The Infamous Black Bird Southern Oregon History, Revised

The Southern Route
The first travelers of the Applegate Trail in 1846. See also William Hoffman's diary and Daniel Toole's and Tolbert Carter's excellent memoirs. See the page on the "preacher train" for the emigration along that route in 1853.

Click here for more on the Southern Route.

From the Oregon Spectator.
    THE EMIGRANTS--SOUTHERN ROUTE.--We have no further information to give concerning the emigrants on the Southern route, excepting that which is contained in the following letter, received a few days since:
Settlement of the Rickreall,
    November 30, 1846.
    Editor of the Spectator:--I have just arrived in the settlements of this valley from the Kenyon in the Umpqua Mountains. I left the people suffering beyond anything you have ever known. They must perish with hunger unless the people of the settlements go to their relief with pack horses and bring them in. They will have property with which to pay for such services. If they are not bro't away they must perish. Before I left, they had already commenced eating the cattle that had died in the Kenyon. At least one hundred head of pack horses should be taken out immediately. I implore the people of this valley, in the name of humanity, and in behalf of my starving and perishing fellow travelers to hasten to their relief.
In haste, I am sir, yours &c.
    We have understood that a considerable band of horses have been sent out from Champoeg County, sufficient, probably, to bring in all or most of the emigrants.
Californian, Monterey, February 20, 1847, page 4

A Statesman Reporter Visits the Scene of the Battle of Pilot Rock in 1846.

Linkville, Or., April 10, 1886.
    Editor Statesman: Remembering my promise, I now write you. I crossed the mountains from Ashland to this place about three weeks ago, with a buggy and horse, and in company with the old pioneer Lindsay Applegate, now of Ashland, who crossed the plains in 1843, and built the first log cabin in Polk County. He will soon be an octogenarian. The road we now travel from Rogue River Valley to the Klamath Basin is the same, Mr. A. informed us, as viewed out by the "south road party" in [late June] 1846, of which party of fifteen men he was one. They were the first white men to cross the mountains by this route, and were six days hunting it out from Rogue River Valley to the Klamath River, a distance of thirty-three miles. They followed at times an Indian footpath. The old California trail ran south from Rogue River, crossing the Siskiyou Mountain ridge by the way of Pilot Rock. The road party left this trail about seven miles south of where Ashland now is, and struck out due east, finding and passing the soda springs, but it happened an hour or so before the road party left the California trail [that] a party of mountain men, trappers, traders and a few Columbia Indians, well mounted and armed to the teeth, had passed up the trail in the direction of Pilot Rock, and as the road party was passing along a ridge about a mile and a half from where it had turned east, the men then heard the Indian war whoop go up loud and shrill, seconded by the reports of many guns, only a few miles away. The battle of Pilot Rock had begun. The road hunters, however, appreciating the favorable turns of affairs, halted but a few minutes to listen to the conflict, but they heard distinctly while they tarried "the savage war whoop burst forth, and almost at the same moment a heavy volley ending in a perfect roar." All the sign of the deadly strife they could see was a thin cloud of blue smoke hanging along the side of the mountain, between their position and Pilot Rock, but as they continued their journey for several miles they heard occasionally the yells of the Indians and the reports of the rifles.
    The old mountain man Turner was one of the seventy-five men engaged in this fight. He said they expected an attack where it was made, and so were ready for the red devils when they announced themselves.
    The attack was made by three or four hundred warriors, their faces grim with war paint black and red--they came forth boldly from the shelter of rocks and bush, yelping and whooping like fiends and shooting arrows with great rapidity, but too high to harm the white men, who now with steady nerves returned the salute with a volley from fifty guns, which caused many braves to bite the dust, and sent the remainder back to shelter. This war party must have been under the influence of a "strong medicine," for the attack was repeated in less than a half hour, with unabated bravery, but being repulsed with a second volley more fatal in its effect than the first, the battle was finally over, though the Indians followed several miles shooting arrows from a distance and occasionally drawing the fire of the white men. Strange to tell, one white man was severely, and some horses slightly, wounded with arrows, and that was all. These Indians had no guns forty years ago.
    This severe rebuke of those Indians secured the little party of road hunters. The war cry died upon the lips of the young braves. They clasped the little brown hands of the dusky maidens in their own, and made the nights hideous with the "death song," for their war chief, Kink-i-coony, "scalp-catcher," caught a rifle ball in his mouth.
    Pilot Rock may be seen fifty miles away, as you pass up Rogue River Valley from the north, standing up against the sky like a large-sized wart on the backbone of the Siskiyou. Though not so broad at the base, it is higher than the great pyramid of Egypt, its top being exalted to the giddy height of six hundred feet from its base on the mountain. The sides are so precipitous that a man cannot scale them. There is, however, a crevice in the rock, running upward from the foot, along which people climb to the top, where there is said to be standing room for six hundred men.
J.A.A. [probably Jesse A. Applegate]
Oregon Statesman, Salem, May 7, 1886, page 1




