OVERLAND.--We commence the publication of a paper today that cannot fail to be interesting to a great majority of our readers; the diary of H. R. SCHUTT Esq. of a journey across the plains and mountains to California and Oregon. We are all familiar with the story of travel to California at present, in palace cars, with all the conveniences and luxuries of civilized life at command, and a recital of the toil, delays, hardships and varied experiences of passage over the same route by tedious wagons and horses will present a striking contrast to the present method. The story, although in the form of a diary, is told in an interesting manner, by one who evidently had his eyes open, and will not flag in interest to the end.
National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, May 15, 1873, page 5


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
    MARCH 22nd, 1850--Upon this date, having our preparations for the West completed, Jno. C. Peebles and myself start from his residence a few miles northwest from Elkhart, Indiana, with a light but substantial covered wagon and four horses, having bedding and cooking implements for our journey, and expecting to be joined by Jas. H. Foster at Council Bluffs, he, for the present remaining in Elkhart, to put his business in shape to leave. His route will then be by the way of St. Louis for supplies for our journey upon the plains.
    As but little of interest is likely to occur in passing through the settled portions of states on our way to Council Bluffs, the principal starting point for emigrants from the northern states, but little more will be given than an index of our travel, and the places through which we pass. We take the farewell of home, and with good weather night finds us at Carlisle Hill.
    March 23--From Carlisle Hill to City West.
    March 23--City West to Calumet, the prairie roads are excessively disagreeable at this early season of the year.
    March 25--Today we reach Chicago by [omission] p.m.; stop at the Baltic House and ramble about the city, making slight purchases, and finding out our best route for further travel.
    March 26--With fine weather, and good roads, we travel to Napierville in company with others, who, like ourselves, are
    March 27--Today we reach Little Rock. The nights are cold, and the half-frozen sloughs are not agreeable, but gold is a magnet that swims a river, or climbs the mountain.
    March 28--We reach Paw Paw and are in company with other emigrants every day.
    March 29--From Paw Paw to Dixon, where we cross Rock River in rough, hilly prairie country.
    March 30--Travel over good roads, make a short day's travel and camp out in a grove.
    March 31--This day we travel through a good country and reach the Mississippi at Albany, where we camp in good pasturage, surrounded by many emigrants.
    April 1--We ferry over the Mississippi, which we now behold in reality, instead of dreamy visions of the geography lessons of former years. We ponder upon this as we look upon the gigantic stream, and can relish the practice of studying geography by personal observation. We are now in Iowa and stop for night, a few miles out from the river at DeWitt.
    April 2--We travel through good country, some hills, some timber and reach Buena Vista.
    April 3--We travel to Tipton and lay over one day.
    April 5--From Tipton we drive over rolling prairie; some timber in the country; camp out.
    After this we travel over very rolling country, near some heavy Indian trails that led the remainder of our journey to Council Bluffs. We passed through Iowa City where we visited the State House, and, obtaining the keys from a gentlemanly official, we strolled over the splendid structure, finding ourselves at one time at the top, where we had the city and surrounding country spread far below us, a faithful map.
    We crossed the Des Moines River at the fort, and good weather but scanty grass at length found us at Kanesville, surrounded by thousands of California emigrants, encamped in the bottoms and ravines. The lines of travel reaching this place have had their harvest from the emigrants this spring in the exorbitant price of hay, oats and corn. As we found corn very scarce, we made a trip south until within sight of the hills of Missouri, near Austin, where corn has moderated to $1.25 per bushel.
    April 11--We are encamped opposite the mouth of the Platte River for an indefinite time, waiting for grass to advance sufficiently to invite us out upon our journey, also, for the arrival of Mr. Foster with supplies for the route. Kanesville is a few miles from the Missouri River, out of the bottom land (which is subject to overflow) and just among the hills. Trader's Point and Council Point are small villages within a few miles upon the river. The inhabitants are principally Mormons temporarily settled, intending to emigrate to Salt Lake, while other proselytes from Europe and elsewhere take their places in turn to travel. There are some Mormon notables at Kanesville, we are told, among them are Elds. Hyde and Pratt.
    April 28--Today we observe a steamer approaching the landing, and on nearing us we discovered Foster on board. He has stores for our outfit, but we soon learn that his health will not warrant an immediate move. We move out 18 miles, to the Booga [Boyer?] River, that Foster may have the benefit of medical attendance by an M.D., whose acquaintance he had made on board the steamer. Here we are detained some days, only to arrange to travel by the last of May.
    May 31--Forward at last! We cross the Missouri River at Trader's Point into Indian country. While lying here a day or two before crossing the river, the Pawnees made a descent upon the Otoes, capturing about 40 horses and killing a few of their tribe. This aroused the savages so that an Oto Indian, having a Pawnee squaw, captured a few years since, stabbed, scalped, and left her lying in the clay pit at the ferry landing nearly all day, but this outraged the feelings of the emigrants so that they compelled the Indian to bury her, which he did in a grave two feet deep, and shabbily covered, which was soon obliterated by the emigrant stock. This is our first introduction to the style of executive justice adopted by savages.
    June 1--
    But as we leave no widows, nor orphans, we expect to go to California, to swim rivers if necessary, or climb mountains, or outrun Indians when our scalps are endangered. I only mean that we made an attempt at an organization for traveling in company, and started over a fair stretch of country accompanied by a ferryman and reached the Elkhorn River in good time to camp, having traveled twenty-seven miles.
    June 2--We travel from Elkhorn River to the junction with the road from Winter Quarters. On our road today, we met about two hundred Indians returning from a hunt and fight. They had many horses laden with buffalo skins and meat. They seemed jovial and were inquisitive, examining every wagon, and seeming as communicative as the disadvantage of our language would permit.
    June 3--Today we pass over rolling prairie, do a moderate day's travel and arrive at Shell Creek; good weather; poor grass; good wood.
    June 4--This morning we take the wagons across a little rickety willow bridge by hand, and being now in company with 30 men and a number of wagons, we proceed across bottom land, and reach Platte River, where we find good camp for the night.
    June 5--Rainy day; we move camp but three miles. We find plenty of fish in the Platte River.
    June 6--Today we pass Looking Glass Creek, five miles from starting, thence to Beaver River, where we use the rest of the day in making a willow bridge, carrying over the baggage, swimming the stock across, and take the wagons across by attaching long ropes, and getting upon the opposite shore, we draw them through the river. We are now according to our guide 103¾ miles from Council Bluffs. Just before dusk, we circle out to capture a wolf that has been discovered from camp, when a chase of two miles over the hills takes it to some Indians, and reveals his ownership as a dog. Of course we look at each other and retreat with a joke that will last for a number of days.
    June 7--Leave camp this morning, and pass by the remains of an old Indian village, that was burned by the Sioux in 1737 [sic]. We continue, and cross Plum Creek and Ash Creek, and several miles further brings us to camp seven miles below the ford on the Loup Fork. We have seen more game today than formerly. Elk bounding away miles ahead. The most beautiful little antelopes fleeing away before us. Deer and wolves in abundance, the latter in sight almost constantly. Distance from Council Bluffs 114¼ miles.
    June 8--We move up to the ford; examine the river, and find the best place to cross is where we first came to it. The river is 100 rods [1,650 feet] wide. We raise the wagon boxes as high as the stakes will allow, to prevent wetting the loads. This we do by putting short props upon the axles under the box. We attach long ropes to a wagon, string out our men at the sides of the wagon, and keeping the wagon right side up, we get the end of the rope across where we have a team already across to draw the wagon over, and get up the bank, and in this laborious way, in water to our waists, we get four wagons across and our camp is divided upon the sides of the river for night.
    June 9--We again commence moving the remaining wagons over the river, which detained us until one p.m., when we concluded to remain in camp for the day, as the work of the day had been laborious under the scorching sun. Here we saw a dead beaver floating down the river, which was a curiosity to us. We also saw white wolves in this section, and animals we cannot name.
    June 10--Today we traveled over prairie country in a southwest direction; saw plenty of deer and antelope, and at night camped in the open country. The entire Platte Valley is an open prairie, very lightly grassed out upon the bluffs, and in many places heavy sandy road.
    June 11--Fine weather for traveling. We come to Wood River; raise our loads and ford it, thence on until we strike the main Platte River and camp. Today we saw the first buffalo of the trip; one of the party shot one, but was unhorsed in the operation, and six miles from camp, so we fail to get beef.
    June 12--A day's travel, crossing Elm Creek in open country; good weather; grass improving; neither accident or incident is the record today.
    June 13--A good day's travel. We come in sight of other trains fore and aft. Cross Buffalo Creek. We see that companies ahead have killed many buffalo, but the season is not yet advanced enough for the main herd from Texas.
    June 14--We still pass on with good weather and roads. We are now, according to our guide, 260 miles from the Bluffs. The "guide" is a pamphlet made by the Mormons, describing the route to their settlement at Salt Lake, and the emigration is well supplied for them. We find it entirely reliable. We pass Willow Lake, Ptah Lake and pass on over as good roads as any in the States.
    June 15--Today we pass on up the Platte; the valley is from two to six miles wide; grass better; roads good.
    June 16--We lay up and fix for the route ahead; that is, that we make a note of the gentle hint in the Guide that tells us that we are to have no wood for two hundred miles. Hence, we do some baking and boiling. We are three hundred and six miles from Council Bluffs.
    June 17--As usual, a good day's travel. Pass Black Mud Creek and arrive at Bluff Creek; good weather; and very good roads. Feed is excellent; many wagons now left along that had freighted corn on the start.
    June 18--Today we pass several small creeks in short distances from each other, marked as Petile, Picanini, Goose, Duck, Weed, Shoal, Rattlesnake, Cedar Bluffs, and find camp on Camp Creek. We have a buffalo chase. We saw one down by the river, some distance from the road, and eight of the boys start immediately down on each side of him. He discovered his enemies and started for the bluffs; several shots were fired at him as he passed up, but to no purpose. As he neared the train, the dog was sent out and was soon with him, and by this time, being wearied, he turned upon the dog for fight, but finally succeeded in making his escape, pursued by four of the boys.
    June 19--This morning there is considerable anxiety in camp. The four boys that left the train yesterday in pursuit of the buffalo did not get into camp with us at night. Some were without coats, and the night was cold, but we find them as we journey about 10 a.m. upon the road. Wolves plenty, and in great variety, which did not add materially to their comfort through the night.
    Straying from the trains, for various reasons, is a common occurrence among emigrants, occasioned by straying cattle, game or curiosity. But in all cases, as there is but one road in the country, the effort of the wanderer is to reach the road ahead of his train, but as there is an enormous emigration this year, we can frequently get information whether a certain train is ahead or behind us.
    We make a good day's travel, crossing several creeks, which were noted in our guide as Pond Creek, Wolf Creek, Watch Creek, and Castle Creek. Also, we pass the "lone tree," a noted object upon this 200 miles of prairie travel. It stands upon our side of the river, just upon the brink, and being a long distance from the road is seldom visited by emigrants.
    We also passed the meridian of Ash Hollow, which we can see across the river. It is a lovely camp, with a beautiful grove in a capacious ravine. The route from St. Joseph and Independence comes across from South Platte and follows up to Laramie.
    June 20--Early this morning, the grand hailing signal of the prairie went though the camp. This was simply the cry of "Buffalo." A dozen of our riflemen were instantly ready, but caution prevented an immediate move, as five buffalo were coming down from the bluffs across the bottom to the river to drink, sixty or eighty rods from our camp. We were all impatient, but had to wait until they had disappeared down behind the perpendicular wash bank, by a single path that admitted them to the water.
    We then made a cautious circle, surrounding their entrance to the river, and as were closed up to the bank, the advantage was all on our side. We gave them a salute, and they instantly started for shore, their eyes flashing with determination, and thoroughly intent upon escape. But the narrow pass that admitted them to the river required them to observe the usual tactics of all our western countries, which is simply Indian file, or one at a time.
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, May 15, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
    Half a dozen balls took effect, disabling some as they passed up, but a single ball does so little execution that we were apprehensive that all would escape.
    But the foremost dropped at the road, two of the others were lamed, and on the approach of the last one I jumped into a pass ahead of him, which brought him to a halt, and as he circled around in the two-foot water we all had time to reload, and he soon fell and was taken down by the current to a bend below, where he was drawn out by a company encamped on the bank. We could easily afford to divide with them, having more than we wanted. We carved out what we wanted, and left the rest for a subject of debate between the wolves and crows. This was a genuine western scene with us, and being transacted on the level prairie valley, the entire transaction could be witnessed without obstruction. The approach; the surround; the salute; the capture; the sending of supplies to a distant garrison by water, without a supercargo; their reception of the same all transacted within an hour. We make a good day's travel, pass several dry creeks, and arrive at camp on Crab Creek. We are not 409 miles from Council Bluffs.
    June 21--We travel until noon and camp for the day, for the purpose of making an new axletree for one of the wagons in the company. Fair camp; roads good; weather fine.
    June 22--A moderate day's travel; saw a few Indians crossing the Platte. Rain symptoms.
    June 23--Heavy rain in the night. Heaven's arsenal seems well supplied with the best of ammunition in this region, for I have never seen such lightning nor heard such terrific thunder, and a rain means the ejectment of a cloud from above bodily, for it is not a very uncommon event that emigrants have to move out of the creek bottoms where they are encamped, in the night, on account of the sudden overflow of the creeks, but it seems characteristic of storms that they come suddenly and disappear.
    We pass the "Ruins," which are a good representation of ancient castles and fortifications; but the Guide cautions us about rattlesnakes, and our visit is short. We can see Chimney Rock far ahead, south of the river, appearing about the size of a wigwam; we keep it in sight all day.
    June 24--Today we have fine weather and good roads, and reach Chimney Rock meridian. The Rock, at our distance, appears to be a huge pile of earth surmounted by a perpendicular rock of great height, and finally capped by a single upright stone resembling a chimney, which gives it its name.
    We are in sight of the emigration on the south side of the river, and can see their tents at all times during the day, and their road shows a heavy travel. We expect to join them at Fort Laramie, as we have to cross the river at that point.
    June 25--We make a good day's travel, and pass the meridian of Scott's Bluffs, which is a noted bluff on the south side of the river. The legend that named the bluff was told me, but is now too faint in memory to attempt a repetition. [Like many overland accounts, Schutt is embellishing his diary decades after the fact.]
    We saw some Sioux Indians coming from a fight with the Pawnees, but they avoided conversation and we got but little information.
