican or eagle came tumbling from their proud elevation. Arrived "at point proposed," we found a couple of friends awaiting us, and swelling our number to six. The chase lasted all night, but was unsuccessful. We had just seated ourselves under an immense pine, and had commenced an assault upon the eatables with all the earnest vigor of hungry men, when F----, one of the best hunters in the bay, suddenly sprang up and whispered "Silence!" But we needed no such admonition, for already the ground began to tremble beneath us with the tread of an approaching band of elk. Quick as thought we had dispersed to a distance of two hundred yards apart, and, squatting low in the underbrush, had scarcely time to breathe free before the low growth of trees toward the mountains separated, and the form of a noble elk appeared, advancing proudly toward the stream we had just left. He stopped as he thrust his head from among the leaves, snuffed and stamped impatiently, and evidently smelled danger; but he had already passed our most distant outpost, and to return was equally hazardous. With daintily lifted feet and nose protruded he brushed past, and in an another moment was followed by a herd, one, two, six, ten--it was impossible to count them. I had determined to await the signal of F-----'s shot, and had my own target singled out when the sharp ring of a rifle awoke the forest echoes. The herd started and dashed past the ambush, while the woods resounded with five reports in quick succession. Like light the beautiful animals vanished, but with the thundering tread of a troop of cavalry. Two of their number lay plunging on the earth, and a third, grievously wounded, was making a succession of agonizing springs to follow in the path of his companions. Another shot brought him down, and now dispatching the others, we felt that at least our wolf hunt had not been in vain.
    My companions had promised me a shot at an elk, but even they had not anticipated such luck. The meat was soon packed to the boat, and at midnight we were again in Empire City.
    Marsh bird shooting is mere slaughter, though J----- was "innocent of duck blood" to the last. We once loaded a boat with waterfowl, the result of but two hours' shooting. Starting at early dawn, we sailed rapidly toward a creek extending several miles inland from the bar, and reaching its headwaters, drifted leisurely down. The stream, some two hundred yards wide, dimly reflected in its bosom the somber shadows of the pines and firs skirting its margin. An intense silence reigned. The cry of the sedate crane, as he stood "knee-deep" in some shallow pool watching patiently for his prey, or the quick twir-r-r of a flock of blue-winged teal or mallard cutting hurriedly through the air, and settling quietly upon some reedy shore below, alone disturbed the stillness. We landed on a grassy meadow, and leaving one in the boat to follow the stream, the others occupied the space between the two lines of woods. The first shot fired rolled with a thousand echoes through the forest, and in a moment arose ten thousand winged creatures from the "plashy brink" of creek and bayou, embracing every style of marsh bird and duck that can be mentioned. With every discharge these flights from place to place continued. At times they would settle down in our immediate vicinity, and apparently offer themselves voluntary sacrifices. Unable, owing to their low flight, to pass beyond the woods guarding the banks, they followed the line of water, and never failed to pass over the ambush below. We only ceased this "pot hunting" when, weary of the slaughter, we found our boat loaded with game.
    The hunters in this vicinity seldom use the shotgun, and consider such shooting as the above quite unworthy the waste of powder.
    For some weeks previous to Christmas great preparations had been made for the observance of that time-honored anniversary. Now, in Oregon, where people reside ten miles apart, and call a man neighbor who lives half a day's journey away, it is not so easy to make up a fashionable party, for sundry reasons, as in Fifth Avenue, or any other of the "close settlements" in New York. If a hop is to take place, weeks must be given to prepare in; the "store clothes" taken out, aired and brushed, old bonnets furbished up, horses driven in from distant pasture, and saddles made ready. Then the nearest settlement must be applied to for a proper amount of whiskey and sugar, raisins and flour. But on the occasion above alluded to, great efforts were made to have matters go off with éclat. Deacon L-----, residing on the ocean beach, about twenty miles to the southward of Coos Bay, and known as the most liberal, warmhearted old gentleman of Southern Oregon, had appropriated, some time in advance, the right to give the Christmas ball. It was to last two days and two nights. Oceans of whiskey, hills of venison and beef, no end of pies and "sech like." The ladies of all Coos County were to be there, and a fiddler from the distant point of Port Orford itself engaged. To this feast did all hands look forward with secret longing and hope. "Two days beforehand the exodus for Deacon L-----'s began to take place, and among the invited guests were the two "Frisco chaps," i.e., H----- and myself. And on Christmas Eve the ball commenced. There were gay roistering blades from Port Orford, gallants from Coos Bay, select men and distinguished individuals from all over the country, and belles from everywhere. Such a recherché affair had not occurred since the settlement of the Territory. For two nights and days the festivities continued; and after all the dancing, riding, drinking, singing, and laughing--and all this without sleeping, and with a determination to "never give up"--there were buxom forms and brilliant eyes that dared us to another breakdown!
    I snap my fingers at all civilized Miss Nancys henceforth and forever. Give me, for the essence of fun and the physical ability to carry it out, a corn-fed, rosy-cheeked, bouncing Oregon lass, with eyes bright as the rivers that sparkle merrily on their way to the sea from those snow-clad mountains, and hearts light as the fresh breezes of that northern climate! I may forget the Central American excitement; sooner or later I shall have forgotten the birth of an heir to the French throne; the siege of Sevastopol may fade away, but that Oregon ball will be ever fresh in my memory.
    On recovering from this, we had made up our minds to start for California; but one day, while firing at a target--the same being a ten-penny nail driven half way to the head in a pine tree--a long, lanky Missourian informed me that a whale had drifted ashore near the Heads, and that the Indians, agreeably to their custom, had commenced devouring him.
    "That's very extraordinary," said I.
    "Wal, hoss, replied my informant, "jest you mount and ride thar, and ef you don't see 'em eatin' that thar leetle fish, thar's no snakes"; and his nostrils dilated with anger at my look of incredulity.
    So we mounted and rode, and after an hour's scamper along a level ocean coast, a vile smell began to demonstrate the truth of at least one part of my friend's information. At a distance, and forming a hillock on the white beach, lay an unwieldy mass of something, around which we could see at least a hundred Indians hasting from place to place. We clapped spurs to the horses, and arriving at the spot, found a scene which I almost despair of depicting. The whale, which I believe was a large "humpback," had, as is often the case on this coast, got into shallow water, and in his struggles and alarm presenting his body broadside on, had been rolled by the mighty surf high up the beach, like a cask or log of wood. He must have lain there some time, as all the air was a putrid stench, such as I hope never again to inhale. The huge creature lay on his side, and the sand had already buried a portion of the carcass so as to render it immovable. The surf at high water had broken entirely over it, but now there remained a considerable space of bare beach outside.
    This space, and the ground for twenty yards around, was occupied by the Indians, who seemed to consider this some special dispensation of the Great Spirit in their behalf. A deafening row disputed possession of the air with the stench. Nearly all were naked, and attacking the whale like ants. Here appeared a little, pot-bellied child, whose limbs seemed scarcely capable of sustaining the swelling paunch that overtopped them, staggering up the beach with an armful of putrid blubber, the oily substance trickling down over his little body in a hundred glistening streams; there a lusty fellow with a knife, carving away as for dear life--dissecting the huge subject before him--cutting his way into the interior. Farther on are two squaws, fighting for the proprietary right to a square chunk of whale, in shape something like a cake of ice as sold in New York, the said chunk coated with sand half an inch thick, as the delicious morsel has been rolled about in the squabble. Beyond, an old creature has overburdened herself with the treasures of the deep, and, in pure exhaustion, decides to rest awhile, seated upon the jealously guarded prize. Still another group represents the Laocoon, the father and sons being three members of a family, and the avenging serpent a long string of the unctuous blubber, under and with which they are struggling up the beach. Everybody is busy. Even the chiefs have thrown aside their dignity in the excitement of the moment, and join the general assault.