By Lindsay Applegate
    After the lapse of thirty-one years (as there has been no history of this circumstance placed before the public), I propose to give a plain statement of facts from notes taken at the time and from memory, giving motives that led to the enterprise. Our immigration of 1843, being the largest that had ever crossed the plains, our progress was necessarily slow, having to hunt out passes for our wagons over rivers, creeks, deep gullies, digging down the banks where nothing but a pack trail had been before, cutting our way through the dense forests before we could reach the valley of the Columbia, and then it appeared as though our greatest troubles had begun, for here we had to encounter cataracts and falls of the Columbia and the broad and lofty Cascades, with their heavy forests.
    At Fort Walla Walla, on the banks of the Columbia River, with our teams about exhausted, we were advised to leave our wagons and animals over winter at that place in the care of the Hudson's Bay Co. A portion of the immigrants, including my two brothers' families and my own, accepted the proposition, providing we could secure boats in which to descend the river, as it was supposed we might secure them from the Hudson's Bay Co. Under these considerations we made arrangements with the said company for the care of the latter through the winter. We failed in our efforts to obtain boats; having a whipsaw and other tools with us, we hunted logs from the masses of driftwood lodged along the river banks, hewed them out, sawed them into lumber, and built boats, and with our families and the contents of our wagons commenced the descent of the river. Dr. Whitman procured us the service of two Indians to act as pilots to the Dalles. From there we thought we would have but little trouble by making a portage at the Cascades. We did well till we reached the Dalles, a series of falls and cataracts. Just above the Cascade Mountains one of our boats, containing six persons, was caught in one of those terrible whirlpools and upset. My son, ten years old, my brother Jesse's son, Edward, same age, and a man by the name of McClellan, who was a member of my family, were lost. The other three who escaped were left to struggle the best they could until we made the land with the other boats. Leaving the women and children on shore while we rushed to the rescue, it was only with the greatest effort that we were able to keep our boats from sharing the same fate. William Doake, a young man who could not swim, held on to a feather bed until overtaken and rescued. W. Parker and my son Elisha, then twelve years old, after drifting through whirlpools among cragged rocks for more than a mile, rescued themselves by catching hold of a large rock a few feet above water at the head of Rock Island. At the time of the disaster it was utterly impossible to render them any assistance, for it was only with the greatest skill that we succeeded in saving the women and children from sharing the same fate. It was a painful scene beyond description. We dare not go to their assistance without exposing the occupants of the other boats to certain destruction, while those persons were struggling for life in the surging waters. The whole scene was witnessed by Gen. Fremont and his company of explorers, who were camped immediately opposite, and were powerless to render us any assistance. The bodies of the drowned were never recovered, though we offered a reward to the Indians, who searched the river for months. We reached the Cascades without any other incidents worth relating.
    We then made a portage around the falls, packing the most of our effects on our backs, dragging our boats over the rocks, reloaded and proceeded on our way to Vancouver, ascended the Willamette River to the falls, there made another portage around the falls, reloaded again, ascended the river twenty-five miles, coming to a place called Champoeg, where we finally left our boats and made our way across the valley to Lee's Old Mission, ten miles below where Salem now stands, and on the first day of December entered one of the old buildings to remain for the winter.
    Previous to this, we had been in the rain most of the time for twenty days. Oh, how we could have enjoyed our hospitable shelter if we could have looked around the family circle and beheld the bright faces that accompanied us on our toilsome journey almost to the end! Alas, they were not there! That long and dreary winter, with its pelting rains and howling winds, brought sadness to us. Under these sad reflections, we resolved if we remained in the country to find a better way for others who might wish to emigrate, as soon as we could possibly afford the time. From what information we could gather from old pioneers and the Hudson's Bay Co., the Cascade Mountains to the south became very low, or terminated where the Klamath cut that chain; and knowing that the Blue Mountains lay east and west, we came to the conclusion there must be a belt of country extending east towards the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains where there might be no very lofty ranges of mountains to cross. So in 1846, after making arrangements for subsistence of our families during our absence, we organized a company to undertake the enterprise, composed as follows:
    Levi Scott, John Scott, Henry Boygus, Lindsay Applegate, Jesse Applegate, Benjamin Burch, John Owens, John Jones, Robert Smith, Samuel Goodhue, Moses Harris, David Goff, Benit Osborn, William Sportsman, William Parker. Each man had his pack horse and saddle horse, making thirty animals to guard and take care of.
    A portion of the country we proposed to traverse was at that time marked on the map "unexplored region." All the information we could get relative to it was through the Hudson's Bay Co. Peter Ogden, an officer of that company, who had led a party of trappers through that region, represented that portions of it were desert-like, and that at one time his company was so pressed for the want of water that they went to the top of a mountain, filled sacks with snow, and were thus able to cross the desert. He also stated that portions of the country through which we would have to travel were infested with fierce and warlike savages, who would attack every party entering their country, steal their traps, waylay and murder the men, and that Rogue River had taken its name from the character of the Indians inhabiting its valleys. The idea of opening a wagon road through such a country at that time was counted as preposterous. These statements, though based on facts, we thought might be exaggerated by the Hudson's Bay Co., in their own interest, since they had a line of forts on the Snake River route, reaching from Fort Hall to Vancouver, and were prepared to profit by the immigration.
    One thing which had much influence with us was the fact that the question as to which power, Great Britain or the United States, would eventually secure a title to the country was not settled, and in case a war should occur and Britain prove successful, it was important to have a way by which we could leave the country without running the gantlet of the Hudson's Bay Co.'s forts and falling a prey to Indian tribes which were under British influence.
    On the morning of the 20th of June, 1846, we gathered on the La Creole, near where Dallas now stands, moved up the valley and encamped for the night on Mary's River, near where the town of Corvallis has since been built.
    June 21--Moved up the valley and encamped among the foothills of the Calapooia Mountains.
    June 22--This day we traveled along the base of the Calapooias, our course being nearly southeast, passing near a prominent peak since called Spencer's Butte. In a little valley near the butte, on the south side, we discovered Indians digging camas. On perceiving us, most of them secreted themselves in the timber. One of our party succeeded in capturing an old Indian, and representing to him by signs the course we wished to follow, the old fellow preceded us two or three miles, and put us on a dim trail which had been marked by twisting the tops of the brush along the route. It had only been used as a foot trail and but seldom at that. It led us into a prairie at the base of the main Calapooia chain. Crossing the prairie, we found the little trail where it entered the mountains with difficulty, and being guided by the broken brush, reached at sundown a little stream on the Umpqua side, where we camped for the night in a beautiful little valley where the grass was good and the ground almost covered with the finest strawberries I had ever seen.
    The next morning, June 23, we moved on through the grassy oak hills and narrow valleys to the North Umpqua River. The crossing was a rough and dangerous one, as the river bed was a mass of loose rocks, and, as we were crossing, our horses occasionally fell, giving the riders a severe ducking. On the south side we encamped for the night.
    On the morning of the 24th, we left camp early and moved on about five miles to the south branch of the Umpqua, a considerable stream, probably sixty yards wide, coming from the eastward. Traveling up that stream almost to the place where the old trail crosses the Umpqua Mountains, we encamped for the night opposite the historic Umpqua Canyon.
    The next morning, June 25th, we entered the canyon, followed up the little stream that runs through the defile for four or five miles, crossing the creek a great many times, but the canyon becoming more obstructed with brush and fallen timber, the little trail we were following turned up the side of the ridge where the woods were more open, and wound its way to the top of the mountain. It then bore south along a narrow backbone of the mountain, the dense thickets and the rocks on either side affording splendid opportunities for ambush. A short time before this, a party coming from California had been attacked on this summit ridge by the Indians and one of them had been severely wounded. Several of the horses had also been shot with arrows. Along this trail we picked up a number of broken and shattered arrows. We could see that a large party of Indians had passed over the trail traveling southward only a few days before. At dark we reached a small opening on a little stream at the foot of the mountain on the south, and encamped for the night.
    On the morning of the 26th, we divided our forces, part going back to explore the canyon, while the remainder stayed to guard the camp and horses. The exploring party went back to where we left the canyon on the little trail the day before, and returning through the canyon, came into camp after night, reporting that wagons could be taken through.
    We found everything all right on the morning of the 27th, although the Indians had hovered around us all night, frightening our horses a number of times. From the tracks we could see that they approached very closely to our encampment. Making an early start we moved on very cautiously. Whenever the trail passed through the cuts we dismounted and led our horses, having our guns in hand ready at any moment to use them in self-defense, for we had adopted this rule, never to be the aggressor. Traveling through a very broken country the sharp hills separated by little streams upon which there were small openings, we came out at about noon into a large creek, a branch of Rogue River, now called Grave Creek, on which we rested about two hours. During the afternoon our course was over a more open country--through scattering pine and oak timber. Towards evening, we saw a good many Indians posted along the mountainside and then running ahead of us. About an hour by sun we reached a prairie of several hundred acres, which extends down to very near the bank of Rogue River. As we advanced towards the river, the Indians in large numbers occupied the river bank near where the trail crossed. Having understood that this crossing was a favorite place of attack, we decided as it was growing late to pass the night in the prairie. Selecting a place as far from the brush as possible, we made every preparation for a night attack.
    In selecting our camp on Rogue River, we observed the greatest caution. Cutting stakes from the limbs of an old oak that stood in the open ground, we picketed our horses with double stakes as firmly as possible. The horses were picketed in the form of a hollow square, outside of which we took up our positions, knowing that in case of an attack there would be a chance of losing our horses and that that would be a complete defeat. We kept vigilant guard during the night, and the next morning could see the Indians occupying the same position as at dark. After an early breakfast we began to make preparations for moving forward. There had been a heavy dew, and fearing the effects of the dampness upon our firearms, which were muzzle-loaders, of course, and some of them with flintlocks, we fired them off and reloaded. In moving forward, we formed two divisions, with the pack horses behind. On reaching the river bank the front division fell behind the pack horses and drove them over, while the rear division faced the brush, with gun in hand, until the front division was safely over. Then they turned about, and the rear division passed over under protection of their rifles. The Indians watched the performance from their places of concealment, but there was no chance for them to make an attack without exposing themselves to our fire. The river was deep and rapid, and for a short distance some of the smaller animals had to swim. Had we rushed pell mell into the stream, as parties sometimes do under such circumstances, our expedition would probably have come to an end there.
    After crossing we turned up the river, and the Indians in large numbers came out of the thickets on the opposite side and tried in every way to provoke us. Our course was for some distance southeast along the bank of the river, and the Indians, some mounted and some on foot, passed on rapidly on the other side. There appeared to be a great commotion among them. A party had left the French settlement in the Willamette some three or four weeks before us, consisting of French, half-breeds, Columbia Indians and a few Americans; probably about eighty in all. Passing one of their encampments we could see by the signs that they were only a short distance ahead of us. We afterwards learned that the Rogue Rivers had stolen some of their horses, and that an effort to recover them had caused the delay. At about three o'clock, we left the river and bore southward up a little stream for four or five miles and encamped. From our camp we could see numerous signal fires on the mountains to the eastward. We saw no Indians in the vicinity of our camp, and no evidence of their having been there lately. They had evidently given us up, and followed the other company which the same night encamped in the main valley above. Under the circumstances, we enjoyed a good night's sleep, keeping only two guards at a time.
    On the morning of June 29th, we passed over a low range of hills, from the summit of which we had a splendid view of the Rogue River Valley. It seemed like a great meadow, interspersed with groves of oaks which appeared like vast orchards. All day long we traveled over rich black soil covered with rank grass, clover and pea vine, and at night encamped near the other party on the stream now known as Emigrant Creek, near the foot of the Siskiyou Mountains. This night, the Indians having gone to the mountains to ambush the French party as we afterwards learned, we were not disturbed. Here our course diverged from that of the other company; they following the old California trail across the Siskiyou, while our route was eastward through an unexplored region several hundred miles in extent.
    On the morning of June 30th, we moved along the north bank of the creek, and soon began the ascent of the mountains to the eastward, which we found gradual. Spending most of the day in examining the hills about the stream now called Keene Creek, near the summit of the Siskiyou ridge, we moved on down through the heavy forests of pine, fir and cedar, and encamped early in the evening in a little valley, now known as Round Prairie, about ten or twelve miles, as nearly as we could judge, from the camp of the previous night. We found no evidence of Indians being about, but we did not relax our vigilance on that account. We encamped in a clump of pines in the valley and kept out our guard.
    On the morning of July 1st, being anxious to know what we were to find ahead, we made an early start. This morning we observed the track of a lone horse leading eastward. Thinking it had been made by some Indian horseman on his way from Rogue River to the Klamath country, we undertook to follow it. This we had no trouble in doing, as it had been made in the spring while the ground was damp and was very distinct, until we came to a very rough rocky ridge where we lost it. This ridge was directly in our way. Exploring northward along the divide for considerable distance without finding a practicable route across it, we encamped for the night among the pines. The next morning, July 2nd, we explored the ridge southward as far as the great canyon of the Klamath but, having no better success than the day before, we encamped at a little spring on the mountainside. The next day, July 3rd, we again traveled northward farther than before, making a more complete examination of the country than we had previously done, and at last found what seemed to be a practicable pass. Near this was a rich grassy valley through which ran a little stream, and here we encamped for the night. This valley is now known as Long Prairie.
    On the morning of July 4th, our route bore along a ridge trending considerably towards the north. The route was good, not rocky, and the ascent very gradual. After crossing the summit of the Cascade ridge, the descent was, in places, very rapid. At noon we came out into a glade where there was water and grass and from which we could see the Klamath River. After noon we moved down through an immense forest, principally of yellow pine, to the river, and then traveled up the north bank, still through yellow pine forests, for about six miles, when all at once we came out in full view of the Klamath country, extending eastward as far as the eye could reach. It was an exciting moment, after the many days spent in the dense forests and among the mountains, and the whole party broke forth in cheer after cheer. An Indian who had not observed us until the shouting began broke away from the river bank near us and ran to the hills a quarter of a mile distant. An antelope could scarcely have made better time, for we continued shouting as he ran and his speed seemed to increase until he was lost from our view among the pines. We were now entering a country where the natives had seen but few white people. Following the river up to where it leaves the Lower Klamath Lake, we came to a riffle where it seemed possible to cross. William Parker waded in and explored the ford. It was deep, rocky and rapid, but we all passed over safely, and then proceeding along the river and lakeshore for a mile or so when we came into the main valley of the Lower Klamath Lake. We could see columns of smoke rising in every direction, for our presence was already known to the Modocs and the signal fire telegraph was in active operation. Moving southward along the shore we came to a little stream coming in from the southward, and there found pieces of newspapers and other unmistakable evidences of civilized people having camped there a short time before. We found a place where the turf had been cut away, also the willows near the bank of the creek, and horses had been repeatedly driven over the place. As there were many places where animals could get water without this trouble, some of the party were of the opinion that some persons had been buried there and that horses had been driven over the place to obliterate all marks and thus prevent the Indians from disturbing the dead. The immense excitement among the Indians on our arrival there strengthened this opinion. Col. Fremont, only a few days before, had reached this point on his way northward when he was overtaken by Lieut. Gillespie of the United States army with important dispatches and returned to Lower California. The Mexican War had just begun and the "Pathfinder" was needed elsewhere. On the very night he was overtaken by Lieut. Gillespie, the Modocs surprised his camp, killed three of his Delaware Indians and it is said that, had it not been for the vigilance and presence of mind of Kit Carson, he would probably have suffered a complete rout. At this place we arranged our camp on open ground so that the Indians could not possibly approach us without discovery. It is likely that the excitement among the Modocs was caused, more than anything else, by the apprehension that ours was a party sent to chastise them for their attack on Fremont. We were but a handful of men surrounded by hundreds of Indians armed with their poisoned arrows, but by dint of great care and vigilance we were able to pass through their country safely. On every line of travel from the Atlantic to the Pacific there has been great loss of life from a failure to exercise a proper degree of caution, and too often have reckless and foolhardy men who have, through the want of proper care, become embroiled in difficulties with the Indians, gained the reputation of being Indian fighters and heroes, while the men who were able to conduct parties in safety through the country of warlike savages escaped the world's notice.
    On the morning of July 5th we left our camp on the little creek (now called Hot Creek), and continued our course along the shore of Lower Klamath Lake. This threw us off our course considerably, as the lake extended some miles to the southward of our last camp, and we did not reach the eastern shore until the day was far spent. We camped on the lake shore, and the next morning, July 6th, we ascended a high rocky ridge to the eastward for the purpose of making observations. Near the base of the ridge, on the east, was a large lake, perhaps twenty miles in length. Beyond it, to the eastward, we could see a timbered butte, apparently thirty miles distant, at the base of which there appeared to be a low pass through the mountain range which seemed to encircle the lake basin. It appearing practicable to reach this pass by passing around the south end of the lake, we decided to adopt that route and began the descent of the ridge, but we soon found ourselves in the midst of an extremely rugged country. Short lava ridges ran in every conceivable direction, while between them were caves and crevices into which it seemed our animals were in danger of falling headlong. The farther we advanced the worse became the route, so that at length we decided to retrace our steps to the smooth country. This was difficult, as our horses had become separated among the rocks, and it was some time before we could get them together and return to the open ground. Then we discovered that one of our party, David Goff, was missing. While in the lava field he had discovered a band of mountain sheep, and in pursuing them had lost his way. Some of the party went quite a distance into the rocks, but could hear nothing of him. We decided to proceed to the meadow country, at the head of the lake, by encircling the lava beds to the northward, and encamp until we could find our comrade. While we were proceeding to carry out this program, we discovered a great number of canoes leaving the lake shore, under the bluffs, and making for what appeared to be an island four or five miles distant. We could also see a lone horseman riding leisurely along the lake shore, approaching us. This soon proved to be our lost friend. The Modocs had discovered him in the lava fields, and probably supposing that the whole party was about to assail them from the rocks, they took to their canoes. He said that, seeing the Indians retreating, he concluded he would leave the rocks and ride along the lakeshore where the going was good. We nooned in a beautiful meadow, containing about two sections, near the head of the lake.
    After spending a couple of hours in this splendid pasture, we repacked and started on our way towards the timbered butte, but had not proceeded more than a mile before we came suddenly upon quite a large stream (Lost River) coming into the lake. We found this stream near the lake very deep, with almost perpendicular banks, so that we were compelled to turn northward, up the river. Before proceeding very far we discovered an Indian crouching under the bank and, surrounding him, made him come out. By signs, we indicated to him that we wanted to cross the river. By marking on his legs and pointing up the river, he gave us to understand that there was a place above where we could easily cross. Motioning to him to advance, he led the way up the river about a mile and pointed out a place where an immense rock crossed the river. The sheet of water running over the rock was about fifteen inches deep, while the principal part of the river seemed to flow under. This was the famous Stone Bridge on Lost River, so often mentioned after this by travelers. For many years the water of Tule Lake have been gradually rising, so that now the beautiful meadow on which we nooned on the day we discovered the bridge is covered by the lake, and the back water in Lost River long ago made the river impassable; is now probably ten feet deep over the bridge.
    After crossing the bridge we made our pilot some presents, and all shaking hands with him, left him standing on the river bank. Pursuing our way along the northern shore of the lake a few miles, we came to a beautiful spring near the base of the mountains on our left, and encamped for the night. After using the alkali water of Lower Klamath Lake the previous night, the fresh, cold water of this spring was a real luxury. There was plenty of dry wood and an abundance of green grass for our animals, and we enjoyed the camp exceedingly. Sitting around our fire that evening, we discussed the adventures of the past few days in this new and strange land. The circumstances of the last day had been particularly interesting. Our adventure in the rocks; the retreat of the whole Modoc tribe in a fleet of thirty or forty canoes across the lake from Goff; the singularity of the natural bridge; the vast fields of tule around the lake, and the fact that the lake was an independent body of water, were subjects of peculiar interest and only intensified our desire to see more of this then-wild land.
    July 7th, we left the valley of Tule Lake to pursue our course eastward, over a rocky table land, among scattering juniper trees. We still observed the timbered butte as our landmark, and traveled as directly toward it as the shape of the country would admit. This butte is near the state line, between Clear Lake and Goose Lake, and probably distant fifty miles from the lava ridge west of Lost River, from which we first observed it, and supposing it to be about thirty miles away. In pursuing our course we passed through the hilly, juniper country between Langell Valley and Clear Lake without seeing either the valley or lake, and at noon arrived at the bed of a stream where there was but little water. The course of the stream was north or northwest, and appearances indicated that at times quite a volume of water flowed in the channel. This was evidently the bed of Lost River, a few miles north of where this singular stream leaves the Clear River marsh.
    Leaving this place, we pursued our journey through a similar country to that passed over during the forenoon, and encamped at a little spring among the junipers, near the base of the timbered hill, and passed a very pleasant night.
    On the morning of July 8th, we passed our landmark and traveled nearly eastward, over a comparatively level but extremely rocky country, and nooned in the channel of another stream, where there was a little water standing in holes. On leaving this place we found the country still quite level, but exceedingly rocky; for eight or ten miles almost like pavement. Late in the afternoon we came out into the basin of a lake (Goose Lake), apparently forty or fifty miles in length. Traversing the valley about five miles along the south end of the lake, we came to a little stream coming in from the mountains to the eastward. The grass and water being good, we encamped here for the night. Game seemed plentiful, and one of the party killed a fine deer in the vicinity of the camp. From a spur of the mountains, near our camp, we had a splendid view of the lake and of the extensive valley bordering it on the north. On the east, between the lake and mountain range running nearly north and south, and which we supposed to be a spur of the Sierra Nevadas, was a beautiful meadow country, narrow, but many miles in length, across which the lines of willows and scattering pines and cottonwoods indicated the courses of a number of little streams coming into the lake from the mountain chain. A little southeast of our camp there appeared to be a gap in the mountain wall, and we decided to try it on the succeeding day.
    July 9th we moved up the ridge towards the gap, and soon entered a little valley, perhaps containing a hundred acres, extending to the summit of the ridge, thus forming an excellent pass. The ascent was very gradual. The little valley was fringed with mountain mahogany trees, giving it quite a picturesque appearance. This shrub, which is peculiar to the rocky highlands, is from fifteen to twenty feet high and in form something like a cherry tree, so that a grove of mountain mahogany strikingly resembles a cherry orchard. About the center of the little valley is a spring of cold water, making it an excellent camping place, and for many years afterwards it was the place where the immigrants were wont to meet and let their animals recuperate after the long, tiresome march across the so-called American Desert; for this Sierra ridge separates the waters of the Pacific from those of the Great Basin which extends from the Blue Mountains far southward towards the Colorado. The little stream on which we encamped before entering this pass is called Lassen Creek, taking its name from Peter Lassen, who led a small party of immigrants across the plains in 1848, following our route from the Humboldt through this pass, thence down Pit River to the Sacramento. From the summit of the ridge we had a splendid view. Northward the ridge seemed to widen out, forming several low ranges of timbered mountains, while southward it seemed to rise very high, as we could see patches of snow along the summit in the distance. East and south of us, at the foot of the ridge, was a beautiful green valley, twenty or thirty miles in extent, and containing a small lake. A number of small streams flowed from the mountain into and through the valley, affording an abundance of water for the wants of a settlement. This fertile valley on the border of the desert has since been called Surprise Valley, and now contains quite a population.
    As we stood on the Sierra ridge, we surveyed the vast desert plains to the eastward of Surprise Valley, apparently without grass or trees, and marked by numerous high rocky ridges running north and south. After deciding on our course, we descended the mountain and soon came to a little stream, the banks of which were lined with plum bushes completely loaded with fruit. There was a grove of pines at hand, and there we decided to noon, as the day was extremely hot. Game seemed plentiful about this rich valley, and while we were nooning a large band of antelope grazed in sight of us. Spending about two hours among these pines, which were the last we saw during our long and weary march on the desert, we packed up and moved across the valley eastward. After crossing the valley we entered a very sandy district, where the traveling was laborious, and next ascended to a table land, the surface of which was covered with small gravel. By this time most of our horses were barefooted, and our progress through the rocky country was consequently very slow. The country was so desert-like that we had about despaired of finding water that night, but just at dark we unexpectedly came to a little spring. There was but little water, but by digging some we were able to get quite enough for ourselves and horses, though it kept us busy until about midnight to get the horses watered. Although we had met with singularly good fortune in thus finding water at the close of the first day's march on the desert, we could not always expect such good luck in the future; and as we lay down in our blankets among the sagebrush that night, we could not help having some gloomy forebodings in regard to the future of our expedition.
    On the morning of the 10th of July we found an abundance of water in the basin we had scraped out at the little spring early in the night, so that we were able to start out on the desert much refreshed. Our horses, however, looked very gaunt, as there was a great scarcity of grass about the spring. The landscape before us, as we made our start this morning, was anything but inviting. It was a vast sand plain. No trees or mountains were in sight. Far in the distance were some dark-looking ridges. There was no vegetation excepting dwarf sage and greasewood growing in the sand and gravel. At about three o'clock in the afternoon we came to a huge volcanic wall, varying in height from twenty or thirty to several hundred feet, extending north and south as far as the eye could reach and apparently without any gap through it. We divided at the wall so as to explore it both ways. The party going southward, after proceeding a few miles, came to a little stream forming a beautiful meadow at the base of the wall, and flowing through a narrow gateway into the ridge. They immediately dispatched one of their party in pursuit of us with the good news, and we returned to the meadow early in the afternoon, and decided to turn out our horses and give them a chance to feed and rest, while we explored the defile on foot. We found it a very remarkable chasm, extending nearly due east. The gateway was about sixty yards in width and the canyon was, at some places, a little wider than that perhaps, and at others, was only wide enough for a wagon road. The little bottom was grassy and almost level, and, indeed, a remarkable track for a road. In many places, the cliffs on either side towered to a height of several hundred feet, and, in some places actually overhung the chasm. Those overhanging cliffs afforded excellent sheltering places for the Indians, and the signs betokened that it was a great place of resort for them. Sage hens and rabbits were plentiful, also mountain sheep, but the latter were so wild that we did not succeed in killing any of them. After making quite an extended trip into the canyon, we returned to the little meadow and spent the night.
    On the morning of July 11, we again entered the gorge and traveled ten or twelve miles to a place where the stream formed quite a pool, and nooned. At this season, the stream ran no further than the pool. Here another canyon comes in from the north, and at the junction there is quite an area of level ground--perhaps two acres--mostly meadow, forming an excellent camping place. After noon we proceeded on our way, following the dry bed of the stream, and, after a march of perhaps ten miles, came out on the east side of the ridge. Here we found a lake basin of several acres in extent, where there was but a little water and a great deal of mud, hence strongly suggesting the name of Mud Lake, which it has since always borne. Earlier in the season, when the little stream that feeds it flows all the way through the canyon, this is doubtless quite a lake. The country eastward had a very forbidding appearance. Rising from a barren plain, perhaps fifteen miles away, was a rough, rocky ridge, extending as far as the eye could reach towards the north, but apparently terminating abruptly perhaps fifteen miles south of our course. Along the base of the ridge, towards its extremity, were seen green spots, indicating water. After considering the situation pretty thoroughly, we concluded that it would be the surest plan to depart from our usual course and travel southward to the extremity of the ridge, as, by so doing, we would probably keep clear of the rocks and be more certain to find water. So we followed the dry outlet of the lake, in a southwesterly direction, for a distance of three or four miles and we camped at a little spring.
    In this vicinity quite a tragedy occurred while Capt. Levi Scott, accompanied by a detachment of regular troops, was en route to meet the immigration of 1847. It was his intention to make an effort to hunt out a direct route from Mud Lake to Humboldt, thus saving the distance lost by our change of direction in 1846. It appears that Mr. Scott and a man named Garrison, leaving the train encamped at Mud Lake, started out in a due easterly direction towards the black ridge to ascertain the practicability of finding a way across it. When out about ten miles they came across two Indians. Not being able to talk with them, they undertook, through signs, to learn something about the country. The Indians appeared to be friendly, but, taking advantage of Scott and Garrison while they were off their guard, strung their bows and commenced shooting with great rapidity. Garrison was mortally wounded, and Scott, while in the act of firing, was shot through the arm with an arrow which, passing through, entered his side, pinning his arm to his body. Scott fired, however, killing his Indian, and the other took to flight. Scott's were, fortunately, only flesh wounds, but Garrison had been pierced by two arrows and died soon after being conveyed to the camp. Thus the effort to make the cutoff failed, and to this day has never been made.
    The little spring, where we encamped, furnished an abundance of water; the grass was good, but fuel extremely scarce, there being nothing in this line but dwarf sagebrush.
    On starting out on the morning of the 12th of July, we observed vast columns of smoke or steam rising at the extremity of the black ridge. Reaching the ridge a few miles north of its extremity, we traveled along its base, passing a number of springs, some cold and others boiling hot. At the end of the ridge we found an immense boiling spring from whence the steam was rising like smoke from a furnace. A large volume of water issued from the spring which irrigated several hundred acres of meadow. Although the water was strongly impregnated with alkali, it was fit for use when cooled, and the spot was, on the whole, a very good camping place for the desert. The cliffs, at the extremity of the ridge, were formed of immense masses of black volcanic rock and all about were vast piles of cinders, resembling those from a blacksmith's forge. This place has ever since been known as "Black Rock," and is one of the most noted landmarks on the Humboldt Desert. At this place we rested a day and consulted as to the best course to pursue in order to reach the Humboldt, or, as it was then called, Ogden's River. The result of the council was that we agreed to separate, one party to travel eastward and the other to pursue a more southerly direction.
    In pursuance of the plan decided on at Black Rock, on the morning of July 14th, we separated into two parties; eight men starting out in a southerly direction and seven men, including myself, towards the east. The country before us appeared very much like the dry bed of a lake. Scarcely a spear of vegetation could be seen, and the whole country was white with alkali. After traveling about fifteen miles we began to discover dim rabbit trails running in the same direction in which we were traveling. As we advanced the trails became more plain, and there were others constantly coming in, all pointing in the general direction toward a ledge of granite boulders which we could see before us. Approaching the ledge, which was the first granite we had seen since leaving Rogue River Valley, we could see a green mound where all the trails seemed to enter, and on examining the place closely we found a small hole in the top of the mound, in which a little puddle of water stood within a few inches of the surface. This was a happy discovery, for we were already suffering considerably for want of water, and our horses were well nigh exhausted. The day had been an exceedingly hot one and the heat reflected from the shining beds of alkali had been very oppressive. The alkali water at Black Rock had only given us temporary relief --our thirst was really more intense from having used it. Unpacking our horses, we staked them in the bunchgrass about the granite ledge, and began digging down after the little vein of water which formed the puddle in the rabbit hole. The water seemed to be confined to a tough clay or muck which came near the surface in the center of the mound, thus preventing it from wasting away in the sand. Digging down in this clay we made a basin large enough to hold several gallons and by dark we had quite a supply of good pure water. We then began issuing it to our horses, a little at a time, and by morning men and horses were considerably refreshed. Great numbers of rabbits came around us and we killed all we wanted of them. This is the place always since known as the Rabbit Hole Springs.
    Looking eastward, on the morning of July 15th, from the elevated table lands upon which we then were, we saw vast clouds of smoke, completely shutting out the distant landscape. The wind, blowing almost constantly from the southwest, kept the smoke blown away so that we could get a tolerably good view towards the south. Our wish was to continue our course eastward, but the country, as far as we could see in that direction, being a barren plain, we concluded to follow the granite ledge, which extended in a southeasterly direction from the spring, believing the chances of finding water would be better by following that route. The smoke, as we afterwards learned, was caused by the burning of peat beds along the Humboldt River, the stream we were now wishing to find, though we had no correct idea of the distance we would have to travel in order to reach it, nor of the difficulties to be encountered. Pursuing our way along the ridge, searching everywhere carefully for water, at about eleven o'clock a.m. we observed the rabbit trails all leading in the same direction, and following the course indicated, we found a basin in the side of a rock large enough to hold a few gallons of water. Into this basin the water oozed from a crevice in the rock, very slowly, so that when the basin was emptied it was a long time filling. There was no way of improving this spring, for whenever the basin was full and the water running over, it would waste in the loose gravel and sand, and we did not get a sufficiency of it for ourselves and horses until late at night. Appearances indicated that it was a great resort for Indians, though there did not seem to be any in the vicinity while we were there. During the afternoon and evening, great numbers of little birds came for water, and were so tame that we could almost put our hands on them.
    On the morning of July 16th, we proceeded along the ridge for four or five miles and came to quite a large spring, but so strongly impregnated with alkali that we could only use it in making coffee. Here we rested an hour or so while our horses grazed. This morning we passed over a country abounding in quartz. At this spring our granite ridge terminated, and before us was a vast desert plain, without a spear of vegetation, and covered with an alkaline efflorescence which glittered beneath the scorching rays of the sun. The heat was intense as we rode slowly out to the eastward upon the great plain. After we had traveled a few miles, we observed what was supposed to be a lake, even fancying that we could see the waves upon its surface, but after riding in that direction awhile, we discovered that it was only one of those optical illusions so often experienced on the desert. Next, we saw what we supposed to be a clump of willows to the eastward and rode in that direction with all possible dispatch, but, on nearing the place, we discovered, to our intense disappointment, that it was only a pile of black volcanic rocks, fifteen or twenty feet high. The sun was now getting quite low, and the heat was somewhat abating, yet it remained quite hot as we rode a few miles to the eastward on the desert. As night closed in upon us we selected our camping place in a little sag where there were some strong sage bushes growing. To these we tied our horses securely, for, as there was not a blade of grass and they were suffering for water, we knew they would leave us, should they break away from their fastenings. The only camp duty we had to perform that night was to spread our blankets down upon the loose sand. Then we stretched ourselves upon them, with little hope of rest, for our thirst had by that time become intense; worse, no doubt, from reason of our having drunk the strong alkali water that morning. Our reflections that night were gloomy in the extreme. Even if we could have heard the cry of a night bird or the familiar note of a coyote it would have given us encouragement, for it would have indicated the presence of water somewhere in the vicinity; but not a sound was heard during the livelong night except our own voices and the restless tramp of the half-famished horses.
    As we started out on the morning of July 17th to the eastward we could see only a short distance on account of the dense clouds of smoke which enveloped the country. We spent much of the day in searching in various places for water and at about four o'clock in the afternoon we came to some ledges of rock. They afforded a shelter from the scorching rays of the sun, and we halted to rest for a while as some of the party were now so exhausted that they could scarcely ride. From the top of the rocks we could discern a small greenish spot on the desert, five or six miles distant, and, hoping to find water there, we decided to ride towards it. Robert Smith was now suffering severely from a pain in the head, and, as he was not able to ride, we were compelled to leave him under the rocks, with the understanding that he would follow us as soon as he felt able to ride. After going four or five miles, we beheld a horseman approaching us. This soon proved to be John Jones, one of the party who left us at Black Rock on the morning of the 14th. He had found water at the place we were making for, and, in searching for the rest of his party, had accidentally fallen in with us. We of course made a "stampede" for the water. On our arrival there two of the party, filling a large horn with water, started on their return with it to Smith. They met him on the way, hanging on to the horn of his saddle, while his horse was following our trail. By the time they returned the other party also arrived, so that, at about six p.m., we found ourselves all together again. The other party had fared almost as badly as we had, not having had any water since ten o'clock in the forenoon of the day before.
    Although a godsend to us, this water was almost as bad as one could imagine. It was in the bed of a little alkali lake, thickly studded with reeds. There were about four inches of strong alkali water resting upon a bed of thin mud, and it was so warm and nauseating that it was impossible for some of the party to retain a stomachfull very long at a time. It was a grand relief to our poor horses to have an abundance of water and grass once more, and, tired as they were, they worked busily all night upon the reeds and grasses about the little lake. Much exhausted, we retired early, and arose considerably refreshed the next morning.
    On the morning of July 18, our course was nearly southeast along the edge of a vast level plain to our right. Immense columns of smoke were still rising in front of us, and at about ten or eleven o'clock we came to places where peat bogs were on fire. These fires extended for miles along the valley of the Humboldt River, for we were now in the near vicinity of that stream, and at noon had the great satisfaction of encamping upon its banks. We found this sluggish stream about thirty feet wide, and the water strongly alkaline and of a milky hue. Along its banks were clumps of willows, affording us an abundance of fuel, and as there was plenty of grass for our horses, our camp was a good one. Since leaving Rabbit Hole Springs we had traveled much too far south of our course to satisfy us, and our desire was now to travel up the Humboldt until we should reach a point nearly east of Black Rock, and endeavor to find a route for the road more directly on our old course.
    On July 19, we traveled perhaps twenty miles in a northeasterly direction along the river bottom, and encamped. The next day, July 20, we pursued our way along the river, on a good, easy route, making about the same distance as the day before. On the 21st we continued our march up the river and at noon came to a point where the river bottom widened out into quite an extensive meadow district. From this point we could see what appeared to be a low pass through the ridge on the west, through which was a channel of a tributary of the Humboldt, now dry. Here we decided to encamp and send out a party to examine the country towards Black Rock.
    We had nothing in which to carry water but a large powder horn, so we thought it best not to risk sending out too large a party. On the morning of the 22nd of July, Levi Scott and William Parker left us, and, following the dry channel of the stream for about fifteen miles, they came to a beautiful spring of pure water. Here they passed the night, and the next day, July 23rd, they ascended by a very gradual route to the table lands to the westward, and within about fifteen miles of their camp of the previous night they entered quite a grassy district from which they could plainly see Black Rock. Exploring the country about them carefully they found the Rabbit Hole Springs. The line of our road was now complete. We had succeeded in finding a route across the desert and on to the Oregon settlements, with camping places at suitable distances, and, since we knew the source of the Humboldt River was near Fort Hall, we felt that our enterprise was already a success, and that immigrants could be able to reach Oregon late in the season with far less danger of being snowed in than on the California route down the Humboldt and over the Sierra Nevadas. The sequel proved that we were correct in this opinion, for this same fall the Donner Party, in endeavoring to cross the Sierras, were snowed in, suffered the most indescribable horrors, and about half of them perished.
    The Humboldt Meadows affording us a splendid camping place, we concluded to remain there and recruit our jaded animal* for a few days before pursuing our journey farther.
    Our object was to locate the road direct from near the head of the Humboldt to Bear River, leaving Fort Hall forty or sixty miles to the northward. Our stock of provisions being almost exhausted, we decided to dispatch a party, with the strongest animals, to Fort Hall at once for supplies. while the rest of us would move along more slowly, making such improvements on the road as seemed necessary. and perhaps reaching the head of the river in time to meet the Fort Hall party there on its return. Accordingly, on the morning of the 25th of July, Jesse Applegate, Moses Harris, Henry Boygus, David Goff and John Owens left us for Fort Hall. The place decided on for the reunion of the party was known as Hot Spring or Thousand Spring Valley, on the Humboldt. I shall not undertake, after this date, to give a detailed statement of our experiences until the conclusion of our journey in the fall, only mentioning the most important incidents of the long and wearisome campaign.
    The journey up the Humboldt, through a country so uniformly alike the entire distance, was quite monotonous. The sluggish stream, fringed with willows on either side, flowed through a narrow valley bounded by dry volcanic ridges, gradually increased in volume as we advanced towards its source, as the water wastes away in the dry, sandy region through which it flows. Like the Nile, this stream rises sufficiently every year to overflow and fertilize its valley, so that it produces the finest grass. Since 1843, immigrants had occasionally traveled down this stream to its sink, and had thence crossed the high, snowy range of the Sierra Nevada, from Truckee run via Donner Lake to the Sacramento Valley; and as we proceeded up the river we frequently met small parties, like ourselves, sunburned and covered with alkali dust, and worn and wearied by the long and difficult journey.
    Game was our principal dependence for food, and this we found exceedingly scarce along the Humboldt, and the thousands of Indians who inhabited the valley at this season seemed to subsist chiefly upon grasshoppers and crickets, which were abundant.
    One day, during our march through this country, Capt. Scott and myself, leaving the party on the west side, crossed the river for the purpose of hunting, and, while pursuing a band of antelope, came upon wagon tracks leading away from the river towards a rocky gulch among the hills, two or three miles distant. Several wagons seemed to have been in the train, and on either side of the plain tracks made by the wagon wheels in the loose sand were numerous barefoot tracks. Following the trail into the mouth of the gulch, we found where the wagons had been burned, only the ruins being left among the ashes. We found no human remains, yet the evidences were plain that a small train of immigrants had been taken here not a great while before, and that they had perished at the hands of their bloodthirsty captors, not one having escaped to recite the awful tale of horror. Possibly the bodies of the victims had been thrust into the river. Possibly the drivers had been compelled to drive their teams across the sage plains into this wild ravine, here to be slaughtered and their bodies burned. By a more extended search along the river and among the hills, we might possibly have found some of the bodies of the victims, and might have obtained some clue as to who the ill-fated immigrants were, but even this was not practicable at the time, and we could only hurry on with sad hearts to overtake the train far up the river.
    On the 5th of August, we reached Hot Spring Valley, having traveled, as nearly as we could judge, about two hundred miles along the river. On the 10th the Fort Hall party returned to us with a supply of provisions, and on the 11th we turned our faces towards our homes, which we judged to be eight or nine hundred miles distant.
    Before the party of five reached Fort Hall, one of them, young Boygus, hearing that a son of Capt. Grant, commander of Fort Hall, had recently started for Canada, via St. Louis, concluded to leave the party and, by forced marches, endeavor to overtake Grant, as he was anxious to return to his home in Missouri. Boygus was brave and determined, and expecting to meet immigrants occasionally; he set out alone on his hazardous undertaking. We never heard of him afterwards, and his fate has always remained a mystery. There was, perhaps, truth in the report current afterwards that his gun and horses were seen in the possession of an Indian at Fort Hall, and it is most likely that he was followed by Indians from the very moment he left his companions and slain, as many a poor fellow has been while all alone upon the great plains.
    At Fort Hall the party of four met with a considerable train of immigrants, with some of whom they were acquainted, who decided to come to Oregon by way of our route. This train closely followed our companions on their return, and reached Hot Spring Valley before our departure. Before starting on the morning of July 11th, a small party of young men from the immigrant train generously volunteered to accompany us and assist in opening the road. These were: Thomas Powers, Burges, Shaw, Carnahan, Alfred Stewart, Charles Putnam, and two others whose names I now disremember. A Bannock Indian, from about the head of Snake River, also joined us. This increased our road party to twenty-one men, exclusive of Scott and Goff, who remained to guide and otherwise assist the immigrants on their way to Oregon.
    Nothing worthy of mention occurred during our return along the valley of the Humboldt, and not until we left the river and proceeded westward towards Black Rock. The first night after leaving the river we spent at the spring found by Scott and Parker, on the 22nd of July. This we called Diamond Spring. Reaching this point about noon, we spent several hours in digging out a basin at the spring, which soon filled with pure, cold water.
    Fifteen miles' travel the next day over a good route brought us at noon to the Rabbit Hole Springs. We soon improved this spring considerably, and, at about two p.m., took up our line of march for Black Rock, which we reached at nightfall. After we were out two or three miles from Diamond Springs this morning, our Bannock Indian discovered that he had left his butcher knife and, tying his pony to a sagebrush, started back to the spring on a run, supposing he could easily overtake us, as we would be delayed considerably at Rabbit Hole Springs; at any rate, he would have no trouble in following our trail. We saw him no more, and conjectured that he must have fallen a prey to the Diggers, who continually shadowed us as we traveled through their country, always ready to profit by any advantage given them.
    No circumstances worthy of mention occurred on the monotonous march from Black Rock to the timbered regions of the Cascade chain; then our labors became quite arduous. Every day we kept guard over the horses while we worked the road, and at night we dared not cease our vigilance, for the Indians continually hovered about us, seeking for advantage. By the time we had worked our way through the mountains to the Rogue River Valley, and then through the Grave Creek Hills and Umpqua chain, we were pretty thoroughly worn out. Our stock of provisions had grown very short, and we had to depend, to a great extent, for sustenance upon game. Road working, hunting and guard duty had taxed our strength greatly, and on our arrival in the Umpqua Valley, knowing that the greatest difficulties in the way of immigrants had been removed, we decided to proceed at once to our home in the Willamette. There we arrived on the 3rd day of October, 1846, having been absent three months and thirteen days. During all this time our friends had heard nothing from us, and realizing the dangerous character of our expedition, many believed in the news which some time before reached them that we had all been murdered by the Indians.
    As soon as we could possibly make the arrangement, we sent out a party with oxen and horses to meet the immigrants and aid them in reaching the Willamette settlements. For this assistance we made no demand, nor did we tax them for the use of the road, as was alleged by parties inimical to our enterprise. It had been the distinct understanding that the road should be free, and the consciousness of having opened a better means of access to the country than was afforded by the expensive and dangerous route down the Columbia, which we had tried to our sorrow, would be ample compensation for all our labors and hardships in opening the South road.
    Of course our enterprise was opposed by that mighty monopoly, the Hudson's Bay Company, whose line of forts and trading posts on the Columbia afford them rare opportunities for trade with the immigrants. Many of the immigrants who followed us during the fall of 1846 had a hard time, though not as hard as they would likely have experienced on the other route; and some of them, not understanding the situation fully, became infected with the spirit of persecution, which had its origin with the Hudson's Bay Company, and joined in charging us with leading the travel away from the northern route for purposes of personal speculation. Certain members of the party were singled out to bear the burden of persecution, whereas, if any member of the party was animated by improper motives in seeking to open the road, all were equally guilty, as the party was governed in all its proceedings by a majority vote of its members.
    The efforts of the Hudson's Bay Company to put down the road proved an eminent failure. Its superior advantages were better and better known and appreciated every year. It never ceased to be an important route of travel, and a large portion of the population of our state entered by this channel. It is a very significant fact that the great thoroughfare of today, from the Willamette to the Siskiyou chain, and thence out through the lake country and on to the Humboldt, departs rarely from the route blazed out by the road company thirty-two years ago.
    Those who are conversant with the facts know that that portion of the route from the Humboldt to the lake country presents no serious obstacles in the way of the construction of a railroad, and had the Central Pacific company located their road on that route, from Humboldt as far as Goose Lake, and thence down Pit River to the Sacramento Valley, they would doubtless have saved millions of money in the original cost of the road, as well as in keeping it in order, since the snowfall would never have been seriously in the way, even in the severest winters.
    In conclusion, I will recall the names of the road company, with a few facts relative to their history. I regret that it is not practicable to make this record more ample, but the company was made up, almost to a man, of active, energetic characters, who were not satisfied with a quiet, spiritless life, and many of them long ago were lost to the little community, "over in Polk," where they first settled, as they moved to other portions of the state or went out into adjacent territories to seek their fortunes. Under the circumstances, it has been impracticable to learn the whereabouts of some of them, or to gather such facts relative to their later history as would amplify and add interest to their biographies. Perhaps few companies of men ever performed such a campaign without repeated quarrels and even serious altercations, but the members of the Old South Road Company bore together the trials and privations of the expedition with a "forgiving and forbearing" spirit, and their mutual burdens and the dangers to which they were exposed, continually developed and strengthened their friendship. A reunion of them, were such a thing practicable, would be a season of peculiar joy, one to be remembered by the veteran survivors with pleasure, until they, too, shall pass away into the great unknown.
    Capt. Levi Scott, a native of Illinois, came to Oregon in 1844, from near Burlington, Iowa. He was in the early days quite a prominent man in Oregon affairs. He was a member of the State constitutional convention. Capt. Scott located Scottsburg, on the Umpqua River. He is now over eighty years of age, and, I believe, resides in Lane County.
    John Jones, usually known as "Jack" Jones, the wag of the south road expedition, came to Oregon from Missouri in 1843. Since then, he has been quite a wanderer. For many years he resided in California, and, if living, is now in Idaho, I believe. Native state, Missouri.
    John Owens crossed the plains in 1843 from Missouri. He was, I think, a native of that state. Have no knowledge of his whereabouts.
    Henry Boygus came from Missouri in 1843. He was a fine-looking, jovial and intelligent young man, and we were all much attached to him. Was probably murdered by Indians, near Fort Hall, after he left us in 1846 to return to his home in Missouri. Native state, Missouri.
    William Sportsman crossed the plains in 1845, from Missouri, which was, I think, his native state. He left Oregon in 1847, and I have no knowledge of his whereabouts.
    Samuel Goodhue, a native of New York, came to Oregon in 1844. He afterwards became a son-in-law of Davidson, the old pioneer, and a number of years resided about Salem. When I last heard of him, he was in Ohio.
    Robert Smith came to Oregon in 1843 from Missouri. Native state, Virginia. He now resides at the head of the Yoncalla Valley, in Douglas County. Mr. Smith is a son-in-law of Charles Applegate, and brother to Mrs. Governor Chadwick.
    Moses Harris, called "Black Harris," came to Oregon in 1844 from the Rocky Mountains, where he had been a scout and trapper for many years. He spoke the Snake language fluently, and was of great service to us on the plains. He returned to the States in 1847, as guide to Dr. White, the Superintendent of Indian Affairs in Oregon, and died in Independence, Mo.
    John Scott, a son of Capt. Levi Scott, came to Oregon with his father in 1844. He now resides near Dallas, Polk County, Oregon.
    William G. Parker, a native of Missouri, came to Oregon in 1843. He resided many years in California, but is now a resident of Lake County, Oregon, and keeps the Half-Way House, on the road from Ashland to Linkville. Mr. Parker is a son-in-law of Capt. Solomon Tetherow, the old mountain man, and a brother to Mrs. Jesse Applegate.
    David Goff came to Oregon from Missouri in 1845. He resided in Polk County, Oregon, until his death, which occurred, I believe, in 1874, and was universally respected. He was the father-in-law of Gen. J. W. Nesmith.
    Benjamin F. Burch came to Oregon from his native state, Missouri, in 1845. Mr. Burch has long been a prominent man in Oregon affairs. He now resides at Salem, and is Superintendent of the State Penitentiary.
    Jesse Applegate was born in Kentucky, and came to Oregon in 1843. He now resides on Mount Yoncalla, in Douglas County, Oregon.
    Lindsay Applegate, also a native of Kentucky, came to Oregon in 1843. Now a resident of Ashland, Jackson County, Oregon.
    With the consciousness that I have endeavored faithfully and impartially, though briefly, to relate the history of the South Road expedition, I close this narrative, hoping that my effort to preserve this much of this history of the early days may inspire other "old timers" to relate their experiences also. I am fully aware that memory is uncertain, and that a number of errors may have occurred in my narrative from this reason, but I place it before the people with confidence that it is, in the main, correct. In doing so, I ask no other reward for the labor of the preparation than that its perusal may cause the people to think more kindly of the old pioneers.
Oregon Historical Quarterly, March 1921, pages 12-45.  Originally printed in the West Shore, beginning September 1, 1877, page 16; reprinted in the Ashland Tidings, beginning October 26, 1877, page 1. Later serialized in the Capital Journal, Salem, beginning April 15, 1926, page 1. A brief biography of Lindsay Applegate appears on page 9 of that issue.

