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![]() ![]() Some Rogue Valley Histories By Alice Applegate Sargent. Lieut. H. H. Sargent, Second United States Cavalry, and Miss Alice C. Applegate were married at Fort Klamath, Or., August 15, and have gone to Champaign, Ill., the groom having recently been ordered to duty as professor of military science and tactics at the University of Illinois. "Military and Personal," Oregonian, Portland, September 12, 1886, page 3 MISTAKES IN OREGON
HISTORY
Before we go farther in our study of the history of Oregon I feel that
I must do what I can towards correcting some mistakes that have crept
into almost every history of Oregon. I give as authority for what I am
about to tell you the words of pioneers of 1843 themselves--men who
helped to organize the expedition of that year. The first is the claim
that Dr. Whitman made his perilous ride from Oregon to the Atlantic
coast in the winter of 1843 to save Oregon to the United States. The
second is the claim that he organized and brought to Oregon
the emigrants of 1843.BY MRS. H. H. SARGENT Dr. Whitman made his famous ride to save his missions. The American board of missions in Boston had ordered that the missions at Lapwai and Waiilatpu be abandoned. Rev. Spalding and his wife and Dr. and Mrs. Whitman were very enthusiastic and much encouraged in their work among the Indians and felt it would be a great mistake to abandon the missions. Hence Dr. Whitman resolved to do what he could to save them. That he was a factor in saving Oregon to the United States is undoubtedly true. But Oregon was not saved to the United States by the efforts of any one man, but by the combined efforts of a number of men. As early as 1835 William A. Slocum was sent to Oregon by President Jackson to collect information for the government as to conditions in Oregon and to find out what he could about the country. He returned to Washington in 1837. In December of that year his careful and full report was laid before Congress. It aroused an interest in Oregon which never afterward slumbered. Dr. Lewis F. Linn, Senator from Missouri, presented to Congress in 1838 a lengthy report on Oregon telling what was known of its climate and resources. This report was scattered broadcast throughout the country and became a textbook for the pioneers who began to plan for the long westward journey. In 1838 the government at Washington sent out a fleet named the Pacific Exploring Expedition, under Lieutenant Charles Wilkes, with instructions to explore and report on the country. The Rev. Jason Lee, the first missionary to come to Oregon, coming as early as 1834, left Oregon for the East in 1838. As soon as Lee crossed the Mississippi he began to lecture to large audiences on the attractions of Oregon for the settler. It seems strange indeed that Jason Lee should be almost lost to sight and forgotten. His ride was made to find help for his mission and to bring people to Oregon, and he did actually bring back with him fifty-two people. While his physical sufferings were not so great as Dr. Whitman's as he made his ride in the spring, his mental sufferings were greater, for as he rode east on his mission, his wife of a year lay dying in the lonely cabin in the Oregon wilderness. At the Pawnee mission a messenger overtook him, telling him she was dead. Jason Lee's services to Oregon were very great; he planted the first colony in Oregon; his lectures were never forgotten, and yet, no one has told in song or story the work this brave man did to save his missions and Oregon. Caleb Cushing of Massachusetts in 1839 presented a report upon Oregon to the House of Representatives. The government was moving unerringly towards the acquisition of Oregon. Thomas H. Benton, for thirty years Senator from Missouri, did much towards saving Oregon. He made eloquent speeches before the Senate urging that steps be taken to save the country. A young man by the name of Robert Shortis, who had lived in my father's family in Missouri, came with a number of adventurous young men to Oregon in 1839. He was so charmed by the beauty of the Willamette Valley, the mild winter and possibilities open to settlers, that he wrote to his old friends urging them to come to Oregon. These letters were published in the papers and caused great excitement and started the movement towards Oregon. I cite these instances simply to show the movements that had been made towards bringing immigrants to Oregon and towards saving the country to the United States long before Dr. Whitman made his famous ride. As Dr. Whitman traveled east he found great preparations being made all along the frontier to emigrate to the Willamette Valley. That his efforts added somewhat to the number of emigrants is true, but that he contributed widely to it does not appear. He was too late for that, for the organization for the great emigration of 1843 was well under way before his arrival. No doubt he induced some families to join the emigrants at the rendezvous at Independence, Missouri, but the majority of them had never heard of Dr. Whitman. When the first detachment of emigrants had reached the Platte River on their way west they were overtaken by a man who was driving a span of horses to a light hack or wagon. With him was a boy, or young man, his nephew; they were out of food and the emigrants gave them provisions. This man was Dr. Whitman. He started west with almost no supplies, thinking he and his nephew could subsist on wild game. As they all sat around the camp fire at the Platte they were discussing the all-absorbing subject of the possibility of saving Oregon, and one of the party said to Whitman, "Doctor, you have lived in Oregon, what do you think of the prospect of saving the country to the United States?" His reply was this: "Gentlemen, this will be your work; my work is for the Kingdom of God." He traveled some distance with this detachment and then pressed on towards his mission at Waiilatpu. Some years ago, while many of the pioneers of 1843 were living, a movement was started towards building a monument to Dr. Whitman, chiefly as the man who saved Oregon and organized and brought to Oregon the emigrants of 1843. This movement gave rise to what was called the "Whitman Controversy." Many of the men who had helped to organize the emigration wrote letters which were published in the Oregonian and, if I remember correctly, in the Christian Advocate also, stating the facts as to the organization of the emigration. These papers were in my father's library but since his death are hard to trace. I am making an effort now to find them. The pioneers did not object of course to the building of the monument, as they all loved and honored Dr. Whitman. What they did resent was claiming for him the work they themselves had done. Much romance has been written with regard to what Dr. Whitman did. Much of this was due I believe to his tragic death at the hands of the savages for whom he had sacrificed so much. Appealing as it did to the sympathy of everyone, all grieved that so good and brave a man should meet with such a fate. Medford Mail Tribune, January 11, 1915, page 2 A SKETCH OF THE ROGUE RIVER
VALLEY
Lying between the Cascade Mountains on
the east, and the Coast Range on the west, and tempered by the warm
oceanic current from Japan, the Rogue River Valley has a climate
unsurpassed except perhaps by the coast valleys of Greece.AND SOUTHERN OREGON HISTORY* By Alice Applegate Sargent PART I. THE ROGUE INDIANS
About the year 1834 we find the Rogue
River Valley a wilderness inhabited by a tribe of Indians. These
Indians were a branch of the tribe living in northern California whom
we now know as the Shastas. But the original name was not Shasta but
Chesta. They were the Chesta Scotons [Shasta Scotons],
and the Indians living in the Rogue River Valley were Chesta Scotons.The first white men to set foot in the valley of whom we have any authentic record were some French Canadian trappers who were trapping for furs for that great British monopoly the Hudson's Bay Company. These men made their way into the valley and set their traps along the river, but the Indians stole the traps, and the trappers always spoke of them as the rogues; the river was the river of the rogues and the valley the valley of the rogues. Old pioneers have assured me that this is the way by which the river, the valley and the Indians came by the name. Another story as to the origin of the name is this: That the river was called Rouge or Red River by some French voyageurs on account of the cliffs at the mouth of the river being of red color. By an act of the legislature in 1853-4 Rogue River was to be Gold River, but it has never been so called. FIFTEEN PIONEERS,
OPENERS OF THE SOUTHERN ROUTE
In the year 1846 fifteen pioneers from
the Willamette Valley came into the Rogue River Valley, seeking a route
by which immigrants could reach the Willamette Valley without having to
travel the long northern route across the Blue Mountains and down the
Columbia River as they had to come. Their names were: Jesse Applegate,
Lindsay Applegate, Levi Scott, John Scott, Henry Boygus, Benjamin
Burch, John Owens, John Jones, Robert Smith, Samuel Goodhue, Moses
Harris, David Goff, Benit Osborne, William Sportsman and William Parker.Lindsay Applegate was my father, Jesse Applegate my uncle. Each man was equipped with a saddle horse and a pack horse. As they made their way through the Rogue River Valley they were constantly followed by the Indians and had to be on guard day and night. When they had to pass through heavy timber and brush they dismounted and led their horses, carrying their guns across their arms ready to fire. The Indians were armed with bows and poisoned arrows, the pioneers with the old-time muzzle loading rifles. They made their way through the valley, crossed the Cascade Mountains into the Klamath country and thence east to the Humboldt River. Here they met a train of immigrants. They brought back with them one hundred and fifty people, the pioneers traveling ahead and making a road over which the wagons could pass. This train was taken through to the Willamette Valley. Now that we have our splendid Pacific Highway, built at enormous cost with all the modern implements, rock crushers, steam rollers and plows, and by the labor of hundreds of men, it is well for us to remember that the first road in southern Oregon and through the Rogue River Valley was built by the labor of fifteen men with nothing but axes in their bare hands, and amidst perils and hardships that would strike terror to any but the stoutest hearts. It was free to all, a work of humanity; the only recompense to the builders was a consciousness of duty nobly done. PART II.
In 1848 a party of pioneers from the
Willamette Valley came into the Rogue River Valley on their way to the
gold mines in California. They prospected for gold on Rogue River and
on the stream we now know as the Applegate and then pushed on to
California. My father was with this party also and the stream and
valley were named for him.In 1850 two men, Clugage and Pool by name, equipped a pack train at the mining town of Yreka, California, and carried supplies between Yreka and towns in the Willamette Valley. They followed a narrow trail across the Siskiyou Mountains and along the bank of Bear Creek. It was their custom when they reached this valley, to stop to rest and recuperate their animals. The wild grass grew so high in the valley that the man who herded the mules had to stand on the back of his horse in order to locate the rest of the herd. Clugage had worked at mining, and one day, while they were in camp in the valley, went up into the hills where Jacksonville now is. Following up a gulch or ravine, he came to a place where the heavy rains had washed the soil entirely away, leaving a ledge of rock exposed. Taking his bowie knife from his belt he dug around in the rocks and sand and found nuggets of gold. He returned to camp and reported his discovery to Pool. Together they went back to the spot and staked out their mining claims. Returning to Yreka they bought a camp outfit and mining tools and returned to work their claims. They had kept quiet in regard to their discovery, but in some way it became known, and in two months from the time Clugage found the nuggets of gold a thousand men were on the spot. Claims were staked out and every man went to work to dig out the gold. No time was spent in building cabins; a man would throw his saddle blanket over a manzanita bush and put his bed under it. Some built shelters of bark and brush while others put up tents. Fortunes were taken out that winter, and many who had families in the east and elsewhere went back in the spring and summer and brought them to the Rogue River Valley. This was the beginning of the settlement. Some took up land in the valley while others settled in Jacksonville and Ashland. The county of Jackson was organized by an act of the legislature on the 12th of January, 1852. Until 1853 there were but four white women in Jacksonville, namely, Mrs. McCully, Mrs. Evans, Mrs. Lawless and Mrs. Gore. The winter of 1852 was an exceptionally hard one. Snow fell until all trails were completely blocked. Flour rose to one dollar a pound, and salt was priceless. Some adventurous men went to California on snowshoes to buy salt. Provisions gave out, and towards spring the people had to live on wild game, meat cooked without salt. The summer of 1852 was very dry, about such a summer as the one just past, and the wheat and potato crop were not a great success, but the following season was more favorable. Ashland was founded in 1852 by Abel D. Helman and Robert Hargadine. A sawmill was built on Mill Creek, and in 1854 a big flouring mill was built there, the first in the Rogue River Valley. Ashland was named from Ashland, Ohio, Mr. Helman's native town, and called Ashland Mills on account of the saw and flouring mills. The town was known as Ashland Mills for many years. The first school in the Rogue River Valley was taught by Mrs. McCully in Jacksonville, and was a subscription school. The first white child born in the Rogue River Valley was Walter Gore, son of a pioneer of 1852, born on December 3rd, 1852. In 1853 the Indians began war on the white settlers, but were soon subdued and a treaty made with them at Table Rock. Stockades were built at different places in the valley, for the protection of the settlers. Fort Lane was built in 1853-4 on a hill facing Table Rock and occupied by regular troops for three years. The old site is on a hill west of some old buildings at Tolo and south of Gold Ray Dam. In 1853 many immigrants came into the valley; many buildings were erected, but as all supplies had to be brought from Crescent City by pack animals, not a pane of glass could be had that year for window lights; cotton cloth stretched over the openings was used instead. During the spring steps were taken to found a Methodist church in Jacksonville. The pastor was Rev. Joseph S. Smith. The church was built and used jointly by Methodists and Presbyterians for many years. The town of Phoenix was founded in 1854, the land being donated by Samuel Colver, whose old dwelling still stands by the roadside. The town was named originally Gasburg. The first newspaper printed in southern Oregon was called The Table Rock Sentinel, printed in 1855. The editor was W. G. T'Vault. Jackson County in 1855 was the richest and most populous county in Oregon. But in that year the Indians again began war. The 9th of October has been called the most eventful day in the history of southern Oregon, for on that day nearly twenty people were murdered by the Indians and their homes burned. The settlers were