    June 26--Today we strike timber for the first time in two hundred miles. Cross Raw Hide Creek before noon, and camp soon after for the balance of the day, for the sole purpose of doing a little baking once more. We are 515 miles from Council Bluffs, and but seven miles from Fort John or Laramie Ford. We have had to watch our travel on foot frequently on account of the prickly pear, which shows several varieties, armed with sharp, stiff thorns, which sometimes pierce through common leather into the feet of pedestrians, and it is a source of much annoyance to dogs, making them lame. A dog is a special favorite with emigrants upon this trip, for we have no guard at night except old Beaver, a heavy black-and-white bulldog, and an item for the naturalist is to see him follow the river bank and drink at every opportunity, while the road at times is over a mile from the river.
    We are all anxious to see the Fort, and, near night, we move up and camp at the ford with a large company of emigrants. A terrific storm came up and demolished every tent in camp, and caused us to extinguish the camp fires for safety.
    June 27--This morning finds us in sight of the Fort. We obtain a ferry boat and take ourselves across; pay $2 each wagon, then swim the stock across, and it is musical to hear the melody of the commands given to horses and oxen as we attempt to harness, and yoke and start away from the ferry; two hundred throats at once are in use on such monosyllables as whoa, git up, come here, haw, gee, and the whole vocabulary of the teamster, with endless repetitions, until the permutations are completed, and we shift out from the artillery of whips and voices into a line of march for the Fort, where we stay an hour or two, and here we learn the reason for seeing so many tents stretched on the road south of the river every day, and at all times of the day. The emigration has been scourged with cholera, and we learn as many as eight persons were buried in one grave, and very frequently more than one.
    There are a number of orphans at the Fort to be returned by government to the States. The tie that had, in many instances, been recently made found no respecter of persons in the relentless scourge, and widows as well as widowers are journeying on having personal charge of teams.
    And through surrounding circumstances forbid any unnecessary sojourn, yet many a vivid picture is carried wearily along of some shaded vale, or sunny prairie knoll where the second edition in the chapter of life was enacted, containing the last farewell, so different from the first, containing the vows of eternal attachment.
    While here, in conversation with a soldier, we are told that the apparent chaparral or brush that we discern far ahead upon the route in the distant mountains is, in fact, pine timber, two feet through.
    We find no need of company organization for guard or safety, as the whole line is populated. We drive out about five miles and camp. We have had Laramie Peak in sight for a number of days. This is the most prominent peak in the Black Hills. There is a road upon the north side of the Platte River, but we preferred this route, from representations at the fort.
    June 28--We have rough, rocky, hilly roads today. Pass Porter's Rock to the left of the road, a singular, isolated perpendicular rock, perforated by various sized orifices, apparently the work of human hands, and a mile further, we go down a long, steep, sandy descent pass a warm spring, bitter creek, and cross it again in about a mile. Soon after we are on a sharp bend to the south, to avoid a frightful gorge or ravine, and eighty rods [1,320 feet, a quarter mile] travel brings us back within easy conversing distance across the ravine. Rough traveling; scattering pine; scanty camps; much company is part of the description of our surroundings. Considerable sickness; roads strewn with clothing, lead, gun barrels, irons from wagons, and log chains. We cross several creeks at short intervals, and camp on "fifth" creek.
    June 29--Rough roads; pass the La Bonte eight miles from camp, thence five miles brings us to camp on a branch of La Bonte. Good water; scant grass; plenty of wood. We are now five hundred and eighty-eight miles from Council Bluffs.
    June 30--We stay encamped today. We have much splendid scenery about us, and find the timber as represented by the soldier at Fort Laramie. The emigrant is frequently deceived on distances in the mountains; the air is clear; and long views are easily had from the elevations.
    July 1--We have the usual rough, rocky, hilly roads today. We travel some miles over red sand, the timber dwarfed and scattering. Travel down the bed of a creek nearly eighty rods. This morning before leaving our camp we filled a fine trunk with clothes, strapped an overcoat on the top, and left it upon the camp ground. Emigrants begin to leave everything that is not actually needed upon the route regardless of its value.
    July 2--Today our route has been across desert country. We are in an inviting country for a mineralogist, for we find many curious and handsome specimens of different kinds, among which are jet, mineral tallow, an inferior opal, and some scotch marble. Cutters tell me that they discovered as fine native marble as they ever saw. But our knowledge of the science is just sufficient to be aggravating. We carved our names in the blocks of mineral tallow, where we found an entire hill of it cropping out at one side and falling down in cubes.
    We crossed La Prele River today. We have seen no Indians since we left Ft. Laramie. It is said that they fear infectious diseases, with which they have been heretofore scourged, and hence avoid the emigrant route. We have poor camp at night.
    July 3--We travel as before, and while pursuing a westerly course, we come upon the brow of the hill at the foot of which we cross Box Elder Creek and three miles after, the Forchee Boise River thence four miles brings us near the Platte River again, thence four miles to Deer Creek, a pleasant valley, fine groves, good grass and water and a few miles further brings us to camp on Deep Muddy.
    We remain in camp today with a sick man, Ezra Ingram, but having a doctor in our company, we do not expect to be detained long. I mean no ambiguity. We find plenty of fish and game here. Antelope are constantly in sight. They are smaller than the common deer, and have small black horns, shaped like the pike hooks of lumbermen, having two prongs, one straight, the other bent or hooked forward. These are captured by stratagem very readily, for we have but to get a good position secreted by the tall grass, and raise a hat or handkerchief cautiously upon a ramrod, which is soon observed by the watchful animal, and its own inquisitiveness draws it within the fatal distance. They are, I think, the fleetest animal of the prairie. Of the many we saw running none appeared to be hurried, whether the fright was from dog, or gunshot, for I have seen swift dogs with the advantage of a near start left alone in a few minutes. On one occasion I saw three shots fired at one from three successive stations, the animal increasing its speed at each fire, and yet apparently at its leisure. Some of us start for the mountain to hunt, but after a long tramp the mountain appeared no nearer, and we retreat with a little western experience.
    July 5--Still stay encamped, on account of our sick man, who is much worse; I am called in from a hunt near the mountains by request of the doctor, for I have talked hydropathy with him for a long distance back, and have some works with me upon the treatment of disease, and on reaching camp I find the death sentence whispered. But Joel Shew, J. H. Rausse and myself, assisted by the little doctor, effected a change, and the man is much better before night.
    Some of our hunters killed some mountain sheep, a wild and exceedingly shy animal, somewhat known as bighorn from the extraordinary size of their horns. We have seen the horns of these animals along the road, and often wondered to what manner of sheep they belonged. But our captures explain the matter. The animal is not as large as the common sheep, more chubby in body and flesh more compact, and the enormous size of the horns seem to be in undue proportion to the body. They simulate the horns of the common sheep, and are at least four times the size of the largest. The dirty, coarse, hairy attempt at wool will not compare favorably with the coat of the merino of settled countries, but its flesh we think superior.
    July 6--A portion of our company roll out of camp, some staying with Ingram, who is still gaining, but unable to travel.
    Twelve miles finds us at our last interview with the Platte River, which we here find coming to us from a direction a little west of south. We have to cross it here and leave it; some distance up the river we can see some very red bluffs on the right hand. We swim the stock over and ferry the wagons, which makes much detention as we have to wait our turn for the boat, and barely have time to cross and camp. We seem to sacrifice some attachment in leaving the Platte, for as we have traveled it has been with us ever since leaving the States at the Missouri River, a distance of near 650 miles. A constant aggregation of stock has impoverished the grass here, making it a poor camp.
    July 7--By our gentle guide, we find our latitude 42º50'18" and altitude 4,875 feet. We travel south and west, and in the distance to the south we see some scenery in the shape of high perpendicular rocks of various forms and various colors. We have very rough road. We pass Mineral Spring and Lake, then Alkali Swamps. After leaving Mineral Springs we pass through a sharp canyon, between almost vertical rocks for some distance, where even a stranger could not go wrong, for it is scarcely possible to get out of the single track through the Rocky Avenue. We travel 29 miles and reach camp at Willow Springs. Our guide cautioned us to avoid Alkali Swamp and Springs.
    While in this region we see many horses and oxen, and some men that suffer, and in many cases die from the effect of alkali water, and notices are posted at some streams by the advance to caution those in the rear.
    We find camp at Willow Springs; poor grass; water good but scarce; we have to improve the spring by digging, and then find but a scant supply for the large company camped here. The drain from the spring is very miry, and dangerous to the poor ox or horse that is enticed into it by a few spires of grass growing in it.
    Here too, is the region of the grizzly bear, the strongest and most formidable animal in the mountains. A story is told here that a single grizzly took an ox out of the mud where it had died, drew it up the steep four-foot bank and there wrenched off its under jaw and took it away. Mountains piled up in endless profusion of shape and size. No timber in sight, but the little willow thicket at the spring, always except the scanty sage which seems to require no soil, and is indigenous to a great portion of the route across the plains.
    July 8--Up early and secure what water we need; leave camp and a mile up hill takes us to the top of Prospect Hill, where we have a very extensive view in every direction, including the Sweetwater Mountains. After this we cross an outrage of a slough on lower ground, and several small creeks, one named Greasewood and finally camped on Sweetwater. This is truly a bitter region; desert country; alkali water; greasewood; artemisia and sage; plenty of sand; no soil.
    July 9--Today we move out to better grass, for now. Among the emigrants in our vicinity as well as many that have preceded us the loss of stock is an everyday occurrence. Scarcely ever are we out of sight of dead stock along the road or near it. As yet we have seen but one dead mule. We are within sight of plenty of snow in the mountains, while the work of harvesting is probably going on in the country we left last spring.
    July 10--As we are in a satisfactory place, we stay camped for the benefit of the team, and a hundred wagons pass us today.
    July 11--We pass over to Sweetwater River; pass Independence Rock, a noted object of the route, a bare bold granite measuring 1800 feet in length, and 360 feet in width and of forbidding height to the traveler. The level sod of the valley meets it squarely at the base, and in every available place the names of visitors appear in a variety of styles, from the coarse tar or black paint to the more symmetrical carving of the practiced chisel.
    We also pass the Devil's Gate, where the Sweetwater passes through a huge gateway of stone 400 feet in perpendicular height, an object worthy of special notice. Roads very sandy, no timber but greasewood and wild sage. During this day's journey we can look away to the north of west and see the giant proportions of the Rocky Mountains standing in close proximity to the skies, as if nature intended them for a natural impassable divide between hostile nations, or as a partition for the world. An emigrant by the name of Small had seventeen horses stolen from him last night, either by whites or Indians. But pursuit into the mountains proved ineffectual, save the discovery of a boot track with the horses, proving theft instead of straying.
    July 12--This morning we have a sick man in our company, Hiram Cranson from the eastern part of Michigan. His comrades, seven in number, and two wagons remain with him; the rest of us move on. We make a short drive and camp after making the four crossings of Sweetwater, in company with nearly a hundred wagons. Roads, heavy sand; grass scarce; good water ditto, for the river is impregnated with alkali. The days are warm; the nights cold; ice every morning. We are in a very high country, so says our kettle of beans when we are in a hurry for a meal, for they will stand the martyrdom of lively ebullition for hours with little change. [At the 7,519-foot elevation of Devil's Gate water boils at 198°F.]
    July 16--We travel sixteen miles without food or water. One of the company taken sick; we camp at ford number 5 on Sweetwater. No game or Indians in the country. Distance from Council Bluffs 759 miles.
    July 14--Encamped all day; sick man worse; bright days with high west winds every day, which has a tendency to produce mountain fever, a disease quite prevalent with emigrants. Another scourge upon this part of the route is the sore lips. This is done by facing the wind and traveling in the constant cloud of alkali dust which attends every moving train.
    July 15--Today we travel slowly over rough roads, described by rocks, sage and sand; distance 10 miles; sick man better. We cross Strawberry Creek, Quaking Asp Creek, and another branch of Sweetwater and camp on Willow Creek.
    It is now sixteen miles to the South Pass. There is a distinct ascent in every mile of the road. This is written after our day's travel of twenty miles. We met Easterlie's express and sent back letters. They had stationed at the South Pass in advance of the emigration, and had a large mail collected from emigrants.
    July 17--Travel about ten miles and camp again on the river. Foster is taken sick with the mountain fever, but hydropathy triumphs. Heavy roads; bright weather; country mountainous.
    July 18--Roads generally good today, and with fine dry weather we make a pleasure trip of the gradual prairie rise to the summit. The country is more pleasant here than much of that which we have traversed. We increase our altitude considerably today, though not abruptly at any point. All eyes are open among the many emigrants that throng the road here, as we pass up the seeming breach in the great chain of the Rocky Mountains by an open, smooth gradually ascending pass between the two symmetrical, smooth grassy prominences, on account of the similarity of which they are known as the Twin Mounds. The views from the level summit of the Pass are magnificent, on account of the variety presented. The eye takes in its range a seemingly sufficient area to comprise a state, shaped into every variety of valleys of different sizes,
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, May 22, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
hills of all grades up to the point where a change of name is necessary.
    All of these scenes too are varied by the surface efforts of nature, in scattering here the drifting sand and there the stinted sod, and the prevailing sage, and far in the distant mountain we observe some indications of timber, apparently evergreen. Truly this is an interesting point to the wanderer who is under the most favorable conditions painfully aware that they have traveled a long journey. We look toward the country over which we have traveled, with a feeling of familiarity or acquaintanceship, and we look ahead with anxiety over the unknown region, and feel that we have yet a rough and rugged road to travel, perchance beset with thieves if not with murderers, and instances have been known of people losing their lives in places less suited to the convenience of bandits than this. But we lose no sleep, or even stand guard. At this point on our route, the emigrant that is tinctured with the romantic laments the dictates of the circumstance that bids him quiet his curiosity and strive for the termination of his journey, for here he could linger for weeks and yet long to remain. But chief among the attractions of this vicinity is the fact of its being the point of adieu to sunrise. We are conscious of being upon the great dividing ridge of North America. Our altitude is 7,075 feet in the road, though the mountains to the north and south of us tower to immense heights above this. Our distance from Council Bluffs is eight hundred miles. Here the divide of waters takes place. In all our journeying thus far, we have been conscious that the waters near which our camps were located were on their way to the Missouri which we regard as our old neighborhood, at this long distance. The accidental slant of a knoll at this point determines whether the destination of a raindrop shall be the Atlantic or Pacific. But we will not linger on description here; enough has been said to describe the tenor of the mind, though it require personal experience to give life to the picture. We pass up the smooth divide, and by the Pacific Springs; the journeying of this little rill is a mystery to us, as we are practically unacquainted with its journeying to the sea. We camp on Dry Sandy thirteen miles from South Pass; no wood but very little grass.
    July 19--Six miles brings us to the junction or forks of Salt Lake and Oregon roads. The Salt Lake road bears south, while ours is directly west and has the name of the Oregon route, for it was established by the emigration to that country before the gold of California opened the route to the mines. The Oregon and California emigration continue together however, until we pass the Soda Springs on Bear River. We make a desert drive of ten miles and camp on Big Sandy, having crossed Little Sandy on the way.