Fort Hall, Snake River
    August 9, 1846.
Dear Brother:
    I arrived here yesterday alone and on foot from the Willamette Valley at the head of a party to meet the emigration. We left our homes on Willamette the 22nd June last to explore a southern route into that valley from the U. S. After much labor and suffering we succeeded in our object though it occupied us so long that a part of the emigrants had passed our place of intersection with the old road before we could possibly reach it.
    The new route follows the California road about 350 miles from here; it then leaves Ogden's or Mary's river and enters Oregon by the way of the Klamath Lakes, Rogue River, Umpqua and the head of the Willamette Valley--it shortens the road--avoids the dangers of Snake & Columbia rivers and passes S. of the Cascade Mts.--there is almost every place plenty of grass and water & every wagon, ox or cow may enter Oregon.
    I would give you a more lengthy description of this road if I had time or opportunity but I cannot escape the importunities of the emigrants who are pursuing me into every room of the fort and besieging me with endless questionings on all possible subjects--so much am I confused that I scarce know what I have written or wish to write. Suffice it to say that we fully succeeded in our object though not a man of us had ever been in the country before--of your acquaintances, Lindsay [Applegate], David Goff, B. F. Burch & Wm. Sportsman were with me. I am pleased with Mr. Burch; he is a good boy and of correct principles--as he may not reach here in time to write tell his father that he is well and well pleased with the country and if the opportunity presented itself intended coming on to Missouri after him this fall--but as his horses were very tired when I left the balance of the company and I hear of no party going back I expect he will return with us to Willamette.
    I met Larkin Stanley going to California & Oregon who told me you were coming to Oregon next year; if it is so I am glad to hear it--and gladder still that I have assisted in finding a new route. I believe I have no reason to change any part of the directions I gave you last spring. It is a pity you have not come sooner to Oregon. Gov. Boggs and almost all the respectable portion of the California emigrants are going on the new road to Oregon, and nearly all the respectable emigrants that went last year to California came this spring to Oregon--and as long as you are actually coming I venture to say that "you never will regret it." I am better pleased every day. I would write and wish to write much to you but at present I have no opportunity; the emigrants will give me no peace.
    Capt. Grant has done his best to give me an opportunity to write but all in vain. Speaking of Capt. Grant reminds me of a favor I have to request of you and Betsy. Capt. Grant, the gentleman in charge of Fort Hall, has two sons and a daughter at school in Canada; he wishes them to come to Fort Hall next year with the emigration. He says his son, a young man of 20 or thereabouts, with little experience in the world, is his only dependence to bring his daughter a girl of 15 and a younger brother over the mountains. He appears anxious to place his daughter in the care of some respectable lady who is coming to this country.
    Now if Betsy will take the girl under her protection and you will see to the comfort and safety of the sons, you will confer a great favor upon me, and serve a gentleman to whom I owe many obligations, not only for kindnesses extended towards myself, but for the assistance he daily renders to the emigrants to Oregon. If you are coming next spring to Oregon and will take charge of these young people, write to Richard Grant Jr. (care of Phillip Burns esq., Three Rivers, Lower Canada) when and where to meet you which it would be better probably your own house before you leave, as in that case you could see that they were properly prepared for the journey.
    If I have the opportunity I will write more.
Jesse Applegate
Dale Howell Morgan, Overland in 1846: Diaries and Letters of the California-Oregon Trail, Vol. II, Talisman Press, 1963, pages 634-636