    We proceeded up the beach to where some fires were burning, near a few temporary huts. Here several women were roasting the fish, which they devoured apparently before it was well warmed through. No fair in England ever produced, in proportion, a greater noise. My companion said they would stick by the wreck until not a plank (nautically speaking) remained, when, gorged with marine matter, they would take to the mountains, and diet on berries and young hornets. I saw the latter cooked and eaten, which is done in the following manner: A hornet or wasp's nest, perforated, as usual, with hundreds of little cells, where the young are deposited, is obtained from the hollow of some decayed tree, where they are easily found. My lady Squaw brings this cake, which is here nearly a foot in diameter, to the fire, and deliberately roasts the juvenile occupants of the cells alive. She concludes by turning the cake upside down, patting it briskly on the back, and eating the baked tenants, like whortleberries, as they tumble out! This is considered an excellent corrective after overindulgence in blubber. Pike, who spoke the jargon, attempted to get into conversation with some of these Indians, but they only replied with gestures. The occasion of a whale ashore was too rare and momentous for frivolous discussion.
    The salmon fisheries of Oregon are yet scarcely known. Even in San Francisco, where the resources of the Pacific Coast should be well understood, there seems to be but little attention given to this subject. There are two "runs" of salmon every year in all the rivers and bays of Oregon, from the Chetco to the Umpqua inclusive. But one attempt has been made in Oregon to use the seine, which was on the Rogue River. With imperfect apparatus and every disadvantage to work against, above five thousand of these fish were hauled from the river in two days with the assistance of the Indians, These were packed with refuse salt, and in so hurried a manner that the fish were not cured, and hence the statement, believed by many intelligent persons, that salmon cannot be salted on the Pacific Coast owing to certain atmospheric causes. The English, however, with a better knowledge of affairs, have already sent two full cargoes from Vancouver's Island to China, for the salmon are found as far north even as the Russian possessions. These form the chief article of food for the Indians in Coos Bay as well as on the entire coast, and their method of catching them with hooks and spears is often an interesting spectacle.
    I had intimated to my friend, Mr. Rogers, my desire to witness a torchlight salmon excursion, and with his usual courtesy he organized an expedition for my special benefit. The Indians collected at a point a mile below Empire City, and were nearly one entire day making their preparations. The canoes were first cleaned out and furnished with a barbed spear of wood tipped with iron or glass. A pile of pitch-pine knots were also placed in each, and other arrangements made, the nature of which I did not understand. Determined to sec the whole performance, I embarked in a frail affair--a species of dugout--having for my crew an old squaw, whose bleared eyes and skinny, wrinkled hideousness, illumined with the glare of the torch she had stuck in the bow of the canoe, reminded me of the gaunt features of some foul witch from regions damned. But I soon found that my female Charon was not to be despised, for she plied her paddle with the dexterity of a--for aught I know--century's experience. We soon reached a little bend in the bay where the fleet was congregated, and the sport commenced.
    The operation was simple enough. Each canoe contained two persons, a squaw squatting in the stern to take the fish from the spear and replenish the fire; and an Indian, who, from the bows, darted his weapon with absolute certainty at the fish. The light of the fire seemed to possess some attraction for the finny denizens of the bay; for as the glare passed along the surface of the water, they would dart upward toward it and become the sure prey of the spearsman. In a trice, the drumming of captured salmon was heard from a dozen boats, and my crew became so excited thereat that she nearly threw me out of the cockleshell in gesticulating and screaming to her grandson, who was not displaying any remarkable dexterity on that night. The cold was severe, my hands and feet were soon benumbed, and yet this apparently bloodless old creature, almost naked, showed no signs of suffering.
    The scene was one of the most remarkable I ever witnessed, and but for the cold would have been superb. At my request the squaw paddled me alongside a canoe, the proprietor of which lent me his spear; but though he pointed out dozens of salmon, some of them glorious fellows, three feet long, my unpracticed hand met with no success.
    In an hour the novelty of the thing had passed, and I gave the signal to return. There were about five hundred fish taken in that time.
    Another method is to use the common fish hook. The fleet of canoes start for some favorable locality where the bight of the land leaves the water free from the action of the current, and the surface is speedily covered with dozens of little reels, on each of which are wound about ten yards of line. There are generally about half a dozen hooks attached to the end, which are allowed to hang from ten to twelve feet below the surface, being suspended at that gauge by a float. The salmon bite greedily at the bait, and swim away, unwinding the line as they go. The reel spins around with great velocity, which is the signal for the proprietor to paddle up, haul in the captive, and administer a stunning tap on the head with a small stick provided for the purpose. There are often a dozen canoes engaged at once in this fishery--all gliding swiftly about, and more than busily engaged by the rapidity of the bites. These salmon are, beyond comparison, the most delicious in the world, even surpassing the famous ones taken in the Sacramento River in California.
    The coal deposits of Coos Bay should be the subject of a separate article, and require more space than could be devoted to them in the limits of these pages. A report, recently published by myself in San Francisco, contains the outlines of what will doubtless become hereafter widely discussed. That the importation of coal to California via Cape Horn from Europe and the Eastern States must eventually cease, few who are acquainted with the facts will deny. A space of country about the size of Rhode Island is a solid bed of coal, outcropping wherever a ravine or break occurs. The veins are from six to ten feet thick. The coal has been repeatedly and satisfactorily tested, and proved to be well adapted to steamship purposes. It is in quality not unlike the Scotch cannel, but lighter, and when unmixed with foreign substances burns to clear red ashes. But these are only a few of the boundless treasures of the unexplored regions of the Pacific, and which, as the country becomes populated, are destined to teach the inhabitants of the extreme West to rely on their own resources. California and Oregon produce nearly every article necessary to the comfort and subsistence of man, and it needs but the construction of the great avenue of population--the national railroad--to bring the country to the pinnacle of greatness and wealth. Shall we live to see it built?
William V. Wells, "Wild Life in Oregon," Harper's Magazine, October 1856, pages 588-608  Better scans of the article and engravings are available here.


    The following report of the editor gives an account of this incident of his service, and a fair description of the country passed over by the escort and surveying party, the region (the Modoc country) in which years after the life of the gallant and accomplished soldier, General Canby, was uselessly and criminally sacrificed, through the wretched peace policy of the administration at Washington. The report was published in the Army and Navy Journal soon after the sad intelligence reached the East.
Major E. D. Townsend, Asst. Adjt.-General, U.S.A.
    Headquarters Department of the Pacific, Benicia, California:
        Major:--Having already advised you of the fact of my arrival at this post, with a part of the escort of Lieut. Robert S. Williamson, Topographical Engineers, upon his recent survey and exploration, I beg leave to make the following report in relation to the expedition, but having no connection with its objects and results, as determined by Lieutenant Williamson.