    We now have to cross a fifty-two-mile desert, and intend to remain in this poor scanty camp until tomorrow afternoon for the benefit of our jaded team. I am quite sick with mountain fever; it has been our practice from the start upon this route to travel on foot as much as possible to relieve the team, and the idea of being confined to the wagon is not agreeable to me, knowing that our poor horses have to work for every rod of the road. A desert country; no timber in sight.
    July 20--For our advantage in crossing the desert, we stay in camp until 4 p.m., when we start out intending to avoid the heat of the day by a night drive. It was difficult to observe the country as the night was dark, but it is safe to say that there was no danger of running against stumps, for two reasons; first, our team has not lately been guilty of running, and second, the devastating ax of the paleface has had no invitation to this region, where a tree is a novelty to the sight, and a luxury to the cook.
    Some distance into the night, a violent storm met us from the west and forced us to halt, as the teams refused to face it but took their position for a halt in spite of the efforts of the drivers. Here we remain two hours, and the storm is described as "terrific." We then proceeded, the darkness barely admitting of our keeping the road, until towards morning, when we stop to rest our much-worn  horses.
    July 19--We find ourselves in a genuine desert this morning, and as there is nothing to invite an unnecessary delay here, we are soon on the road, diligently and carefully traveling, for our teams need every advantage we can invent for their benefit upon the heavy sands, cut deep by the thousand wagons that have preceded us. There are many now in company, and as we labor along we pass teams that refuse to proceed without frequent temporary rests. The thick, stifling dust bears its part too in the work of exhaustion on the way, and this alone frequently tells us of moving trains, where too far distant to discern individual wagons or teams. At 4 p.m. the glad hurrah of a valuable discovery is sent back from the front, for Green River has been sighted. Need it be said that faces brighten and whips crack; or need we state that an ablution at the river brightened many a face still more? Twenty-four hours upon the desert. The river is large and rapid, seemingly as anxious to escape from the desert to more fertile regions as we are, and it affords the only boon of quenching thirst. This causes a lingering and, with the delay in crossing, the result is a congregation of many people and teams. We ferry over and camp in the sand. Our stock swims the river. I am still sick and have to ride constantly, but mountain fever is not called dangerous.
    July 22--A multitude is on the move early, horses are harnessed, oxen yoked, and the same babel of confusion that took place at Fort Laramie. We move out to the first invitation of grass and camp on account of the team.
    July 23--Stay encamped today for my benefit. I am quite sick, but my faithful companion Peebles is all attention.
    July 24--Having learned from an intelligent emigrant the day of the week, we give our correct longitude, finding that we are near the middle of the week. Travel seven miles and camp on my account.
    Start early but travel slow to accommodate me. This morning we saw the first Indians we have seen since leaving Laramie; fifteen or twenty came into camp to "swap" fish and skins for such things as they fancied. The country is as barren as ever; the team can but just live. There is almost a disconnected string of emigrants upon the road, many from Missouri. I am recruiting, owing to the exemption from travel on foot, and exclusion from the constant west wind within the cover of the wagon.
    July 26--We travel about fifteen miles and stop at a passable camp. We have a joint stock supper on sage hens, which we find plenty about here. They are a large gray fowl, somewhat simulating a half-grown turkey, and will answer very well as the ostrich of the American desert. These, and the large gray rabbit, compose the only game we discover in the country. The rabbits are larger than those of the States, and are said to be white in winter. We sometimes travel many miles without seeing an occasion to use our rifles. Although most of the emigration is in advance of us, yet I think there is a hundred teams here upon a distance of three miles.
    July 27--We travel about fifteen miles over rough mountains; still in sight of snow around us. The nights are cold. In this rough, mountainous, sandy, rocky, desert, uninhabitable country, the thought is suggested that if seven or eight days had been used instead of six at the creation, our geographies would have offered better inducements to the farmer from this country.
    July 28--We are now in Shoshone country. In the afternoon of this day we are made aware of our immense distance from the earth, by arriving at the brink of a mountain from whence we can see, many hundred feet below us, the little silver thread known as Thomas Fork of Bear River, broken and irregular, and our descent to it was like coming from the skies to earth, so terrible was the height, and steep the descent.
    Emigrant justice took place upon the road this morning. Two of the men who were with Mr. Small, who it will be remembered lost seventeen horses on the Sweetwater, made a raid upon his remaining stock, and by early rising and diligence got away from the train with three more of his horses and hurried on ahead, Mr. Small and another man pursuing. The thieves, thinking they were at a safe distance, had left the road and crossing a knoll they dismounted to take a sleep and let their horses graze, and in this condition, while fast asleep and in supposed security, Mr. Small and his companion came upon them, secured their guns, awakened them, and took them to the road where he stated his case to a halted train, and the decision was left with a jury that soon awarded one of them twenty and the other twelve lashes upon the bare back to be administered by a negro belonging to the train. The execution took place, and he who was stinted to twelve lashes had too much manliness to speak reproachfully of his companion receiving a more marked attention than himself. They are now some distance ahead and we will probably not overtake them.
    July 29--Heard from an almanac again, correcting our latitude for the day of the week. We travel 12 or 15 miles along Bear River; good weather; good camp; stunted cedar.
    July 30--About 15 miles over very hilly roads and camp on Bear River. Plenty of fish, trout and others.
    July 31--Today we travel about twenty miles. Good roads, grass and water; camped with one other wagon in an inviting ravine near a cottonwood grove a short distance from the river. We are in a game country; we see occasionally animals of different description for size and color that we cannot name; some Indians about. We are now nine hundred miles from Council Bluffs, and we have been two months on the road from there.
    August 1--Today we reach the Soda Springs, a noted curiosity of the route. There are many of them in this vicinity, but the largest one, or Steamboat Spring as it is called, is close beside the river, issuing from a flat table of rock in a perpendicular column of foam to the height of two feet, and flowing over the edge of the rock into the river. The smooth circular orifice from which it issues is about eight inches in diameter, and its violence beats it into a foam. The water is little more than milk warm and of a disagreeable bitter taste, but the French and Spanish traders here assert it to be healthy and they use it freely. We find that for bread we need no other ingredient with the flour, to ensure a light nice article. About three feet from the large spring in the same table of rock there is a small jet of water issuing at fitful intervals an inch in diameter, simulating the safety-valve of an engine, hence the name "Steamboat" Spring.
    The French traders furnish horses to the emigrants at $150 to $200 each, or exchange as they can agree. At this place the only pasturage for stock is across the river, where a large flat affords an extensive range all within sight of camp. On the side of the springs the general level is higher and is exceedingly rocky and rough, the hills composed of bare rocks with a few stunted cedars clinging to the cliffs. The surface forbids any attempt at soil or grass.
    August 2--We leave the region of curiosities and six miles west brings us to the junction of the California road with the Oregon route, and as the camps are so much reduced by heavy emigration ahead, we take the Oregon road, and make a square turn to the north up a little valley. At the forks of the road, the California road keeps directly west across the valley and is lost in the mountains again. Bear River at this point comes from the southwest and bends away to the east. The bank here is of high perpendicular rock, where water can only be obtained by rope and pail. We find many soda springs along the road today, as we pass up the valley. These springs form rock from a kind of deposit made in the water, and we see numerous rocks that appear to have contained springs from their shape, being raised sections or frustum of rough cones hollow and rough, as though time had raised the rocks to a level with the spring, then caused the waters to seek a new channel for exit, where the same operation was repeated. The waters of the numerous springs show a variety; others are exceedingly clear, with a light bluish tint and an apparent magnifying power, for the minutest object may be distinctly seen at any depth.
    Many time the thirsty traveler is foiled in the attempt to allay his thirst at these beautiful springs, finding the water bitter and unpalatable. We find we are passing up a pleasant little valley on our left, a range of low irregular rocky little hills at our right, and with a sprinkle of dwarf-cedar clinging about them.
    There is much of interest in this region, but it is overruled by the fatigues of the journey. The future mineralogist, with more leisure, will find an exhaustless field for research here. Besides the springs and the mountain scenery, which is superb, there is another attraction here in the form of rocks upon the surface, as well as fissures in the earth. The rocks bear volcanic marks, as is testified by their rough surface and want of organism.
    We observed several hollow ones [fissures], the largest of which lay upon the surface about thirty feet long and six feet high, resembling a huge petrified crocodile, with a surface jagged and roughened by the corrosion of time. Near one end, an orifice admits an easy ingress of a person, and the cavity affords no obstacle to an upright walk the whole length; near the opposite end, light is admitted by a fracture. The settler here would require no other cellar than this, which might be buried to any depth for protection against frost.
    In many places we find fissures or caverns in the level ground, walled by regular stone to the surface, for there is no soil to speak of. They are various in form and extent, some having the bottom within sight, others disappear in darkness, and as we drop stone into them the sounds come back fainter and fainter, without informing us of a bottom this side of the center of gravity. Within some of the less depths, we discover the whitened bones of the buffalo, gone long ago with the Indian of former times, to that future life, where it is the custom of many tribes to take their bows and dogs or favorite horse, as these are frequently buried with them. But in regard to this morsel of modern mythology I must be allowed to say "perhaps."
    We were told by mountain men that no buffalo have been seen west of the Rock Mountains within the last thirty years. We have good camp, grass, water and wood.
    August 3--Today we continue up the little valley, passing some French trading posts here among the Shoshone Indians, while to the west or opposite side of the valley is a giant wall of magnificent mountain scenery, peak towering above peak, bold rocks projecting, and deep ravines lined with small timber, all of which is within plain view from our elevation on the opposite side of the narrow valley. As we near the head of the valley, our road turns to the left across the small creek and through a divide of thick brush and young poplars. Here too we find a treat in the many gooseberries and currants, which we find in abundance. We help ourselves without an invitation. We find camp at a very large spring which furnishes a creek that heads off westward toward Ft. Hall.
    August 4--We leave camp reluctantly this morning, for we have good grass, water and wood. The spring, or rather creek, issues from a bank beneath a large tree, and we follow down this creek into the great valley of the Snake River, expecting to reach Ft. Hall today. There is yet plenty of snow in the mountains, while the ravines are furnishing us with plenty of currants and June berries, which we observe strictly after our desert travel for many weeks without food of any kind. We seem to be in a somewhat productive country for the first time since leaving Fort Laramie. We are over a thousand miles from Council Bluffs, and over sixteen hundred miles from home, but we find that the sun rises here as often as it does in the States, and keeps later hours at night, probably to atone for later rising.
    We fail to reach the Fort, but camp in an extensive valley extending to the river upon which the Fort is situated. Many advantages here, good grass, water, wood. And the finest mosquitoes, endless quantities of them, so numerous are they that, upon turning our horses loose, they refused to graze but started at once for higher land as by instinct, and we, not seeing their intention for a few moments while arranging camp, were at the expense of a six-mile tramp to recover them. We made no attempt to get supper but squatted under blankets for protection.
    I here make a rough guess that no one can pass through the valley in the summer season without becoming more or less a naturalist, and with no special effort either.
    August 5--The travel today has led us far out into the Snake River Valley, where we have had some of the most extensive view of the route. Far in the northern horizon, where we fancy we can almost see into the McKenzie Valley of the arctic regions, we discern two similarly shaped mountains, perfect cones in form, and were we not conscious of having crossed neither the Atlantic or Pacific, we could easily imagine ourselves in Egypt, and within two hundred miles of such an appearance as we now behold toward the north pole. We see the walls of Ft. Hall a long distance before we reach it, and only arrive there after crossing some small creeks about 3 p.m., where we also have our first introduction to Snake River. Oregon emigrants have crossed the river near here in former times, and made a more direct route to another crossing at Fort Boise, nearly three hundred miles below, but the travel is now located south of the river. We find Fort Hall occupied as a fur port by members of the Hudson Bay Company, with the noted old Captain Grant at the head of the party. He is generally observed by all emigrants and hence is a noted man, for travelers are anxious to get information of the route ahead and generally exhibit but little satisfaction when the Capt. tells them they have yet eight hundred miles to travel before they reach the settlement in Oregon. He is over six feet in height, and straight as his Indian associates; his hair perfectly white, and a small keen pair of gray eyes. He is able in his position, for he answers all queries of emigrants intelligently in English, or gives orders or answers questions in French, or reprimands a wayward native in the dialect of the country. He has been a member of the Hudson Bay Company a long time, and stationed here 14 years.
    Here we see an assortment of furs among which is the white muskrat, and others we cannot name. We leave the Fort after an hour's halt, drive out to good camp near Port Neuf River, where we find good grass and water, scarcely any wood, but brush. The water at this place is excellent, and is a curiosity being what may be called standing springs. They are surrounded by the level sod of the valley, without any outlet visible, the banks about three feet high from the water surface, while the waters at any depths show clear boiling sands at the bottom in constant agitation, the size of the springs varying from a few feet surface to the size of an ordinary cellar. The clearness of the water is remarkable and has a magnifying power, for the smallest pebble or shell is plainly visible from the bank.
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, May 29, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]      Some Indians came into camp this evening with some very fine fish, trout, and other kinds to "swap." We give them two fish hooks for two large trout; then one of the company offers them a dollar for two others which they refuse, but gladly accept the offer of two more hooks for them. The rivers and mountain streams are stocked with abundance of fish of different varieties; but the emigrant's favorite is the spotted trout.
    There seems to be a considerable number of Indians about the valley and near the Fort.
    Aug. 9--We cross the Portneuf River this morning and travel down Snake River about eighteen miles, and camp one mile above American Falls. The river is large, and generally rapid, receiving the drainage of the western slope of the Rocky Mountains for an extent of many miles, besides receiving its tributaries as it journeys hundreds of miles to its junction with Clark's River, and from thence taking the name of the Columbia.
    August 7--We go down to the American Falls, make a temporary halt to view this secluded wonder. I use the term "secluded" on account of its remoteness from civilized man. We find an immense body of water coming with considerable rapidity down a considerable descent some distance before it reaches the irregular fall over which it passes in two separate parts, being separated by a huge rock near the center of the river. The greater part of the water pours over the fall on the north side, while the fall nearest to us is more broken and obstructed by many large rocks. The result of such a heavy body of water falling over the rocks is a perceptible trembling of the solid ground near it, and the thundering sound necessitates the best use of the speaker's lungs who wishes to be heard. A large whirlpool is formed below the large perpendicular abutment from which we view the falls, occasioned by the increased width of the river below, and the great amount of water passing over at the further side of the falls.
    Upon a huge unapproachable rock near the center of the falls we can plainly discern the nest of an eagle, and can see the young birds stretch up their heads when the old ones wheel around near them. Bold bird, we fancy, thus to build and rear its young amid the deafening thunders of the waters, where even the solid rocks tremble with the immense concussion.