To the Future Emigrants to Oregon
Fort Hall, Snake River
    August 10, 1846
    The undersigned are happy to inform you that a southern route to the Willamette has just been explored, and a portion of the emigration of the present year are now upon the road. Owing to unavoidable delays, the exploring party did not arrive at the forks of the road until some of the front companies of the emigrants were passed, perhaps eighty or one hundred wagons.
    The new route follows the road to California about 320 miles from this place, and enters the Oregon Territory by the way of the Klamath Lake, passes through the splendid valleys of the Rogue and Umpqua rivers, and enters the valley of the Willamette near its southeastern extremity.
    The advantage gained to the emigrant by this route is of the greatest importance--the distance is considerably shortened, the grass and water plenty, the sterile regions and dangerous crossings of the Snake and Columbia rivers avoided, as well as the Cascade Mountain--he may reach his place of destination with his wagon and property in time to build a cabin and sow wheat before the rainy season. This road has been explored, and will be opened at the expense of the citizens of Oregon, and nothing whatever demanded of the emigrants.
    Gov. Boggs and party, with many other families of respectability, have changed their destination, and are now on their way to Oregon. Some of the emigrants intend stopping in the Umpqua Valley--which, though not so large, is quite equal to the Willamette for fertility.
    A waybill, fully describing the road, will be prepared and sent to the United States, or to Fort Hall, for the use of the emigration of 1847, and no pilots will be required.
    The exploring party left the upper settlements of the Willamette on the 25th of June last, crops were most promising, and farmers in high spirits. They met a large emigration from California, consisting of the Hon. Felix Scott, late of St. Charles County, Missouri, and many others who left the United States. They give a decided preference to Oregon over California
    The exploring party consists of John Jones, John Scott, Robert Smith, John Owen, Samuel Goodhue, Henry Boggs, Wm. Sportsman, Jesse Applegate, Levi Scott, David Goff, Lindsay Applegate, Moses Harris, Wm Parker, Benj. Osborne, Benj. F. Birch.
    Editors in Missouri, Illinois and Iowa friendly to the prosperity of Oregon will please insert the foregoing communication.
Jesse Applegate
Dale Howell Morgan, Overland in 1846: Diaries and Letters of the California-Oregon Trail, Vol. II, Talisman Press, 1963, pages 637-638.  The letter was excerpted in the Indiana State Sentinel, November 21, 1846, page 1, the Indiana American, November 6, 1846, page 3, and the New York Daily Tribune, October 27, 1846, page 1, among many others.