    The detachment of Company D, 3rd Artillery (acting as infantry) and of Companies D and E, 4th Infantry, left Fort Reading under the command of Lieut. George Crook, 4th Infantry(1) on the 26th of July, with the pack train. I was detained at that post by severe indisposition until the 28th, when I started with the detachment (C and E) of the 1st Dragoons, under charge of Lieut. John B. Hood, 4th Infantry(2), and with Lieutenant Williamson's party. On the 29th we overtook Lieutenant Crook encamped at Macomber's Flats on Battle Creek, about thirty miles from Fort Reading. From this point our march was continuous and uninterrupted, save by such delays as became necessary to recruit our animals, to bring up the sick and stragglers of the command, and to enable Lieutenant Williamson to make reconnaissances of the country. Our route from Fort Reading to Canoe Creek lay across the western spur of the Sierra Nevada under Lassen's Butte, and a portion of it, together with that along Canoe Creek, through valleys and tablelands filled with confused masses of lava or pedregal, and thickly overgrown with manzanita and artemisia bushes. From its mouth to that of Fall River we passed through a mountainous country, characterized by the same pedregal formation, and the soil producing the same species of bushes, with here and there a scattered growth of pines. Crossing Pit River below and near the canon above Fall River (where Lieut. Hood left us and Lieut. Philip H. Sheridan, 4th Infantry, joined), and ascending a precipitous bluff, we saw but little difference in the features of the country. Above the cañon we passed into a broad bottom, producing a fine growth of grass, but abounding in pools of stagnant water, and through which the river flowed with a sluggish current. Except while following an emigrant trail, the soft and porous soil of the valley made our march a painful and fatiguing one to our over-packed animals and foot soldiers. Leaving Pit River at the point where it began to flow to the southward, we passed over an easy, though hilly, road and through a very picturesque country, and encamped in a beautiful little valley, watered by a fine little stream, about ten miles to north of the river. From this encampment we struck due north to Wright Lake, and thence to Rhett Lake and Lost River, the country presenting no attractive features, being mostly a barren waste, destitute of water and healthy vegetation. Along Lost River there are some few patches of fine grass, but for the greater part of the distance we traveled up to it, no other vegetation was to be seen except the artemisia or wild sage. Having crossed Lost River on its Natural Bridge, and ascending to the head of its southern bend, we struck across to Klamath Lake, and following its shores along the base of the hills we came upon the Klamath River. Ascending the river, after an easy day's march, we reached the lower extremity of the Great Klamath Marsh. We found in our course around the marsh several Indian rancherias, all of which were deserted by the inhabitants on our approach. Quite a number of the Indians, however, came into our camp in the evening, and the next day rendered us a great deal of assistance in crossing the river--guiding us to the ford and furnishing canoes to convey our packs. We marched twelve miles over marshy ground to a small stream--a tributary of the Klamath--and encamped, proceeding the succeeding day on our course towards the Deschutes River. Wherever, during the march, our route led us through pine forests, we found the ground thickly strewn with fallen timber, frequently compelling us to double the distance between the points of our route, and almost everywhere to make our own road, and but rarely finding hard ground to travel over. We reached the Deschutes River on the 26th August, and about thirty-five miles from the point where we struck it established a permanent camp, and Lieutenant Williamson proceeded with Lieutenant Sheridan and the dragoons to explore for a pass through the Cascade Range into the Willamette Valley. We joined him again on the 2nd September, and having established a depot camp in the vicinity of Snow Creek--a tributary of the Deschutes River--in the Cascade Range, about 120 miles south of the Dalles of the Columbia, Lieutenant Williamson started upon another exploration. Leaving Lieutenant Crook in charge of the camp, I proceeded with Lieutenant Abbott (Topographical Engineers) and the pack train to Fort Dalles to procure additional supplies for the expedition. The character of the country between Klamath Marsh and the Dalles has been so well described by Colonel Fremont in his report of his exploration of 1843-44 that I deem any further description in this report unnecessary.(4) We returned from Fort Dalles on the 23rd September, and Lieutenant Williamson having dispensed with the services of the artillery and infantry detachments (as an escort) in the further prosecution of his survey, I began on the 24th the return march by way of Fort Lane. Crossing the summit of the range in the vicinity of our camp, and passing in our route a series of beautiful lakes, with fine grass on their borders and shut in by magnificent forests of pine, we pursued (the course of) a small stream, which proved to be the main branch of the Deschutes River, and diverging from it after a few hours' travel reached the southern tributary of the same river, about ten miles above our first permanent camp. Here we came into the emigrant road leading into the Willamette Valley, and following up the southern branch of the river to its source we crossed the summit of the Cascade Range, and on the 1st October struck the headwaters of the main fork of the Willamette River. Our road led for sixty miles through a dense pine forest, with here and there open spaces, in which we found fine grazing for our animals, and crossed the river some thirty miles from where it entered the valley. Between our depot camp and the emigrant road we found the ground thickly strewn with fallen timber, and in many places very boggy. The road--opened by the emigration of 1853--enters the Willamette Valley and strikes the principal California trail near Eugene City. Proceeding up the valley we crossed the Calapooia Mountains and halted at Winchester on the South Umpqua River to recruit our animals.(5) Hearing there of the outrages committed by the Indians in the Rogue River Valley, I proceeded at once, notwithstanding the exhausted condition of my animals, and although many of my men were quite footsore, by rapid marches to Fort Lane, and reported on the 17th October to the commanding officer of the post. The subsequent movements of the command are already known to the commanding general, and it is therefore unnecessary to state them here.(6)
    I am informed that it is in contemplation to establish a new (military) post in the vicinity of Pit River, and after carefully observing the country I beg leave to suggest two locations, which, I think, would answer the purpose of overawing the Indians living upon that river, whose reputed bad character and unfriendly disposition has not been exaggerated, judging from the bold and impudent behavior of the few who visited our camps. The first location that I would recommend is to be found in the vicinity of the mouth of Canoe Creek. There is an abundance of timber for building purposes--fine meadows of grass, and sufficient arable lands for gardens. There is an elevated plateau, back from the river, extensive enough to afford a good and healthful site for the post--above the malaria, if any there be, arising from (the river). Above the junction a few miles, the creek has a descent of two hundred and fifty feet in half a mile, forming a succession of beautiful cascades, and between them and the river a good location for a post can undoubtedly be found. The distance to Fort Reading is about eighty miles, and from the point where the emigrant road leading under Lassen's Butte crosses Canoe Creek a good wagon road can easily be constructed.
    The second point I would suggest is on the Oregon trail about ten miles due north of the southern bend of Pit River. There is a fine stream of water running through a pretty little valley, surrounded by a forest of excellent pine timber, and affording fine grazing for animals. A post located here would be sufficiently near Pit River to keep the Indians there in check, and has also the advantage of being within reaching distance of the Indian rancherias on and near Rhett Lake. It is about one hundred and seventy-five miles from Fort Reading by our traveled route, but there is, no doubt, a much shorter one. This, I am confident, would prove to be the most healthful location for a post in the neighborhood of Pit River.
    Before closing this report, I deem it my duty to mention the fact that the escort was, at the outset, provided with an insufficient number of pack animals to transport the necessary supplies and outfit of the command, and that, in consequence, it became necessary on leaving Fort Reading to pack the animals as heavily as three hundred pounds each, and even then, although a portion of the command was still behind, animals had to be sent back to Fort Reading from Macomber's Flats, to bring up stores left behind for want of transportation.
    It was not until the command had reached the Deschutes River that our packs became reduced to an average of two hundred pounds each--fifty pounds more than they should have been at the start, considering the nature of the country to be traveled over, and the important objects of the expedition. As a consequence, much delay was occasioned by necessary stoppages to recuperate our animals, while many have been seriously injured and quite a number have been, or eventually will be, lost to the government. Our progress was also greatly retarded by the foot troops, many of whom were at times suffering from chills and fever and diarrhea, and very frequently my rear guard was compelled to encamp at night with the sick, without water and a scarcity of provisions. Pack animals, already overtaxed, had often to be sent back to bring the sick into camp, rarely reaching it until long after nightfall. Owing to the overweight of the packs, I was unable to provide even the sick with animals to ride, when a long march became necessary.
I have the honor to be, Major
    Very respectfully
        Your obedt. servt.
            H. G. GIBSON
                First Lt. 3rd Art.
                    Commanding Escort to Lieutenant Williamson's Surveying Expedition(7)
(1) Major-General during the War, and now Brigadier-General in the Army.
(2) General in the Confederate Army--now deceased.
(3) Lieutenant-General in the Army.