    August 8--We have been living with two other men for nearly two hundred miles upon the road, having found their outfit the same as ours, three horses and a wagon. By joining with them we left one wagon, and harnessing the four-horse team, we had two spare horses to use as occasion required. Deserting a wagon or burning it is almost an everyday occurrence, and we can scarcely find a camp that has not the remnants of a wagon or two about the remains of the camp fires. Good, substantial traveling carriages are thus sacrificed, and besides this kind of destruction we find abundance of lead, gun barrels, log chains, and numerous other articles of outfit, which travelers may and must dispense with upon the route, for now not a pound of anything not actually needed is carried, however costly. Things are only estimated by their usefulness, a circumstance that teaches us a valuable lesson of first principles and rebukes our vanity. Every possible thing must be done to economize the labor of teams; even the shortening of the reach and cutting of the wagon boxes is a prevalent practice.
    We scarcely see any difference in the numbers upon the road since leaving the California route, and the camps are but meager patches of almost bare sand. We change our mode of travel again today, by separating from our partners, making some pack saddles, and loading a few of the most necessary articles upon them, while we expect to travel on foot the rest of the journey, a style very much in vogue in this country. Blankets few; cooking implements ditto; provisionless, made up our packs, hence it may be understood that our horses are not heavily burdened at present.
    Another measure of relief to our commissary department is that Peebles leaves our bed and board, having found a chance to drive an ox team for a widow who had lost her husband some distance back, and who has since then had personal charge of one team, while a hired man drove the other.
    They were tolerably well supplied with provisions, while we have a small supply for one man. Foster and myself now go on under the new dispensation to Raft River and camp with a company of emigrants. Our travel today has led us across high hilly country destitute of timber.
    August 9--From this point there is a road running south probably to Salt Lake. We start early and are, unawares, upon a desert stretch without a full supply of water, an oversight that is emphasized long before we reach relief. The usual rule in an assemblage is elevation of spirits, but I painfully admit ours was a dry crowd. The roads were very sandy; the weather warm, for we have greatly lessened our altitude since leaving the South Pass, and before getting in sight of any indication of water I was unable to talk. After some miles of travel I observe indications of water toward the south, and without counsel I described a right angle with the road, and traveled across the parched and grassless plain toward the deepened green in the distance, and on a near approach found it to be an extensive marsh covered with rushes, but no water in sight. The work of penetrating some distance into it and digging to water by hand required but little time, nor did I question with much nicety the quality of water; the only saving quality however was that the stomach had queer fancies as to likes and dislikes, and indicated it on this occasion by ejecting at least a gallon of this warm like [sic] marsh water. We found tolerable camp at the west side of the marsh, at a place known as Flag Springs. Good grass; water, and young cedars for wood. Here we camp in company with our associate Peebles.
    August 10--Travel about seventeen miles over barren country; camp in a small valley on a creek. We met three men today from Oregon City going to Salt Lake. Some of our company gave the opinion that they were deserters from some Fort. They tell us that wages for labor is from five or six dollars per day in Oregon.
    August 11--We move along today as usual; nothing of interest occurred to relieve the monotony of the laborious march over the parched plain.
    August 12--We have heard from an almanac and can give the day of the week again. We travel twenty miles; the ox teams are eight miles back. We are in an extensive arid country along Rock Creek, a stream tributary to Snake River. The creek is a curiosity; we journey along it for miles without having access to water but by rope and pail, on account of the perpendicular wall of rocks which forms the banks. We expect to wait for the teams.
    Aug 13--We lie in camp all day. The teams are detained back to camp on account of sickness in the company and do not get to us. Another train comes along and we move camp down to the crossing and camp with them. The main walls of the creek separate here somewhat, giving a little bottom land near the creek, and some willow grows here. It must be understood that common, small green willow bushes are of no slight importance to the emigrant, for in very many places it is his only wood.
    Since leaving the Missouri River, we have passed through but one grove that was over eighty rods [a quarter mile] long, and with the exception of the Platte country, the line is best described by such words as rough, hilly, rocky, mountainous desert, for there is no soil, and the principal attempt at vegetation is wild sage and different varieties of cactus. Our first introduction to the root digger Indians took place at this camp. Two Indians with their squaws and two children, and one very old squaw, came in soon after we camped from the west across a fifteen-mile desert, and were the most abject, filthy, degraded samples of humanity imaginable. We invited them out from camp, and they took lodgings some distance from us under a sheltering rock near a dead horse that was very offensive and from which they fared bountifully if not sumptuously.
    August 14--Today we travel across a fifteen-mile desert and camp upon a precipice overlooking Snake River and several hundred feet above it. The river from our perch looks like a mere creek; we observe what appears to be a snow bank at the foot of the mountain of rock on the opposite shore. A winding path leads obliquely down the mountain bank and across the flat to the river, where stock gladly go to drink after the weary drive that reaches this place.
    While at the edge of the river we hear a faint roaring, mellowed by the distance in the direction of the supposed bank of snow, which solves the mystery and informs us that it is but a monster spring beaten into foam by its violence over the rocks. The illusion from our camp is perfect, as neither noise nor motion is discerned at our great height across the chasm. How often have we wished our acquaintances from home to view these grandest scenes of nature, or that a few of the many thousand wonders could be transported to their vicinity.
    To see the vast abyss below us, its great depth and width dwarfing the large river to a mere thread, gives us the sensation of being up near the sky, and we make rough estimates of the altitude of our camp by throwing stones in the direction of the river and watching their descent and apparent recoil towards the base of the rock. The stock, as they trail along the path across the bottom, dwindle to the size of sheep. Rock, sand and sage describes the country.
    August 15--Leave a barren camp; travel sixteen miles; overtake an ox team and find good camp on Salmon Fall Creek, a few miles above the Falls. Here quite a number of Indians came about the camp with salmon to "swap." Any old article of clothing buys all we want of them. Grass tolerable but much used; plenty of willow.
    A thieving Indian sitting near our fire slipped my drinking basin under his blanket and was at the top of a distant hill, out of rifle range, before I was aware of it. I usually carried it upon my belt, and it is a real loss to me. I may possibly meet him in heaven, as he never had the benefit of missionary instruction.
    August 16--The little theft that occurred last night made the camp vigilant, and our estimate of the morale of the residents about here is not much better this morning, upon finding some stock missing. A reward to them soon produces the animals and confirms our suspicion that they had secreted them in order to obtain the fee for returning them. We do not like their appearance, hence we are vigilant and send an advance in places suitable for ambush. We move along the Falls where we find quite a village of wigwams, some of which are large and substantial, being made of dressed skins. This is a favorite fishing place, owing to the falls impeding the further progress of the salmon up the stream. Salmon are caught here in great quantities, and prepared for winter by drying them in strips upon a willow rack over a fire at the center of their lodges. The salmon is an institution of the countries that have water communications with the Pacific. They make their annual journey from the ocean hundreds of miles up the river, for the purpose of depositing their eggs in the bars of the streams, and many, we are told, become bleached and nearly white and finally die, probably from remaining too long in the fresh water or possibly from some other cause. They are an ocean fish, and are known  to come down the coast from the north, or in the direction of the Russian possessions, from the fact of their first making their appearance in Puget's Sound, and later in the Columbia River, and still later in the rivers further south, and finally discontinue their journey farther than the  Bay of San Francisco. Their visits are annual, and similar to the habits of the sucker and other varieties of fish at the East. They are uniform in size, weighing about sixteen pounds, and of a dark brown or nearly black upon the upper side while the under part is a bright, fiery red; the length is about two and a half feet. This description answers their arrival from the sea, but after a sojourn in fresh water they whiten and die as above stated.
    I have been thus tedious in the description of this fish, from the importance it is to the natives as well as the emigrant and settlers upon the western rivers and coast, furnishing such an abundance of staple living, for the Indians are usually located near the fisheries in the summer, while they are found among the timber all about the mountains in the winter, where game is more abundant.
    The whites in settlement of Oregon barrel them for winter use, and for export.
    After  passing the Falls, which are barely sufficient to stop salmon navigation, we soon leave the river, cross a twelve-mile desert, and find Snake River, but no camp, for there is a total lack of grass, and we tie our animals to the sagebrush for the night. Provision is very scarce, and many are economizing in every possible way.
    August 18--Having no earthly object in remaining here, we start before sunrise, travel fourteen miles, and at 11 a.m. we find some emigrants at a tolerable good camp. Toward night we move on a few miles and camp with a company.
    [August 19]--We do a moderate day's travel and reach a passable camp early, on Cold Creek bottom, near its entrance to Snake River. I sit beside the river as I pen the transactions of the day. The stream at this place is broad, there being a large eddy next to us, which is the very thing that attracted me to this spot, for here is a gift worth miles of travel. An area of about forty acres of the water surface of this eddy shows a constant cloud of hundreds of salmon leaping from the water to the height of three or four feet and falling again like chunks of driftwood, only to repeat the operation.
    If the Disciples had been upon these waters they would have had no need of divine instruction about fishing, for here is the greatest display of fish that I ever saw, or ever expect to see again. The meat of these fish is a reddish yellow, and is not surpassed for quality, I fancy, by anything in existence. Foster and myself are alone at this camp. A couple of surly Indians come to us, who have something to say to others occasionally upon an island in the river, and as we cannot take a fancy to the location or surrounding symptoms we conclude to move camp, and while writing this I am overlooked by one of our elegant visitors, but as he expresses no dislike to what I have written, I have no fears of his reporting anything prejudicial to us among his neighbors. We pack up at dusk, and as our horses have had a good rest, we take the Hudson Bay pack trails and find no camp until we have traveled fourteen miles, a longer journey than we wished, but had the advantage of moonlight to lead us to camp with some emigrants, having made a shorter route than the wagon road.
    August 20--We find ourselves upon the bank of the Snake River again. We start late this morning; travel over a long piece of bottom land, then over an elevation into another bottom and camp with the train by a clear little brook, having come but six miles.
    August 21--Five miles from starting we cross a spring branch, after crossing which our road led up a long steep hill, and on a slight level near the top we find a covered wagon with some remnants of emigrant outfit within, while near it lay a full, sound set of harness for four horses. At a little distance lay a wretchedly poor horse stretched upon the ground helpless, but not yet dead. These have been deserted by some emigrant recently, who could probably take the wagon no further. We now travel a desert stretch of twelve miles, finally descending by a long slope to a poor camp on Snake River. We left a favorite horse back upon the desert about four miles, tired out, and unable to travel loose as fast as we on foot. I afterwards took a canteen and a small pail of water back and brought him to camp. Our attention on nearing this camp is attracted to a bunch of willow bushes by the cries of a child, and as we saw no emigrants about, we supposed there were Indians in the thicket. I followed a trail around to the opposite side of the thicket, where a little path conducted me to a spring in the center of a clump, and here I laid up a picture in memory that will probably be vivid through an ordinary lifetime. Here was a white woman and five small children seated upon the ground around the noble spring that sent its tiny tribute a few rods into the river. On seeing me she said with tears: "Well stranger we have come here to die," and with a little craft to avoid seeming contrary, I endeavored to convince her that she had selected a poor location for that kind of a project. After a short conversation, and learning that her husband was out searching for an emigrant ox that had been left as no longer serviceable, they now requiring it for food, we divide our scanty store with them, and in a short time hear the story of their disasters, which runs thus:
    Their name is Brown; they came upon the journey as many others did, with ox teams, and upon reaching Fort Hall decided upon an easier mode of travel. They therefore traded off their team for a boat, intending to make the remainder of the journey by water down Snake and Columbia rivers to the settlements in Oregon. They had proceeded but a few days when they were frightened off the river by rapids, causing danger from the rocks, and by Indians along the river, of whom I found he was very fearful, so they determined upon leaving the river, and finding a convenient eddy they landed, made a deposit of their goods in the tall grass and rosebushes to conceal them from the Indians, and having dropped their boat farther down the stream to a concealed landing, they took what personal baggage was necessary and climbed out over the mountain wall of rock upon the plain above, knowing that the wagon road followed the river for hundreds of miles, but here they had the misfortune to wander out upon the desert we crossed in reaching the camp where we find them. After wandering until after dark and being exhausted, not finding the road, they halted, built a fire for a signal of their location, and here the woman and children remained while the man continued on in search of the road. The woman in her discouragement told her husband to get a shovel to bury them with when he left them. No teams crossed the desert for many anxious hours; a white flag upon a sagebrush told the location of the family by day. The next night a passing train was halted at eleven o'clock, and two horsemen were detached for the service of bringing in the family, which they succeeded in doing after their sojourn of thirty-six hours upon the desert without food or water. The train to which the horseman belonged were not in condition to take them along, and were obliged to leave them at the camp where we find them. The exposure upon the desert sands with a hot sun above caused one next to the youngest to become deranged, and the mother fed both the youngest at the breast. The child is not yet entirely removed from the effects of its privations. After making the camp as comfortable as possible, we paid good attention to sleep, promising Brown relief tomorrow. Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, June 5, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]      August 22--We lay encamped today, for Brown's benefit. I went up the river with him, following an Indian trail along the narrow pass near the river, while nearby rose the monotonous mountain wall of rock, hundreds of feet above us, so characteristic of Snake River scenery, and which has been so vividly pictured by Washington Irving. This we followed about seven miles when we approached a small patch of rank grass near the water's edge, which Brown recognized as the place of disembarking from the river, and here we found his goods all safe. We took of the baggage what we could conveniently carry, and on searching for the boat it was gone.
    Continuing down to the spur where the river made a considerable bend, we saw the smoke of some wigwams rise above the bank at the farthest point, and proposing a search there for the boat Brown objected, nor would he lend me his pistol when I proposed to go alone. I however determined to visit the point, as there was no hazard, and he reluctantly followed. We found half a dozen temporary lodges of willow, peopled by a variety of natives, numerous women and children, but few grown men. There was one extremely old man with whom we transacted our business, while the others sat or stood around in apparent wonder, seeming to see white people for the first time in their lives, or inquisitive about our errand.
    Numerous pairs of bright little eyes were upon us through the willow branches of the hut; the little ones being afraid of a near approach. Our first business was to ask by signs for some salmon which we saw drying over the fire upon a rack over our heads, some of which was instantly handed us by a squaw. They seemed all curiosity while we were trying to make inquiry about the boat, calling it every name we could think of. Soon a young Indian, rising from the ground to a sitting posture, began to imitate the movements of one paddling a canoe, changing from one side to the other. We instantly gave the affirmative countenance, showing him how it was tied by some grass like this by us, and soon saw two of the young Indians start up the river on a run until they were out of sight.
    After waiting for some time we told the old man we would take our packs down to the camp and sleep, and when the sun was at the top of the rock east of us we would be back after the boat, which we told him to tie up to a certain stake at a certain place on the bank. In fact we could tell him anything we wished, and he seemed to comprehend our signs readily and intelligently. The old Indian then went ahead of us up a little path to the main trail, where he told us which was our route, and we were in camp as soon as diligent traveling would accomplish it.