    Leaving Fort Hall [in 1846] we traveled down Snake River, passing the American Falls. There we met a company from Oregon, Mr. Applegate, Goff, Scott and others; this company turned many of the emigrants on to what is called the Southern Route to Oregon, and when we come to the fork roads, I to my sorrow took the Southern Route. This for a distance was the California road; it passed through the Warm Spring Valley and so on to the Humboldt River which in many places was dry; other places it was running a little. This is a dry barren country; willow and sagebrush was our dependence for fuel. By this time many of the emigrants began to suffer, an abundance of sickness and destitution, Martin Hoover still growing worse; sometimes of a morning all hands that was able went after cattle, leaving no strong men about camp, so in order to get Hoover from the tent to the wagon I would get on my hands and knees and he would crawl on to my back and I crawl along holding to the wagon tongue until I got to the wagon and so help him in, but poor man he was not long to remain with us. He was a good fellow, just as good as could be in every particular; he was moral and had good looks with him. Sickness and suffering increase. We traveled down the Humboldt to within a short distance of the Sink; here the Oregon road turns to the right and we enter the great desert. All credit is due Mr. Goff, who remained back to assist and cheer the hind part of the emigration, while credit is equally due to Mr. Levi Scott, who kept in the advance as pilot, and also doing all in his power to assist in opening the road, and doing everything that he could to assist the emigrants. Mr. Applegate left soon after turning that portion of the emigration that followed him, saying that he would send assistance from the Willamette to open the road, which if he did I never knew it. He sent provision to meet the emigrants, which he sold to them at a very high price. I will here remark that upon one occasion Mr. Scott and I was in advance with our axes opening the road; he remarked to me with tears in his eyes and said he would have to leave, that his life was in danger, which I did not think was altogether correct. True, he and others was the cause of our misfortune, but he did all he could to help us. I knew the emigration was terribly enraged, often swearing they would take Applegate's life on sight, but I thought no violence would be committed on the person of Mr. Scott. I said to Mr. Scott, he must not leave, that the lives of the emigration was in his hands; he was the only man that could take us out of the mountains, that while I had a bite of bread I would divide with him, and if I got to the valley I would do my part in remunerating him. So like a gentleman he remained until the front wagon got into the Willamette Valley. I think I fully satisfied him for all his trouble, as for me some time afterward I saw an article in the Spectator which acknowledged the receipt of $21.00 from one emigrant, which was all that he had received for piloting in the emigration of 'forty-six. I knew very well that I paid that $21.00. Where we left Humboldt the river was dry, but by digging holes in the sand we got water, all that had kegs filled them, but there was but few that had them. We now take the desert early in the morning, traveling all day; in the afternoon Mr. Scott sent me ahead, to save all the water that could be saved at a very weak spring there was ahead of us, and while I was damming the water my son David came up and said Martin Hoover was dead, this was my hand, that he died in the wagon as it was moving, that his ma did not know it, she being in the other wagon. About sundown the train came up. We buried the man immediately, got a bite of supper and started on a night drive, getting no water to amount to much. The moon is now about full and we traveled all night. Up to this time my wife had been as stout and rugged as she could be. I cannot see how we could have got along had it been otherwise. The wind being very cold during the night she took a cold, losing the entire use of herself except one limb. Now I had trouble, my wife having lost the use of her limbs and myself very feeble. Many times as she lay in the wagon and could not turn over I was so weak I could not do it only by getting my shoulder as near under her as I could with my hips against the wagon body, and by this means would partly turn her. We got to Rabbit [Hole] Springs about 10 o'clock a.m.; these springs are some holes in the ground about four feet deep, the water dribbling in these holes no faster than a man could drink, so we got no water to amount to much here, and now both stock and people began to suffer most terribly. One thing I remember that was a little funny and not very funny either, Mr. Lancefield, who was my old neighbor in Missouri and my traveling companion had a dog with him he called Queen. As we passed [through] the desert we passed many dead cattle left by those ahead. When we would come to one not quite dead Lancefield would say "Queen," and Queen would take the animal by the nose, and often the animal would make a desperate effort and rise. This would make a great laugh, but the poor animal would give a low moan and fall down. It would seem astonishing that we could laugh over such suffering, especially not knowing but the next hour it would be our fate to lose our team. And now my pen cannot describe the suffering, both of people and animals. We traveled that day, and the next night at 2 o'clock a.m. we came to a hot spring, at the Black Rock. The spring was very deep and about twenty feet in diameter and would cook meat in a few minutes, but we went down the branch and found it cool enough to use. Everything bore the marks of intense volcanic action. A little above the spring was a black-looking mountain which was black rock; it looked like a mass of black cinders, while at its base were fragments of lava and cinders, resembling those of a blacksmith forge. Here desolation reigned around to the fullest extent, the desert and mountains were all the eye could view beyond the little oasis where our almost famished cattle were feeding. We moved on a short distance to another oasis and in about five miles another with plenty of water and grass. Sickness of the train continued, and many deaths. The hardship of Thomas Crowley of Polk County, Missouri was immense. The family when it started was large, but before it got in the valley was reduced to but very few. His daughter Lelona I helped to bury on Grave Creek, afterward changed by the Legislature to Lelona [Leland] in remembrance of Lelona Crowley that was buried on that creek by the emigration of 1846. Mr. Crowley died at the foot of the Calapooia Mountain. After leaving Black Rock we continued westwardly over bad rocky roads; many places the wagons did not make a track, other places it was sandy desert, with an occasional oasis. Here we came to one of the most remarkable curiosities among the mountains. It was a canon or narrow pass through the mountains just wide enough for a smooth level road. In going down into the canon the hill was so steep that one wagon with all its wheels locked fell over forward on the team. When we got down then looking up the perpendicular wall on either side four or five hundred feet high, it was truly frightful. We traveled down the canon some twenty miles. Sometimes the rock on either side would get lower, then higher again. In ascending the hill on leaving the canon we found as before a rocky country. We are now in sight of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and on approaching one of the spurs of the Sierra to our great joy we did not find it difficult to ascend. Crossing over we soon found ourselves at Goose Lake. Here the Indians made a break on us, killing several head of our cattle and driving off quite a number, leaving many wagons almost without a team. Here my old friend Mr. Lancefield lost several of his oxen but supplied the place with cows. Passing Goose Lake we soon came to the river with a natural bridge, then Klamath Lake. The Indians yet remaining troublesome, here they killed my teamster. The teamster had pleurisy in his side and could not ride in the wagon. I tried to get him to ride, but he said the jolting of the wagon hurt his side. One evening he had fallen behind the train. I was terribly alarmed at him for doing so and scolded him much, telling him of the danger. The next day he did it again, the Indians came on him and filled him full of arrows, then stripped him of his clothing. This was on Klamath Lake. We crossed the Klamath River just at the outlet of the lake at a very rocky ford. Next was the Siskiyou Mountains, which was heavily timbered. And a great job it was to cut a road across, but we had a long way back provisioned and sent young men ahead to open the road, so we got over the mountain quite well. One incident that transpired here I will speak of. On one occasion in the mountain we had to make a dry camp; the next day was a drive of about four miles and a good camp, but one of my cows was missing. We knew that the Indians were all around us doing all the mischief they could, yet my old friend Mr. Lancefield and I took our rifles; I filled my mouth with bullets, if he did not he had everything convenient for loading, and in Daniel Boone style we returned to our old camp. We had scarcely got out of sight of where the train was camped when we found plenty of Indian tracks in the dust of the road we had made a few hours before, so we kept a sharp watch for Indians I assure you. We intended to have the first fire if there was any show, but the Indians kept so hid that we saw none, although we went back to and around our old encampment in search for our lost cow, but did not find her and returned, supposing the Indians had captured her. But next morning the lost cow was on hand. Leaving the Siskiyou Mountains we descended into the Rogue River Valley, the Indians yet remaining troublesome. At our camp near what is called the point of rocks, when we started in the morning, and the wagons fairly strung out, the Indians made a raid on our loose cattle, but was so well defended by our cattle drivers that the Indians only killed one cow. A dispatch being sent to the front, the wagons were soon put in order for defense and the teamsters returned to have a jolly old time, but the Indians had skedaddled. That night I dreamed the Indians met us at the crossing of Rogue River, and we sent over some horsemen and drove the Indians back. I told my dream to my wife in the morning, and it became true to the letter. The Indians held the opposite shore; we sent over a number of horsemen who fired several shots. I saw Indians when I got over, and my wagon was about the fourth wagon; in crossing our train was about a hundred wagons strong. Here is another little incident. On one occasion in those mountains the train was late getting into camp. We camped near a very pretty branch; my old friend John D. Woods, who started with me from my home in Missouri, stepped down to the branch a little after dark to get a pail of water, but quickly returned pretty badly frightened, stating that as he went to dip his water zip-zip went some arrows by his head; at that moment a flintlock gun snapped in a few feet of him. We were soon called to arms, and let the Indians know that we were on the alert. We discharged a few volleys, which made the mountains fairly ring. The Indians went off a short distance and with their old musket fired a few rounds; this ended the fight. Sickness yet continues, the health of my wife gradually improves, and so does my own. We now approach the much-dreaded Umpqua Canon. We had taken the precaution to send a good many young men ahead to open the road. Those young men deserve much credit for their hard and laborious work, both in the Siskiyou Mountains and Umpqua Canon. As we have said we was a hundred wagons strong; this was a large train, and as we made a corral with our wagons every night in order to defend ourselves against the Indians, and it was very convenient to keep our oxen together in yoking, we were now within a few days' drive of the Canon, and the teams that went in front had the easiest time and there was some of the train who had a strong force, could yoke their oxen quick and turn out with their wagons, breaking the corral [and] making it very bad on those not ready. On one occasion as usual the corral was broken while many teams were yet unyoked and ladies engaged, some mending the gap where the corral was broken, others yoking up oxen, while their men were gathering up the cattle. I could yoke as soon as any, but on seeing the trouble I called out to those that had caused it, that they had not acted the gentleman, at the time saying to those that remained to keep quiet and we would make two companies, and we did so, the front company sending back and getting their loose cattle. We now have two trains and we moved on in this way until we came to the Canon, coming each night close together, and now comes a joke. We beat the other company at their own game. Both companies the last camp before entering the Canon as usual camped within sight of each other, but we did not let our cattle mix. We had to work several days on the Canon before we could venture in, so each company furnished their quota of men each day to work on the Canon, so my old friend Mr. Lancefield and I looked after each other's interest. When he would work I would look after his cattle, and when I worked he would look after mine, and it so happened that it was my turn to work the last day. Before starting in the morning I suggested to Mr. Lancefield that he should complain that the corral was getting very muddy and that he should give the wink and pretend as though he would move the corral. Said I, the other company is watching every motion, and said I there is a patch of grass right at the mouth of the Canon, sufficient for our cattle, and when you yoke to move corral move right into the mouth of the Canon. This would place our company in the front and give us the advantage in the morning, knowing that those wagons that got into the Canon first would be most likely to get through, so I went about my work and at the appointed hour, which was about sundown, sure enough our train camped in the mouth of the Canon. It so happened that when we got through work for the day that Capt. Vanderpool and I was returning, he was Capt. of the other company, and on our return as we neared the mouth of the Canon we heard wagons coming. He became terribly alarmed, saying he must hurry, for his corral was broken and his teams would be scattered, but on coming up he stopped suddenly, and looked, saying Garrison it is your company. By this time the corral was formed across the road, but left the way open on each side, but what tickled me most was he had been fairly beaten at his own game. Here let me refer to the great amount of suffering for food; many were entirely without, and the cry of children for bread came to our ears daily. None but those who have been in like condition or have been eyewitnesses can sympathize for the almost starving emigrant, shut up among the mountains without hope of relief. I think I would have had plenty to have done me through, but I could not hear children crying for bread without dividing, I divided by the cupful, and biscuit, until I was without. People starving will eat anything that can be eaten; among other heart-rending sights I saw one lady digging roots on which to subsist. Let me here speak of a personal case, and I might give the man's name, he is a good citizen, well off and a resident of Salem. As we was passing through the Umpqua Canon, my wife was sitting in the wagon eating a piece of bread. He looking wishful to her, she broke off a piece and handed to him, and he passed on. The next summer there was a camp meeting near Dayton, and though poor yet we did the best we could under the circumstances, and spread our tent on the ground. A stranger came and introduced himself to my wife, asking her if she knew him. She said she thought not. Well, said he, I am the man you gave the bread to in the Canon. I did not eat it, although I had ate none for twenty-one days. I took it, said he, to my sick children. When we were met with beef from the Willamette, I was on guard, and it seemed to me if it had saved a world I could not have kept from crying. We now enter the great Canon; the evening before however my brother Joseph met me. He and Enoch came to Oregon in 1843. He brought to my relief provisions, a yoke of fresh, fat cattle and a number of pack horses. I pray Almighty God that I may never forget the kindness of this brother. When morning came all hands at an early hour were ready for the Canon; my brother attached his fresh oxen to one of my wagons but said it was impossible for the wagons to go through the Canon. I put two yoke of my weak oxen to the other wagon and after sending the loose cattle all in the advance we started. The Canon was not more than twenty miles through, and we were five days in it, so you may judge the amount of trouble we had. Oh! how many cattle died by starvation and many wagons were broken all to pieces. Much of the way we had ropes fastened on the wagon and men holding by the ropes. Allow me here to speak of a joke. Quite a stream flowed through the Canon, and we traveled much of the way in its bed. We came to a horrible bad place at which place many wagons were broken. At the lower end of the terrible rapid over which we descended was the running gears of a good wagon. I knew the owner and supposed he had abandoned it for good, and it being public property and better than mine I laid all the front part of the running gears of one of my wagons and supplied the place from the abandoned wagon. A neighbor whose wagon was broken left his front wheels and took mine, and another came along who took the hind wheels of the abandoned wagon, and so all hands was well pleased with their bargain, and why not, for each had made his own trade, but now comes the joke. When the owner of the abandoned wagon got through the Canon he sold it to my old friend Perry Durbin who took the trouble off my hands in crossing the Missouri. Durbin took a yoke of oxen and started back for his wagon. When I met him I asked him where he was going with his oxen. He said he was going after a wagon he had bought of Mr. Tod, so I laughed. What is up said he. There, said I, is part of your wagon, but go on and get mine that I left and you shall have yours. All right, said he, so on he went with much difficulty. Finally he met my front wheels coming, so that was all right, but on he went after his hind wheels, and by the way making inquiries he found his hind wheels coming. So all his wagon and mine too was on the way out, but then the other poor fellows who had left parts of their wagons they were out of luck finally when we all got out. Then came the rub. I was ready to give up the part I had when Durbin got mine as he said he would do. He had some trouble in getting my wheels but succeeded, and the poor fellows that was out of luck had to make carts. All hands now out of the Canon, and by the way the Indians were now friendly, so we could travel as we pleased. By this time the health of my wife had improved so she could ride on horseback. My brother, having brought out pack horses, took my family except two boys and bid me goodbye, and here my heart ached. I thought possibly I should never see my wife again, as she could scarcely walk alone, but then we must do the best we could, and bidding her goodbye they went on, and I remained a few days to let my oxen rest. Finally my old friend Mr. Lancefield and I gathered up our cattle preparatory for an onward move, and just now I am waited on by a committee. The emigrants had held a meeting and notified me by the committee that they must have the fat oxen my brother left me to eat. I knew full well to resist was useless, so I begged them to accept a couple of heifers which I offered them. They kindly agreed to it, and my oxen were spared. By this time a large portion of the emigrants had got out of the Canon, and of course it made a large encampment. Here I learned there was a young man by the name of Garrison in camp and that he was from the valley, so like Joseph and Mary of old I made search and found him, and who should he be but my nephew from the valley. Sure enough he had come out to assist me, and let me say although I may never be able to reward my kind friends, yet I am sure that he who has said "inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren ye have done it also unto me," will not let them go unrewarded. Morning comes and we make the start. That day one of my oxen died, and in the evening I sent the boys back to take off some of the hide for ropes as I might need them in crossing the Umpqua. On the return of the boys they told me they found the dead ox and that the family of Mr. _____ was busily engaged cutting off some of the best pieces to cook. Mr. Lancefield's team was now very weak. I had six yoke of my oxen and one of my brothers, so when we would come to a bad place I would send relief to Lancefield and help him along. Finally we came to a horrible hill on the South Umpqua. After I got up the hill I sent back several yoke of oxen to bring up Lancefield but he refused any assistance, sending me word that I would kill my team, that he had concluded to abandon his wagon and try to pack his oxen. So I felt dreadful bad but had to go on and leave him. Not long after [that] I abandoned one of my wagons. We now travel alone until we came to the North Umpqua. This is quite a river. We came to it in the evening; there was a few wagons ahead  of us, and the Indians had assisted them in crossing, so when morning came I looked about but could find no Indians. One emigrant was camped on the opposite side a short distance below. I saw a canoe on his side. I hallowed to him to bring it over; he said he had nothing to eat and had no breakfast. I said to bring it over and I will give you your breakfast, so he brought it over. Soon quite a number of Indians came and I engaged them to ferry me over. I swam my oxen over, then with ropes I made a boat of the two canoes, placing a canoe on each side for the wheels to stand in. When I got to the opposite shore the hill was very steep to ascend, so I placed my oxen on the top of the hill then attached several log chains to the tongue of the wagon and then with the oxen pulled it up the hill, all over. We now moved onward over a handsome rich rolling country until we came to the Calapooia Mountain. There being no wagon road across the mountain and falling in with several other wagons we left them at the foot of the mountain, and all hands went to work to cut the road across, our old friend Mr. Scott the pilot yet remaining and working like a good fellow. It was several days before we got to the summit, but when we got the road opened up to it we returned and got our wagons and brought them to the summit, then took our cattle down into the Willamette Valley, and now for the first time I place my foot on the soil for which I had been so long traveling, that of the Willamette. We returned to the wagons, taking up flour with us which we purchased at the high price of Applegate. Here my brother Enoch Garrison met me to assist me, and let me say that [although] over twenty-five years have passed since, yet I have not forgotten the kindness of those relatives who came to my assistance and I hope I never shall, and Jeptha, as his father had come to my assistance, returned home taking with him my son David, and now my brother takes hold to help cut the road down the mountain, and it did appear to me he was able to do as much work as three of us. The fact is we were like our worn-out oxen, just alive and that was all. When we got the road cut we took up our oxen to where the wagons were left, and now I hear that my old friend Mr. Lancefield was camped at the foot of the mountain, and I was satisfied he was without flour so I took about twenty pounds on my shoulder and started down the mountain, a distance of about six miles, intending to carry it to him, weak as I was.. Here a man came up with a pack of flour taking out to sell to emigrants, so I returned and put my flour in my wagon and went down to the foot of the mountain with the packer, and the first camp I came to was Lancefield who bought what flour he wanted. He had failed in getting his oxen to pack so he spliced teams with Isaac Lebo and had worked his way along until he got to the foot of the mountain. I rendered him all the assistance I could in getting up the mountain, and this was the last I saw of him until I saw him at the Methodist mission farm on the Willamette. He and Mr. Lebo as soon as they struck the Willamette dug out a large canoe and leaving their wagon and cattle descended the river with their families. This I suppose was the first time the river had been navigated by a white man, so that all honor is due to those pioneers of 'forty-six for paddling the first craft that ever descended the Willamette from its source down to the mission farm. That is truly a feat that history should not lose sight of. I am now in the Willamette Valley and now I began to look for the valley called PARADISE OR THE GARDEN OF EDEN.
Albert Ellison Garrison, Life and Labour of Rev. A. E. Garrison, 1887, pages 27-43