totally unprepared and taken by surprise. A Mrs. Haines was taken prisoner, and her fate is still wrapped in mystery, although the Indians claimed she died a week later; her husband and two children were killed. Mr. and Mrs. Jones were killed. The next family in their path was the Wagoner's. A woman [Sarah Pellet] had made her way to the Wagoner home who wished to go to Jacksonville. She spent the night at the Wagoner home and next morning Mr. Wagoner agreed to take her to Jacksonville, as he had a span of horses and a wagon. [Wagoner took her to Vannoy's Ferry.] On his return two or three days later nothing was found of his home but a heap of ashes. [He returned the next day.] Long afterwards, when the war was over and the Indians had become friendly towards the whites, some members of this war party told of Mrs. Wagoner's fate. When they surrounded the house she barricaded as best she could. The Indians wanted to get possession of her and tried to induce her to come out of the house, fearing to try to enter as they knew she was armed. Finally they set fire to the house hoping to drive her out and then capture her. While the house was burning she stood where they could see her. Taking down her long hair, she combed it out before a mirror and then sat calmly in a chair until the flames closed around her. Her little girl had been captured and died soon after, so the Indians claimed. At the Harris' home were Mr. and Mrs. Harris, their two children, a boy aged ten and a girl twelve, and a man who was employed about the place. This man was in a field and was killed. Mr. Harris was shot while on the porch near the door. Mrs. Harris dragged him into the house, bolted the door and collecting a number of firearms prepared for defense. The daughter was shot in the arm and disabled and Mr. Harris died in about an hour. Mrs. Harris continued to fire at the Indians through the crevices between the logs. After a time an Indian messenger arrived with some message to the Indians, who all immediately ran towards the river. As soon as they had disappeared Mrs. Harris and her daughter fled from the house, knowing the Indians would set fire to it on their return. They hid in a thicket of willows until they were rescued by a company of troops the following day and taken to Jacksonville. When Mrs. Harris ran to meet the soldiers, carrying her little girl in her arms, covered with blood and blackened by powder, Major Fitzgerald, the officer in command cried out, "Good God! are you a white woman?" while tears ran down the cheeks of the bronzed and bearded men. The little son of Mrs. Harris had disappeared. Every ravine and thicket for miles around was carefully searched by men aided by the soldiers, but not a trace of the missing child was ever found. What pen could picture the grief of the sorrowing mother as the long years rolled by bringing no solution of the awful mystery. I have not the time to go farther into details. The war was brought to a close in 1856 and the Indians taken to the reservation in the Willamette country. During the Indian wars there was quite a body of troops in the Rogue River Valley. Two companies of volunteers from California, six companies, which were organized here in the valley, and one from Douglas County, besides the regular troops stationed at Fort Lane. The toll road was built across the Siskiyou Mountains in 1857-8 under authorization of the Oregon Legislature. The Oregon and California Stage Company was organized in 1860 to carry mail between Sacramento and Portland. A wagon road was built between Jacksonville and Crescent City this same year and a stage line established. A company of volunteers was organized in Jacksonville in 1861 called the "Baker Guard." In 1863 a company of state troops was organized in Ashland. It was Company A 1st Regiment, 1st Brigade of Oregon Militia and was called the "Mountain Rangers." A telegraph line was established in 1866 and the little valley of the Rogue was put into communication with the outside world. A woolen mill was built in Ashland in 1867-8 at a cost of $32,000. This mill was destroyed by fire some years ago. When I was a child there were eight large flouring mills in the valley, and hundreds of pounds of flour were carried out of the valley by pack animals and wagons, besides what was consumed in the valley. From the old Barron farm at the foot of the Siskiyous to Rogue River the valley was golden with grain, and the yield was from thirty to fifty bushels of wheat to the acre. Almost every farmer in the valley had planted an orchard, many of them very large. I have never seen finer fruit, for in those days the fruit was perfectly free from disease—a wormy apple was unheard of. Spraying was not necessary, and smudging was never resorted to, as there was always an abundance of fruit. When the orchards came into bearing the country east of the Cascades and the mining towns in California were supplied with fruit from the Rogue River Valley. The first apples raised in the valley were Gloria Mundis, raised on the Skinner place on Bear Creek and sold to a wealthy miner from Gold Hill for two dollars and fifty cents each. [The Gold Hill discovery was made in 1859.] CONCLUSION
Jacksonville, besides being the first
town founded in the Rogue River Valley, was at one time the richest and
most flourishing. It had been settled by people of education and
culture who were wide awake and progressive. I marvel now that people
so isolated could have kept so abreast of the times.When this valley was dotted with beautiful farms and Ashland called Ashland Mills, Phoenix known as Gasburg, and Jacksonville was the hub of the universe (so to speak), my father moved his family from Douglas County where I was born, to southern Oregon, and we lived for two years at the toll house on the Siskiyous. FREIGHT
OVER SISKIYOU TOLL ROAD
Looking back to that time, I realize
that it was a wonderful experience for a child. Every day the road was
thronged; there were immense freight wagons drawn by six and eight yoke
of oxen, towering Marietta
wagons drawn by six span of horses; these we called the "bell
teams." The leading span had, fastened to the collars, bows of iron
which were hung with little bells. These bells were worn to warn other
teams, as there were only occasional places on the narrow mountain
grade where these teams could pass one another. When the driver of a
team came to one of these places he would stop and listen. If he heard
the faintest sound of bells there was nothing to do but wait until the
other team passed. Then there were the long trains of fifty, sixty, and
eighty pack mules all following the bell mare in single file.Twice daily the great red and yellow stage coaches went swinging by, drawn by six splendid horses. Unless a horse weighed so many hundred pounds and was so many hands high, the Oregon and California Stage Company would not so much as look at him. They were all matched horses and I recall especially the sorrels and the grays. There were long trains of travel-stained immigrants with their weary ox teams. Think what the feelings of these people must have been when they crossed the Siskiyou Mountains and beheld far below them the promised land, the Rogue River Valley, lying like a beautiful garden between the mountain ranges. FORESTS
FULL OF GAME
I must not forget the wagons loaded with
apples on their way to the mining towns in California. The wagon boxes
were lined with straw and the apples piled into them. These apple
peddlers advertised their fruit in a unique way by having a pointed
stick fastened to a corner of the wagon bed on which was stuck an apple.When winter came and the snow fell deep on the Siskiyous, as it sometimes does, Father used several yoke of oxen and a big bobsled to keep the road open to travel. Sometimes the snow would fall steadily, filling the road behind them, and all day long the weary oxen would have to travel back and forth over the long mountain grade. The forests were swarming with wild animals, panther, wildcats, black, cinnamon and grizzly bear, and great gray timber wolves which would howl in a blood-curdling way in the forest at dusk. Immigrants were pouring into Oregon over the old road laid out by the fifteen pioneers in 1846. The Modoc and Piute Indians made travel unsafe even at that late date. A report came to my father that a train of immigrants coming over that route was in great peril. Father called for volunteers and in a very short time forty-one men were equipped and ready to go to the help of the immigrants. They rode rapidly for several days before they met the train. I have no recollection of my father's or brother's return, but I distinctly recall the story that Father told of the rescue. When the party finally discovered the immigrants they had corralled their wagons and prepared to defend themselves as best they could against the Indians. The rescuing party prepared a flag of truce by fastening a white cloth to a long pole, to show that they were friends, and then rode slowly forward. They had ridden almost up to the wagons before they saw any signs of life, then a wagon cover was thrown up and an aged woman with snow white hair called out to them "Glory be to God, we are saved." They brought this train in safety to the Rogue River Valley and we, no doubt, have some of these same people living in Medford today. COMING
OF RAILROAD
The next great event in the history of
the valley was the coming of the railroad which was built into Ashland
from the north. The first train of cars ran into Ashland on May 4th,
1884, an event celebrated in an imposing way. Ashland was the terminus
until 1887 when the railroad was completed and the Rogue River Valley
was linked by bands of steel with the outside world. [In 1887 the railroad over the
Siskiyous was completed. The valley was linked by rail with the outside
world in 1884.]Medford, the little city of which we all feel proud, was founded in December, 1883, by J. S. Howard. [Howard's credit as town founder is disputed.] It was not incorporated until a year later. [Medford was incorporated in 1885.] Bear Creek, which runs through the city, was named originally Stuart River for Captain Stuart, an army officer who was killed in a fight with the Indians on the banks of the stream on the 17th of June, 1851. And now, as the years roll on, let us not forget the brave and self-reliant men and women who brought civilization into the wilderness and made it possible for us to have peaceful homes in the Rogue River Valley. *Read before the Greater Medford Club in the spring of 1915. Oregon
Historical Quarterly, March 1921, pages 1-11
SARGENT FUNERAL AT JACKSONVILLE
SUNDAY AT 2:30
Funeral services for Colonel H. H. Sargent, who was stricken at his
home in Jacksonville Friday afternoon, will be held from the family
residence Sunday afternoon at 2:30 o'clock, the Rev. Howard
officiating. The services at the grave in Jacksonville cemetery will be
in charge of the American Legion, Medford Post 15. Military honors will
be accorded the departed soldier, author, and foremost citizen.Up to the minute of his death, Colonel Sargent was active, and died while fighting a grass fire he had set to burn off the dead grass in his yard. A sufferer from high blood pressure and hardening of the arteries, the exertion is believed to have caused his untimely passing. The news of his sudden end was a bitter shock to hundreds of friends throughout Southern Oregon. He is survived by his wife and other relatives. The honorary pallbearers will be Judge F. L. TouVelle, Louis Ulrich, Emil Britt, John Miller, Dr. J. J. Robinson and W. A. Bishop, all residents of Jacksonville. The active pallbearers will be members of the American Legion. Colonel Sargent won international fame as an authority and author on military science, and was a friend of Theodore Roosevelt and General Leonard Wood. He was recommended for command of a brigade in the World War by the ex-President and 24 general officers of the regular army. His last literary effort was "The Strategy on the Western Front," that brought him compliments from all over the world. In 1893, he wrote "Napoleon Bonaparte’s First Campaign," and "The Campaign of Marengo," which gained him fame and were considered classic works on military affairs. In 1907, he wrote "The Campaign of Santiago de Cuba," for which he received a compliment in person from the then President Roosevelt. Col. Sargent graduated from West Point in 1883, and won rapid promotion. He served on the frontier and in 1887 was assigned to the professorship of military science at the University of Illinois, a post he filled until the outbreak of the Spanish-American War, when he was called to Washington, D.C., to assist in the organization of the volunteer forces. He served in Cuba, and was the right-hand man of General Leonard Wood in the sanitary cleanup of Santiago and other Cuban cities. He was recommended by Generals Wood and Otis for meritorious service in Cuba and the Philippines. He was in command of the attacking forces at the battle of San Mateo, during which General Lawton was killed. Upon his return from the Philippines, he was professor of military science and tactics at the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Texas, and was retired in November, 1911. In the World War he was called to active duty in June, 1917, and assigned as assistant to the quartermaster general of the Western division with headquarters at San Francisco, later being called as professor of military science at Princeton, and soon afterwards was detailed to the war plans division of the general staff at the War College at Washington, D.C. Colonel Sargent was born at Carlinville, Ill., Sept. 29, 1848, and was 63 years old, lacking a few days, at the time of his death. In 1886, at Ashland, he was married to Miss Alice C. Applegate, who survives him. In civic affairs, Colonel Sargent was active, and last Thursday was elected president of the Southern Oregon Pioneers Association. He was an earnest champion of any cause he believed in, and was public spirited in the highest degree. He was a warm and lovable soul, and generally beloved for his many admirable traits of character. Medford Mail Tribune, September 17, 1921, page 8 A Pioneer Reminiscence
To the Editor: "She flies with her own wings." This is Oregon's motto,
and for over seventy years how grandly has she soared aloft, the pride
of we descendants of the pioneers.
But now, her wings broken, her glory dimmed, how can she ever hope to fly above the black clouds of bigotry and ignorance that encompass her. As I look down over this beautiful valley from my home on the hillside, my thoughts go back to the days so long ago when our pioneer mothers and fathers looked down from the doors of their lonely cabins on this same beautiful valley while the smoke from the Indian camp fires drifted into the sky. I think of the nights so long ago when the Indian signal fires blazed on the hilltops and the pioneers watched in their darkened cabins, their trusty rifles loaded and ready for the coming of the stealthy foe. Now all is changed; the sons and daughters of the pioneer father and mothers wait in their beautiful homes, with their trusty rifles loaded and ready, not for the coming of the Indian warriors but for the masked and sheeted hordes of their own countrymen. And there are people in the Rogue River Valley today who talk of "progress." But there is this to be said in behalf of Chief John, the great war chief of the Rogue Rivers, and his red-skinned warriors. When they prepared themselves for a raid on the white settlers, they decked their flowing locks with eagles' feathers and smeared their faces with paint--but they never wore masks. ALICE
APPLEGATE SARGENT.