(4) Whilst passing through this region, one afternoon Henry C. Fillebrown (one of the assistants of Lieutenant Williamson) and the editor left the trail which the party was following and took another which led down the Deschutes River. Night began to descend upon us with scarcely a warning of its approach, and we were ignorant of how far the trail taken by the troops diverged to the west, or of what obstacles lay in our path in the direction of the night's camp. We had no provisions in our haversacks, our supplies being limited to pipes and tobacco, revolvers and cartridges. Just at dusk we struck a deep tributary of the Deschutes, on the north side of which we saw a westerly trail. The banks were steep, and our mules refused to encounter the watery flood that ran like a torrent. So, whilst the editor, standing in the rapid stream, pulled on the bridle of his mule, Fillebrown struck the animal with a saber in the rear, which forced him to plunge into the flood, and in like manner we succeeded in effecting the passage of the stream by Fillebrown's quadruped. We found a well-beaten trail, and our hungry animals, scenting the camp afar off, trotted along briskly until we reached the camp, several miles distant, and our prospects of passing the night in an Oregon forest without food or covering vanished, to our great delight. We removed our drenched clothing and comforted the inner man with a hot beverage of stimulating waters and a warm supper.
    On another occasion, the editor, just as we were about to establish a camp for the night, drove his spurs into his mule to make him jump a small stream about five feet wide. The mulish animal, feeling his feelings hurt by the touching spur, lifted up his voice and wept, limbered to the rear, and his outrider passed beyond the stream--but not the mule.
(5) Here the editor met his old friend and quondam comrade of Puebla, Mexico, Captain La Fayette Mosher--since a member of the Board of Visitors to West Point, 1884.
(6) No report of these operations, excepting a field return of the troops, was ever made by Capt. A. J. Smith.
(7) Of the members of this expedition, Lieutenant Sheridan became, as stated, General of the Army; Hood, a distinguished General of "The Lost Cause," and Crook, Brigadier-General in the Army; Williamson and Abbott became Lieutenant-Colonels of Engineers, the former deceased and the latter a Major-General by brevet; Fillebrown became a Captain and Asst. Adjutant-General of Vols., and is now deceased; C. D. Anderson entered the service of the Confederacy, and was last seen by the editor in 1865; Young, the draftsman, since unheard of; Jacob Brown Vinton has not been heard of since 1860; and Jacob R. Daniel, the handsome, the gallant and true-hearted, succumbed in 1861 to that terrible disease, whose wasting, consuming hand never withdraws its fatal touch.   
Horatio Gates Gibson, transcribed from a reprint in the collections of the U.S. Military Academy Library, West Point. Serialized in the Medford Mail Tribune April 13 (page B1), April 27 (page B1) and May 4, 1930 (page B5). The beginning of the article can be found transcribed here.


    The Cascade Range, in Oregon, consists of a belt from thirty to ninety miles in width of pine- and fir-covered ridges, separated from each other by a network of precipitous ravines. A line of isolated volcanic peaks, extending in a direction nearly north and south through the Territory, rises from this labyrinth, and marks the extreme western border of the elevated plateau already described. The chief summits are Mount Hood, Mount Jefferson, Mount Pitt and Diamond Peak, which, with the four buttes composing the group called the Three Sisters, tower high above the rest into the region of eternal snow, the lower limit of which is here about 8,000 feet above the sea. The other peaks, although quite prominent when seen from the plateau, are hidden by intervening ridges from the Willamette Valley.
    Westward from this line of volcanic peaks, an abrupt slope, mostly composed of ridges of very compact slate, separated by immense cañons, descends to fertile valleys, elevated but slightly above the sea level, and extending to the foothills of the Coast Range.
    Near the watershed are numerous lakes, some of which discharge their waters towards the east, and others towards the west, by cañons so enormous that words fail to convey an adequate idea of their size. One, the side of which was so precipitous that we could only make the descent with the greatest difficulty, was found by actual measurement to be 1,945 feet deep.
    A few small prairies covered with excellent bunchgrass lie hidden among the mountains. They are often surrounded by bushes bearing a kind of whortleberry, called "oo-lal-le" by the Indians, who come in large parties in August and September to gather and dry them for winter use. Hence, it frequently happens that the explorer, while following a large trail which he hopes may lead across the mountains, suddenly finds it terminate in a whortleberry patch.
    An examination of these mountains is very difficult. The ravines, filled with thick underbrush interlaced with fallen timber, are, many of them, utterly impassable; the ridges are very precipitous and rocky; generally the thick forest of pine, fir, spruce and yew quite conceals the surrounding country, and the great scarcity of grass for the animals is a source of constant anxiety. According to the best information which I could gather from Indians and settlers, the whole range is covered with snow during the winter.
    There are six known passes through the Cascade Range, in Oregon Territory. It must be borne in mind that they are not simple gateways, but long, winding courses through a labyrinth of ridges and ravines. They will be described in their order of succession, beginning at the most southern.
    1. Pass south of Mount Pitt.--This pass, through which an emigrant wagon road has already been constructed, was not examined by our party. Lieutenant Williamson followed the road to the point where it enters the mountains, near Camp B, on Klamath River. It strikes Stuart Creek, in Rogue River Valley, not far from Camp 78A. The air-line distance between these camps is only 32 miles, and the road is said to be very good, for a mountain route.
    2. Pass south of Diamond Peak.--A wagon road has been constructed through this pass also, by which Lieutenant Williamson crossed the range. The approach from the eastward is by a branch of Deschutes River, that rises near the foot of the main ridge. About 20 miles after leaving this stream, the road strikes the middle fork of the Willamette River, the course of which it follows to the settlements. Where it passes over the main ridge, the road is very mountainous in its character, and in the ravine of the middle fork it crosses the stream many times at deep and rocky fords. There is a scarcity of grass upon the route.
    3. New pass south of Mount Hood.--This pass was discovered by the detached party in my charge. As I believe it to be more favorable for a wagon road than any of those previously known, I shall describe with considerable minuteness, both the pass proper, through the main ridge, and the approaches to it from the east and the west. This division is adopted simply for ease of description. By far the greatest difficulty in the passage of the range was encountered in the western approach to the pass.
    This name is given to a chain extending from the Cascade to the Coast Range, and separating the Willamette and Umpqua valleys. It is composed of low ridges, most of which are heavily timbered with spruce, pine, fir and oak. A kind of hard sandstone is the prevailing rock.
    There are three wagon roads across these mountains. Two of these, the Applegate and Scott roads, pass over high and steep hills. The third, which is located between them, and which was not fully completed when my party passed over it, follows Pass Creek through the mountains without encountering a single hill.
    The principal branch of the Umpqua River, called the South Umpqua, rises in the Cascade Mountains near Diamond Peak. At first its course is westerly. In longitude about 123° 15', it bends abruptly towards the north, and after flowing about 75 miles in this direction, and receiving the waters of the North Umpqua River and Elk Creek, it again turns towards the west, and discharges itself into the Pacific. The most valuable and populous portion of the valley lies near the river where its course is northerly. This region consists partly of small open prairies, and partly of rolling hills sparsely covered with oak, fir and other kinds of trees. Much of the land is exceedingly productive. The valley, at present, contains many scattered houses, but very few towns.
    Little is known of this chain of mountains, except that it extends westward from the Cascade Range nearly to the ocean. It consists of ridges from 2,000 to 3,000 feet in height, covered with thick forests and underbrush. The rocks are mostly talcose in character. The only road through the chain follows the Umpqua Cañon, which is fully described in Chapter V, under the date November 1. Cow Creek rises south of the mountains, and flows through them to the South Umpqua, but its cañon, although followed by a pack trail, is reported to be too narrow and precipitous for a wagon road. The chain has been crossed at other places by parties with animals, and it is not improbable that a good pass might be discovered by a thorough exploration.