By Fred Lockley
    If you have ever been in Salem you have probably heard of "the Pringle neighborhood," south of town. O. M. Pringle, for whose family it was named, lives in Portland, his home being at 925 East Burnside Street.
    "I was born in Warren County, Missouri, on March 12, 1831," said Mr. Pringle. "My father and mother were both born in New England. They went to Missouri in 1815, which in those days was considered the Far West. My mother's maiden name was Pherne Brown. She was the daughter of Tabitha Brown, who founded the Pacific University at Forest Grove.
    "My father and mother with their family of seven children started for Oregon on the 15th of April, 1846. My mother's brother, Orus Brown, had come out to Oregon in 1848 and returned in 1846 to get his mother, Tabitha Brown. There were 16 wagons in our company when we started from Warren County, and we were joined by 50 more wagons in Kansas. I was 14 years old, and the incidents of that trip are more vivid than any other part of my life.
    "At Fort Hall we were advised to take the southern route. About a hundred wagons left the main emigrant road at Fort Hall and went to the Thousand Springs, where we arrived on August 12, and met Captain Levi Scott and David Goff. Some young man from our party went ahead with Jesse Applegate to cut the trail and improve the road. We went by way of Humboldt, Diamond Springs and Rabbit Hole mountains. We crossed the Cascade mountains and entered the Rogue River Valley and came north through the Umpqua Valley. The Indians were troublesome. Captain Levi Scott, who was acting as our guide, was shot by one of the Indians with an arrow, but the arrow wound did not bother him much. Captain Scott, who later founded Scottsburg, was one of the best woodsmen and plainsmen I ever saw. He was very self-contained, but a very intelligent man and had a quiet manner and a low, pleasant voice.
    "As our stock became more and more worn we got rid of all unnecessary things. I remember we kept our crosscut saw and broad ax and a roll of leather. Father and myself both worked at shoemaking. We had started out with several bushels of parched corn, plenty of bacon, flour, beans and other supplies, but we got so short of food that we had to eat the peas and other garden seed Mother had brought along. We finally had eaten everything we had, and it was decided that I should take our last remaining horse and go to the head of the Willamette Valley and secure some supplies. Two young men went with me the three days' journey, which was something more than a hundred miles. I had to return alone. I loaded my saddle horse with all the graham flour and dried peas she could carry and started back. I walked beside the horse all day and camped that night under a tree. I stirred up some graham flour in a tin cup and ate it for supper. I had seen some very large bear tracks, so I was very nervous. It was enough to make a 14-year-old boy nervous. During the night I heard the brush break and saw a large animal. I put  the sack of graham flour and the sack of peas across a limb, where they would be safe, and then climbed up the tree and stayed there all night.
    "In the morning at daylight I discovered the animal that I thought was the bear was a poor, thin old cow, abandoned by some emigrant. I ate some more flour mush raw for breakfast and pushed on. That night at dusk I ran into a camp of Indians. I thought of course I would be killed, but they took me in, fed me and cared for my horse and gave me a big haunch of roast venison to eat on my way when I left next morning. I reached my family with the supplies and we came on as far as Eugene Skinner's ranch, where the city of Eugene now stands.
    "Our stock could go no farther, so we left them there for the winter with a young man named Jim Collins. My father helped built a boat to go down the Willamette River, but before starting Orus Brown, my uncle, arrived with provisions and horses, and with some Indian ponies we hired we pushed on, reaching Salem on Christmas Day. We started at once making shoes, and Grandmother Brown started making buckskin gloves. We soon used up the roll of leather we had brought, so we had to use leather tanned in troughs with alder bark. It was red like morocco.
    "Father took a claim where Aumsville now stands, but in the fall of 1848 came back to Salem to make boots for the men going to the California mines. There was such a demand for them that he got from $12 to $15 a pair for all the boots he could turn out. Charles Craft had started a tan yard, so we had plenty of leather to work with.
    "I took my primary, intermediate, collegiate and postgraduate course all in three months under Joe Smith, afterward a senator. That was at the Oregon Institute, later to become the Willamette University. I stayed at work and helped send all the rest of the children to school.
    "On September 1, 1847, my sister Virginia married Fabritus R. Smith. My father sold his claim where Aumsville now is to a man named Harley, who sold it to a man named Turner, for whom the town of Turner is named. Father bought a place south of town near John Minto's place. It should have been called the Minto neighborhood, but as we had the larger family the schoolhouse was built on our land. It was called the Pringle schoolhouse, and finally it became known as the Pringle neighborhood. My brother, Clark S. Pringle, married Catherine Sager, one of the survivors of the Whitman massacre.
    "She had lost her parents coming across the plains and with the other Sager children had been adopted by Dr. and Mrs. Whitman. After their death she was adopted by Rev. W. H. Roberts, a Methodist minister at Salem. She went to school at the Oregon Institute, where she met my brother Clark. When I was 18 I took up a half section of land on what is now known as Minto's Island at Salem. I built a house on it and that winter the water was so high that I could row over where my house had been and not touch bottom with my oar. I sold several thousand cords of wood from my claim, selling one man 500 cords. Then I traded it for 240 acres in the Pringle neighborhood. I lived in the Pringle district for 13 years. Forty years ago I moved to Crook County and became a pioneer of that section."
Oregon Journal, Portland, September 3, 1913, page 8

By Fred Lockley.