    August 23--Some trains came into camp last night and will remain here today, to make arrangements to take the shipwrecked family with them. Brown has another man go with him after his boat. We start out upon the road again, pass some inviting springs, which we are disappointed at finding hot, not warm, but hot. We travel but six miles and stop until near night, proceed a few miles and camp.
    August 24--We start very early this morning, intending to halt during the heat of the day. This may appear strange, when but a few days ago we spoke of snow; but we are going into a lower country. The river bottoms afford better camps than further back; the shore is not so high and rocky, and the country not so rough generally. One of our horses gets out of sight among the bushes at our noon halt, and as he is of no service to us we took no pains to find him and gave him to an Indian that we found sitting by the side of the road a few rods from camp.
    We travel some distance farther and camp on Sturgeon Creek, one hundred and ten miles from Salmon Falls. Camping is an easy matter with us now, as we have only to pull the packs from the horses, stake them out, or let them loose as circumstance dictate, and as we have no supper to cook we take a homeopathy dose of dried salmon, spread the buffalo and blanket and lie down, thinking of little else than the end of our journey. Weather fine, scarce a cloud is seen.
    August 25--We start early and travel about four miles, find some inviting grass and halt for some hours, not neglecting our revised doses of salmon.
    While here we observe a boat approaching, and as it nears the bank we recognize Brown, who lands and tells us that the Indians had his boat at the designated landing, with the remainder of his goods in it all safe. He made them presents with which they seemed much pleased, and they assisted him to pass some rapids, when he left on his way to Fort Boise for provision. We travel late, find camp and stop for the night.
    August 26--Five miles this morning brings us to Fort Boise. Foster crosses the river for some provision, but can only procure dried salmon, the only kind of food that they have had for the last three weeks, but as we are accustomed to it, and as it needs no cooking it is a handy arrangement for traveling. At four p.m. we start again, cross a fifteen-mile desert and arrive late at night in camp on Malheur River.
    August 27--This morning we move up to the crossing, then passed up a branch through a fine valley of hundreds of acres of grass, then to the right six or eight miles over the bluffs and upland to a sulfur spring, where we stop a short time to rest and refresh ourselves. This spring is twelve miles from the crossing of the Malheur and the water is cold and good. Ten miles further brings us to camp on Birch Creek, having tramped 22 miles today. Here we find good camp, which means good water, grass and wood; but to one unaccustomed to mountain solitudes it would be a lonesome spot. A high, bald mountain on our right, a deep wooded ravine on our left, through which ran the small creek.
    August 28--Hearing something about camp in the night, we could discern an animal by the dim embers of the camp fire, about the size of a calf, having large irregular white spots on its body. A club, cautiously obtained without rising, sent the beast into the brush at a few bounds, and we hear no more from it. We could form no idea what it was. A few sticks renewed our sentry, for a fire is all we need to ward off approaching danger. We travel a few miles and come to our last interview with Snake River, after which we pass over hilly country five miles to Brunt River, where we stop a short time for noon, then travel up the river, crossing it three or four times and camp on its bank in a barren place a little before sundown, making about twenty-three miles today.
    August 29--We travel on Burnt River all day, crossing it several times. We found a treat at noon in the shape of a grove, and an abundance of a delicious fruit known as the black haw. We help ourselves without an invitation, and observe no rules except those suggested by long fasting. The country begins to have a different appearance; sage gives way and the country affords more grass generally over the uplands and mountains.
    August 30--We leave camp in a little valley and start directly up the smooth, bald, steep, high mountain, at the top of which, like a solitary sentinel, stands a handsome ornamental cedar by the roadside. We cross several springs, branches on the way probably tributary to Burnt River; make a short day's travel, and camp on a small creek.
    August 31--Over the hills two miles we find a small brook unexpectedly, for we thought we had a long stretch without water, but from here we crossed a sixteen-mile stretch before we find camp on Powder River.
    Sept. 1--We cross one small bluff at the outset, then travel most of the day through good camp, crossing several creeks and some highland, and before night we are upon a height overlooking a gem of a valley, known as Grande Ronde and remembered too by the emigrant, for from this great elevation for the first time since leaving the borders of Iowa, nature heartily invites permanent settlement. I will attempt a description. We have come over a very high, treeless country, which here terminates abruptly, and from our position a single direct descent lands us down to the valley, which from our height lies spread out far below us, and we gaze upon it as a map. To our right the bald mountain bluff stands as a wall encircling the south and southeast side, and farther around to the east as it shapes it course northward it rises in high perpendicular rock. On our left are the Blue Mountains. A high mountain ridge of pine and fir extends to the northward until lost to view. Directly ahead of us, far out in the valley, we see the timber line of the Grande Ronde River issuing from the wooded mountain and crossing the valley diagonally to the northeast. Beyond this belt of timber we can observe some prairie surface, and the low line of horizon in that direction indicates a continuation of habitable country. We descend to the valley and camp with many emigrants and some traders. From our location in camp we can discern plenty of snow in the mountains. We are camped near some half-breed traders, and got acquainted with one named McKee who tells us he intends to start back to the settlement in Oregon tomorrow. These traders deal in stock, Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, June 12, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
exchanging good working animals for emigrant stock, thereby increasing their numbers and soon have them again ready for trade.
    Sept. 3--This morning two of McKee's horses are missing; he refuses help to look for them, only requiring that his stock be taken along, and, after giving some directions about camping, and promising to be with us before night, we proceeded on our journey, while he started in another direction to search of his horses, saying they were stolen, for he saw a man's track with them where they left the valley. We coasted northward along the west side of the valley, at the foot of the timber. Noon finds us near the river, halted for dinner. Here the road leaves the valley and turns west into the mountains. While here, two Indians and a small boy, all on horseback come from the west, through the woods, and stop a short time with us; they tell us the little bright-eyed lad is a chief's son, and have escorted him through from the Umatilla River. After a short delay the little fellow is helped upon his fancy little sorrel and is off, up the prairie along the timber at full speed, finally disappearing across the stream; his guides return. We strike into the mountains, which we find rough on account of the immense heights to which we ascend, succeeded by corresponding depths. We cross one creek seven miles in the mountains, and as we journey McKee overtakes us before night with two horses and two scalps. On being questioned, he said they were not the same that were taken from him, but one was as good as his best one; it was developed further that he had shot one Indian from off his horse, and the other sitting upon the ground letting his horse graze; McKee finished his conversation by saying, "no dam Injun git start me." The father of this McKee was well known for some years throughout Oregon; he was a French man, and a rare exception to his race, being a large and powerful man, for years a mountaineer, and but very few men of any nationality cared to face him in personal contest. He was taken prisoner frequently by the Indians, but always overawed them by his dauntlessness, and many times when the bow was sprung and the arrow aimed at his breast, he would strip his clothes entire from his breast and assure them that it was necessary to do accurate work, for his was the second shot. His wife was a Klickitat squaw; we have dry camp on a mountaintop near the clouds.
    Sept. 3--Start early over mountains, and through heavy forests of fir and pine, but found no water until we reached "Lee's Encampment," at 3 p.m. Large train encamped here; timber, dense evergreen. This is a wild place, but truly an oasis for emigrants crossing the Blue Mountains.
    Sept. 4--Three miles travel brings us to open prairie, a welcome sight once more, and about noon we find camp in a fine valley on a branch of the Umatilla. Here we find three government wagons with provisions for emigrants, for the advance has reported the destitute condition of the rear; they have been sent from some fort in Oregon. We have a transaction here for the memory--a meal of victuals--a full meal--in fact there is nothing left. Here too, we see the Cayuse chief, a surly-looking, heavy old Indian, who has quite a talk with some emigrants about the Whitman murder, and who shows much regret at the occurrence. It is said that he is the owner of two thousand horses. There are many emigrants encamped about the valley to recruit their stock.
    Many natives about the valley and around our camps, but they are very different from any we have seen in their appearance. They are quite well clothed; the squaws have very good-fitting garments, and they do not come upon the route begging for "bac-o" or anything else; but on the contrary, they bring potatoes, corn, peas, melons, etc., to "swap."
    It is like getting among civilized people; and the contrast is emphasized between them and the degraded Shoshones we have just left. The Cayuse have had missions among them for a number of years; there are Catholic missions among several of the tribes; the Walla Wallas, Spokane and others, but Whitman was a Protestant missionary, having the surroundings of a mission well perfected, farm, mill, school, in good order, the doctor himself attending to the spiritual and physical wants of the natives, while the school was under the supervision of Mr. and Mrs. Spalding. They had also other assistants about the mission and upon  the farm, and were of much benefit to the natives in giving them knowledge and directing them to a different style of life. They have almost countless numbers of horses of very fine model, and colors of every description; for, besides the common bay, black, gray and sorrel, they have white, blue-black and white, any kind of roan and calico, spotted or otherwise, and of these colors, fifty matches could be selected if desired. The show equals a caravan. They can be purchased at moderate prices for money, but a much less price in trade.
    There are different versions of the circumstances that led the Indians to kill the Rev. Doct. Whitman, and throughout Oregon different theories have their advocates. One is that the doctor having some bad luck doctoring some of the tribe, they feared he intended to kill all of them, and for a test they sent some of their numbers to him feigning sickness, and so artfully did they dissemble, that medicine was given which of course had its effect, and as it created some uneasiness they were convinced of his intentions. Others believe it was the instigation of the Catholics, arising from jealousy or the usual clash of Christian sects.
    But the story as I get it says that Whitman was shot in his house, Mrs. Whitman fled upstairs, from whence she was dragged down, murdered and scalped; Mrs. Spalding secreted herself beneath some portions of the floor, her husband being absent at Walla Walla; the two girls belonging to the premises were made captives. Diligent search made for Mrs. Spalding proving fruitless, the party of excited savages started on the trail for Walla Walla to meet Spalding.
    But one dissenter secretly lingered, to whom Mrs. Spalding discovered herself, and a hurried arrangement was made for her safety, when the faithful Indian was off like the wind, and by extraordinary effort put himself far ahead of the party by a circuitous travel, meets Spalding, hastily shoves him aside, and here rests until the party passes, then pursues, overtakes, and enters the Fort with them.
    For several days did the wondering savages pass along the trail, the friendly one keeping them supplied with food, until he could get them together and hurry them to the Fort, where they were at first refused admission by those in command, on account of their inability to defend themselves if it should become known that they had secreted them; but Spalding's determination to die at their gates, and thus get the responsibility upon the Fort, gained him admission to a secret apartment in the upper story, where they could witness the infuriated savages daily exhibit the scalps of Mr. and Mrs. Whitman. There they remained for some days when an Indian agent whom the natives feared made his appearance, to the great joy of the prisoners and consternation of the natives. Mr. and Mrs. Spalding afterward settled in the Willamette Valley, and from their narrative of the Whitman massacre, published a short time after, a more detailed and accurate account of the affair may be had.
    We will finish our account of it by saying that it led to the Cayuse War, where the Indians resolved to resist the whites, declaring that they should never let them drink from the Umatilla River, and so sharply did they contest the matter that the smoke of their guns met in battle; but they were finally overpowered and surrendered; the murderers, who were taken down to Oregon City and hung, with the exception of one, who was pardoned on account of his extreme youth, after seeing the others executed. Many of the tribe went to Oregon City to witness the execution, and begged to have them shot. An Indian prefers to be shot rather than "weighed," as they call the operation of hanging. This war called for all the available force in the territory, and required some powder to end it.
    We travel along the Umatilla; good grazing country, see many herds of horses scatted along, also two of the chief's daughters, who accompanied us some distance upon the road. Report says there is an offer of the chief of one thousand horses and a bushel of dollars to a white man of satisfactory ability that will marry one of his daughters and settle among the tribe. Said white man must be a scholar, and competent to direct in making farms, building houses, and trusty in managing for the interest of the tribe. We cross some highlands and camp on the river with numerous emigrants.
    Sept. 6--Early this morning we hear a disturbance among the horses, and a short walk reveals the fact that three large wolves has our old gallant gray mired in a soft place, and are helping themselves from her sore back where the pack saddle had damaged her. On my approach they sneakingly retreat up the mountainside. I soon procured a rifle from camp, and on my return, the wolves being a little out of rifle range, I shot what was left of old Gray.
    We now have but one horse left; we throw a little baggage into an ox team, cross the river and soon leave it, crossing a twenty-mile plain. We met two Indians on horseback, and much to our surprise, one of them addressed us in good English, told us how far it was to camp, and said he would be with us before we got there.
    On nearing the river, we were met by some Indians who conducted the train to a good camp on the Umatilla, and taking the stock in charge, they watered them and took them over a hill, where they made us understand the grass was better. Our camp is near an Indian village, where they had native music until late, using a kind of small drum and other instruments that seem to be hollow and contain corn, a mere rattle box; these were accompanied by the unmusical grunting of the savages, and summing up this conspiracy, the result was a great noise, which we had not the talent to appreciate after bedtime. Some of the emigrants made a present of some books to the Indian who spoke to us upon the plain, and to his squaw who was also educated at Whitman's station.
    Sept. 7--The Indians bring in all the stock this morning, horses and oxen. We travel through good camping country, cross the river once, and camp beside it. We left our last horse with a train; baked our last flour, and tramped alone.
    Sept. 8--We cross the river, travel eight miles then come to it again for the last time, then thirteen miles of deep sand brings us to the Columbia; stony, barren camp, but grass is now no object to us, we travel twelve or fourteen miles down the river and lie down in the sand.
    Sept. 9--We get up early from our hole in the sand, where we had picked away the stone, and having no cooking to do, we did a hard day's travel over sand and stone, and not reaching water, we lay down upon some weeds by the side of the road, and having but one little blanket to cover us, we were not more than comfortable, especially when a rain storm came up in the night, which, as it was useless to attempt a dodge, we weathered without rising from our bed. The rain was not excessive and was rather welcome, as we have had none for a long time.
    Sept. 10--We start before sunrise, and three or four miles brings us to the river. Here we find a train and some Dutch boys packing on foot like ourselves. We got breakfast and travel with them down the trails along the river, where it is impossible to travel otherwise than single file in many places, the bluff bank being perpendicular rock to a great height above us, while we are near the water's edge. We got some peas of a Catholic priest, who is going up to his station somewhere among the Indians, of whom he has a few along. They have been somewhere for provision, and have four or five horses packed. We reach John Days River, cross and camp.