Medford
Mail Tribune, November 28,
1922, page 4Jacksonville, Nov. 24. Modoc Indians Did Not Make Their
Last Stand on Table Rock
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, August 31, 1923,
page 7
To the Editor: There is positively not one word of truth in the
statement that the Modoc Indians made their last stand on Table Rock.
Indeed, the story is absurd. The Rogue River Valley was at no time the
abiding place of the Modocs.
The country they inhabited was the region lying east of the Cascade Range of mountains, the Klamath country, and they made their last stand in the Lava Beds, the famous lands lying just across the Oregon state line in Modoc County, California. The Rogue River Valley was the land of the Shasta Scotons, known later as the Rogue Rivers, a branch of the tribe in California which we now know as the Shastas. The Rogue River Valley has a history all its own, quite romantic and thrilling enough without embellishments borrowed from other parts of the country. Let us try to keep the history of our beautiful valley true and clean. ALICE
APPLEGATE SARGENT
Jacksonville, Aug. 30, 1923. Pioneer Road Builders.
A tribute to the 15 pioneers who built the Old South Road in 1846. I
will tell you a tale of valiant men,
Fifteen brave souls and true. Who shouldered their rifles long years ago, Courageous deeds to do. Though scorched by the rays of the noonday sun, And chilled by the midnight dew, They faltered not whatever the task Their brave hearts found to do. They climbed the mountains through forests dark, Braved terrors the desert had; The swollen tongues, the bleeding lips The thirst which drives men mad. But they opened the road to the sunsets red; Then the covered wagons came. And the valiant men--though they knew it not, Had climbed the ladder to fame. And the covered wagons followed on Wherever the builders led, And grateful immigrants knelt in prayer, In the light their campfires shed. They have traveled the road to the great unknown, These heroes whose tale I tell. They rest at last in their long, long sleep, In the land they loved so well. --ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT, Jacksonville, Ore., Oct. 23, 1924. "Ye Poet's Corner," Medford Mail Tribune, October 27, 1924, page 4 The True Battle of Table Rock.
To the Editor:"Truth is mighty and must prevail." No circumstance of the [1851] Rogue River war is better authenticated than the report submitted by Major Phil Kearny--afterwards General Phil Kearny--who commanded the forces here in the valley. The Indian stronghold was near the base of Table Rock. There the stones had fallen down for centuries among the trees and brush and they had also reinforced the natural fortification with log breastworks. The fight on the river, in which Captain Stuart was mortally wounded and in which eleven Indians were killed, took place on the 17th of June, 1851. The Indians retreated to their stronghold, but Major Kearny awaited reinforcements, since he had only 28 men under his immediate command at that time. He made the attack on the stronghold on the 23rd and again on the morning of the 24th of June, and in the afternoon the engagement lasted about four hours. This was a determined fight--and it is said the Indians suffered severely. Major Kearny had altogether approximately a hundred men, mostly volunteers, in this engagement, and it is stated that Chief John's force numbered several hundred warriors, though they only had a few guns. It was at this time that Chief John boasted that his warriors "could keep a thousand arrows in the air continually." At the close of the battle in the afternoon Major Kearny made an effort to treat with the Indians, but they scorned his offer and he made preparations to attack again as early as possible on the morning of the 25th, but the Indians had retreated down the river. It is claimed that the Indians crossed the river about seven miles below the stronghold, and although they were pursued vigorously, most of them had scattered into the timbered hills and only thirty women with their children fell into the hands of the pursuers. The treaty of Sept. 10, 1853--Gen. Joseph Lane's second treaty--took place at the base of Table Rock at the old stronghold on the western side of the great cliff. Table Rock was used for signal and lookout purposes. The Indians were too wise to make a serious stand for fighting on the top of the rock. I believe traces can still be seen of the Indian stronghold at the western base of the rock. And as the years roll on people will become more and more interested in the history of the Rogue River Valley, and it behooves us to get the truth. ALICE
APPLEGATE SARGENT.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune,
February 5, 1925, page 4Jacksonville, Ore., Feb. 3, 1925. EMERSON HOUGH AND THE COVERED
WAGON
In 1920 Emerson Hough was writing
sketches for the Saturday
Evening Post under the title "Out of Doors." He was deeply
interested in western history and had By ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT INSTALLMENT I for the pioneers the greatest admiration--to him they were the true Americans. After reading some of these sketches I sent him a little book called "Recollections of My Boyhood" which I had compiled from notes furnished me by my brother, Jesse Applegate, who was, at that time, nearly 80 and almost blind. He was a nephew of Jesse Applegate, so prominent in early Oregon history. The little book reached Emerson Hough, but he lost my address and he, as he expressed it, "advertised" in the Saturday Evening Post. This was the beginning of our correspondence, which continued until shortly before his death. I believe his letters will establish the fact that he drew his inspiration for his novel "The Covered Wagon" from my brother's little book. His wish that he might leave behind him something to show the people of today what men and women used to be has been fulfilled, I hope, and believe he lived long enough to realize this. That wonderful picture created from his western novel tells the story of the coming of the pioneers as no history can ever tell it. The thrilling scene shown in the picture, of the fording of the rivers, gives the actual crossing by the pioneers of 1843 of the North Platte with its shifting quicksands, and the Snake with its deep and swirling waters, as described in the little book. I feel that "The Covered Wagon" and the wonderful picture created from it belong first of all to Oregon. A fine review of "Recollections of My Boyhood" and some of Emerson Hough's letters to me follow: Capital Journal, Salem, March 24, 1926, page 1 EMERSON HOUGH AND THE COVERED
WAGON
(From the Saturday Evening Post,
February 14, 1920, "Romance of the Oregon Trail," by Emerson Hough)By ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT INSTALLMENT II Someone out west--and I wish that someone would send in name and address to me--has contributed to these columns a really important volume in American history, though perhaps no professor of American history ever heard of it. It is bound in paper and printed locally at Roseburg, Oregon, under the title Recollections of My Boyhood. The author is Jesse Applegate, who subscribes himself as an Oregon pioneer of 1843. If you subtract 1843 from 1920 you have a remainder of 77 years. Mr. Applegate does not say how old he was when he wrote the book, but says that he started west in his boyhood. That was before Parkman began to write of the Oregon Trail--indeed before very many men ever had crossed the continent on that famous trail of the Old West. He tells us that there were several hundred men and women in the expedition of 1843 and he gives the full list of the names of the heads of families and men old enough to do a grown man's work. That list of names is valuable historical material which ought to be preserved in Oregon and elsewhere. Those old trail makers were history makers also, though they were innocent of that intent. The Applegate family settled in the Willamette Valley, removing to the Umpqua country after seven years on the lands of their first selection. Members of the family had to do with the building of the new shortcut trail over which many later parties came out to Oregon. Indeed, if you wish to learn of the beginnings of the settlement of Oregon here is where you can get the facts as you can nowhere else. Here in simple and unemotional words you get the whole story of the long and weary journey across the continent, with all its hardships and all its dangers--as, for instance, the description of the loss of life of some of the party in passing the rapids of the Columbia. The younger Applegate grew to manhood in Oregon, but his family, originally from Kentucky, started for Oregon from their last residence in the state of Missouri. Perhaps there may be interest for some readers in the simple description of life on the edge of things in those early days: "My father was born in Lexington, Kentucky, my mother in East Tennessee, but from the time of my earliest recollection we had been on the Osage River in Missouri. Our house stood in the edge of the woods which skirted the river bank. The prairie country from the house lay westward and up and down the river and was vast in extent. Our house was of hewed logs closely joined together, and the spaces between were filled with limestone mortar. There were two buildings, one story and a half, under one roof, and a porch on the west side of the building; there was a hewn stone fireplace and a chimney for each building. There were two doors and probably four windows opening on the porch, and a door toward the river, opening on a short walk to the small house containing a loom where cloth was woven. Near the river were several corn cribs in a row, and sheds for stock. West of the house was a large corn field, cotton and tobacco patches, and garden. "I have no recollection of any orchard, probably because as yet it had not supplied me with any fruit. Of forest trees, between the house and river, I can name the hickory of three kinds--black, shellbark and pignut, the last producing a soft-shelled nut. This variety grew between the dwelling house and the corn cribs. Several large walnut trees grew between the corn cribs and the river; a very large bur oak, also water oaks, persimmon and slippery elm and sycamore trees grew along the margin of the river. Of timber classed as brush there were redbud, sassafras, willow, lime bark and hazel. I saw red cedar, chinquapin oak, pawpaw and pecan trees growing on the other side of the river. "In the autumn season we always gathered several bushels of walnuts, pecan and hickory nuts. There was a wild plum of this country which for sweetness was equal to the petite prune, while its flavor was superior. When ripe it was pale yellow, but frosted over with a white flourlike substance." Applegate says that his first school teacher was a fiddler as well as a pedagogue. The schoolhouse was a rough log cabin with fireplace and flue built of rocks, clay and sticks, and he says, "The children used to pick clay out of the logs and eat it." He recalls that the Oregon journey was talked of for a long time before the party was made up, but that no one dreamed what the march actually meant. He tells his boyhood impressions of the Osage Indians and other tribes, and the party had its later share of Indian horrors. He remembers Independence Rock and Fort Laramie and the level plains with their buffalo; remembers also crossing the two Platte rivers. He recalls Fort Bridger, but cannot say whether it was at Bridger or at Laramie that he saw the Sioux Indians with their painted cheeks, with several very pretty squaws and a number of papooses, almost white and very pretty. He speaks of these scenes as having been witnessed 60 years ago. Parkman himself has nothing better than the Applegate description of an Indian war party on the march. Surely it would be interesting enough to quote page after page describing these old and vivid scenes, now gone forever, but that cannot be done here. All I can do is to prize such a book and to keep it. It is in this way that we get American history actually at first hand. Capital Journal, Salem, March 25, 1926, page 1 EMERSON HOUGH AND THE COVERED
WAGON
The following correspondence between Emerson Hough and Mrs.
Alice A.
Sargent relates to the part which Jesse Applegate's memoirs
played in
the western writings of Mr. Hough, such as "The Covered Wagon."By ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT ARTICLE III 599 Surf Street,
Mrs. Alice A. Sargent,Chicago, March 1, 1920. Jacksonville, Or. My Dear Madam: I think I have dug out the entire Applegate family in the replies to my inquiry in the Saturday Evening Post about Jesse Applegate. Your letter is very interesting to me. Was it not you who sent me the copy of your brother's book? In some way the name of the sender got detached from the book, so I think I never was able to express my thanks--I should like to do so now. Your brother died at the end of a most interesting and useful life, and I know how you must cherish his memory. There can be no more such men now. Yours very truly,
EMERSON HOUGH. (Out of Doors) ----
559 Surf Street,
Mrs. H. H. Sargent,March 31, 1920. Casa Grande, Jacksonville, Or. My Dear Mrs. Sargent--The all-powerful Saturday Evening Post has come to the rescue of an almighty weak memory on my own part. I am glad to hear from you and thank you again for the Jesse Applegate book, which was about the best and most interesting of all of those which came in to my department. I remembered our correspondence, but you see, there are some thousands of letters which came to my desk every year on all sorts of things. They get filed away alphabetically. Then I remember the interesting contents of some letter. Then I promptly forget the initial of the writer of that particular letter. Then I have to advertise in the Saturday Evening Post. But anyhow, the system works as well as a cross index would, if I had time to install one. We can't give a great deal of space to historical matters, but maybe sometime I can take a shot at your little mention of the Dr. Whitman fable. It is nice of you to send me these two things. I am more or less familiar with the Rogue River Valley--Medford, Ashland, Grants Pass, etc.--but I never have been at Jacksonville. It is a wonderful, inspiring country out there and I envy you your residence in it after your long and trying experience in army life--I reckon that Colonel Sargent saw pretty much enough of it in 30 years. There was a man by the name of H. Barton wrote me from New York, saying he wanted to publish all of these little western books which I had mentioned. He wanted me to send him on two or three manuscripts now in my possession, from oldtimers who did not know how to get their stuff in print. Now, I don't know Barton, and I don't see how any publisher could really make enough money out of one of these volumes to pay the author much--the demand would be among a rather limited reading public in my belief. So while Barton may be quite all right, this is to advise you that I don't know anything about him and to go very slow before taking on any publishing proposition which he or anyone else might offer. My recollection is that I mentioned to him the Applegate book and he possibly may write to you. Believe me, dear
Mrs. Sargent,
P.S. Unless you want it back, I am going to put your history of the
Rogue River Valley in with my old western books--I am beginning to have
quite a library on the early West, with many original documents,
Perhaps some historical society may value these after I am gone.Yours very faithfully, EMERSON HOUGH. Capital Journal, Salem, March 26, 1926, page 1 EMERSON HOUGH AND THE COVERED
WAGON
By ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT ARTICLE IV
The following correspondence between Emerson Hough and Mrs.
Alice A. Sargent relates to the part which Jesse
Applegate's memoirs
played in the western writings of Mr. Hough, such as "The Covered
Wagon."