    "I was born in Missouri on May 28, 1824," said David Guthrie, an Oregon pioneer of 1846. "While I call Dallas my home, I spend considerable of my time visiting my two daughters, one of whom is in Corvallis and the other in Salem. My father's people were Scotch and settled in Virginia, where my father was born. My mother was also a Virginian, her name being Margaret Phillips. After serving in the War of 1812, my father moved to Kentucky, where he met my mother and where they were married in 1814.
    "When I was 22 years old, I started for Oregon. This was in May, 1846. Meadows Vanderpool was the captain of our train. I was driving a team for Thomas Crowley, who settled in Polk County. We had planned to come by the regular route, but at Fort Hall we met Jesse Applegate, Moses Harris, David Goff, John Owens and Henry Bogus. Jesse Applegate told us that they had just explored a road into Oregon by the southern route. We decided to go by the road that had just been opened, as they told us it would be an easier road and shorter. Nearly 100 wagons met at Thousand Springs toward the middle of August, to take the new road. Mr. Applegate told us that that spring, in 1846, a number of the settlers in Polk County had decided to explore a more feasible road into Oregon than the one down the Columbia River, with all the difficulties to be met from The Dalles on to the Willamette Valley. After making one attempt to explore the road they found the party was too small, so they returned and a new party was formed, consisting of Captain Levi Scott, John Scott, Jesse and Lindsay Applegate, Ben Burch, John Owens, Henry Bogus, Robert Smith, John Jones, Samuel Goodhue, Will Parker, Mose Harris, Dave Goff, Ben Osborn and Will Sportsman. He told us they had left Polk County late in June and had thoroughly explored the country by the southern route and that it was the most practicable road. The rest of their party were engaged in locating the road between Fort Hall and Bear River while Jesse Applegate and the men with him had come into Fort Hall for supplies. They were traveling with pack horses, and I guess I am one of the first men to drive a wagon over the Applegate cutoff. We were joined later by Captain Levi Scott, who stayed with us, piloting us through south central Oregon, across the mountains and into the Rogue River country.
    "We had considerable sickness in our party. James Carter, one of our party, died on the Humboldt River. His widow hated to have him buried looking so rough, so I shaved him after he was dead. Mrs. Carter, his widow, later married William B. Prather at the home of Mr. and Mrs. John Stewart, at what is now Corvallis, in 1847. They were the first white couple to be married in Benton County.
    "There were 15 in the family I was with--the Crowleys. Eight of them died before reaching Oregon. We buried one of the children at Pacific Springs, near the divide over the Rockies. The last of the family to die on the trip was Martha Leland Crowley, who died near what used to be called Grave Creek, but is now called Leland Creek, I believe. I was a carpenter and made coffins for the members of our party who died. We had no boards left when Martha died, but I knocked some boxes to pieces and made her a coffin. There were 26 pieces of board in her coffin. We buried her by the stream and then corralled the cattle over her grave so the Indians would not find her body and dig it up. We heard later that Indians had found the grave and dug her up to get her clothes. In 1849, when I went to the mines, I stopped to visit her grave. I found her bones were scattered all around so I buried them and piled stones over the grave.
    "I spent the summer of 1849 in California working mostly on the middle fork of the American River. That fall I opened a store at Hangtown. I came back to Oregon in the summer of 1850 with something over $3000. I bought a good claim in Polk County for $400 and with the rest of the money I stocked it with blooded sheep and good horses and cattle. A year after my return to Oregon, in September 1851, I married Mary Ellen Davidson."
Oregon Daily Journal, Portland, January 23, 1914, page 6

    The emigration of last year have all arrived with the exception of some five families now at Dr. Whitman's, and about the same number at Fort Umpqua, at which place they will perhaps remain until May, and then leave for the Willamette Valley. That emigration was not so large as the one of the previous year. The emigrants came in by two new routes, one across the Cascade Mountains near the Columbia River, and the other a southern route entering the Willamette Valley near the source of that river, and crossing the headwaters of the Sacramento in California, and the Umpqua and Klamath rivers in Oregon. . . .
    The southern route was surveyed by Messrs. Jesse Applegate, Moses Harris and others, prompted no doubt by the most laudable motives; and cost them much labor and expense, and subjected them to much censure. These gentlemen left the Willamette settlements in the latter part of last summer, and reached Fort Hall after the larger portion of the late emigrants had passed. Those they met at that place agreed to try this new route with their wagons, teams and cattle. They continued the old route for the distance of about 40 miles this side of the Fort, when they turned to the left, fell upon Mary's River which they traveled down some three hundred miles over an excellent road. This route passes through a portion of California, crosses the headwaters of the Sacramento, then falls upon the waters of the Klamath and Umpqua rivers. I am unable to give you any very accurate information as to the ultimate practicability of this route, as the emigrants who traveled it are not agreed in their opinions respecting it. Those who came that way certainly suffered very much, losing most of their cattle, and reaching the settlements in November and December, half starved and half naked. But the most calm and dispassionate men among them do not attribute all the hardships endured to the impracticable nature of the route itself. Much delay occurred in opening the way; and much time was lost in protecting the teams and stock from the depredations of the Indians. These Indians are amongst the poorest and most degraded of the human race, and are generally thievish, and cowardly. They were not disposed to attack the emigrants themselves, but sought every opportunity to destroy their stock, that they might obtain their carcasses after the emigrants had passed. It became necessary to keep the stock up every night, to save them from the Indian arrow. This as a matter of course occasioned delay, as it was necessary to stop during the day for the cattle to feed. From the best information I have been able to obtain, there appears to be no very serious obstruction in the way, until the road reaches the Umpqua Mountains dividing the waters of the Umpqua and Klamath rivers. There is a defile passing through the mountains, cutting it to its very base, and opening a passage that might be made quite practicable for loaded wagons. The distance through this passage is about 18 miles, about 12 of which is quite a passable road, and the remaining 6 miles almost wholly impracticable in its present state: in this defile there is a pool of water about fifteen feet in diameter from which two small streams take their rise, one running into the Umpqua, and the other into the Klamath River. In that portion of this defile called the "Kanyons," the road runs in the bed of one of these streams for the distance of 3 miles, and large loose rock and a long and exceedingly narrow passage. The emigrants reached this point just as the fall rains set in, which raised these two streams and obstructed the passage to such an extent that many oxen were left dead in the Kanyon, and many families were left without teams, and had it not been for friendly aid they received from the settlements in the upper Willamette they must have perished. Had these emigrants reached this defile and passed through it before the rainy season came on, they would have suffered much less. They were however some ten days too late. That this route may become in a few years of great importance there can be no question; as it will afford a wagon way to California and the nearest route for emigrants from the U.S. who intend to settle in the Umpqua and Klamath valleys. But at this time it is unsafe. The road requires much improvement; and there are no settlements from which supplies can be had in cases of emergency. The advantages of the old route at this time are very obvious. There are no Indians upon this old route that are troublesome; it is more healthy, and passes Forte Boise and near to Dr. Whitman's Mission and Fort Walla Walla, and strikes the Columbia River a short distance above the Dalles, passing by the Methodist Mission at the latter point. At all these places provisions and other supplies can be had, if required. That portion of the emigrants who came the old route to the Dalles had more provisions than they needed, and many of them exchanged flour at the Dalles for the same quantity at Oregon City. When the govt. shall extend its laws over our new country (AND WHEN WILL THIS BE?) and establish its Indian Agencies and its military posts, then the southern route may become of great importance. It is now well known that the valleys of the Umpqua and Klamath (or Rogue) rivers form one of the richest and loveliest portions of Oregon, but what is their extent, it is hard to say because not fully known. A Company is now forming the object of which is to make a full exploration of that beautiful portion of our territory during the ensuing summer. Our government will see the propriety and necessity of establishing a military post somewhere on the Umpqua, to protect our infant settlements in that quarter, and to facilitate our intercourse with California.
"Letter from Peter H. Burnett of Oregon to the Hon. James M. Hughes of this Place," Weekly Tribune, Liberty Missouri, August 14, 1847, page 2

    Mr. N. Huber arrived here on Thursday last from Oregon. He left the Willamette Valley on the 7th of May, and arrived at St. Joseph, Mo., on the 28th of July. He was accompanied by eighteen men, and came by the new southern route. This route he represents not only as the longest by about 300 miles, but to be the most dangerous, on account of the hostility of the Indians. Mr. H., our readers will recollect, went out by the northern route. Whilst encamped at night the party were attacked by a party of Shasta Indians, in the Rogue River Valley, Northern California, who shot three horses, but did no further mischief. In the morning four of the party remained at the encampment, after the departure of the rest of the company, with the design of punishing the Indians. A party of about forty approached the encampment, but retreated upon being fired upon. These Indians are unacquainted with the use of firearms, of which they are very fearful, but are quite expert in the use of the bow, and will, in favorable situations, send their arrows with such force as to pass through the body of a buffalo. On the night of the attack the force and direction of the wind very materially prevented its success. . . .
    Alonzo A. Skinner, formerly of this village, has been elected circuit judge of the Territory, for the next two years--salary $800 per annum. Mr. Huber, we perceive, was clerk of the last legislature.
Kalida Venture, Kalida, Ohio, August 17, 1847, page 2