    Sept. 11--We start without breakfast, following the trails, and about noon the wagon road comes to a river. We then take the road and crossing the Deschutes River near night, we travel on and four miles further cross Fall River near its entrance to the Columbia, where we get a salmon of an Indian for some trinket, thence crossing over a high bluff we descend to a camp with some emigrants on Six Mile Creek after dark. We soon make our big big heavy salmon pay for transportation, by roasting some seven by nines, sliced from its sides, and seasoning with salt procured from a wagon. Emigrants are all neighborly, and they require no introduction to enter into easy conversation. They approach each other with as little restraint as old acquaintances, and salute each other by the name of "Stranger." All the talk is now of the Dalles, which we expect to see tomorrow, as it is but six miles from this camp.
    Sept. 12--An eventful day; a big event! Our journey ends after traveling to the Dalles, at least for the present. By the term Dalles is merely meant a place where the Columbia narrows down very much, and runs through a stone trough, with perpendicular sides, of unknown depth and swift current on its way to the Cascades, forty miles below. An encampment of soldiers sent up from Fort Vancouver is now here, quartered in tents, and preparing to erect a Fort, hiring emigrants to get out timber and shingles for log houses. We hire out for $75 per month each. The site of the Fort, which is to be called Fort Drum, lies descending toward the river, crossed by a small mountain brook, and has a rough rocky surface. Across the river is a large rocky flat, encircled by a bald mountain circuit, of such fearful altitude that I am disposed to believe in the theory of attraction between the earth and the moon. Emigrants making a few days halt here, turn their stock across the river, where they are safely enclosed by the mountain, and can at any time be discerned with a spy glass from the Fort grounds.
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, June 19, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
    A little south of west from this place, we can see Mt. Hood, a perpetual snow peak, in the Cascade Range, and away to the northwest a distance of ninety miles Mt. St. Helens is very conspicuous in its robe of eternal white, though somewhat dimmed by the long distance.
    We work at scoring timber nearly the whole of the month, going about a mile and a half up the mountain to our work in a pine forest.
    Emigrants continue to arrive up to the time we leave here, and many are reported to be in a very destitute and suffering condition.
    We hear from Jno. C. Peebles, on the 25th of September, and we expect him daily. The Brown family arrive and encamp for some days on account of sickness of Mrs. Brown. They finally go over the mountain and stop somewhere in the Willamette Valley.
    J. C. Peebles arrives, and after an interview with him he started with others for Oregon City, in a canoe, amid the shades of night and the boisterous waves of the Columbia. We expect him to leave a letter of his whereabouts for us at Oregon City. I start two letters home on the 6th of October.
    As it is getting late in the season, many trade off or sell off their wagon and teams at this place, and go down the river, rather than run the hazard of being snowed under upon the mountains, an unpleasant experiment, as former emigrants can testify.
    Oct. 12--We are strongly urged by the Quartermaster to stay through the winter at present wages, but we hear that wages are five and six dollars a day over in the valley, and we decide to go. We draw our wages and pack up for downstream, get on board of a very large canoe on the Columbia, and make the easiest travel we have known of the trip, stopping at dark where a camp fire conducted us to an Indian village on a low flat, covered with willows, where we stay; many canoes now run on this route from the Dallas to the Cascades. They are what are called Chinook canoes, are very large and made from a species of giant cedar known in California as Red Wood. They take up traders' stores, and bring down emigrants. A heavy rain continues to fall all night.
    Oct. 14--Early this morning we are startled, alarmed, almost terrified, and strongly reminded of former years, where away back in the land of steady habits the custom no doubt prevails of raising poultry. We hear a rooster crow! And it is repeated, time and again, and as it stirred up former memories, we thought of the same agency being brought into requisition for stirring the memory of the Biblical Peter.
    But not a soul fled of our lion-hearted crew, save one, who pioneered through the tangled willows in the direction of the sound, and soon returned with a dozen of eggs, for which he paid the Indian a dollar. We journey on downstream and arrive at the Cascade Falls before night, where we make the portage down to the boarding house and put up at dark. We stay here two days, paying six shillings per meal. We have time to look around and take good observation of this world-renowned locality. The portage is nearly two miles, and is made upon the north side of the river, a trail on the south side being impassable from the roughness of the country.
    The north side appears to be somewhat flat for some distance back as far as we can determine, the view being obstructed by timber, while on the south side the main ridge of the Cascade Mountains comes squarely up to the water's edge so abrupt as to indicate a vast slide, or rather a confirmation of the legend of the Indians in this locality, which asserts that many snows ago there was a natural bridge here, and that Mt. St. Helens and Mt. Hood had a fight and kicked it down. Vague as is this legend, there certainly appears good groundwork to claim our credence for part of the story.
    The Cascade Falls is not a clear fall of water, but an inclined plane, obstructed by countless rocks, many of them being the size of a house. The whole Columbia, though a giant river here, dashes itself into a foam over these rocks, and not a canoe passes over, or rather down the declivity otherwise than empty and alone, and in its passage may be seen standing in the foam with one end pointing directly upwards, and many times entirely hid from sight. Another support of the theory is the eddy water above the falls for several miles, where we find the shores lined with natural bodies of trees, perfectly upright where they grew, now broken off, and the top of the trunk coming within about two feet of the top of the surface, and upon examination are found to be petrified, thus furnishing the spectacle of a submerged stone forest. This locality would, I think, repay a scientific examination.
    At the lower end of the rapids there are a few small buildings, two of which are used as stores and two are boarding houses, and far above this tower the giant fir, so famous in this country. There is now an incessant rain, and the dense fir foliage overhead makes it hard to judge when the rain has ceased and the sky is clear. The mountains are covered with new-fallen snow. The settlers converse freely with the Indians in the native language. The location is only occupied for the purposes of speculation, there being no farms in the vicinity. While standing upon a rock, having an eligible view of the foot of the Cascades, we could frequently see seals make their appearance, some distance up in the foam, where they appeared to keep their location in the rapid waters without effort, looking around at us with their large eyes and intelligent countenances, with perfect unconcern for a few moments, then disappearing beneath the waters.
    Oct. 17--We find conveyance down the river, and start for Oregon City. We are in a sailboat of some size, having a large square sail as the principal canvas. We pass a large brig two miles from starting, from which we took on board a stove. This was a sight. To see a vessel that sailed upon the sea, the great expanse of wide surface, the height seeming to defy the highest wave to reach the deck, the tall masts, the endless snarl of rope of different sizes that tied the upper works together in every direction; and not least of all the unreasonably large, long chain of peculiar make that ran out to a heavy crooked iron on the shore to hold the vessel, all combined to make a show that throws Van Amburgh or Barnum into the shade. Reader, I have not the vanity to suppose that you will suspicion me as being a skillful, practical seaman, from the foregoing vivid and minute description of the biggest boat I ever saw, and that we were told was a brig. Nor would I intentionally induce a smile by assuring you that I positively never saw salt water.
    We made good speed on our voyage, with fair wind. We have a messenger from the Fort at the Dalles on board with the officers' regular dispatches, taking them to Fort Vancouver, to be forwarded to the headquarters of all the western forts at Leavenworth in Kansas. The river is very rough, and the waves are whirled higher and in worse confusion than I ever saw upon Lake Erie or Michigan. A long bend in the river, and a much shorter trail by land, occurs as we pass down. The roughness of the river induces the young officer and one of the two sailors in charge of the boat to prefer the trail, on promise of my taking his place on the boat as steersman.
    After landing them, we sail on a short time, when the wind tried the same caper described by Burns, in "Tam o' Shanter," which forces us to go ashore and camp for night, consequently we did not meet our appointment of landing at a place agreed upon, below the point, for taking aboard those who took the trail. We must now go back, as we lay by the blazing camp fire, and do a little more justice to the route.
    We passed much mountain bank, which in many places was the unusual perpendicular rock, hundreds of feet in height, and the mountain piled far above. We saw numerous brooks pouring from the ravines above, over the precipice like a spout, and if small disperse in mist before reaching the bottom, while the varying wind played with these streams, causing them to reach further down in a lull or to shorten up when blowing more briskly, and this made to resemble like an elephant's trunk moving about. The point we have next to pass is known as Cape Horn, and like its namesake of greater celebrity, it is frequently difficult to pass on account of a range of sunken rocks extending far out into the steam.
    Oct. 18--We start by daybreak, though the wind is yet high and the river rough, and dropping down to Cape Horn  we stand out as far as we can in the stream, until compelled by our proximity to the rocks to turn our bow directly across them, when having swift current and strong wind are bounding over the waves with great speed, and once, while passing across the rocks, I could have laid my hand upon one that was bared for an instant as we settled into the trough beside it. This looked threatening, for had our craft but dropped upon one of these rocks, this journal would have said "FINIS,"  if, indeed, it had said anything, but we kept on, and some distance below were hailed from shore by our comrades, when we directed the boat immediately to shore and found them in no comfortable condition, they having been without a fire through a cool night, and with nothing to eat since yesterday noon. We soon had a rousing fire beside a sheltering rock, and a warm breakfast made things all right, and we were again afloat. Objects of interest soon began to occur; we see houses at a distance, and how we shouted on our first sight of a rail fence. We remembered the poultry among the Indians.
    We land at Fort Vancouver at noon, where got a very poor dinner for one dollar each. The country here is lower as we near the confluence of the Willamette with the Columbia. Many seals raise their heads above water and gaze at us as we pass them, rolling their backs out of water, as they withdraw their heads they again disappear. Their appearance is not unlike a small yellowish dirty-colored dog about the head, and the body about the size of a four months calf. Six miles from the Vancouver takes us to the mouth of the Willamette, where, making a turn to the south, we proceed upstream four miles, and camp on shore near the residence of a Mr. Loomis, formerly from the State of New York. Here we have potatoes for supper, a treat we have not enjoyed since leaving Iowa.
    We saw many waterfowls along the river, the most numerous of which was the brant; these were upon the driftwood and sand bars in countless numbers.
    Oct. 19--We use oars, as the wind is down, and our direction has changed, as well as the current, and a pull of eight miles takes us to Portland, west side river, the main commercial point of Oregon, for it is the head of navigation for ocean craft, and the wholesale point from whence supplies of merchandise are sent into the interior.
    Here are a half dozen ocean vessels, some just arrived, and others waiting for the tide (which is felt as high as this place) to let them down the river. We are told it is ninety miles to the mouth of the Columbia. This is now a mere village of considerable business for its size, located upon a wedge of level land increasing in width at the upper end, and terminating at a point below where high bluffs come to the river.
    Oct. 20--We start up the river, aboard of a nondescript craft resembling a discarded yearling canal boat, crowded with emigrants, and worked slowly up against the current with poles and lines, sometimes on board, anon on shore, and though but six miles from Portland to Oregon City, we camp out some distance below town, and reach the city at noon next day. We repair at once to the post office, where we get the location of Jno. C. Peebles, found him some two miles out at a sawmill on the Clackamas River, in the employ of Simpson & Ford. The Clackamas heads in the Cascade Mountains, and enters the Willamette just below Oregon City, throwing a heavy bar into the river, thus preventing the approach of vessels to the city; steamers, however run up here from Portland, but they are of light drafts and small tonnage, and frequently have difficulty at the Clackamas bar. Oregon City stands upon a rocky location against a hill that rises in a series of terraces back from the river on the east side, wedges also like Portland, the point of wedge terminating at the falls at the upper end of the city. The falls is a noted object here, and is a nicely formed natural arrangement where the Willamette pours over the precipice in a square, even sheet, dropping down from sixteen to twenty feet at a guessed measurement, into an eddy or natural back with perpendicular abutment of stone on the side of the city, giving them a firm wharf at which steamers land their loading. The Falls are at the head of steamboat and salmon navigation, and here at certain times of the year the salmon is estimated by cubic measure, so numerously do they crowd themselves into this natural trap. Opposite Oregon City, an irregular broken mountain comes down to the water's edge, and the location upon that side is named Linn City. The number of houses on that side occurs in the infant's first lesson in arithmetic, being very few. But now for employment.
    I engage to work at repairing a mill dam, at the same place where Peebles is employed, which required but three days' boating rock from the shore above, for which I receive ten dollars and board. Foster finds work in the city as a carpenter.
    I now wander over the hills back to Oregon City, thinking of taking a school, and while stopping a day or two with a farmer I get information from a teamster, belonging some distance back in the country, that a teacher is required in their neighborhood, and I start with him for their school. We stop at night with a hearty old farmer named Samuel Allen, living upon the Abiqua. We picked up as passengers a Mr. Hoyt and lady, who are on their way to Salem to take charge of a Methodist institute, a school of some pretensions. There is a protracted meeting in progress here, and I would suppose Bro. Allen to be a noted man in his neighborhood, if notoriety can be attained by dynamic Methodism. Strange that the spirit manifests itself so differently in different parts of the world, or different classes of people. Hence it is no news to me to see what is termed in the West a stampede meeting, either in new countries, or among the Dutch or Negroes. I will shorten the narrative by getting up to Mr. Parrish's residence the next day, and in a few days had a school by subscription, in operation, in Mill Creek Valley; having for patrons the names of Cook, Davis, Hunsaker, Cornelius, Parrish, Chambers, beside transients or boarders. Had a good time among hospitable people, and labored hard to do them good. I learned much of Oregon life during this winter, from the explanation and surroundings of the settlers. But one man only did, I know, one day's work during the whole winter, and he was just beginning on a new place that required some rails made and fences built. The best grazing season is in the winter, which here means the rainy season, and before spring I could understand the assertion of the old settler who declared that it would be less expensive to raise a horse than a chicken, for poultry required some feed, while stock required none at all, other than they get themselves. Farmers can leave their wheat in bundle for a month in the field, and when seeding time comes, they have but to hitch a yoke of oxen to a treetop and drag over their stubbles with it, and the crop is in for another year. The wheat in this country is the finest I ever saw, my first sight bringing the impression that it was a quantity of peas. Again, I saw fat hogs killed from the oak ridges in the spring, as I ever saw fattened upon the grain in Michigan. Sheep requires attention; every night in the year they are brought into the corral, to prevent their destruction by wolves, which are not infrequently seen from the very door of the settler. I should have said that the Territory is not organized into school districts, hence the subscription plan.
    We next state that the country is occupied by numerous Indians, who are found not only through the country among the settlers, but are to be seen at all times about the towns, and are everywhere in easy conversation with the whites, who use their language throughout the territory. They are entirely harmless, and are often employed by the settlers upon the farms. The principal tribes of the Willamette Valley are the Calapooyas, Klickitat and Molallas.
    There is a mixture of surface in Oregon, being in some places a proper proportion of timber and prairie; in others, timbered and rough, until we arrive at Marysville, or Corvallis, as it has since been called, sixty miles above Salem. Above this, and extending to the Calapooya Mountains, the country is mostly level prairie. We rest on description until we return in the spring to Oregon City, with the intention of finding Peebles and arranging to start for the mines, which arrangement, however, is never made, for he has a satisfactory location in Simpson's employ and has decided to remain near Oregon City. But he has received a letter from Foster recently, who wishes me to bring supplies and join him at Albany, seventy miles above Oregon City, on the Willamette, preparatory to starting for the mines.