559
Surf Street,
My Dear
Mrs. Sargent: Thank you--perhaps the Saturday Evening Post sometime
can use the Marcus Whitman mention.April 21, 1920. A great many are puzzled about the pronunciation of my name. It originally was Norman French, via England--de la Hege; but since Richard Hough came over with William Penn in 1683 the name, so far as I know, has always been pronounced as though spelled Huff. With
best wishes,
Yours very truly, EMERSON HOUGH. ----
EMERSON HOUGH
559 Surf St., Chicago 2-26-21
My Dear Mrs. Sargent: Someone has made away with my copy of the Jesse
Applegate narrative--Overland to Oregon--which you were so good as to
send me long ago. Now I need precisely that book in some work I am
doing--a novel of early days. Can you get me another copy? I will keep
it in my safe. Let me know of any expense and I will remit. The
printers gave no address that I can recall.My correspondence for 25 years back has gone to the Historical Dept. of Iowa. I have been very ill this winter, and wished these old data preserved forever. I thank you so much for all you have done for me. Sincerely yours,
EMERSON HOUGH. ----
EMERSON HOUGH
559 Surf St. Chicago 8th March, 1921.
Dear Mrs. Sargent: You certainly are a good angel and if ever I am in
the Northwest I shall make a pilgrimage to Jacksonville to see you and
Colonel Sargent. There are so few really interesting people in
Chicago--or in all the world.The little book is at hand and will be invaluable in my work on the novel. Let me tell you, confidentially, that it is to be about the covered wagon train of 1843-1850; I don't know just the date, but think about 1847-8. Need I say that of all the work I have done, I approach this with about the keenest zest? It is the thing I most love; and I should die the happier if I could believe that in my few remaining years I should have left something to tell this mixed and motley America of today about the earlier and better America when we were a strong people and had a great country for our own. I am not very happy as I study the America of today and tomorrow. Indeed, this Applegate journal is almost my novel, done to hand. I am going to use its facts historically--that and the diary of Tamsen Donner, 1846. I want to show the piffling people of today what men and women used to be. I hope I may be given strength to do this book within the current year. My health has broken and that accounts for my transgressions and shortcomings in my correspondence with you, and you have been very good to forgive me and make good the loss of my little book. I suppose someone just took it from my library when I was away in the hospital this winter. All my letter files, covering 25 years, have gone to the Historical Dept. of Iowa--I was born in Iowa and they wanted my records because I have traveled so much and been in touch with so very many interesting and important people in course of my work--persons such as yourself, who have done something. So, I doubt not, all your earlier letters to me have gone into history! They have also taken away from me---ante mortem--most of my old blue china, some of my antique mahogany and other treasures they think worth preserving. Now may you and Colonel Sargent live long and prosper. And please tell your husband I shall read his book. That is banal to say, but I want to buy somebody's book, since you duplicate my gift book. Yours very
faithfully,
EMERSON HOUGH. Copy No. 5.
Capital
Journal, Salem, March 27, 1926, page 1EMERSON HOUGH AND THE COVERED
WAGON
The following
correspondence between Emerson Hough and Mrs.
Alice A. Sargent relates to the part which Jesse
Applegate's memoirs
played in the western writings of Mr. Hough, such as "The Covered
Wagon."By ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT ARTICLE V 4th May, 1921
My dear Mrs. Sargent:It is nice of you to remember me and to add to my store of early Western data. Hang on to that old blue plate and only let a lover of America have it, as its next owner. Apropos of your rosebush, I was reading last night, in my work on my novel, that some of the Mormon women who crossed in 1848 carded, spun and wove clothes the way across and cut and sewed it into garments, before they reached Salt Lake, so they must have had looms along. The Oregon people took the school, the church and the law along with them. I find it absorbing to try to visualize that great trek--our civilization passing west. Wish I had lived then, rather than now, but I presume the next generation will have interests and adventures--and life. I wish more people cared for those early days. If you and I can make them care more we do not live in vain. With my respects also to Colonel Sargent, I am Yours very
faithfully,
EMBERSON HOUGH, 208 S. LaSalle St. ----
4 North Jackson
Street,
My dear Mrs. Sargent:Elgin, Illinois, April 7, 1922. For my thanks to you, I am just mailing you the pages of the first installment of [my] transcontinental story, "The Covered Wagon." I believe should you care to follow this through you will find that the story of the Applegate family was not absent from my mind at many stages of my own story. It will please you to know that this experiment of going back to those pioneer days in fiction seems to be working out very well. We are getting a great many letters which lead us to believe that the American spirit in America is not yet wholly dead. Believe me, dear Mrs. Sargent, with many thanks for your earlier help, Yours very
faithfully,
EMERSON HOUGH ----
Mrs. Alice C. Sargent,Casa Grande, Jacksonville, Oregon. 4 No. Jackson
Street,
My dear Mrs. Sargent:Elgin, Illinois, May 2, 1922. Of course I am glad to hear from you always, but my own little affairs seem to be not worth talking of in view of the last paragraph of your letter. Living so far away, of course I did not hear of Col. Sargent's passing away. His record is a fine one and for one who has pretty much closed the books of life and been put on the sidelines, I do not know but the final rest is about as good as the troubles and turmoils of our mixed-up human lives. I am sixty-five years old myself. Sometimes I think that way. Surely I hope that we may both be spared long enough to meet one of these days out in Oregon. I travel a good deal, but always unpremeditatedly, so I do not know what my future plans may be. Your own life and writings have been a great inspiration to me in this book of mine. I thank you for that and also for your kindly personal interest. Believe me, dear Mrs. Sargent,with every good wish, Yours very
faithfully,
EMERSON HOUGH. ----
Mrs. Alice Applegate Sargent.D. Appleton & Company, 35 West 32nd Street, New York. London office 25 Bedford St. (Covent Garden) Cable address Hilandero. 16 May, 1922.
My dear Mrs. Sargent:My publishers, D. Appleton & Company, are sending you a copy of The Covered Wagon inscribed to you. I might almost have dedicated it to you, or to your family. Won't you tell us frankly what you think of the book, remembering that I am obliged to put story before history in such work? I don't know how Oregon and its journals will receive the "Wagon." It has made a very great success as a serial, I am told, and I certainly have numberless letters which make me think there are more Americans than we perhaps had suspected. Please keep up your own work of preserving the records of the American past. It will occupy your mind, and be of great service to this country. Yours very
faithfully,
Capital
Journal, Salem, March 29, 1926, page 1EMERSON HOUGH. Mrs. Sargent Tells Her Story
By FRED LOCKLEY (Portland Journal)
"I was born in Yoncalla Valley," said Mrs. H. H. Sargent when I visited
her recently at her beautiful home in Jacksonville. "The Applegate
brothers, Charles, Lindsay and Jesse, came to Oregon in 1843. My
father, Lindsay Applegate, was born at Lexington, Ky. My mother, whose
maiden name was Elizabeth B. Miller, was born in East Tennessee. Father
and Mother had 12 children, in the following order: Elisha L., Warren,
Jesse, Theresa, who married Captain J. N. McCall of Vancouver; Ivan and
Lucien--born prior to their coming to Oregon. The first born in Oregon
was my brother Oliver C., who lives at Klamath Falls. Then came Ann
Miller Applegate and Francis Marion. I was next, and was christened
Alice Catherine. Jerome B. came next, then Rachel, who married M. S.
Alford, city recorder of Medford. My uncle Charley Applegate had 16
children. Uncle Jesse had 12 and my father 12.
"Michael Thomas and associates, in 1857, was granted a 20-year franchise for a toll road across the Siskiyous. In 1859 Father bought this road. The original toll house was a log cabin, with a fireplace of rough stone. Its doors were of heavy planks, and were fastened with wooden bars fitting into iron brackets. Father built a new toll house, with two fireplaces, and much larger than the former house. It is now known as the Dollarhide house. Keeping the toll road was not merely a matter of collecting toll from those who passed over it, but also of keeping the road clear of trees that fell across it, clearing the snow with several yoke of oxen and a big bobsled, removing slides in the spring, and, in fact, keeping constantly busy improving the road. We were there nine years. "My first teacher was my brother Jesse, and later I went to school at the Ashland public school, my teacher being my brother Oliver. Later I attended school to J. M. Jacobs. "When I was nearly 18 I ran away and got married to Olney Mickelson. I was married to Lieutenant H. H. Sargent in 1886. I met him at Fort Klamath. At the time I married him he was a second lieutenant and had been out of West Point three years. Shortly after our marriage he was detailed as instructor in military science at the University of Illinois, at Urbana. I had never before been out of Oregon. We spent a year at Urbana, when my husband was sent to Fort Bidwell, Calif. After a year and a half there we were ordered to Walla Walla. My husband was a lieutenant and in command of Troop M of the 2nd United States Cavalry. We marched from Fort Bidwell to Walla Walla, about 500 miles. I rode horseback part of the way, and the rest of the way in an ambulance. We were 21 days on the road, and found a foot and a half of snow in the Blue Mountains. I could not help thinking as I passed through the snow how my mother had walked over the Blue Mountains in 1843, through a heavy snowstorm, carrying the baby and leading her little boy 3 years old. She said when she got to the foot of the Blue Mountains her skirts were torn off to her knees from catching on underbrush and fallen timber. "We spent a year and a half at Walla Walla and were then sent to Fort Huachuca, Ariz., near the Mexican line. After four years in Arizona we were ordered to Fort Logan, 12 miles from Denver. My husband was made regimental quartermaster and we were ordered to Fort Wingate, N.M., where my husband wrote 'Napoleon Bonaparte's First Campaign.' He started to write by writing essays in the Officers' Lyceum. The book was so well received that he wrote 'The Campaign of Marengo,' which was a treatise on the art of war as practiced by Bonaparte. "When the Spanish-American War started my husband became colonel of the 5th Volunteers or, as they were usually termed, the 5th Immunes. This regiment was recruited, to a large extent, in Mississippi. We reached Havana shortly after it surrendered, and went into camp a mile and a half from the city. My husband detailed a number of men from his regiment to help clean up the city. For four days they gathered the unburied dead. I saw the Spanish prisoners marched to the wharf, to be sent to Spain. The American soldiers and the Spanish soldiers liked each other, but neither the Americans nor the Spaniards liked the Cubans. Three hundred of the Spanish prisoners died on their way back to Spain. Twenty-five percent of our regiment were sick from tropical dysentery. I was the only woman in camp. My husband became very low with the dysentery [and] was not expected to live, but pulled through. We buried 37 of our men under the palm trees in our camp near Havana. My husband worked with General Leonard Wood in cleaning up Havana. "After a year in Cuba with the volunteers, we went to Fort McPherson and our regiment was ordered to the Presidio. They sailed from there for Manila in October, 1899. An order was issued prohibiting army women from going in army transports. The Oriental steamship line from San Francisco to Hong Kong made a half rate for wives of army officers. I came to Ashland and waited two months before I could secure passage on the America Maru. I sailed December 21, 1899. My husband was with General Lawton when Lawton was killed, and succeeded to the command after Lawton's death. My husband was made judge advocate of the department of Southern Luzon, so he did not get to go with his regiment to China during the Boxer uprising. "We came back to the United States in 1901 and my husband was ordered to rejoin the 2nd United States Cavalry, his regiment of regulars, where he became captain of B troop. After a year in Havana our regiment was ordered to Vermont. The men were clothed in their tropical uniforms, and when we got to Vermont the temperature was 22 below zero. One of our most efficient officers died of pneumonia. My husband was detailed as commandant of cadets of the Agricultural College of Texas. From Texas we went to the regimental headquarters at Fort Des Moines, Iowa. From there my husband was ordered to Washington, D.C., to attend the army war college. In 1909 we went to the Philippines on our second tour of the islands. General Pershing was in command. My husband while in West Point recommended Jack Pershing for corporal. At the time Pershing was a private and my husband was sergeant. During the World War my husband served on the board of strategy at Washington, D.C. The last book he wrote was 'The Campaign of Santiago de Cuba,' in three volumes." Medford Mail Tribune, July 31, 1927, page B2 Historic Toll House of Siskiyous
Destroyed by Recent Forest Fire
Medford
Mail Tribune, December 5, 1929, page 8By Alice Applegate Sargent
Time was when the Siskiyou Mountains stood a seemingly impassable
barrier between Oregon and California. Only a steep and rocky trail,
made by the surefooted Indian ponies, led the way across these
mountains.