    Rogue River rises in the Cascade Range, near Mount Pitt, and flows westward to the Pacific Ocean, receiving on the way numerous small tributaries from the Umpqua and Siskiyou Mountains. Some of these streams flow through fertile valleys, separated from each other by high and forest-clad hills. Others, especially those near the coast, are sunk in immense cañons. Most of the rich land lies near the California and Oregon trail. Gold digging is profitable in many places. Hornblende and granitic rocks predominate, but Table Rock, and other hills in the vicinity, are basaltic. Jacksonville is at present the only town in the valley, although there are many scattered dwellings.
    Very little is accurately known about this chain, although it has been much explored by gold seekers. It is a high and heavily timbered dividing ridge between the waters of Rogue and Klamath rivers, and its general direction is east and west. The prevailing rock is a hard kind of conglomerate sandstone. Near the summit, elevated about 2,400 feet above the base, we found the soil to be an adhesive clay, which, when wet, renders traveling very laborious. There are several pack trails across the chain, but no reliable information concerning them could be obtained.
    Klamath River, as already stated, rises in the great plateau east of the Cascade Range. After flowing through Klamath Marsh, and upper and lower Klamath lakes, it breaks through the mountains near Shasta Butte, and following the southern base of the Siskiyou chain, discharges itself into the Pacific. Through the greater part of its course it flows either through sterile tablelands or immense cañons. Gold is found in many places upon its banks. My party, while returning to Fort Reading, passed through the valleys of Shasta, Scott's and Trinity rivers, three of its most important tributaries. These will be described in the order in which they were examined.
    Shasta Valley is an undulating region, about 25 miles in length and 15 in breadth, which extends from the base of Shasta Butte, in a northwesterly direction, to Klamath River. A small stream, named from the butte, traverses it. This valley is sterile compared with most of those already described, but the thick growth of bunchgrass renders it a fine grazing country. It is for its gold, however, that it is chiefly valuable. This metal is found in large quantities; but mining is difficult on account of the scanty supply of water. To remedy this deficiency, the miners are now digging a ditch from a point near the source of Shasta River, along the base of the hills which bound the valley on the southwest, to the river again near where it discharges itself into the Klamath. This ditch, which is called the Yreka Canal, will be, when completed, between 30 and 40 miles in length. It derives its name from the great depot of the northern mines, which is situated in so rich a portion of the valley that gold is dug in the very streets of the city.
    Scott's River flows nearly parallel to Shasta River, being only about 18 miles further to the west. The character of its valley, however, is widely different. Gold digging is not generally profitable in it, although some rich mining claims have been discovered; especially at Scott's Bar near the mouth of the stream. Most of the land is very productive, and a large portion of the valley is now divided into farms, the produce of which finds a ready market at Yreka and the mines. The greater elevation above the sea renders the climate much colder than that of the valleys further north. Frost has been known to occur here in every month of the year.
    Trinity River rises near Mount Shasta, and, after making a great bend to the south, discharges itself into the Klamath River, of which it is the largest tributary. My party, starting from its headwaters, followed down the stream for about one quarter of its length. It flowed through a deep ravine, bounded by high and timbered ridges. The bottom was so narrow that there was very little arable land. A short distance below the point where we left the river, it enters an immense cañon, which extends without much interruption to its mouth.
    Shasta Butte, by far the most striking topographical feature of northern California, rises abruptly to a height generally estimated at 18,000 feet above the sea. The peak is double, and both summits are rounded, massive and loaded with eternal snow. Its white cloud-like form is distinctly visible from points in the Sacramento Valley, more than one hundred miles distant.
    This butte is not only the largest and grandest peak of the long range which divides the sterile interior of the country from the fertile valleys of the Pacific Slope, but it is also a great center from which diverge the numerous chains that render northern California one mass of mountains. In approaching it by the Oregon trail, both from the north and the south, there is, independent of the high ridges, a gradual increase in the elevation of the country for about 50 miles. The region near the base itself thus attains an altitude of about 4,000 feet above the sea; and it is an interesting fact that most of the northern mines are found upon this vast pedestal of the giant butte.
    Great confusion exists in the nomenclature of the mountain ranges in the vicinity. The name Cascade Mountains ceases at Klamath River, but the range in reality divides. One branch, called the Siskiyou Mountains, bends westward nearly to the coast; the other, under the name of the western chain of the Sierra Nevada, winds to the southeast and unites with the main Sierra Nevada. From the Butte, three steep and thickly wooded ridges called Little Scott's Mountains, Scott's Mountains, and Trinity Mountains, extend to the westward. The two latter are branches of the Coast Range of California. Shasta Butte, although generally considered a peak of the western chain of the Sierra Nevada, is, in truth, the great center from which radiate, besides several smaller ridges, the Cascade Range, the Coast Range, and the western chain of the Sierra Nevada.
Lieutenant Henry L. Abbott, Reports of Explorations and Surveys to Ascertain the Most Practicable and Economical Rroute for a Railroad from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean, Washington 1857, pages 30-36


    October 28, [1855].--Today we crossed, by the Pass Creek road, the Calapooya Mountains, which separate the Willamette and Umpqua valleys. Pass Creek rises in a little meadow, which is also the source of a tributary of the Coast Fork of the Willamette, and flows through the Calapooya Mountains to Elk Creek, a branch of the Umpqua River. This pass had only been known for a short time, and the wagon road was not fully completed when my party traveled over the route. Nothing but a few short bridges and a little grading, however, was wanting to make it a good and level road through the mountains. Having reached the Umpqua Valley, we crossed a small divide between Pass and Elk creeks, and traveled towards the south through a narrow prairie bordered by rolling hills. The soil was fertile, and the neatly painted houses, surrounded by cultivated land, greatly resembled those of the eastern states. We encamped near the end of this prairie, after a day's march of about 19 miles.
    October 29.--On starting this morning, we passed over a steep hill with a flat and nearly level summit, and then traveled to Winchester, distant about 19 miles from camp. Our course lay through an undulating and very fertile country, varied with an occasional growth of oak and pine. Winchester is a little town situated on the southern bank of the North Umpqua River, at this point a rapid stream about 80 feet in width, flowing over a very rocky bed. We crossed it in a ferry-boat, and encamped in the village during a heavy fall of rain, which continued through the night.
    October 30.--We learned, upon good authority, that the reports from Rogue River had not exaggerated the Indian disturbances there. None but strong parties could pass through the valley, and most of the houses north of the river were burned. A large force of regular and volunteer troops was already in the field, and two additional companies were about starting to reinforce them. The election of field officers was to take place immediately at Roseburg, and we remained in camp today to await the result, before applying for an escort to Fort Lane. I repaired a barometer.
    October 31.--This morning the road lay through a nearly level and very fertile valley to Roseburg, where I saw Major Martin, the elected commanding officer of the volunteers. He informed me that the troops were now fighting with the Indians near the Umpqua Cañon; and that he intended to join them on the following morning, with two more companies at present in camp at Cañonville. He kindly proposed to escort my party through the Cañon, and I accepted his offer.
    We continued our course up the valley of the South Umpqua River, and encamped with the volunteers near the northern entrance of the Umpqua Cañon, at Cañonville, which consists only of one house and a barn. The road followed the stream for the greater part of the way, and the valley, although narrow, was settled, and much of it apparently very fertile. The hills on each side were lightly timbered with oak and fir. Several specimens of a hard variety of talcose slate were found during the day. The distance traveled was about twenty-six miles. In the evening a dispatch was received from the battle field, stating that the troops were greatly in want of food and powder, and urging on the reinforcements. In the night it rained.