    Finding a large canoe at the falls that has come from that place, I put my supplies on board, and engage to assist in taking back the canoe, which we accomplish in twelve rainy days, and finding Foster at the landing, we arrange to start for California in about a week, in the spring of 1851. There are many intending to go from here to the mines this spring, both settlers and emigrants, and our line of travel is similar to the route upon the plains last summer as to numbers.
    We start from Albany, the county seat of Linn County, in company with William A. Strickler, who is from Page County, Va., but who had been in the mines, and being somewhat successful had come to Oregon to winter. Our route takes up the Willamette Valley about forty miles to a crossing, where we travel over the Calapooya Mountains, a considerable range running west and east, and separating the Willamette from the Umpqua Valley. We can now deal in description a little again. There is a little settlement about the mouth of the Columbia, called the Clatsop Plains, adjacent to the ocean. From there to the mouth of the Willamette is a distance of near eighty miles, and the traveler passing from one of these points to the other must take passage on something that will float upon water, for the exceedingly mountainous, rocky country utterly forbids the journey by land.
    From the Columbia south there is a breadth of near eighty miles of the most desolate, rocky, barren mountains I have seen in the West, which extends down the coast to the bay of San Francisco in Cal. with very little variation. This uninhabitable tract is a screen that shuts out the view of the ocean from this second edition of Paradise. Hence while the Columbia runs west to the Pacific, Willamette, a southern branch runs north into the Columbia, thus locating the Willamette Valley parallel with the coast, except near the head of the valley, where it forks
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, June 26, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
and comes more directly from the east, the two valleys taking the names of Mohawk and McKenzie, and which begin to attract settlers. From the crossing of the Calapooya Mountains we descend into the Umpqua Valley, which is characterized by its rolling, hilly surface, and its value as a grazing region.
    We cross North Umpqua at Winchester, and leaving this place we immediately cross the lands upon which Gen. Joseph Lane resides, being a pleasant and sightly location. Political history has marked and designated the Gen. as the "Marion of the Mexican War," has shown him as Governor of Oregon for different terms, has seen him resign while Governor and represent the Territory in Congress, while local history sees him an almost intimate acquaintance of every man in the country, both whites and Indian, common in appearance and dress even to the proverbial buckskin, traveling among the different Indian tribes making treaty stipulations which he caused to be religiously observed, and in times of danger leading the ever-ready volunteer to quell the cause of strife. For a long time Oregon and Lane were synonyms. We proceed across South Umpqua, and the next operation was to go through the Kanyon [sic].
    As I do not expect to describe this canyon, I can but wish (without thought of harm) that all my friends could have the occasion to pass through it. We will try it, having heard its length stated at twelve miles, which we are prepared to believe before we are two-thirds of the way through. The main feature of the canyon is a vast rent, or gigantic fissure through a mountain chain. Imagine two creeks to head near the middle and run out each way, dense evergreen forming such an awning in a thousand places as to defy the clearest rays of the sun from approaching the vicinity of the earth, thus making the height of the mountain on either side a matter of conjecture, now throw in all the rocks the country affords, both loose and solid, irrespective of size or shape, and lastly we ask you to locate a wagon road through it, crossing the creeks seventy-two times in the twelve miles, beside traveling directly in its bed at times, and crossing a ledge of rock three feet in perpendicular height, or squeezing through a pass where the driver must be cautious lest the overhanging rock shall strip his wagon cover from its position. Now keep in mind that we have laid at the mouth of the canyon three days for the waters to subside before we dare start through it, which congregates hundreds of people, wagons and stock, then the mud holes cannot be avoided, and think, as you justly may, that if you get through the twelve miles into daylight in one day, you have done well, done enough. You have done what many others have not. A pack trail avoids some of the crossings, and it seems singular when you are upon the pack trail up against the almost perpendicular face of the mountain to hear the rattling of many wagons, the crack of whips, and the shouts of the drivers almost beneath you, but entirely concealed from view by the dense fir pine and undergrowth. I cease any further attempt to describe the Oregon Canyon. As we emerged at the farther end we were introduced to some very fancy scenery, the hills thickly set with the tapering fir of recent growth, the outline of each tree representing the form of a cone, giving appearance at a distance of hills dressed in scale armor. Now multiply these to any desire of fancy for number and size, and you have the scenery. And if you would give me wealth, transport a section of this scenery to an eligible location in the states and give me the key.
    From the canyon, we cross creeks and mountains for two days and arrive at Rogue River, where we find a ferry established, but such exorbitant rates that we fall a very large pine tree and, working all the hands we can, soon have a good capacious canoe constructed, with which we thin out our baggage and travelers and start on our way up the river, leaving the boat as an opposition ferry. We follow up the river about sixteen miles when a large valley opens in front extending several miles up the river, and to our right, back from the river to the foot of the Siskiyou Mountains. This valley reminds us of the Grande Ronde, though not more than half as extensive.
    On reaching this valley we are traveling east, but we now turn a square corner known as the Point of Rocks, and coast along the foot of the mountains to the south, while the valley is on our left. We travel up to the head of the valley, cross the Siskiyou Mountain, which last requires about four hours, and brings us to the head of Cottonwood Creek, which we follow down to the Klamath River, up which we travel twelve miles, then cross, and travel across open prairie over the Shasta River. This crossed, we again strike upon a small creek, up which we travel four miles and are IN THE MINES, thirteen months from home. There have been new mines recently struck here, both surface and gulch diggings. Not a house in the country, but as people flock in, the mines prove to be more than a nine days' wonder, traders are soon duly installed, gambling houses erected, and pack trains meet both from below far in the direction of Sacramento, and from Oregon. I shall take some pains to describe the growth of this place, for it is none other than Yreka.
    The first night of our arrival here, we stop at a cedar tree, for the weather has already taken a set for summer, the mountains are burdened with plenty of snow, but the valleys afford fine grazing. The Indians tell us that the creek upon which we are camped will be dry in three moons, which hardly looks probable, for it swam our horses where we crossed it down near the Shasta River. We can look away across the main valley and see the Shasta Butte tower up into eternal snow, and which, it is said, can be made [i.e., seen] at sea, while making the voyage from Astoria to San Francisco. It appears to be about twenty miles distant, making allowance for the deception in the clear mountain atmosphere. But we are told by numbers that have passed near it on the trail to this place from below that it is forty-eight miles distant.
    An old miner made me the offer of five dollars per day for a month, the first morning after my arrival here, but it is declined, though apparently tempting, as we prefer to make our own hazard [i.e., luck].
    We find diggings in a gulch, under the direction and with the assistance of our experienced partner Strickler, in which we make about eight dollars each per day for a month with the common little hand rocker, when the water failed, being only supplied by the snows higher up.
    Then commenced the operation of drawing dirt to a more permanent stream some forty rods distant, by which our wages was the same, until this failed, when we began throwing up dirt for washing when the fall rains should again set in.
    It should be understood that we picked up an agreeable traveling companion on our way from Oregon, who was a last year's emigrant from Missouri, James M. Sullivan by name, and who makes the fourth man of our company.
    We work at throwing up dirt into ridges six feet high, and as close as the surface permits, having tested it and finding color in at least every pan we wash. We dig down until we either strike bedrock or clay, which is from one to three feet deep. The gulches were pretty thoroughly worked in the spring, and as the waters failed miners were driven to this kind of use of their time, which, having been tested by some before in other localities, encourages us to persevere.
    I have been a little particular in describing our operations, for it is a description of many now engaged here, and with pleasant weather the appearance is that of many men at work in a field. As the season advances numbers come and go, and the country is prospected in every direction. New diggings are reported in different localities, which either substantiate themselves or end in false alarms.
    Diggings are found upon a creek six miles away, over a mountain, and hundreds go, but many return, and the creek takes the permanent name of Humbug. Some new emigrants go into the deserted prospect holes at the head of the creek upon which Yreka is situated, with the theory that if they go deep enough they will find it; and sure enough they made the strike, and the creek takes the name of Greenhorn. Thus are names given to different locations and streams throughout the country.
    The mines proving a success, and the locality proving of easy access for wagons from the Willamette and Umpqua valleys north, for pack trains from the south, Yreka is, in consequence, fast swelling to the size of a brisk mining town, from whence the neighboring mines draw their supplies. Here cargoes are bought from the packers and retailed to the miners. An express is established which affords us the opportunity of sending out letters. Gambling houses are established, with the usual furnishing of half a dozen tables, a bar, and a band of music. To describe the architecture of the village requires a discussion of everything except marble fronts, the preponderance however being pine logs with roofs of split shingles or shakes. The gambling houses are generally made by planting a row of posts in the ground in a circle and boarding them up to the height of eight or ten feet, then a center pole, and canvas top like a circus tent completes the building.
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, July 3, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
    The siding is split from what I would call a mammoth species of white cedar, but which I am told is known as redwood in Southern California. Lumber is very high and is manufactured by hand with whip saws for making sluice boxes, long toms and rockers, for mining. We erected a cabin eighty rods from town, upon a spur at the foot of the mountain near our work, of the common pattern, no useless rooms kept for nice. Please step in through the door in the side of our house, but step high enough to get over the bottom log of the building, and observe your manners as you would in passing a bridge upon the Erie Canal on the deck of a line boat. We give you either an English or native salutation, the latter being most prevalent. Now you observe at your left in the end of the cabin an ordinary gap in the logs walled up with mud and stone for a fire place, the chimney of mud and sticks standing heartlessly outside of the building. Directly in front of you at the further side of the building you see two stakes driven into the ground four feet apart and three feet from the wall, which are tied by crosspieces, nailed upon the ends of these stakes and extending to the crack between two of the logs at the side. Now a couple of neatly hewn puncheons laid upon this frame shows you our table, which is easily kept in order by using a common plane upon it once a week. To the right, at the end of the building opposite the fireplace, is the bed room, or rather I should say there is a room for beds, for a small pine log lies upon the ground across the room four feet from the wall, making two lengths for beds, while three feet above was another pole entering between the logs at the sides, from which we made a deck of shakes to the wall, and here we have room for two more beds, thus completing comfortable sleeping arrangements for eight. A nail keg, two blocks, and a stone answered for chairs. But how about the floor? Stranger, inquire about the essentials as much as you like, but don't talk of luxuries where lumber is a hundred and fifty dollars a thousand and everybody transient.
    Markets come next, and correspond to the condition of the people, for where good wages rule, good pay is also expected by the trader. Packers pick up their butter at six shillings per pound, eggs the same per dozen, flour five dollars, and other things proportional, in the valleys, but here we pay twenty-five cents per pound for flour, three dollars for a dozen eggs, twenty-five cents for a common clay pipe, $1.50 for a pint cup, $10 for a common mining shovel, $5 for a gallon of molasses, yet these prices are paid without any difficulty from the current earnings of the country. The first land broken for gardening purposes was near the creek below the village where we plowed five acres of sod with a single yoke of oxen, receiving twenty-five dollars per acre. The first wheat brought in to the Rogue River Valley for seed was bought at fourteen dollars per bushel. The staple living of the miners is flour and fresh beef, varied as their notions require by potatoes and onions (which here sell by the pound), beans, molasses, pickles, and other small varieties, brought in by packers. After securing all the available dirt we could, and having our cabin located by the work, the fall continuing dry, we next arranged to employ ourselves differently. Foster, Sullivan, and Strickler crossed the mountain to the diggins on Humbug Creek, deep down in a heavy-timbered ravine where, in spite of the name, many were exploring the bedrock in the bottom, at paying rates.
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, July 17, 1873, page 1


    [PREFACE--The following pages are designed to portray the scenes incident to the journey across the plains, in the early times of emigration, when the principal countries of the earth were aroused by the golden reports of California and the inviting climate and fruitful soil of Oregon. They contain descriptions of every noticeable feature of scenery, of mountain and desert, of animals, and the natural human inhabitants of our western wilds, of accidents and incidents that came to our knowledge or observation.]
    Making an attack in the bank upon a shelf of rock eight feet above the water of the creek, they prospected a pan of earth, which showed a deposit of seventy-five cents at the first trial; a further test showed paying dirt from the surface down, from which they washed eleven ounces of gold the first day, which here rates at sixteen dollars per ounce. While they are engaged at these diggins, I prepare for winter at home by getting up a wood pile, or rather getting it down from the white oaks which usually skirt the fir and pine forests on the mountains.
    Oct. 1--Provoking clear.
    Nov. 1st--Not a cloud in sight.
    Dec. 1st.--Will the fall rains ever begin?
    Christmas--midsummer weather--and all impatience! Miners have scattered to make expenses elsewhere, and their ridges and heaps of dirt like piles of ashes waiting for the autumn or winter rains. We have ditches cut and sluices fixed, and Thursday, Jan. 1st 1852, we have hard rain, which we are willing should soak us while we test the experiment of washing out 1⅛ oz. of gold. The next day resulted in taking out 5⅜ ounces, though the rain came down incessantly all day.
    [Here the author gives the amount of gold taken out each day from the 1st day of Jan. to the 8th day of Nov., the largest amount in any one day being $207, and the smallest sum $53.--Ed.]
    We have now taken out $6,491, and we continue to make over one hundred dollars for many days. On the 23rd of April we did our last day's work at this place, taking out $215. We also sell our cabin, sluices and toms for $350, wash out our black sand with quicksilver and get $60, making in all for the day $625.
    A few days of leisure followed, during which we divided the funds, made buckskin belts double and sewed them across to make pockets for our gold. We find we have taken out between eleven and twelve thousand dollars, but California expenses have taken a considerable sum out of this. A glance at our expenses is as follows: four men hired all winter at $4, and board, and part of the winter six hired men. I paid $30 at one time for three poor shovels, one  of which I doubled under my foot the first five minutes of its use; twenty-five dollars for a five-gallon keg of molasses; a common plate pie at the bakery cost a dollar, and was of almost nightly occurrence. The provision for one man we estimated daily at one dollar when bought in the gross, and endless other items as pipes, tobacco, stationery, and camphor without any gum in it, the last, not to criminate ourselves too far, was not a heavy bill; for we had no ague and were always hearty, my own weight being two hundred and twelve pounds. But now our work is done here, and we are arranging for different directions. Sullivan and Foster start for the Willamette Valley on the 5th of May, Foster taking $1500 of my money with him to leave at a designated place, or to use it if he sees a chance for investment. Sullivan intends to cross the plains for home in Mo. And I heartily say; may good luck follow him; he is a good fellow and worthy of any trust. Strickler and myself wander about some, prospect on Humbug, Greenhorn and Shasta. I worked one day for a miner for $6, but it was the longest day I saw in the mines. I have many times upon leisure Sundays climbed the mountains, and made long rambles for observation of different objects, at times finding various fruits, as grapes, plums, gooseberries etc., or perhaps spying the deer, wolf, elk or bear in their solitude.