Then came the days of '49 and this trail was traveled by men on their way to the gold mines in California, and by packers with their long trains of pack mules carrying supplies from the mining town of Yreka, California, to towns in the Willamette Valley. In 1857-8 the toll road was built across the Siskiyous by Michael Thomas and his associates under authorization of the Oregon legislature, which granted a twenty years' franchise authorizing the collection of tolls. The building of the road opened the way for the daily stage coaches. One of these old-time coaches in reds or yellows, drawn by six magnificent horses, would be a novel and inspiring sight in these days of horseless carriages. The first toll house was a large log cabin with an immense fireplace of rough stone. The doors were of heavy planks, and these were made more secure at night by strong bars of wood fitted into iron brackets. The windows were similarly protected, for all classes of adventurers swarmed across the mountains. The road was purchased by Lindsay Applegate in 1859 and operated by him for nine years. A new toll house was built in 1861. This building is generally known as the Dollarhide house, although it is the old Applegate home. Keeping the road in good condition for travel required an immense amount of labor and constant vigilance. In winter a large bobsled, drawn by several yoke of oxen, was used to clear the snow from the grade. Day after day throngs of immigrants, freight wagons, packers and prospectors came, in an almost endless procession over this splendid grade. Time has brought great changes, with the old grade in ruins, the railroad trains circling the mountain slopes and the Pacific Highway, like a silver ribbon, winding its way where the surefooted Indian ponies used to go. But the old toll house which was built by Lindsay Applegate in 1861 still stands, as it stood in the years of the long ago, in a lovely glade on the rugged mountainside. ----
The
above sketch was written a year or two ago. Sunday afternoon, Dec. 1,
1929, this historic house with its surrounding buildings was destroyed
by a forest fire raging in the Siskiyous.General Brainard as I Knew Him
By Alice Applegate Sargent
Looking back across the years, I have a vision of a handsome,
sunny-tempered young officer of my husband's regiment, Second
Lieutenant David L. Brainard, 2nd U.S. Cavalry, one of the survivors of
the ill-fated Greely expedition and now Brigadier General Brainard.
Brainard was the hero--or perhaps I should say--one of the heroes of that expedition, for to him belongs the credit of keeping alive the seven men rescued; too weak to walk, he crawled on his hands and knees to dredge in the icy waters for shrimps for food for his starving comrades. When Brainard joined the Greely expedition he was Sergeant Brainard. In recognition of his services he was commissioned by the government a second lieutenant of cavalry. How he ever brought himself to write his book I cannot understand, but time dims our recollections of the tragedies we meet on our journey down life's lane. In the old days Brainard never spoke of his tragic experiences in the frozen North; if anyone referred to it he always changed the subject; he could not speak then of the horrors so fresh in his mind. The Tribune speaks truly when it refers to Commander Bird's expedition, wonderful as it is, as only a "pink tea" as compared to the Greely expedition; in fact there is no comparison, for the Greely expedition was a tragedy. Years ago I read the report of that expedition and some short diaries written by men who later died of starvation and were buried by their emaciated comrades in the snow drifts surrounding that awful camp. I shudder at the remembrance, for knowing so intimately one of the men made it all very real. General Brainard has been twice married. I met him first at Fort Bidwell, California; later he served with the regiment at Fort Wingate, New Mexico, and again at Fort Huachuca, Arizona. We said our last farewell on the deck of an army transport in Manila Bay and my last message from him was from New Orleans, written when he heard of my husband's death. He was always a modest and unassuming gentleman, but one of the bravest spirits it has ever been my good fortune to know. Medford Mail Tribune, December 18, 1929, page 9 This article was written in response to A. C. Allen's essay on the subject. To the Editor: My heartfelt thanks to you for your splendid editorial in Thursday's issue of the Mail Tribune in defense of the "tramps and hoodlums" who have found refuge in the "civic center." The majority of these men are probably tramps from necessity, not from choice. I for one am glad to know that these men have found a place where they can be comfortable, at least as comfortable as men can be when their stomachs as well as their pocketbooks are empty. Telling them to move on would be another example of "man's inhumanity to man." How vastly better it would be for us to open a soup kitchen where these unemployed could be sure of at least one square meal a day. ALICE
APPLEGATE SARGENT.
"Communications,"
Medford Mail
Tribune, August 18, 1930, page 7Jacksonville, Aug. 17, 1930. OREGON PIONEERS OF 1864 [sic]
The First Detachment (By Alice Applegate Sargent) "A voice was calling to them from
The unexplored beyond, A wild voice in the mountains 'West,' They heard it in the foothills when They climbed the Great Divide, In the canyons when they faced the torrent's roar. In the little breeze at dawn. In the hush of eventide; The voice which kept on calling went before." It was early springtime in the year 1843 when courageous men and women gathered at the rendezvous at Independence, Missouri, to prepare for the great adventure; they were going out to Oregon. They numbered 1000 souls; they had with them 1000 head of loose stock and 125 wagons. At night this great encampment was illuminated by the gleam of 200 camp fires. A list was made of the names of men who were the heads of families, and of boys who were considered old enough to do a grown man's work. On this list we find 298 names. These names will live in history, for they are all on file at the state capitol in Salem. Peter H. Burnett was chosen captain of this great caravan, but being young and inexperienced he soon resigned and another was chosen in his place, but the train was not captained by one man alone, for they came through in detachments. Ahead of them stretched 2000 miles of unexplored country over which they must travel with their slow-moving ox teams, but with hearts courageous they resolutely turned their faces westward. Day after day, week after week and month after month, for a whole half year, these heroic people pressed on through deserts of sand and sagebrush, climbing the mountain slopes and fording the treacherous rivers; night after night for a whole half year their hundreds of camp fires gleamed. Appalled by the dangers and hardships they had to face, five families turned back at the Platte. Resolutely the more courageous pressed on towards Fort Hall. Arriving there they were advised to leave their wagons and to complete the journey by packing: this they would not do but determinedly pressed onward. The first detachment to reach the Columbia River numbered probably 10 families and 20 wagons. Included in this detachment were the Applegate brothers, Charles, Lindsay and Jesse, with their families, J. W. Nesmith, afterwards Senator from Oregon, Peter H. Burnett, who later became governor of California, Alexander McClellan, William Wilson, William Doke, Robert Smith, Benjamin Williams, L. Clyman, John G. Baker, Elijah Millican, Thomas Naylor, Almoran Hill, Miles Cary, William Parker and Daniel Holman. There may have been others in this detachment whose names have been overlooked. The name "pioneer" carries with it a sense of age, but they were young, these brave pioneers. Alexander McClellan was probably the oldest member of this detachment, the three Applegate brothers were in their early thirties, J. W. Nesmith only 23, Peter H. Burnett probably not much older, Parker and Doke 21 each, while many of the young mothers were mere girls. The men and boys of this first detachment cut the road for their wagons through the heavy forest of the Blue Mountains, a stupendous task--heroic young mothers, carrying in their arms their little ones, climbed that mountainside through a blinding snow storm. Behind them stretched the long, long trail of 2000 miles over which they had toiled with their weary ox teams for a whole half year--ahead of them lay tragedy. While their camp fires gleamed on the banks of the mighty river the pioneers laid their plans for the last lap of this half year's journey. It was now November, the snow had fallen deep in the mountains, there were no roads, their oxen were jaded and footsore and they decided to leave their animals and wagons in the camp of the Hudson Bay Company at old Fort Walla Walla and to go down the Columbia in boats; these they had hoped to get from the Hudson Bay Company, but failing in this and having with them the necessary tools, they built boats of drifted fogs found on the river's bank, and with only one Indian pilot in a little canoe to guide them they started on their perilous voyage. All went well until they reached the cascades of the Columbia, then disaster overtook them. One of the boats, in which were six persons, was swept from its course and swallowed up in one of the roaring black whirlpools which lined the river's bank. Warren, aged 9, son of Lindsay Applegate, Edward, the same age, son of Jesse Applegate, and Alexander McClelIan, a member of Lindsay Applegate's family, were drowned. Their bodies were never recovered. The Bible tells us "the sea will give up its dead." Sometime, somewhere, we will meet them all again, the little lads and the brave old man who gave his life in a last desperate effort to save a child. The three other passengers in the ill-fated boat, William Doke and Elisha Applegate, eldest son of Lindsay Applegate, were finally rescued. William Doke clung to a feather bed which floated on the water until he was rescued by an Indian. William Parker and Elisha, who was only 12 years of age but a good swimmer, were swept down the river for more than a mile, but were finally thrown against some jagged rocks, to which they clung until help came. Elisha Applegate carried through life scars from wounds made on his hands by the jagged rocks to which he clung. When all hope of finding the bodies of those who were drowned was given up, the brokenhearted pioneers made their way down the Columbia to the Willamette, and their first camp in the valley was made in a gloomy forest where the city of Portland now stands. There the party considered the momentous question of where to locate in this vast wilderness. The Applegate party pushed on and, leaving their boats at old Champoeg, made the last long, weary miles of that fearful journey on foot; they procured a yoke of oxen and a cart from a French-Canadian trapper, into which they packed their household goods. All day they traveled and long after dark arrived at the "Old Mission," three log houses built by Jason Lee when he established his first mission in the Oregon wilderness. Later he moved to a new location and these log houses were abandoned. Here the three Applegate families spent their first winter in Oregon; with them were two or three young men who came out as help. In the spring they took up their claims, put in their crops and built their homes. The people of this immigration settled the Willamette Valley, and it was this immigration, the first to follow the missionaries, which Americanized Oregon. They "dreamed dreams and saw visions," these brave pioneers, and many of them lived to see their dreams come true, lived to see the wilderness bloom, lived to know that the railroad trains were flashing across the plains and mountains over which they had toiled with their weary ox teams in the long ago. But in their wildest imaginings no vision came to them of the great airplanes soaring over the mountains and valleys where once only the smoke from their campfires drifted into the sky. What a heritage have we, the native sons and native daughters of old Oregon. What examples the pioneers have given us of high courage, of perseverance, of patriotism, of faith in all things good, of duty nobly done. One by one the heroes and heroines of these covered wagon trains have passed into the great unknown; they have climbed the distant hills on their way to the promised land, but as we journey down life's long lane, the light which guides us on our way is the gleam of their hundreds of campfires. The dauntless spirit which enabled them to endure the hardships and trials they had to meet gives us courage to face life's problems and life's tragedies. Medford Mail Tribune, December 7, 1930, page B5 No Pioneers in 1864.