    November 1.--This morning we followed the volunteers through the Cañon, a difficult pass through the Umpqua Mountains. Two small creeks head near the divide, and flow, one towards the north to the south fork of the South Umpqua, and the other towards the south to Cow Creek. The bottom of the gorge is exceedingly narrow, and the precipitous sides, covered with a thick growth of trees, rise at least 1,000 feet above the water. We found in the Cañon a species of yew tree which we did not notice elsewhere west of the Cascade Mountains. The ascent from the camp to the divide was 1,450 feet, and we were compelled, after crossing the creek about thirty times, to travel part of the way in its bed. A few resolute men might hold this defile against an army; and it is wonderful that the Rogue River Indians, who are intelligent, brave, and well armed with rifles, have never, in their numerous wars, seized upon it, and thus prevented the approach of troops from the Umpqua Valley. This pass is about eleven miles in length, and communication through it is sometimes interrupted by freshets. The road over which we traveled was constructed in 1853 by Brevet Major B. Alvord, United States army, and it is the best route known through the Umpqua Mountains.
    We had hardly left the Cañon when we began to see traces of the Indian devastations. Blackened and smoking ruins, surrounded by the carcasses of domestic animals, marked the places where, but a few days before, the settlers had lived. We passed a team on the road; the oxen lay shot in the yoke, and the dark blood stains upon the seat of the wagon told the fate of the driver. Even the stacks of hay and grain in the fields had been burned. After leaving the Cañon, we followed the narrow but fertile valley of Cow Creek for a few miles, and then crossing a steep divide between it and Wolf Creek, encamped on the latter stream. Major Martin intended to proceed, in the morning, to join in the battle which was going on among the mountains, at a distance from the road variously estimated to be from five to twelve miles. As he could not spare us an escort, we determined to press forward as rapidly as possible towards Fort Lane, trusting that the Indians would be too busy to attack our party. In the evening, however, stragglers from the fight began to come in. They reported that the provisions were entirely exhausted, and the powder nearly gone; that the Indians were numerous and very strongly posted; that several white men had been killed and many wounded; and that it had been thought best to fall back, for the present, and wait for supplies. The regular troops were on their way to Grave Creek, and the volunteers were coming to our camp as fast as they could transport their wounded. The Indians did not follow them, and they all arrived before morning. The forage on the route had been burned, and our animals suffered much from want of food tonight.
    November 2.--This morning Major Martin, escorted by a volunteer company, went to Grave Creek to see Captain A. J. Smith, 1st Dragoons, commanding the United States troops in the valley. He offered us the benefit of his escort, and we accompanied him accordingly. This gentleman, together with Captain Mosher and other volunteer officers, assisted us in every way in their power; and without this accidental aid our party would have found it very difficult to cross the valley.
    Wolf and Grave creeks are separated by high and steep hills, covered with thick timber and underbrush. On reaching Wolf Creek we found Captain Smith in camp, near a house surrounded by a small stockade. His supply of forage had failed, and he was forced, on this account, to prepare to return to Fort Lane as soon as a few men, who had died of their wounds, could be buried. Lieut. Gibson, formerly in command of the escort of our party, was among the wounded. Being compelled by want of forage to press forward as fast as possible, I applied to Capt. Smith for an escort. He gave me one so promptly that in less than fifteen minutes we were again on our way.
    Between Grave and Jump-off Joe creeks the road passed over a steep and heavily timbered divide. The Indians had killed two men in charge of a pack train on this hill, and the half-burned remains of their wagon and packs were still to be seen. Near this place Major Fitzgerald, 1st Dragoons, had overtaken with a scouting party and killed several of the savages. At Jump-off Joe Creek a man driving swine had been murdered, and a large number of his animals lay dead in the road. On leaving this creek, we passed through an undulating and fertile country, sometimes open and sometimes thinly covered with a growth of oak, sugar maple, and a little pine and hemlock. After traveling until nearly sundown, we encamped at a building which had been preserved from the general ruin by the heroism of a woman named Harris. After her husband had been murdered and her daughter wounded, she had made a desperate and successful defense by shooting at the savages from between the crevices of the log house. The traces of her bullets upon the trees which had shielded the Indians, and the marks of the tragedy within the dwelling, were plainly visible. Soon after dark a small party under the command of Lieut. Allston, 1st Cavalry, arrived with the wounded and encamped. Captain Smith, with a few men, passed us on his way to Fort Lane. The length of our day's march was about fourteen miles.
    November 3.--Today we traveled about twenty-five miles to Fort Lane, crossing Rogue River at Evans' ferry. His house, and others south of the river, were now protected by a few soldiers. The disturbance had been confined to the northern side of the valley; but a few murders had been committed on the Siskiyou Mountains, and the settlers were in great alarm. The road was gently undulating until we arrived at the ferry; but from that point it followed the level bank of the river nearly the whole distance to Fort Lane. The land appeared to be rich and valuable. The hills were thinly covered with oak, pine, and other kinds of trees. A short time before reaching the fort we passed a salt spring, at which the animals drank eagerly.
    November 4.--Today we remained in camp to recruit the animals, which had suffered very much from fatigue and hunger during the last few days. We were treated with every possible kindness and attention by the officers stationed at the post.
    Fort Lane, at present a cavalry station, is pleasantly situated on the side of a low hill, near the junction of Stuart Creek with Rogue River. The barracks and officers' quarters are built of logs plastered with clay. Much of the surrounding country is fertile and settled, but destructive Indian outbreaks are not unfrequent. On the opposite bank of Stuart Creek there are some peculiar basaltic hills, with flat tops and precipitous sides, somewhat resembling those of the Deschutes Valley. The principal one, which is about five hundred feet high, is called Table Rock. Good observations were obtained at the fort, by which the altitude above the sea was found to be 1,202 feet, and the latitude 42° 25′ 56′′.
    November 5.--This morning we continued our journey without an escort, as no Indian outrages of importance had been recently perpetrated on the route. We found many houses deserted, however, and great alarm prevailing among the settlers. After traveling about 26 miles up the valley of Stuart Creek, we encamped at the house of Mr. Smith, near the foot of the Siskiyou Mountains. The road was level, and the general appearance of the country was similar to that near the source of the Willamette River. The rolling hills that shut in the valley were sometimes bare and sometimes thinly covered with trees. We passed, on the way, a hot spring, the temperature of which was about 100° Fahr. A continual escape of gas through the water gave it the appearance of boiling.
    November 6.--This morning we crossed the Siskiyou Mountains. At first the ascent was gradual; but the road soon began to wind up a steep slope, portions of which were rendered very slippery by clay and rain, until, at length, the summit, elevated 2,385 feet above camp, was attained. Here the mountain was densely timbered, but near the base there were comparatively few trees. The descent, for a short distance, was very abrupt; but it soon became gentle, and broken by a few hills. A pile of stones by the roadside marked the boundary between Oregon and California. When we passed this spot it was raining; but in the valley below, clouds of dust gave evidence of a long-continued drought. The rainy season begins earlier in Oregon than in California; and it happened in several places that the first rain of the season occurred on the night of our arrival. Nature seems to have preceded legislation in making the Siskiyou Mountains a boundary; for, after passing them, the appearance of the country immediately undergoes a change. Rounded and nearly bare hills, not unlike those of the Sacramento Valley, near Benicia, began to appear; and a few scattered sage bushes reminded us of the plateau east of the Cascade Range. The general altitude above the sea, also, had increased between one and two thousand feet since leaving Rogue River. We crossed Klamath River at Dewitt's ferry, and encamped on its southern bank, after a day's march of about twenty-four miles.
    November 7.--Today we traveled about seventeen miles to Yreka, through a rolling prairie country. Most of the hills were covered with bunchgrass, and entirely devoid of trees. We passed several houses near the road, and a saw mill on Shasta River, a small but deep stream crossed by a bridge. Yreka is beautifully situated in a little basin surrounded by high hills. Near it, Shasta Butte, the largest and grandest peak of the Cascade Range, rises abruptly from the valley, and, with its double summit, towers far into the region of eternal snow. This little city, which already contains several brick stores and dwelling houses, is a great depot of the northern mines, and gold digging is actually carried on in its streets. It is, however, divided from the settled portion of the Sacramento Valley by such precipitous mountain chains that all its supplies are transported by pack trains; and until very recently a wagon road to Shasta has been considered impracticable. Two routes have lately been found, however, which, it is thought, will prove to be feasible.