    Go with me, reader, for I enjoy company in this far-off region. We will start from the open valley which everywhere here affords abundance of pasturage, and where a snowflake rarely falls, perhaps not for years, and as we approach the foot of the mountains we pass among scrubby gnarled white oak for a short distance to the edge of the chaparral, where we also meet the towering evergreen of different varieties. Don't stop at that pine, for it is but the common kind; look at the one beyond it and vent your admiration, for you have not seen just such a tree in your old neighborhood in America; it is a sugar pine--taste that drop of dried sap that has oozed out where the fire has made a mark upon it, and you will not wonder at the name. But observe its shape, size etc., it runs straight into the ground without branching roots above to support it. Its size exceeds the other kinds of pine considerably, and the smooth bark and uniform size marks it at once, though surrounded by a dozen others.
    What endless quantities of useful wealth stands here waiting to decay. That tree which you would call a pine without hesitation, mental reservation, or intentional evasion of mind whatever at a distance of twenty rods, is a fir. Its size, shape and appearance says pine at a distance; but approach and see its leaves and bark, or strike two blows with your ax into it which goes through the thin scale of white and the rest is red; but we should have known by its rough bark, resembling pine, that it was red fir, that the settler throughout Oregon makes into rails.
    But this one is different; you notice its bark has heavy ribs; it is nearly smooth--your ax again there--the first blow penetrates the white wood, but go on--that will do--you would continue to throw out white chips to the very center, without any more change of color than is found in the elder. Call it white fir. Try just one more, that one with a medium bark, and the short inch leaves surround the point of each twig like the hairs upon the tail of a frightened cat, go on, that bright yellow color extends entirely through it--but stop while I tell you if you ever have occasion to build a flume, or use timber under water, be sure and get this yellow fir, and twenty years after, if you can get out a board from the water just draw out a nail and see the natural blue yet on its surface. You can get a supply of fir balsam from the blisters upon the bark of the young white fir.
    I promised you grapes; don't be looking up the trees for them, for they are upon that low bush; don't run against it too rashly with your light summer clothes, for if you do you will hear from the sharp thorns of those dentate leaves--pluck one of those closely packed bunches--see where your fingers have rubbed off the blush from the fruit, showing the black groundwork of the grape. Certainly you can taste it; but less of them will suffice than in America on account of their sharpness.
    See that flock of little birds dodging among the brush. Young quails? No! they are old ones, but smaller than in your country, besides that little topknot on the head is an appendage yours has not. Go to that flat-topped bush that presents an upper surface, as of leaves lain upon a flat surface; raise it carefully and view its underside. Good to eat? Yes! one of the finest varieties of wild plums in the mountains, so red, rich, and hanging clear from the bright foliage by their long stems, and notwithstanding the abundance of fruit, you could see none of it while looking down upon its upper surface. But we have gained a great altitude, although we have had too much to see to think of becoming fatigued, yet that monitor fifty miles away tells us of bringing our rambles to a close for this time. That monitor which we have before seen, that same Shasta Butte, seems to have the power of drawing all the lingering remnants of sunshine together from the surrounding country and giving it off at a point of gilded snow that has crowned its summit for untold ages. We yet have light enough to examine that bush. Now pick what you want of the large, smooth wine-colored gooseberries, which cluster so thickly upon all the great spreading branches as high as your head. Now we must not separate as we go through the thick chaparral, for one of us alone would be no match for the grizzly. The howl of those wolves is no novelty to us, for it happens about three hundred and sixty-five times each year, and the gunner must have an abundance of ammunition who squanders it upon a wolf. There is no cause for alarm, though the creature has extraordinary lungs, but give me a match, and we will rig a torch that will take us along safely through. There was a panther in every tree. Trees, fruit, game and mountain scenery, and these only scantily observed, have been the result of this ramble; but to one who loves to commune with nature, a hearty invitation to repeat the experiment is another result. Approach now a mining town at night; you hear music from different houses, mixed with the constant hum of the multitude that nightly assembles for various reasons; some to squander their earnings at the gambling table, or the bar, some to purchase their supplies of beef, flour, sugar, etc., and others to spend a leisure hour with the crowd.
    You hear too the drunken shout, and occasionally the sharp report of the pistol, which produces an unanswerable argument when all other logic fails, though, from its known convictions sent to the heart by the force of powder. It is sometimes the first argument used, for here are representatives of all classes, from all parts of the globe.
    See the nationalities. We call these Dutch, Irish, French, English and Scotch, as our own people. But see that small, short sample, with visage darker than the native of this valley, and whose lack of brow, and eyes nearly covered by that half bushel of black, frightened-looking, coarse, curly hair. Speak to him in the Chinook language, for he has probably run away from Astoria, or some other post of the Hudson Bay Company, but ask him about Captain Cook, and you instantly find by his reluctance to converse that he is a Kanaka, or a native of the Sandwich Islands. The company have brought them from the island, and hold them at their different forts as servants, even as far inland as Fort Hall, though they sometimes attempt the hazard of returning home in as frail a craft as a Chinook canoe, in the handling of which they are perfect, and they have been picked up hundreds of miles at sea by passing vessels while attempting the perilous journey. This cousin of his differs a little, being a little taller, similar, more restless, and a look of better intelligence, still he is a cannibal-looking savage, and can give you a minute description of some portion or other of New Zealand I'll warrant.
    That little chap, with peculiar eyes, buckskin hide and his hitching rein fastened to the wrong side of his head, need not be named, for this we know, that you can sell him all the spare rats on your premises, and his name is John. There are two cutthroat-looking samples near the bar, who confess their nationality, as well as their misdeeds of former times, by conversation about Sidney or Port Phillips, for these are English convict lands. But see the Swedes, Spaniards, Jews, and in fact everybody else, and hear the click of the doubloons upon the monte tables all around the room, like the handling of a half a dozen log chains in a blacksmith shop. Now come into the trader's cabin, and don't wonder if he charges you two shillings for a clay pipe, for you might have picked up twice that amount as you passed over the little point of diggings on our way here, nor a dollar for a common plate pie from the bakery adjoining his stall, and as you settle your bill, you notice your money does not ring upon the counter, for it is uncoined dust, kept in a buckskin sack, and that little scales tells him when he has his due.
    We can extend our observations in many such rambles, and numerous incidents occur, which keeps monotony away from us.
    At times we see the base of Shasta Butte while the top is among the clouds, or the reverse is witnessed, the base being obscured, while the snowy peak is sparkling in the clear sunshine. While it is raining in the valleys and thickly clouded for days, the clearing up reveals heavy falls of new snow on the mountaintops.
    From our cabin at Yreka we could go from bare ground into four feet of snow, by traveling up the mountain half an hour. We had perfect summer weather almost entirely through the months of January and February. Straw hats were ample for the whole winter, and one of our company had no coat during the entire winter. Nothing can surpass the serenity and beauty of a season at this place; there is not the sudden change from heat to cold, or the reverse, that is experienced in the northern states. The summer is cloudless, though not oppressive owning to the height of the country, its mountainous character, and its proximity to the sea. The winters are cool, not cold, as if an occasional snow whitens the borders of the valleys, its stay is always transient. The spring begins with the first of March, and by the middle of the month, although no great change has taken place in the weather, the earth is already decked out in her verdant dress and variegated with flowers of every hue. In the valley of Oregon, farmers can at any time look from their harvest fields and see several snow peaks in the mountains, which circumstance has the effect to require very little alteration in clothing during the year.
    While waiting for water at Yreka, the report of a new digging reached us from the Rogue River Valley, and Foster and Sullivan started with an extra pack horse for the place, crossing the Shasta and Klamath Rivers, and Siskiyou Mountains, and bends its course along the valley parallel with the base of the mountains for some distance, being fringed with high willow bushes, while the mountainside is covered with chaparral and scattering pine.
    Immediately after crossing this creek and starting through this pass between the mountain and creek, they were assailed by Indians from the rear near the crossing, and at the same time from the brush and trees upon the mountainside, but were lucklessly untouched, for the attack was made with guns, which are more harmless in the hands of the natives than bows and arrows, as they were ignorant of the surrounding force, and without chance of retreat, their only exit was in an accelerated advance, but they had gone but a short distance when a party of French and half-breed Oregonians, hearing the firing, were coming at full speed directly towards them in front, and as their dress resembles the Indians, and their language was obscure, a thought of surrender was for a moment entertained. It was however but momentary, for a nearer approach, and some broken English, asking "why ye no shoot te tam Inchin," set them right, and they hastily returned, but too late, for the pack horse that was shot, and already had the Indians darted up, cut the pack ropes, hastily seizing the different articles, retreated too late to the brush, for the sudden dash of the mounted party killed some of them and recaptured most of the pack, consisting of tin-pan, frying-pan, blankets, some provision, etc.
    In the same season of 1851, a squad of soldiers from some fort in Oregon were passing through this same valley, on their [way] south to establish a fort, under the command of General Stuart, just at the time of an Indian outbreak, which was quelled by the opportune presence of the soldiers, and the assistance of some volunteer French and some half-breed Indians. But the General fell fatally wounded, and expired in a few hours. [Captain James Stuart; the detachment was commanded by Philip Kearny.] His death was caused by arrow wounds from an Indian in supposed ambush. I say supposed ambush, for a small boy ten years old, belonging to one of the soldiers, had crept near the savage, and told his story of the affair afterwards. "I seen the Injun shooting at General Stuart, and I drawed up my pistol to shoot him, but I dare not until he had throwed all his arrows away and then I shot him, and he rolled half way to me." The Indian was found at the place designated by the boy. The General was buried in a grave dug between two trees, under a double tent, while the music was playing at a distance, and horses were tied to the trees overnight, the precaution being taken to conceal the place of his interment from the Indians, until a metallic coffin could be brought for his remains.
    Four days of skirmishing and scouring the mountains sufficed to quiet this disturbance, and the volunteers were furnished with orders on the government and discharged. They were disbanded in the afternoon, and a noted half-breed named Mungo at once resolved to see Yreka before he slept, which was a journey of not less than seventy miles. He accordingly set out, and had proceeded but two miles when he found himself surrounded, but was fortunately in a prairie of some little extent, thus putting the Indians at a distance in the edge of the brush. He dismounted near the center of the opening, and using his ramrod for defense against the arrows, by keeping it whirling around as he held it in the center, sometimes causing the arrows to strike him sideways, he contrived to save his scalp and bring it with him safe to Yreka by breakfast time next morning, where he heard the story of the Rogue River War. Mungo has a fame in Oregon, having been a spy in the Cayuse War, going about upon the heights to discover the position of the enemy, and having three horses shot under him in one day, but saving his saddle at night, though sometimes contesting it by lying behind his horse and keeping his enemies at a distance with his gun. He talks good English, accurate French and different Indian languages.
    Ben. Wright was another noted mountaineer, formerly from Ohio, who generally was ready to quit business at a moment's warning when an outbreak agitated our mountain community, and many stories are told of his personal daring and eminent risks. On one occasion I saw him in the tent of a Jew trader, examining a revolver with a view to purchasing, and not being easily satisfied he was shown some half dozen, when he coolly distributed them among his comrades who stood by, and assured the raving Jew that they would be returned in good order when they had no more to do with them, a promise which he kept after visiting the scene of an outbreak that we had been informed of at the Klamath River.
    The McKee boys were also noted mountaineers. While upon a chapter of incidents, I will narrate the story of Charley Smith and his partner, who, accompanied by some Indians they had in their employ, and while in the business of ranchmen, attempted to run away with the entire drove of horses.
    Almost every miner has a riding animal or two, which they generally confide to the keeping of a man who receipts for their description, and charges certain rates per month for keeping them upon pasture in the valleys during the day, and bringing them into a corral near town at night, where the owner may know of their safety or can have them when necessary. This is called "putting their horses on a ranch," and those having them in charge are called ranchmen; many times a miner will not see his horses for months.
    We are now prepared to state that Charley Smith was a ranchman, having about one hundred and fifty horses in his care, which he usually herded in the bottoms along the Shasta River, and at night kept them in corral near Yreka. He had a partner whose name I have not now at my command, beside two Willamette Indians, Antoine and Tom. They planned a raid for running away with the whole herd, and with this intent they took them from the corral, one proceeding out across the usual range, passed up the Shasta Valley and across the Cascade Mountains upon the plains.
    Their absence was discovered on the following morning, but no move was made until the afternoon, when a pursuit was organized, and as they neared the mountains they were baffled for some time to ascertain the place where the band left the valley.
Hiram Rockafeller Schutt in the National Democrat, Cassopolis, Michigan, July 31, 1873, page 1


    Hiram Rockafeller Schutt was born in Ontario Co., New York, Feb. 19, 1828. His father's name was Benjamin Schutt, and his mother's maiden name was Christina Bruzee.
    He came with his parents, one brother and two sisters to Michigan in the fall of 1843.
    At the age of 19 he began teaching school, a vocation which he followed during the winter season for thirty years. He was a splendid mathematician and always took great interest in all educational work. He was especially kind to the young teachers, and many there are who can remember how he assisted them over some rough places in their work.
    In the summer of 1850 in company with others he went overland to California and Oregon, remaining four years. He was county clerk of Linn County, Oregon, for two years, and taught school one winter during his stay there. The remainder of the time he spent in the gold mines of California, where he met with fair success. Returning in 1854, he settled on the farm in Jefferson township, where he has since resided. March 25, 1858 he united in marriage with Fanny Rosbrough. To them were born four children, Stella, who lives at home, Mrs. Martha Sachse of Cassopolis, Owen of Violinia township, and Mrs. Olive Switzer of Fort William, Canada.
    In the summer of 1880, in company with others, he went to the gold mines of Colorado. Meeting with no success, he returned in 1885 and has since resided at his home. Always an uncompromising Democrat, he held office in his home town for 34 consecutive years. He was notary public at the time of his death, which office he had also held for years.
    He was not a believer in any of the orthodox creeds or theories, but strove always to be a reasoner.
    He was an honest man, and a kind, helpful neighbor. Nothing was ever too much for him to do, or no road was ever too long for him to travel when a neighbor needed help, and in his immediate neighborhood, "Uncle Hiram" will be much missed. He passed on to the higher life from his home in Jefferson, Tuesday morning, Jan. 14, 1908.
    Funeral services were held at the White church in Jefferson, Thursday, Jan. 16. The address was delivered by Mrs. Sheets, a Spiritualist of Grand Ledge, Mich.
Cassopolis Vigilant, Cassopolis, Michigan, January 23, 1908, page 1


Last revised May 25, 2025