To the Editor:Last week I sent a sketch to the Mail Tribune under the heading "Oregon Pioneers of 1843," an account of the coming to Oregon of the first train of covered wagons. This article was published in last Sunday's issue of the Mail Tribune under the heading "Oregon Pioneers of 1864." People who came to Oregon as late as 1864 were not pioneers. By that time the Indian wars were over, the country was settled up and there were roads everywhere. ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT,
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, December 12, 1930, page 12Jacksonville, Dec. 11, 1930. Editorial Is Commended
To the Editor:
Thanks to you, Mr. Editor, for your fine editorial on Jacksonville's museum. In this editorial, which appeared in last Friday's issue of the Mail Tribune, you voiced the sentiment of Jacksonville's residents when you said the museum should remain "just where it is." The Pelton collection of Indian relics is very fine and was a gift to the city of Jacksonville, as was also the Helms collection. We have two museums, however; the historic Brunner building is also a museum. This building was built by the Brunner brothers in 1855 and is the second oldest brick building in Oregon. Into this building the women and children of Jacksonville fled for refuge when the Indians made their last raid on the white settlers in 1856. [There was no such raid in 1856, and never one on Jacksonville.] This building, with its contents, is now the property of the "Native Daughters of Jacksonville," an organization which has been kept up by these same Native Daughters for many years. It is open every Wednesday from two o'clock until five, and visitors are always made welcome. Upon request the building will be opened to visitors at other times. In one of the windows of the Brunner building can be seen the old gold scales which were used at the Sterling mines, and on which were weighed over two million dollars of gold. We feel that our museums are in their proper setting right here in the historic old town. In 1859 Jacksonville was the richest town in Oregon, while Jackson County was the richest and most populous county in the state. The old U.S. Hotel sheltered for one memorable night no less a personage than the President of the United States, Rutherford B. Hayes, who had with him as his aide General W. T. Sherman, who you know "marched down to the sea" and who gave us that most comprehensive definition of war. The room on the second floor of the hotel, directly above the museum, is "the President's room," and right across the hall is "the General Sherman room." Across the street, west of the hotel, is the old Beekman Bank building. Shortly before his death I visited the venerable banker in this building, and was granted an interview in which he gave me the history of Jacksonville. Nothing can take from Jacksonville the historic past. Nothing can banish the memories of the olden, golden days when this town was the richest town in Oregon. ALICE APPLEGATE SARGENT,
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, June 16, 1931, page 11Jacksonville, June 15, 1931. Table Rock Battle Myth
We
feel that the time has come when truth should triumph over fiction, and
right here we state most positively and emphatically that no battle was
ever fought ON THE TOP of Table Rock.Based on Old Newspaper Story, Says Mrs. Sargent By Alice Applegate Sargent Long years ago, when Jacksonville had a splendid paper of its own, a Mrs. Plymale wrote a thrilling and interesting tale of a battle on the top of Table Rock. This article was simply a romance, but it has been handed down to the present day, and accepted by the mass of the people as authentic history. We give here the true story of the battle and the circumstances which led up to it: On the 17th of June, 1851, a fight took place between a small body of soldiers and the Rogue River Indians on the banks of the stream, which is now known as Bear Creek, near where it flows into Rogue River. In this fight Captain James Stuart of the regular army was shot through the body with a poisoned arrow and died of the wound. Major Phil Kearny was in command of this small detachment of soldiers. After the fight which resulted in the death of Captain Stuart, the Indians fled into their stronghold at the base of Table Rock, and Major Kearny had to wait for reinforcements before making an attack on the savages. The attack was made on the 23rd of June, 1851. The Indians, who fought behind stone fortifications, were under the command of Chief John, the great war chief of the Rogue Rivers. The attack was renewed on the 24th. This fight was a desperate one, and the Indians suffered severely. Major Kearny offered to treat with them, but they scorned his offer. He prepared to attack early on the morning of the 25th, but the Indians fled from their stronghold during the night. Although they were pursued, they escaped to the timbered mountains, and only 30 women with their children were captured. These were held as hostages. The battle was fought at the base of Table Rock where, for ages, fragments of rock had rolled down the slope, forming stone breastworks. These the Indians had reinforced by placing logs on top of the boulders. A famous soldier of the Civil War, then-Gen. George B. McClellan, tells us in his memoirs of being in this fight with the Indians when Captain Stuart was killed; he, a young subaltern, was a devoted friend and comrade of Captain Stuart. The body of the brave young soldier was buried at the foot of a large oak tree, and the initials of Stuart's name were cut deeply into the bark. The stream we now know as Bear Creek was named Stuart River in memory of this young soldier, and should be so called. Captain Stuart's last words were an expression of regret that his life had been sacrificed for a land that would never be anything but a wilderness. Dwellers in the Rogue River Valley today, and thousands of tourists from all parts of the United States, will realize that Captain Stuart did not give his life in vain, for the wilderness in which he died has developed into one of the most beautiful and fruitful valleys of the world. Medford Mail Tribune, July 22, 1931, page 5 To Oregon in 1843
To the Editor:Here is a bit of pioneer history called to mind by "Comment on the Day's News" which was published in Friday's issue of the Mail Tribune--In 1843 the first great train of covered wagons came into Oregon. This immigration was the first to follow the missionaries and was the immigration which Americanized Oregon. In this train were a thousand souls and over two thousand head of loose stock. They made their way from Independence, Missouri across the plains and mountains to the Columbia River; here they built boats of driftwood and navigated the Columbia to the Willamette Valley. This is all ancient history and has been written and re-written, but for some reason seems to be not very well known, although no more heroic expedition has ever been undertaken than this six months’ journey to Oregon in 1843. In 1846 the South Road expedition was organized. The originator, organizer and commander of this expedition was Lindsay Applegate; with him was his younger brother Jesse Applegate. Anyone caring to read the account of the South Road expedition can find it at the Medford public library. Call for a copy of "The Oregon Trail," in this they will find Lindsay Applegate's account of this most hazardous undertaking. In 1846 the Rogue River Valley was an unexplored wilderness inhabited by a warlike tribe of Indians. The work done by these brave pioneers was a work of humanity, undertaken that others might not have to endure the hardships and tragedies they had experienced in traveling the long northern route. Alice Applegate
Sargent.
"Communications,"
Medford Mail
Tribune, November 23, 1931, page 4Jacksonville, Nov. 23, 1931. Historic Spots of the Rogue Valley
(By Alice A. Sargent)
Jacksonville
Jacksonville is the oldest town in
Southern Oregon,
and one of the most historic spots in the state. Here gold was discovered
by James Clugage in 1851, and from this developed the settlement of the
Rogue River Valley.The Brunner Building
In 1855 the Brunner brothers built of
brick this building, which was used as a store.In 1856 the Indians again took up arms against the white settlers. Two pioneers were murdered near the town, and fearing an attack the women and children in Jacksonville fled to the Brunner building for safety, while the men stood guard in various places in the town. [The two murders took place in 1853.] The expected attack did not take place, however, and that year the Indians were removed to the reservation in the Willamette Valley. The walls of the old building still stand, though the hands that built them have long since mouldered into dust. Pilot Rock
High on the summit of the Siskiyou Mountains in Southern Oregon stands
guard old Pilot Rock, the traveler's friend, the immigrant's guide,
piloting the way to the promised land.For many miles on every side this great gray rock stands out against the sky, like a beacon light to the weary voyager, to tell him the harbor is near. To the pioneers, this old landmark was invaluable, guiding the way, giving courage to despondent hearts with the promise it gave that the end of the long and toilsome journey was near. Like "the shadow of a rock in a weary land" it held out a promise of toils over and a resting place. To the tourist this old landmark is interesting--to the descendants of the pioneers it is precious for the memories it brings of the days so long ago when the pioneer mothers and fathers watched through the distant haze for the first glimpse of the grand old rock which would pilot them home. When Abraham Lincoln made his immortal call for "three hundred thousand more," the ringing appeal reached faraway Oregon, and echoed down the timbered slopes and into the wilderness of the Rogue River Valley. Oregon was required to organize two regiments--one of cavalry and one of infantry. Camp Baker was established in 1862 and garrisoned by the 1st Oregon Cavalry. The camp was named in honor of Col. Edward D. Baker, who was killed in the battle of Ball's Bluff in 1861. The site of Camp Baker lies one-half mile west of the town of Phoenix, or Gassburg, as it was then called, and one-half mile from the Pacific Highway. The officers' quarters, soldiers' barracks, hospital and other buildings were built solidly of hewn pine logs. Between the mess hall and stables ran Coleman Creek. Today only a few mouldering logs mark this historic spot where once the Stars and Stripes floated from the flagstaff and the boom of the sunset gun echoed from the surrounding hills; where once the thunder of horses' hoofs and the clank of sabers responded to the trumpet's call of "boots and saddles"; where once the trumpets sang "reveille" at early dawn and sounded "lights out" at night. Gone are the days when the old camp was the scene of bustle and busy life. Gone are the days when the people sang-- "We are coming
Father Abraham,
Many of the dashing troopers who rode so gallantly in the reviews at
Camp Baker away back in the sixties have answered their last roll call.
May theirs be the honors in the last grand review.Three hundred thousand more." If the shadowy form of a trumpeter should stand on the old parade ground today, what would the silver notes of the trumpet say? Not "reveille," not "tattoo," not jolly mess call, nor the ringing, soul-inspiring notes of the "charge," but that saddest and sweetest of all trumpet calls blown over the grave of a departed soldier--"taps." Mount Pitt
Standing on the eastern rim of the Rogue River Valley is Mt. Pitt,
named by the first American explorers who set foot on the Pacific
Slope, for Sir William Pitt who stood the staunch friend of the
American colonists during their days of tribulation. [This is a folk etymology. The
mountain was mistakenly
named for the pits along Pit
River.]Whether clothed in the purple and blues of the summer time, or in the winter's mantle of snow, Mt. Pitt, "rock ribbed and ancient as the sun" stands forth in majestic beauty. Medford Mail Tribune, September 13, 1931, page 4 Medford Was Wheat Center.
To the Editor:In the latest issue of the Mail Tribune we find this statement: "Southern Oregon isn't a wheat-producing section." This reminds us of some early history which may be of interest to the readers of the Mail Tribune. The writer of this communication grew from childhood to womanhood in the Rogue River Valley. This was a wheat-producing country long before it became a fruit-producing country. There were eight large flouring mills in the valley. From the old Barron farm at the foot of the Siskiyou Mountains to Rogue River, the valley was golden with grain. The yield was from 50 to 60 bushels of wheat to the acre; hundreds of pounds of flour were carried out of the valley by pack trains and wagons, besides that consumed in the valley. In those days Ashland was Ashland Mills; a big flouring mill stood in what is now the entrance to Lithia Park. Having lived in army posts in 14 states of the Union, we feel safe in saying that no finer wheat has ever been grown than that produced right here in the Rogue River Valley. ALICE APPLEGATE
SARGENT.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, November
11, 1931, page 4Jacksonville, November 9, 1931. To Oregon in 1843
To the Editor:Here is a bit of pioneer history called to mind by "Comment on the Day's News" which was published in Friday's issue of the Mail Tribune--In 1843 the first great train of covered wagons came into Oregon. This immigration was the first to follow the missionaries and was the immigration which Americanized Oregon. In this train were a thousand souls and over two thousand head of loose stock. They made their way from Independence, Missouri across the plains and mountains to the Columbia River; here they built boats of driftwood and navigated the Columbia to the Willamette Valley. This is all ancient history and has been written and re-written, but for some reason seems to be not very well known, although no more heroic expedition has ever been undertaken than this six months’ journey to Oregon in 1843. In 1846 the South Road expedition was organized; the originator, organizer and commander of this expedition was Lindsay Applegate; with him was his younger brother Jesse Applegate. Anyone caring to read the account of the South Road expedition can find it at the Medford public library. Call for a copy of "The Oregon Trail"; in this they will find Lindsay Applegate's account of this most hazardous undertaking. In 1846 the Rogue River Valley was an unexplored wilderness inhabited by a warlike tribe of Indians. The work done by these brave pioneers was a work of humanity, undertaken that others might not have to endure the hardships and tragedies they had experienced in traveling the long northern route. Alice Applegate
Sargent.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, November 23,
1931, page 4Jacksonville, Nov. 23, 1931. Alice Applegate Sargent Writes of
Pioneer Days
This is the first chapter of an interesting history of the Rogue River
Valley, written by Mrs. Alice Applegate Sargent, well-known Southern
Oregon pioneer. The story goes back to the Indian days of 1834 and the
coming of the first white man. It will carry its readers through the
romance and hardships known to the early pioneer, and leave them with a
better understanding of the people who settled the Rogue River Valley.The title of next Sunday's chapter will be "Fifteen Pioneers." Today's follows: Part I.
Lying between the Cascade Mountains on the east, and the Coast Range on
the west, and tempered by the warm oceanic current from Japan, the
Rogue River Valley has a climate unsurpassed except perhaps by the
coast valley of Greece.If we could go back in our history of the Rogue River Valley a few thousand years, we would probably find, instead of our beautiful valley, an inland sea. Geologists claim that the old shoreline can easily be traced along the mountainside in places in the Siskiyous, and it is especially easy to trace it along the side of Grizzly Peak, the mountain directly east of Ashland. The beautiful agates, with their sprays of sea moss, that are found on the desert are a proof that this theory, and up in the foothills of the Siskiyous there is a low peak built up of huge stones or boulders, which are composed of masses of sand and seashells. When I was a little girl my father owned the Siskiyou Mountain toll road, and the family lived for two years at the toll house. This peak is near the toll house, and we children used to enjoy going there to break up the stones and gather up the petrified shells. We named it Fossil Peak. The Rogue Indians.
About the year of 1834 we find the Rogue River Valley a wilderness
inhabited by a tribe of Indians. These Indians were a branch of the
tribe living in Northern California, whom we now know as the Shastas.
But the name was not Shasta but Chesta. They were the Chesta Scotons,
and the Indians hying in the Rogue River Valley were the Chesta Scotons.The first white men to set foot in the valley of whom we have any authentic record were some French Canadian trappers who were trapping for furs for that great British monopoly, the Hudson Bay Company. These men made their way into the valley and set their traps along the river, but the Indians stole the traps and the trappers always spoke of them as the rogues. Old pioneers have assured me that this is the way by which the river, the valley and Indians came by the name. Another story as to the origin of the name is this: That the river was called Rogue or Red River by some French voyageurs on account of the cliffs at the mouth of the river being of red color. [This second theory has no factual or documentary basis.] By an act of the legislature in 1853-54 Rogue River was to be Gold River, but it has never been so called. Medford Mail Tribune, December 20, 1931, page 3 Mrs. Sargent Tells How Fifteen
Pioneers
Built So. Oregon's First Road ----
In the year 1846, 15 pioneers from the Willamette Valley came into the
Rogue River Valley, seeking a route by which immigrants could reach the
Willamette Valley without having to travel the long northern route,
across the Blue Mountains and down the Columbia River, as they had
come. Their names were: Jesse Applegate, Lindsay Applegate, Levi Scott,
John Scott, Harry Bogus, Benjamin Birch, John Owens, John Jones, Robert
Smith, Samuel Goodhue, Moses Harris, David Goff, Benit Osborne, William
Sportsman and William Parker.Lindsay Applegate was my father. Jesse Applegate my uncle. Each man was equipped with a saddle horse and a pack horse. As they made their way through the Rogue River Valley they were constantly followed by the Indians and had to be on guard day and night. When they had to pass through heavy timber and brush, they dismounted and led their horses, carrying their guns across their arms, ready to fire. The Indians were armed with bows and poisoned arrows, the pioneers with the old-time muzzle-loading rifles. They made their way through the valley, crossed the Cascade Mountains into the Klamath country and thence east to the Humboldt River. Here they met a train of immigrants. They brought back with them 150 people, the pioneers traveling ahead and making a road over which the wagons could pass. This train was taken through to the Willamette Valley. Now that we have our splendid Pacific Highway, built at enormous cost, with all the modern implements, rock crushers, steam rollers and plows, and by the labor of hundreds of men,it is well for us to remember that the first road in Southern Oregon and through the Rogue River Valley was built by the labor of 15 men, with nothing but axes in their bare hands, and amidst perils and hardships that would strike terror to any but the stoutest hearts. It was free to all, a work of humanity, the only recompense to the builders was a consciousness of duty nobly done. [The fifteen found the route, but the road building was left to the emigrants and their guide, Levi Scott.] Part II.