    November 8.--This morning we followed the course of a little tributary of Shasta River, through a rather stony, gold-bearing plain, to Little Scott's Mountains, the divide between Shasta and Scott's valleys. The ascent and descent were very abrupt for a wagon road. After crossing the ridge, we soon struck a small branch of Scott's River, and passed down its valley; which, although not more than a mile in width, has a rich and fertile soil. We encamped at Fort Jones, distant about sixteen miles from Yreka. The fort is finely situated in an open valley surrounded by high and wooded mountains; the buildings are made of logs. The soil abounds in silica, but gold has not been discovered in the immediate vicinity in sufficient quantities to pay for working. The altitude of the post above the sea, determined by careful observations, is 2,887 feet. The latitude is 41° 35′ 42′′.4.
    November 9.--Today we remained in camp to recruit the animals, and to transact business with Lieut. Crook, the quartermaster and commissary of the expedition, who had been detached by Captain H. M. Judah, 4th infantry, commanding the post. This officer, who passed us on his way to Fort Lane, ordered Lieut. Crook to remain at Fort Jones, on account of the exigencies of the public service. I greatly regretted this order; for it obliged me to discharge the duties of quartermaster and commissary, both for my topographical party and for Lieut. Crook's train, which accompanied me to Fort Reading. This circumstance prevented me from leaving the command, and examining, with a detached party, the Sacramento River route; which, it is thought, might have been shown to be practicable for a railroad. The want of an escort, and the great uncertainty of obtaining forage, rendered it impossible to travel over this route with the whole train of nearly broken-down animals; and the design of surveying it was necessarily abandoned.
    November 10.--Last night it snowed. We remained in camp again today to finish the business with Lieut. Crook. John Mullan, one of our best men, was discharged at his own request.
Henry L. Abbot, "Route from Vancouver to Fort Reading," Reports on Explorations and Surveys to Ascertain the Most Practicable and Economical Route for a Railroad from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean Made Under the Direction of the Secretary of War 1854-55, Vol. VI, Senate 33rd Congress, 2nd Session, Ex. Doc. No. 78, 1857, pages 106-110


    YREKA.--A correspondent (Rev. T. Dwight Hunt) of the Pacific gives interesting information respecting Yreka and vicinity. Forty brick stores, all occupied, line the main streets of the place. Trade not brisk, yet traders by no means dispirited. The town seems overgrown, yet citizens are not distrustful of the future. On the contrary, the most sanguine expectations are built upon an enterprise of great magnitude and importance. This is the great canal to which allusion has often before been made in the Union, and which is to convey water from Shasta Butte to all the hills about Yreka far and near. This work is be completed in September.
    "The perpetuity of the place is unquestioned. Its location is central to a large mining and farming region, which is one of great richness, and as yet but partially developed. It is in the bosom of a pretty valley which opens near by, to the north, into Shasta Valley, and is divided from Scott Valley on the south by a narrow ridge, but over which there is a good stage and wagon road. The town is on the great natural highway from the valley of the Willamette in Oregon to the valley of the Sacramento. To the former there is already a good road, over which wagons pass to Portland. To the latter a road has already been surveyed through Shasta Valley and so past that noble mountain to the south. The route is pronounced perfectly feasible, the surveying party having already taken a wagon over it. This road when made will put Yreka in direct and easy communication with Sacramento, avoiding both Scott and Trinity mountains, and the necessity of packing goods on mules by way of Shasta. A new trail also to Crescent City, on the coast, is now being made and will soon be open, by which the distance between these two places will be shortened more than one-third. This will enable merchants to transport their goods at much less cost, and so by reduced prices increase their trade, and more rapidly contribute to the development of the surrounding country. This surrounding country is much of it agricultural. Scott River Valley and Yreka and Shasta valleys are even now "located" with farms, producing already more than is required by the mining and trading village in their vicinity. Thus Yreka has an independence of its own in a productive country all around it, of itself an element of wealth and growth.
    "The present population of the place is variously estimated at from one to two thousand. It is the county seat of Siskiyou County, and the future capital, in the opinion of many, of a future state to be erected from the northern portion of California and the southern portion of Oregon. No permanent county house [i.e., courthouse] has yet been erected.
    "Of churches, Yreka has one only. The Methodists are here, as usual, the pioneers, and their beautiful and substantial ceiled house of worship, in the public square, is justly the pride of the place. It was built early during the present year, at a cost of about $7,000, and is nearly all paid for. From the head of the valley, as the traveler approaches the town, or as he looks down upon it from any of the surrounding hilltops, this lone temple appears beautiful amid the dwellings, and hardly less than the snowy peaks of the sublime Shasta to the southeast lends beauty and enchantment to the view."
Sacramento Daily Union, August 11, 1855, page 1




    JACKSONVILLE, O.T.--Jacksonville was located by miners and traders in the month of February, 1852, and contains a population of about 800 souls--about one-tenth of the population of Jackson County--eight dry goods and grocery stores, three blacksmith shops, two livery stables, one hotel and several boarding houses, one brewery, one stove and tin shop, one boot and shoe store, one millinery shop, two bakeries, one market house, two cabinet shops, two or three drug stores, billiard saloon, one tobacco and cigar store, practicing physicians, four lawyers.
    J. A. Brunner & Bro. and Maury & Davis have each built large and extensive fireproof brick stores and have them well filled with a good assortment of goods suitable for the consumption of the country.
    The Territorial University is located at Jacksonville.--Table Rock Sentinel.
Crescent City Herald, December 26, 1855, page 2


    The steamer Columbia, Capt. Dall, left San Francisco on the 21st inst., with some forty cabin passengers and several in the steerage. The weather was stormy and there was a heavy sea on. The next morning the weather was clear but the wind was ahead, there was a heavy sea on, and the ship rolled very uncomfortably. On Sunday night touched at Trinidad, and arrived at Crescent City at 5 A.M., on Monday.
    Crescent City is at the northern end of Humboldt Bay and notwithstanding its disadvantageous situation is quite a thriving place. It numbers some sixteen hundred inhabitants and there is often from one two hundred pack mules in town at one time, it being the depot for Yreka and other of the extreme northern mining regions and also of some of the beach diggings. The port is not protected from the winds at all seasons and the town has been inaccessible lately from sea for weeks and even months. The prevalence, however, of northerly winds has given the inhabitants an opportunity to communicate with the outer world. Port Orford and Trinidad are similarly situated in this respect. Many who go up to visit those places are obliged to return at such times as has been mentioned. The site of Crescent City is good, the land is level and the place neatly laid out. There are two streets parallel with the water and a thick forest is immediately in the rear of the city. If the inhabitants would display a little more liberality and protect strangers from the extortion of boatmen and some others it would be of benefit to their interests. The spars attached to the wreck of the steamer America, which was burnt and sunk at this place, are made useful to moor vessels visiting this port.
    Port Orford, a point some distance farther north, is the depot and landing place of the Gold Beach and Rogue River miners. It is pretty well "gone in" now, though there are some fifty persons yet remaining. There is also a company of the 3rd artillery garrisoned there. They are under the command of Lieut. Kautz. A party of ten from the garrison, under the same officer, recently had an engagement with the Indians on Rogue River. Privates Gill and Adams were killed and Lieut. Kautz and private Egly wounded. Lieut. Kautz had a thick memorandum book in his pocket which saved his life as the ball struck him full in the breast. The Indians were armed with good rifles and are well provided with ammunition, which articles it is supposed are obtained through the Indians who hang about the towns. The town is on a steep hill and very difficult of access from the beach. The lighters at the town were lately destroyed by the heavy seas rolling in from without.
