Oregon Historical Quarterly, March 1921, pages 1-11


    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




"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, August 31, 1923, page 7


Jacksonville Post, September 5, 1924, page 1


   


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.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, February 5, 1925, page 4


    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
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


    (From the Saturday Evening Post, February 14, 1920, "Romance of the Oregon Trail," by Emerson Hough)
    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


    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."
Mrs. Alice A. Sargent,
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.
Mrs. H. H. Sargent,
    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.
    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.
Capital Journal, Salem, March 26, 1926, page 1


    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.
    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.
Capital Journal, Salem, March 27, 1926, page 1


    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."
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
My dear Mrs. Sargent:
    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,
Mrs. Alice C. Sargent,
    Casa Grande,
        Jacksonville, Oregon.
My dear Mrs. Sargent:
    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,
Mrs. Alice Applegate Sargent.
    D. Appleton & Company,
        35 West 32nd Street,
            New York.
London office 25 Bedford St.
(Covent Garden)
Cable address Hilandero.
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.
Capital Journal, Salem, March 29, 1926, page 1




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.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, December 12, 1930, page 12






    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.
    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 the Editor:
    Yesterday's Mail Tribune tells us that the county court has been called upon to give the "Old Military Road" an official name.
    While many names have been suggested, we feel that the historic name should be retained. To we descendants of the pioneers the original names seem almost sacred.
    The "Old Military Road" is the second oldest road into the Rogue River Valley. The first road was built into and through this valley in 1846. The Rogue River Valley was at that time an unexplored wilderness inhabited by tribes of warlike Indians. The 15 men who blazed the trail through the valley were pioneers from the Willamette Valley. This road was called the "Old Immigrant Road or "Old South Road."
    Fort Lane was built by order of the government in 1853-54, and the "Old Military Road" was then built to bring men and supplies by a short route from the Willamette Valley.
    Let us keep the historic name.
Jacksonville. July 23, 1931.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, July 25, 1931, page 4


    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.
    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.
    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--
    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.
    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."
    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


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.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, November 11, 1931, page 4


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.
"Communications," Medford Mail Tribune, November 23, 1931, page 4