In 1848, a party of pioneers from the Willamette Valley came into the
Rogue River Valley on their way to the gold mines in California. They
prospected for gold on Rogue River and on the streams we now know as
the Applegate, and then pushed on to California. My father was with
this party also, and the stream and valley were named for him.Death of Captain Stuart.
On the 17th of June, 1851, a fight
took place between a small body of soldiers and the Indians, on the
banks of the stream which is now known as Bear Creek, near
where it flows into the Rogue River.In this fight, Captain James Stuart of the regular army was shot through the body with a poisoned arrow, and died of the wound. The stream now called Bear Creek was named Stuart River in memory of this brave soldier, and should be so called. Major Phil Kearny was in command of this small detachment of soldiers. After the fight, which resulted in the death of Captain Stuart, the Indians fled into their stronghold at the base of Table Rock, and Major Kearny had to wait for reinforcements before making an attack on the savages. Medford Mail Tribune, December 27, 1931, page Battle of Table Rock Told by Mrs.
Sargent
----
This attack
was made on the 23rd of June. The Indians, who fought behind stone
fortifications, were under the command of Chief John,
the great war chief of the Rogue Rivers. The attack was renewed on the
24th. This fight was a desperate one, and the Indians suffered
severely. Major Kearny offered to treat with them, but they scorned his
offer. He prepared to attack early on the morning of the 25th, but the
Indians fled from their stronghold during the night. Although they were
pursued they escaped to the timbered hills and only thirty women with
their children were captured. These were held as hostages. Indian war
veterans have told a thrilling tale of an Indian woman, who during this
fight stood high on a ledge of rock and gave commands to the Indian
warriors in clarion tones which could be heard above the din of battle.
This woman was known to the whites as Princess Mary. She was the wife
of "Tyee Jim," a brother of Chief John. Unfortunately the Indian names
of the savages prominent in the war in this valley have been lost to
history. [The Princess
Mary story is probably confabulated with her generalship of the battle
of Hungry Hill.]Right here let me stress the fact that no battle was ever fought on the top of Table Rock. The Indians were too cautious and understood strategy too well to be caught on the top of the rock from which escape would have been impossible. In 1851 two men, Clugage and Pool by name, equipped a pack train at the mining town of Yreka, California, and carried supplies between Yreka and towns in the Willamette Valley. They followed the narrow trail across the Siskiyou Mountains and along the bank of Bear Creek. It was their custom, when they reached this valley, to stop to rest and recuperate their animals. The wild grass grew so high in the valley that the man who herded the mules had to stand on the back of his horse in order to locate the rest of the herd. Clugage had worked at mining, and one day while they were in camp in the valley went up into the hills where Jacksonville now is. Following up a gulch or ravine, he came to a place where the heavy rains had washed the soil entirely away, leaving a ledge of rock exposed. Taking his bowie knife from his belt he dug around in the rocks and sand and found nuggets of gold. He returned to camp and related his discovery to Pool; together they went back to the spot and staked out their mining claims. Returning to Yreka they bought a camp outfit and mining tools and returned to work their claims. They had kept quiet in regard to their discovery, but in two months from the time Clugage found the nuggets of gold a thousand men were on the spot. Claims were staked out and every man went to work to dig out the gold. No time was spent in building cabins. A man would throw his saddle blanket over a manzanita bush and put his bed under it; some built shelters of bark and brush, while others put up tents. Fortunes were taken out that winter, and many who had families in the East and elsewhere went back in the spring and summer and brought them to the Rogue River Valley. This was the beginning of the settlement. Some took up land in the valley, while others settled in Jacksonville and Ashland. The county of Jackson was organized by an act of the legislature on the 12th of January 1852. Until 1853 there were but four white women in Jacksonville, namely Mrs. McCully, Mrs. Evans, Mrs. Lawless and Mrs. Gore. The winter of 1852 was an exceptionally hard one. Snow fell until all trails were completely blocked; flour rose to one dollar a pound, and salt was priceless. Some adventurous men went to California on snowshoes to buy salt. Provisions gave out, and towards spring the people had to live on wild game, meat cooked without salt. The summer of 1852 was very dry, about such a summer as the one just past, and the wheat and potato crops were not a great success, but the following season was more favorable. Ashland was founded in 1852 by Abel D. Helman and Robert Hargadine. A saw mill was built on Mill Creek, and in 1854 a big flouring mill was built there, the first in the Rogue River Valley. Ashland was named from Ashland, Ohio, Mr. Helman's native town, and called Ashland Mills. The town was known as Ashland Mills for many years. The first school in the Rogue River Valley was taught by Mrs. McCully, who taught a subscription school in Jacksonville. The first white child born in the Rogue River Valley was Walter Gore, who was born in December, 1852. Medford Mail Tribune, January 3, 1932, page 3 War with Indians in '53 Followed
Slaughter of Miners on Rogue River ----
In 1853 several miners who were prospecting on Rogue River were
murdered by the Indians. A call was made for volunteers and quite a
body of troops was rushed to the scene, but the Indians fled along the
high mountaintops towards Evans Creek, firing the forest behind them as
they ran. The soldiers followed in the face of all obstacles and
overtook the Indians in the mountains above Evans Creek. Here a desperate fight
took place; the savages finally begged for a truce and after a
conference agreed to meet the soldiers at the base of Table Rock to
make a treaty
of
peace. This conference between the whites and Indians came near ending
in tragedy, for a young Indian, naked and covered with perspiration,
burst into the circle and fell upon the ground rasping for breath. He
told a weird story of how he and a companion had been captured by two
white men who had killed his companion. [He told the story of the murder
of Chief Jim after the cease-fire.] He had in some way
made his escape. Immediately
all was in confusion, the Indians muttering angry threats of vengeance.
General Joseph Lane,
courageous, cool and diplomatic, soon quieted the angry Indians,
promising them these men should be punished and the Indians protected. [The murderers were not punished.]
During
all of this uproar the soldiers with their officers in command stood
quietly at their posts. Captain Smith and his troop of the 1st U.S.
Dragoons sat quietly on their horses where they were drawn up in line
at the foot of the slope, but all were in readiness for any emergency
which might arise.Here on the 3rd day of September, 1853, the treaty was made at the western base of Table Rock on the spot where the two days' desperate lighting had taken place in 1851. A fitting setting for both battle and treaty, with the gray stone walls of Table Rock towering above and the Rogue River flowing at the foot of the slope. Officers prominent in the campaign of 1853 were General Joseph Lane, Major Alvord, Captain Alden, commanding one company of the 4th U.S. Infantry from Fort Jones, California; Captain Smith commanding one troop of the 1st Dragoons, U.S. Army; Colonel Ross, Major Mosher, Captain Miller, Captain Goodall, Captain Rhodes, Captain Martin, and Captain Lindsay Applegate, in command of one company of mounted volunteers from Douglas County. Stockades were built at different places in the valley for the protection of the settlers. Fort Lane was built in 1853-54 on a hill facing Table Rock and occupied by regular troops for three years. The old site is on a hill west of some old buildings at Tolo and south of Gold Hill. In 1853 many immigrants came into the valley. Many buildings were erected, but as all supplies had to be brought from Crescent City by pack animals, not a pane of glass could be had that year for window lights; cotton cloth stretched over the openings was used instead. During the spring steps were taken to found a Methodist church in Jacksonville. The pastor was Rev. Joseph S. Smith. The church was built and used jointly by Methodists and Presbyterians for many years. The town of Phoenix was founded in 1854, the land being donated by Samuel Colver, whose old dwelling still stands by the road side. The town was named originally Gasburg. The first newspaper printed in Southern Oregon was called The Table Rock Sentinel printed in 1855. The editor was W. G. T'Vault. (A complete file of this newspaper is to be found in the rooms of the historical society in Portland.) Jackson County in 1855 was the richest and most popular county in Oregon. But in that year Indians again began war. The 9th of October has been called the most eventful day in the history of Southern Oregon, for on that day nearly twenty people were murdered by the Indians and their homes burned. The settlers were totally unprepared and taken by surprise. [Sargent omits the massacre of an Indian village on the 8th that precipitated the events of the 9th.] A Mrs. Haines was taken prisoner, and her fate is still wrapped in mystery, although the Indians claimed she died a week later; her husband and two children were killed. Mr. and Mrs. Jones were killed. The next family in their path was the Wagoners. A woman had made her way to the Wagoner home, who wished to go to Jacksonville. She spent the night at the Wagoner home and next morning Mr. Wagoner agreed to take her to Jacksonville as he had a span of horses and a wagon. [He took her to Vannoy's ferry.] On his return two or three days later nothing was found of his home but a heap of ashes. Long afterwards, when the war was over and the Indians had become friendly towards the whites, some member of this war partly told of Mrs. Wagner's fate. When they surrounded the home she barricaded as best she could. The Indians wanted to get possession of her and tried to induce her to come out of the house, fearing to try to enter, as they knew she was armed. Finally they set fire to the house, hoping to drive her out and then capture her. While the house was burning she stood where they could see her. Taking down her long hair, she combed it out before a mirror and then sat calmly in a chair until the flames closed around her. Her little girl had been captured and died soon after, so the Indians claimed. At the Harris home were Mr. and Mrs. Harris, their two children, a boy age ten, and a girl twelve, and a man who was employed about the place. This man was in a field and was killed. Mr. Harris was shot while on the porch near the door. Mrs. Harris dragged him into the house, bolted the door and collecting a number of firearms prepared for defense. The daughter was shot in the arm and disabled, and Mr. Harris died in about an hour. Mrs. Harris continued to fire at the Indians through crevices between the logs. After a time an Indian messenger arrived with some message to the Indians who all immediately ran towards the river. As soon as they had disappeared Mrs. Harris and her daughter fled from the house, knowing the Indians would set fire to it on their return. They hid in a thicket of willows until they were rescued by a company of troops the following day and taken to Jacksonville. When Mrs. Harris ran to meet the soldiers, carrying her little girl in her arms, covered with blood and blackened by powder, Major Fitzgerald, the officer in command, cried out "Good God! Are you a white woman?" while tears ran down the cheeks of the bronzed and bearded men. The little son of Mrs. Harris had disappeared. Every ravine and thicket for miles around was carefully searched by men aided by the soldiers but not a trace of the missing child was ever found. What pen could picture the grief of the sorrowing mother as the long years rolled by bringing no solution of the awful mystery. I have not the time to go further into details. The war was brought to a close in 1856 and the Indians taken to the reservation in the Willamette country. Medford Mail Tribune, January 10, 1932, page 5 Jacksonville-Crescent Road Pioneer
Pathway for Valley Commerce ----
During the Indian wars there was quite a body of troops in the Rogue
River Valley. Two companies of volunteers from California, six
companies which were organized here in the valley and one from Douglas
County, besides the regular troops stationed at Fort Lane.The toll road was built across the Siskiyou Mountains in 1857-8 under authorization of the Oregon legislature. The Oregon and California Stage Company was organized in 1860 to carry mail between Sacramento and Portland. A wagon road was built between Jacksonville and Crescent City this same year and a stage line established. A company of volunteers was organized in Jacksonville in 1861 called the "Baker Guard." In 1863 a company of state troops was organized in Ashland. It was Company A 1st Regiment 1 Brigade of Oregon militia and was called the "Mountain Rangers." A telegraph line was established in 1866, and the little valley of the Rogue was put into communication with the outside world. A woolen mill was built in Ashland in 1867-8 at a coat of $32,000. This mill was destroyed by fire some years ago. When I was a child there were eight large flouring mills in the valley, and hundreds of pounds of flour were carried out of the valley by pack animals and wagon, besides what was consumed in the valley. From the old Barron farm at the foot of the Siskiyous to Rogue River, the valley was golden with grain and the yield was from thirty to fifty bushels of wheat to the acre. Almost every farmer in the valley had planted an orchard; many of them were very large. I have never seen finer fruit, for in those days the fruit was perfectly free from diseases; a wormy apple was unheard of. Spraying was not necessary and smudging was never resorted to, as there was always an abundance of fruit. When the orchards came into bearing, the country east of the Cascades and the mining towns of California were supplied with fruit from the Rogue River Valley. The first apples raised in the valley were Gloria Mundis, raised on the Skinner place on Bear Creek and sold to a wealthy miner from Gold Hill for $2.50 each. Conclusion.