    As the steamer approached the Columbia River the weather grew very cold, there was quite a fall of snow upon the deck and the shores were also white with snow. The wind was still ahead and was very bitter and cutting.
    On Wednesday afternoon a vessel was discovered on shore and Capt. Dall headed the ship in that direction to render such aid as might be desired. It proved to be the brig Detroit, hard and fast ashore and waterlogged. The brig had been abandoned by the crew and was in the hands of the wreckers. The Detroit sailed Saturday, at 5 P.M., from this place, after waiting fourteen days for a wind and while crossing the bar at the mouth of the river, at 9 P.M., in charge of a pilot got out of the channel and struck heavily upon the sand several times. The vessel was finally lifted by the rollers into the deep water. In twenty minutes there were some seven feet of water in the hold and the crew took to the pilot boat which was alongside. The yards of the Detroit were then squared, the helm lashed, and she was headed for the shore. The brig was owned by Messrs. Mills & Vantine, of San Francisco, and is valued at $3,000.
    There was 136 thousand feet of lumber belonging to Abernethy & Co. of the same place. The vessel and cargo will be nearly a total loss, though Capt. Hoag, the master, and Mr. Goodwin, the wreck master, have gone down to attempt to save something from her. The brig was of some two hundred tons burthen.
    On Thursday morning, the Columbia passed up the river, touching at Astoria. The roads and the roofs of the houses at this place were covered some two inches in depth with snow, and the weather was bitterly cold, the thermometer being down to eighteen degrees. After forcing the steamer through several fields of thick ice, to a distance of fifty miles from the mouth, and greatly damaging her copper, the ice growing thicker and more compact, Capt. Dall put the steamer about and returned to Astoria. There was every probability that the boat would have been locked in the ice for some weeks had it proceeded ten miles further. The freight was landed at Astoria, stored, and taken charge of by Purser Meade, who will remain at this place for the present. The passengers were also landed at this place, and have been comfortably bestowed in the various hotels and boarding houses. They are amusing themselves with skating and other wintry games, and there are threats of sundry balls and other festivities. It is scarcely probable that they will reach Portland for two or three weeks. No communication has been had with that place for eighteen days. Considerable alarm is felt here for the volunteers, who are some hundred miles beyond Fort Dallas (where the regulars are posted), and who are far up into the Indian country. It is feared that the heavy snows will prevent supplies from reaching them, and that they will experience much suffering before they can reach a settlement. It is also supposed that the enemy will suffer severely, as they are illy prepared for such a winter. It may have the effect to bring them to terms. Old residents of Oregon state that the weather at present is colder than it has been known there for fifteen years. The river has not been frozen for three years.
    The last accounts from Vancouver state that Gen. Wood, unable to obtain the Panama for the purpose, has sent an express overland to Puget Sound, requesting Capt. Alden to bring the U.S. steamer Active to the fort to transport one hundred men to Steilacoom. The Active is expected at this port daily, should the messenger have got through. It can render no service, however, until the river is open.
    Astoria is the oldest town in Oregon, having been settled some thirteen [sic] years. It is named in honor of John J. Astor, and has been brought to the notice of the world by Irving's well-known work. The town is extremely well situated for commercial purposes, it being on a spacious bay, immediately inside of the mouth of the Columbia. There is a neat church, a school house, a number of hotels and stores, and about eight hundred inhabitants. Lots are held at a high figure. As Oregon is generally settled by overland emigration, the interior is at present the most thickly settled, though the population is rapidly working towards the seaboard. There is a rival town or rather a portion of the town a mile farther up, where the custom house is located. The post office is at the lower town.
    A military road is about being constructed from this place to Salem, a distance of one hundred miles. The first sixty miles will have to be cut through a dense forest. There has been $30,000 appropriated for the purpose, though four times that sum will be required. The necessity for some road to the interior is unquestionable. A similar road is proposed from the opposite shore of the Columbia, through Washington Territory to Puget Sound. The building of these roads will give a decided impetus to business in this place.
    On Friday morning the house of Lorenzo Root, Esq. at the head of the wharf at the upper end of the town was discovered to be on fire. The captain of the steamer, which fortunately lay at the wharf, immediately dispatched his whole force with the buckets and axes of the ship, and with their exertions, and those of the passengers, and a few neighbors, the fire was with some difficulty got under [control]. The building took fire from the stove pipe. The damage was about three hundred dollars. Mr. French, first officer of the Columbia, acted as chief engineer in a very creditable style. This is the first fire that has occurred in this place for three years.
Daily Alta California, San Francisco, January 4, 1856, page 1


    Then we began to get ready to go to my future home in Shasta Valley, traveling with the stock and ox team. Part of the time I rode horseback and part of the time I helped drive the cattle. We went on until we got into the Umpqua Valley and it was very warm and the grasshoppers were eating up the whole country; they had eaten all the foliage on the trees. We came to the Cow Creek canyon, but the military road had not been built and we had to travel the old road in the bed of the creek for miles. It was very rough and rugged and the hills were steep. We had traveled one day to put up camp. Next day we started, but in going up a steep hill one of the oxen stopped and trembled and we thought he had got poisoned. We cut up some sliced bacon and he didn't object to eating it and licked his tongue out for more. We gave him some more bacon and still he wouldn't go. Finally we hired another team which got us through the canyon, but we concluded it was only a trick of the old ox, as he had been raised on bacon and that was all he wanted. We came to the Grave Creek Hills, which were very steep. We camped just as we got to the summit of them and after a rest traveled on;  in just two weeks from that time two men were killed in that place by the Indians. [This dates their passage as the middle of September, 1855.] We just missed being killed. We traveled on in the Rogue River Valley which was not very much settled, save in the lower part. It showed evidence of the conflict between the white men and the Indians by the lonely graves that were scattered along the roadside. We came onto Wagner Creek, where Mrs. Harris and other settlers were killed by the Indians in '55. [Mr. Harris was killed near Merlin, Oregon. Mrs. Harris survived.] They were harvesting some fine fields of grain as we came through the valley. The towns were all small--they could hardly be seen. There was Waitsburg, where Mr. Wait had a flouring mill, and a large log house [the Colver house?]; and at the time of the Indian trouble, the people flocked there for safety. In going through the Rogue River Valley the Indians came to our wagon and were very inquisitive and even got into the wagon and frightened me; and when the men had to be away I would become very much frightened. One evening when in camp on the bank of the Rogue River, we saw across the stream some soldiers who had some Indians with them. The Indians finally took up their belongings and started across the mountains. The soldiers crossed the river and the bugler rode down to our camp and told us it would be better for us to go up to a nearby farm house; that while he did not apprehend any trouble, we would be safer there. We went up there and found seven men, including a fifteen-year-old boy. They had a log cabin and very kindly made all the preparation that they could for our safety. The boy was very anxious to kill an Indian, so he put seven bullets down in his muzzle-loader gun and said: "One of those bullets would surely hit an Indian."
    So we traveled on to the head of the valley and across the Siskiyou Mountains into California and we camped overnight on the summit of the mountains. Three weeks afterward, three teamsters camped there and were killed by the Indians. We came on down into a rough-looking country--a little mining camp we called Cottonwood, where my husband had been mining. We stayed there a week, then took our way on south to Willow Creek in Shasta Valley, where my husband had a home for us to live in and where he was to follow the stock business. We were there about two months and a half, when the Klamath Lake Indians began to make trouble. We lived close to their trail and we were afraid of being killed and so we put up our belongings and went back to the little mining camp. I never saw the home again.
Matilda Sager, A Survivor's Recollections of the Whitman Massacre, 1920, pages 35-36