Jacksonville, besides being the first town founded in the Rogue River
Valley, was at one time the richest and most flourishing. It had been
settled by people of education and culture who were wide-awake and
progressive. I marvel now that people so isolated could have kept so
abreast of the times.
When this valley was dotted with beautiful farms and Ashland called
Ashland Mills, Phoenix known as Gasburg and Jacksonville was the hub of
the universe--so to speak--my father moved his family from Douglas
County, where I was born, to Southern Oregon, and we lived for two
years at the toll house on the Siskiyous.
Looking back to that time, I realize that it was a wonderful experience
for a child. Every day the road was thronged. There were immense
freight wagons drawn by six and eight yoke of oxen, towering Mariette
wagons, drawn by six spans of horses. These we called "the bell teams."
The leading span had fastened to the collars bows of iron which were
hung with little bells.Freight Over the Siskiyou Toll
Road.
These bells were worn to warn other teams, as there were only occasional places on the narrow mountain grade where these teams could pass one another. When the driver of a team came to one of these places he would stop and listen; if he heard the faintest sound of bells, there was nothing to do but wait until the other team passed. Then there were the long trains of 50, 60 and 80 pack mules, all following the bell mare in single file. Twice daily the great red and yellow stage coaches went swinging by, drawn by six splendid horses. Unless a horse weighed so many pounds and was so many hands high the Oregon and California Stage Company would not so much as look at them. They were all matched teams, and I recall especially the sorrels and the grays. There were long trains of travel-stained immigrants with their weary ox teams. Think what the feelings of these people must have been when they crossed the Siskiyou Mountains and beheld far below them the promised land, the Rogue River Valley, lying like a beautiful garden between the mountain ranges. Medford Mail Tribune, January 17, 1932, page 9 Toll Road on Siskiyous
Was First Great Artery
Medford Mail Tribune, February
8, 1932, page 5By Alice Applegate Sargent
The toll road
across the Siskiyou Mountains was built by authorization of the Oregon
legislature in 1857-58. Previous to this only a steep and narrow trail
led the way across these mountains.
In 1860 the Oregon and California Stage Company was organized to carry mail between Sacramento and Portland. Jim Bell and Joe Smith were the pioneer stage drivers who drove over the Siskiyou Mountain route, away back in the sixties. The old red and yellow Concord coaches, drawn by six beautiful horses, were used on this route. On the down grade the horses were usually driven on a fast trot or at a swinging gallop, but so well trained were they, and so skillful were these drivers, that no accident ever occurred on the narrow mountain grade. [Not true.] By the roadside, near the toll house, was a large trough filled with water from a mountain spring; here the horses were watered, each being given all he could drink from a wooden bucket filled from the trough. The stage going south reached the toll house in the mornings; the stage going north arrived in the afternoons. On cold winter days the drivers of these coaches would sometimes swing down from their lofty seats, to come into the toll house and stand with their backs to the roaring fire which was always burning in the big stone fireplace. Not far from the foot of the Siskiyous on the south was Cole's station, where fresh horses were provided. About a mile from the foot of the mountain on the north was another stage station, "The Mountain House"; here fresh horses would stand harnessed and ready when the stages rolled in. If memory serves me right, the Mountain House was kept by Mr. Firmin Anderson, member of the pioneer Anderson family. The toll road across the Siskiyous was the great artery over which flowed a constant stream of travel--immigrants with their ox teams and covered wagons, long trains of pack mules, immense freight wagons, travelers on horseback and on foot, prospectors and desperadoes. Life at the toll house in those days was full of excitement and interest, but the most thrilling event of each day was the arrival of the stage coaches loaded with mail and passengers. We trust that sometime, somewhere, the names of Jim Be!l and Joe Smith will be written high on some tablet of bronze, for they were most truly "knights of the whip." Today we have only our memories of the old-time stage coaches and their gallant drivers, for these have passed away together with "The days of the
trail and the footlog,
And the flying pony express, When the antlered pride of the forest Yielding his skin for a dress-- "When blankets were parted for leggings Tied with a buckskin thong, And over the mantle the rifle Hung by an antler's prong--" Opposed to Dry Repeal
To the Editor:The Bible tells us that "Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." This is true; it is also true that out of the abundance of experience the mouth speaketh. My experience of the evils of drink has not been confined to one county nor to one state alone, but has been nationwide. Near all the army posts the saloon men plied their disgraceful traffic. These men made it their business to know when the paymaster was due to pay off the soldiers, then they were enticed into the saloons and given drugged whiskey and robbed. Nothing could be done, for these saloonkeepers were licensed to sell liquor. Since prohibition became a law this has all been done away with. True, prohibition has not been as great a success as we had hoped, but I know from my own experience that it has not been a failure. We need a change, new and more drastic laws, but we must not do away with prohibition. Many tell us that conditions are wore than they have ever been. I know positively that this is not true. People seem to think that the speakeasies came in with prohibition. This also is not true; these we have had always with us, but they were operated under another name. In the days of the open saloon they were known as "blind pigs." Here is an example: In Allegheny County, Pennsylvania, there were 2000 blind pigs. Saloons were running wide open, but the men who operated the blind pigs were selling liquor without a license. This is authentic information--think it over. Let us hope that the thinking people of Oregon will not vote for the repeal of the 18th amendment. Do away with prohibition and just as sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west we will have again the open saloon, an evil most truthfully portrayed by the following poem: "THE SALOON BAR
"A bar to heaven, a
door to hell--
Whoever named it, named it well! A bar to manliness and wealth, A door to want and broken health. A bar to honor, pride and fame, A door to sin and grief and shame; A bar to hope, a bar to prayer, A door to darkness and despair. A bar to honored, useful life, A door to brawling, senseless strife; A bar to all that's true and brave, A door to every drunkard's grave. A bar to joy that home imparts, A door to tears and aching hearts; A bar to heaven, a door to hell-- Whoever named it, named it well!" --Anon.
ALICE APPLEGATE
SARGENT.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, June 11, 1933,
page 6Jacksonville, June 8, 1933. In Cuba with the 5th
Immunes
Medford
Mail Tribune, November 2, 1933,
page 9by Alice Applegate Sargent
The present unsettled condition in Cuba brings back memories of other
days.
When I went with my husband and his regiment to Cuba in 1898 I had but little idea as to what sort of people the Cubans were. We were going to the relief of an oppressed people, or so we had been led to believe, but as we began to understand more clearly the situation, our feelings underwent a change. The American soldiers began to ask "Are these the people we came down here to protect?" I began to understand the attitude of our men. I was in Cuba for a year, eight months in camp on the hills of Santiago, and four months at Guantanamo, and during that time I met but one grateful Cuban. The Spanish people call the Cubans a mongrel race, and I quite agree with them in their opinion. The island of Cuba was inhabited originally by a tribe of Indians. They were a peaceful, agricultural people. Renegades from Spain intermarried with these Indians--these are the Cubans. They always made trouble for Spain--they will, I fear, always make trouble for the United States. The Spanish-American War did more towards restoring harmony and friendship between the North and South than anything that could have happened. As the troop train on which I was traveling sped south we had many interesting experiences. As the train pulled into a station in a town down in Tennessee we found, as usual, a great throng waiting to greet the soldiers. In this throng of people there were quite a number of Confederate veterans, with long white beards. One veteran said, as they crowded up to shake hands, "Well, we never expected to see you blue-coated fellows down here again, but we are glad to see you; we are with you in this, God bless you." Down deep within the soul of every true American there burns the flame of patriotism. Let our country be threatened, and all become united to fight for America and the old flag. The 5th Immunes were recruited at Columbus, Mississippi. Gallant soldiers from Mississippi and Alabama, some as far south as New Orleans. Here is another fact experience has taught me--when their patriotism is aroused, men do not ask what their compensation is to be. On organizing the 5th Immunes there were some striking examples to prove this--for instance, the lieutenant colonel of the regiment, Colonel Wiley, was attorney for the Plant System of railways. His salary was twenty thousand dollars a year. He went to Cuba with the 5th Immunes for a paltry few hundred a year. Who has not heard of Mississippi's aggressive governor, James K. Vardaman? Vardaman went to Santiago with the regiment as captain of Company A. Arriving at Santiago, the regiment went into camp a mile or more from the city. When the men began to sicken and die of the terrible fever, hospital tents were erected on a hill just outside the camp, on land which had never been used or cultivated. A captain in the Cuban army came to camp and demanded rent for the use of the land, claiming it belonged to him. Colonel Sargent of course refused this demand, yet this man came the second time, demanding pay. The colonel told him in no uncertain terms that if he came again he would put him in the guardhouse. He did not come again. This is an example of a Cuban's sense of gratitude. General Chaffee himself told me the Cubans were not brave soldiers. They destroyed everything that could be used as subsistence by the Spanish soldiers, even burning the vast fields of sugar cane and thus bringing starvation upon themselves. All my life my heart will ache for the gallant young soldiers we buried under the drooping palm trees on the hills of Santiago, a sacrifice for an ungrateful people. I pray no soldier of my country will ever again be called upon to set foot upon Cuban soil. MRS. SARGENT DIES AT JACKSONVILLE
Medford
Mail Tribune, March 1, 1934, page 1
Mrs. Alice
Applegate Sargent,
well known and beloved pioneer resident of Jacksonville, died at her
home this afternoon at the advanced age of 82 years. Mrs. Applegate was
a member of one of Southern Oregon's oldest pioneer families, the
Applegates, and had been residing in Jacksonville for a number of years
past, following residence at various army posts as the wife of Colonel
Sargent, who died in Jacksonville several years ago. A complete
obituary will be published tomorrow.
SARGENT FUNERAL WILL BE SUNDAY AT
PERL'S PARLOR
Funeral services for Mrs. Alice
Applegate Sargent,
who died yesterday at her home in Jacksonville, will be held at 2
o'clock Sunday afternoon at the Perl Funeral Home. Death came to Mrs.
Sargent following a short illness.Pioneer Daughter to Be Laid to Rest in Jacksonville Cemetery-- Veterans to Take Part in Rites She was born in Douglas County, Ore., April 28, 1852, the daughter of pioneers who came to the territory in 1843 by covered wagon train from the East. Mrs. Sargent had resided in Jacksonville for over the past 20 years and was the widow of Col. H. H. Sargent, who answered the last summons 13 years ago, following an active military life, which had taken him to distant parts of the world. She was married August 11, 1886 to Col. Sargent, who was just graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point. He was a second lieutenant at that time. The newly married couple was stationed at old Fort Klamath, near Klamath Falls, after which Colonel and Mrs. Sargent left for the University of Illinois, where he was detailed as instructor in military science. Up until that time, she had never been out of Oregon. At the end of a year her husband rejoined his regiment at Fort Bidwell in Northern California, and at that place Mrs. Sargent first learned to know real army life. In all, she spent 32 years with the army, following the flag with Col. Sargent from the Pacific Coast to the New England coast and from Cuba to the Philippine Islands--providing a life filled with thrilling and interesting experiences. Mrs. Sargent made her first long horseback ride when her husband was transferred to Fort Walla Walla, Wash., entailing a journey of 500 miles. She made the entire trip by horseback, consuming three weeks traveling time. From Washington she went to Arizona, where she spent four years, and learned to know the state exceptionally well in spending time at different army posts. She spent some time in Colorado, New Mexico and other southwestern states. When the Spanish-American War began, Col. Sargent was transferred to Georgia, from which state Mrs. Sargent left with her husband for Santiago de Cuba September 12, 1898. There were only two other women on board who chose to follow the fortunes of their husbands. A year was spent in Cuba, and in 1899 she sailed with Col. Sargent for the Philippine Islands. They returned to the United States in 1901 and they remained in the states until 1909, when a second voyage took them back to the Philippine Islands again. A year later Col. and Mrs. Sargent returned to the United States and found their way to Southern Oregon. They established residence in Medford, where they resided four years, adjusting themselves to civil life. At the end of that time, they located at the present home in Jacksonville. When America entered the war with Germany, Col. Sargent again took up military life and for a time was stationed in Washington, D.C., with the war plans division of the general staff in the war college. Mrs. Sargent attempted to enter duty as a cadet nurse, but was rejected because of age. During the time of the World War, they resided in Washington, D.C., returning again to Jacksonville at its close. Col. Sargent died there a few years later. He was the author of numerous military books, which received national recognition. Mrs. Sargent also wrote, with the book "Following the Flag," the diary of a soldier's wife, the best known locally. She also composed poetry which was widely read. She leaves one foster son, Warren Lynch, Millbrae, Calif., a sister, Mrs. M. L. Alford of Medford, and a brother, Captain O. C. Applegate, well-known Indian fighter in Klamath County. The body will be interred in the Jacksonville cemetery. World War veterans and Spanish-American war veterans will take part in the services. Mrs. Sargent was an honorary member of the local Col. H. H. Sargent Spanish-American War veterans' post. Medford Mail Tribune, March 2, 1934, page 9 Last revised July 3, 2023 |
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