    The following letter, dated Oregon City, 16th of April, 1847, is from Mrs. N. M. Thornton, wife of J. Q. Thornton, Esq., who about eighteen months since left this country for California. The letter is addressed to Mrs. Towler, and will be read with interest by our readers generally, and especially so by Mrs. T.'s numerous acquaintances in this county:
    My Dear Mrs. T.--It gives me great pleasure to sit down to write to you, a friend with whom I have spent so many happy months. Oh, how often I have thought and spoken of you and Mr. T. and the family, and I presume I have not been forgotten. Not far on the other side Fort Laramie, I wrote to you, which letter, I presume, with one that Mr. T. wrote to Mr. Towler shortly after we commenced our journey, you received. I sent mine back by some persons whom we met returning to the States. We reached the Fort on the afternoon of the 21st--had no difficulty in fording Laramie River. There were but few persons at the Fort; several chiefs of the Sioux had lodges there. To these, at the suggestion of the gentlemen in charge, a supper was given by our party. After sundown, accompanied by a miss of fifteen, I visited an Indian burying ground, situated on an eminence half a mile distant from our camp. There were several enclosures containing the homes of the dead. Several corpses, large and small, lay on a scaffold, nine or ten feet high, some in boxes, and some rolled up in buffalo robes, with all their ornaments upon them they had owned when living. Several thousand warriors were expected at the Fort on their way to fight the Crows. Next morning, just as we were about leaving, they began to make their appearance over the tops of the hills, all on horses or mules, well equipped for battle. These Indians appeared more independent and high spirited than any other Indians I have ever seen. They came mostly well, some elegantly, dressed in Indian costume. I shook hands with a great many of them, and permit me to assure you that few city exquisites could present a hand so delicately formed, or of a softness so silky, as these wild men of the forest presented to the ladies of our camp.
    On the 10th of July we visited Independence Rock. In the neighborhood of this rock are numerous lakes covered with a white substance, used by many of the emigrants as saleratus. Higher up the valley is Devil's Gate, a place where sweet water forces its way through the mountain. I look upon this as a greater curiosity than the Rock. I wish I had time to describe fully all the places of interest that I saw on our journey, but having a great many letters to write, and having but little time, I am compelled to be brief.
    On the 18th, we forded Sweetwater at noon for the last time. It was the last stream I saw flowing in the direction of the home of my youth. Upon leaving this stream we entered the South Pass, and that evening encamped on waters flowing toward the Pacific. It was our first night in the Oregon Territory.
    On the 24th of July we encamped on Green River, a very beautiful stream, and which, perhaps, was to us doubly so, as we had just completed a drive of forty miles on which we had neither grass nor water. That is the only long drive on the old route, and it could be avoided by going round by Fort Bridger, 100 miles, as many did, and I think wisely, for it proved severe upon the cattle. However, they recovered in a few days. While encamped on Green River Alderman left us, and Mr. T. drove for seven weeks. It almost killed him. He spit blood a number of times. Indeed, there are few whose health is benefited by the journey. The toil to be encountered is too great, unless a person has very efficient help, and this is almost impossible on the road, for it matters not how good your help may be when you start; the probability is that you will be without any before you get through. Persons hired become the most independent people on the road. But this is not wonderful on a journey of four or five months--a journey of toil and exposure, and one upon which there is neither law nor order. The more independent people can start, the better it will be for them. Nearly all the partnerships that people had formed this year previous to starting were dissolved on the road, and even families sometimes separated.
    On the 3rd of August we came to the Soda Springs, on Bear River. There is one group of five or six springs, and others scattered along the banks of the river. Shively, in a little work I saw before leaving the States, refers to one some distance from the river, which was not discovered by our party, and it is said to be the best one. I liked the water of the Soda Spring very much--think it is healthy. One half mile farther down the river is the Steamboat Spring, a very great curiosity. For a description, I refer you to Fremont.
    We reached Fort Hall on the 7th of August, both very unwell. Everything very high there. Flour, forty dollars per barrel, and everything else in proportion. People setting out for Oregon should be careful to lay in a good supply of provisions. The quantity recommended by Hastings is too small, even if the journey be performed in five months. It requires from four to five months for wagons.
    On the 8th we lay by 8 miles on this side of the Fort, where a Mr. Applegate, residing in the Willamette Valley, came to us and informed us that he was one of a party of explorers who had succeeded in finding a new road into the valley, nearer and better than the old one; that by taking it we would get into the settlements with all our property by the 28th of September. By such representations he induced every company that fell in his way to take the new route. Gov. Boggs, who was of our party, assured Mr. Thornton that he had known Mr. Applegate in Missouri, and knew him to be a man upon whose judgment and veracity confidence might be placed. The entire number of wagons that took that disastrous route amounted to upwards of one hundred and twenty. A few days after leaving the point at which Mr. A. left us, we left the old Oregon road, and turned our course down into California, along Ogden's River, through a sickly region, and among hostile Indians, who were very troublesome. They would steal or shoot the cattle whenever they had the least opportunity, which led to frequent skirmishes, in which several men were wounded. There were, however, but three killed on the route. After traveling several weeks in a south direction, we reached the point at which we were to turn our course and move towards Oregon. Disappointed as to the distance down this river, the quantity and quality of the grass and water, Gov. Boggs, persuaded that it would be no longer safe to rely upon information that thus far had proved incorrect, and being but sixty miles distant from the Sinks of Ogden's River, in Upper California, he at once, with some others, determined to proceed to the settlements in that country, which we are happy to learn, he reached in good time and in safety. We, however, felt reluctant to change our place of destination. We had been informed by Mr. Applegate that upon leaving Ogden's River we would have a drive of thirty miles without grass or water, but instead of thirty it proved to be sixty. On the morning of the third day, having traveled the whole of two days and one night, we came to a place where there was a hot spring, the waters of which tasted like soap suds. The people and cattle used this water, as it cooled in flowing off. We lay by at this place one day, and seven yoke of the strongest cattle were sent back to bring up Mr. Crump's wagon, whose team had failed during the night. The next day we traveled seven or eight miles to a place where there were several remarkable springs, one of which was a boiling spring, the others hot. We stayed at this place a day and a half, including two nights, for the purpose of recruiting the exhausted teams, preparatory to a drive of thirty-five miles through deep sand. That drive was made with great difficulty, but with the hope that at the end of it we would find healthy water and good grass, but in this hope we were doomed to be disappointed. The character of the water was the same, and the grass no better. Nearly every person in our company was at this time more or less unwell, and the teams were scarcely fit to travel. I have given you a brief history of eight days, from the time of leaving Ogden's River, and as were those days, so were many. We often had long drives without grass or water for the cattle, and frequently over bad roads, through canons, and over mountains. The dust was excessively annoying. It had been bad enough at times on the old road, but we found it was worse on this "cutoff." At length provisions began to grow scarce, some families being entirely out of flour, and teams were failing in consequence of fatigue and want of proper nourishment. The Indians were becoming more troublesome, wagons were turned over and broken, on roads so bad that they were almost impassable. I wish I had not lost that portion of my journal that was kept on the new road, so that I might be able to give dates. Someplace in the Klamath Valley a man whom Mr. T. had hired to drive his wagon turned it over in descending a very bad hill, and broke it. There was no timber which could be used to mend it, and it was left. But we succeeded in hiring another of a man who had two, and whose teams were no longer able to draw them both. In crossing the Siskiyou Mountain we were benighted, the wagons became very much scattered, and in that exposed situation we remained overnight, the poor animals having nothing to eat after their hard day's labor, and the people very little better off. The second day we got out of the mountain, and about noon to where there was water, but scarcely any grass. Our team, that had hitherto stood the journey remarkably well, failed on the morning of this day, and we had to leave our hired wagon, upon which the bed of our own had been placed, as I had it well arranged for sleeping in. Mr. T. hired two men to haul our most valuable property, and the balance, including our oiled tent, we were compelled to leave. Up to this time, although I have had to endure a great deal of fatigue and exposure, I had been comparatively comfortable; now I had to walk all day, and at night make my bed upon the ground, with the heavens for a canopy. Our supply of provisions was very small, and Mr. T.'s health failing daily. But as difficulties increased, my power of endurance increased. My health did not improve until I had to sleep in the open air.
    A few days after we lost our team, our company were met by some men living in Oregon, who had come to meet their friends. They had beef cattle with them, which they sold to the different companies. Ours got two of them. I had never tasted beef so fine, nor enjoyed a dinner so much as the few I made of that excellent beef boiled and cold, without anything with it but salt. The gentlemen who met us informed us that it was little short of three hundred miles to the settlements--that the worst of the road was still before us; that they thought a part of it impassable to wagons; that certainly if the rainy season set in it would be impossible to get the wagons through a canon of the Umpqua Mountains. What a failing of hearts there was at hearing this intelligence. The teams were so weak as to be scarcely able to travel; the people had been suffering from want of sufficient and healthy food, and it was already past the season when the rains usually commenced. We were, too, in the country of the Rogue River Indians, whose character answers to their name. As for Mr. T. and myself, our trust was in God. The prospect was dark, but we felt that He who had already brought us through so many dangers could still deliver us. About the middle of November the rains did set in, which greatly increased the hardship of man and beast. As to Mr. T. and myself, we had to wade through mud and water by day, and at night make our bed down on the wet ground. Sometimes it would rain so hard that we would be compelled to get up and fold up the bedding, and put it under some pieces of oilcloth I had saved from the wagon cover, to prevent it from becoming thoroughly wet, as there was no opportunity for drying, and there we would stand by the fire until morning. From the time the rains commenced, until the 29th of November, we did not know what it was to be dry day or night. At length our party reached the Umpqua Mountains, and some of them succeeded in getting their teams three miles in one day. Some of the teams were so weak that their owners did not attempt it with their wagons. Those who made the first day's drive found it impossible to take their wagons any farther. They packed through whatever they could on horses and mules, and some of their strongest oxen. The men who had hauled for us could help us no longer. Bur Mr. T. hired a man to pack the best of our clothing, two blankets, one buffalo robe, and one small store of provisions through the mountains. We stayed by the balance a few days, it raining on all the time, but here we had a partial shelter. No opportunity being presented of sending anything more across, or rather through, the mountains, and learning that there was danger of the creek in the canon becoming so deep that it would not be possible to get through it, we resolved to leave all and escape. Mr. T. took his gun and some ammunition, and a piece of dried beef, and I two tin buckets.    *    *    *    And we set out accompanied by our greyhound Prince David that had accompanied us all the way from the States. We waded through mud and water four miles, and our way so hemmed in that we could not avoid it. We passed our families encamped on the road, there being no access to any other place. Wagons were scattered along, many of them with the property of the owners still in them; cattle were lying as they had fallen, many of them dead, others dying. Such distress could hardly be imagined. After pursuing our way four miles, we came to where Canon Creek occupies the entire width of the canon for the distance of three miles. At this place we were overtaken by a man and his wife whose tent we had passed in the morning. They were both in bad health; he carried their child, and she a small bundle under her arm and a frying pan on her back, suspended by a rope passed through the handle and round her neck. This family lost everything else. They and ourselves now entered the creek, a very rapid stream, the bed exceedingly rocky, and the water from two to four feet deep and rising, for the rain that was falling was melting the snow upon the mountains. We fell several times and could not have got along at all if we had not used sticks. Except when I fell, I do not remember to have been in the water more than waist high. Mr. T. went before me, and when it seemed too deep for more to venture, he would wade about until he would find a place more shallow. Before night we got to where the canon again widens, but we had still seven miles to travel before we got out of the mountain, and at least three to the place of general encampment. At this point we found Mr. Cornwall encamped; we stayed by his wife until morning in our wet clothes, without even a blanket to lie down upon. Mr. C. was in no condition to render us any assistance, except to spread a bed quilt over some poles to protect us a little from the rain. The next morning, after taking a very slight breakfast, we, with several others, continued our journey over steep and slippery hills. This day we waded Canon Creek twenty-eight times, and at last reached the South Fork of the Umpqua River, the place of general encampment, thankful that Canon Creek was no longer in our way, though our situation was still a melancholy one. Here we met many with whom we had traveled, and others whom we had never seen, most of them without anything to eat, except a miserable ox or cow was killed. Deer were seen, but they were very wild, and there were not horses upon which to hunt them, and the men were too feeble to hunt much on foot. Mr. T. set up some poles and stretched upon them one of the blankets we had sent through the canon, and our two small pieces of oilcloth, which afforded us a sort of shelter; a buffalo robe was our bed, and one blanket and Mr. T.'s cloak our covering. Here we lay ten days in a small valley, surrounded by mountains on which it snowed more or less every day, while in the valley it rained. Our fare in the morning was two spoonsful of broken crackers, some tea, and a little dried beef. At noon some of the poor beef cold, and without salt, and in the evening a little rice soup and tea. But we were better off than many, some not having tasted anything of which bread could be made for six weeks. Often when our scanty meal was prepared, someone would come to me and say, "I have not eaten anything for twenty-four hours." I would share with them. At length some men came out from the settlements with some horses, 750 pounds of flour, and two beeves. The provision was sold to the people. The supply to each family was small, and still it was a partial relief. Mr. T., by giving his best suit of clothes, his six-barreled revolving pistol, and his only remaining yoke of oxen, hired two of the horses, upon one of which we put our clothing, and the other we rode alternately. On the morning of the 18th of November we set off, with some others, for the Willamette Valley, leaving behind many of our fellow travelers, without any prospect of soon getting away.
(To be concluded next week.)
Palmyra Weekly Whig, Palmyra, Missouri, October 7, 1847, page 2

(Continued from our last.)
    In reaching the settlements we had a toilsome journey of fifteen days, most of which it rained upon us. We had deep streams to ford, difficult hills to climb, and the Calapooia Mountains to cross. The valleys were almost impassable, in consequence of being covered with water in many places, and the deep mud. We arrived at the settlement on the La Creole, on the 28th November, and on the 29th stopped at a Mr. Allen's, where we remained ten days to dry our clothes and rest ourselves after our disastrous and long journey of seven months and a half. I arrived at this city on the 23rd of December, where I met with a kind reception from Governor Abernethy and lady, to whom we had letters from their friends in Quincy. Mr. T. remained in the country till the 1st of Feb.
    Thus far we are pleased with Oregon. The health of both of us is greatly improved. We were weighed about one month after we came off the journey. Mr. T. had gained 35 pounds on his weight in Quincy, and I 19. Mr. T.'s throat and lungs do not appear to get any better, but he has hopes that the dry season, that has now commenced, will be of advantage to him. The health of this country far surpasses what we had expected. There are some cases of the ague in the country in the spring and fall, but they readily yield to medicine. I am now threatened with chills, but hope I shall be able to keep them off. Whether we will continue to like the country, time will tell. Times are harder here now than they have ever been known before. But notwithstanding we think men may become independent here with less effort than is usually made among industrious people in the States. The soil is fertile and well adapted to pasturage, or the growth of wheat. Corn can be raised, but it does not prove a profitable crop. The country is remarkably well watered, and the climate generally mild, with but little snow in the winter. Occasionally there is what is called here a severe winter, which sometimes lasts three or four weeks. The last winter, we are informed, was the most severe that has been known for years. The thermometer was as low as two degrees above zero at this city. The snow in the upper part of the Willamette Valley fell to a depth of 18 inches. A great many cattle perished. The people here have not been in the habit of providing food or shelter for their cattle, because of the usual mildness of the climate, and the abundance of grass that continues green most winters. Provision is very scarce and high this spring. Many families have nothing to eat for weeks together but boiled wheat. Wheat is now selling at one dollar, and potatoes at seventy-five cents per bushel in cash. In trade, or the currency of the country, everything is higher. There is but little money in the country. All sorts of clothing are very dear here, except at Fort Vancouver, where you can purchase as cheaply as in the States, if you have the money to pay for them. It is believed that so soon as the government of the U. States extends its jurisdiction over this territory, there will be a favorable change as regards its pecuniary interests.
    We have had intelligence that the treaty between the U. States and Great Britain has been confirmed. The Hudson's Bay Company are, or at least pretend to be, pleased with the conditions of the treaty.
    The missionaries have done much for Oregon. But it is to be feared that the halcyon days of this country are over. The demon Intemperance has been let loose and is now stalking abroad over the country, withering the hopes of many in this infant colony. The time was when alcoholic drinks could not be obtained, but during the session of the last Legislature a bill was passed in favor of manufacturing and retailing ardent spirits. The Governor vetoed the bill and returned it the House, where it became a law, two-thirds, exactly, of the members voting for it. Since then there has been a great deal of intemperance, gambling &c. There is a law against selling it to the Indians, but it is not regarded, their testimony not being taken against a white man.    *    *    *
    In relation to the towns, there are but two of any importance; this city, situated on the Willamette River, just below the falls, and 30 miles from its mouth, and Portland, 12 miles below this, and situated at the head of ship navigation, which gives it its only importance. Except as we came through the Umpqua Valley, on our way into the settlements, we have not had much opportunity of seeing the country as yet. Oregon City has five hundred inhabitants, with a Methodist and a Roman Catholic church.
    Women who undertake the journey to this country should provide themselves well with cotton and linsey dresses--they are the most suitable, and look decidedly more genteel on the road than anything else. It is important, too, to have a good supply of silk handkerchiefs, to keep the hair shielded from the dust. The dust and air injure the hair very much. Green goggles are indispensable to all, men and women. Oiled tents and wagon covers I would not recommend. They attract the rays of the sun, and are very inconvenient to handle. The best and most convenient form for a tent is circular. It need not be very large. Wagon covers ought to be lined with coarse baize or green blankets. Let people who start with wagons have them made light and strong, and of well-seasoned timber, and let them have at least one yoke of oxen more to every wagon than would at first seem necessary. Although everything here is scarce and high, I would not advise people to encumber themselves with anything, except perhaps clothing, more than will be really needed on the road; anything else will not repay the anxiety and trouble attendant on getting it here. If people have money, let them bring it to this country. It was our intention when we left Quincy not to travel on the Sabbath day, but although we traveled in various companies, we were compelled to continue our journey on that day, or be left. Yet we are convinced that it would be a saving of time to lie by on that holy day. The cattle must have rest, and if they do not get it at the proper time, they will require double afterwards to recruit them. Some argue that if they do stop on that day, they will have to wash, bake &c. That is altogether a mistake, for causes of detention arise sufficiently often to afford opportunities for everything of that kind.
    Although the sufferings and losses of the people who came the route of Applegate and Goff to Oregon were great, still they will hardly compare with those of a party of twenty-three wagons who were induced to take a "cutoff" (as these new roads are very appropriately styled) into California, and had to remain in the mountains. With some of the sufferers we became acquainted while in Col. Russell's company. Sixteen of them, fearful of starvation, resolved to encounter all the obstacles in their way and try to reach the settlements. There were eleven of the strongest men, and five of the strongest women, who made the attempt. They had to cross mountains covered with snow to the depth of several feet. Of the sixteen, nine men perished, and their bodies served as food for the survivors. One woman saw her husband's heart roasted; another ate a part of the bodies of her father and brother. They were at one time thirty-six hours in a snow storm without fire. The seven who reached Capt. Wm. Johnston's settlement were almost naked, and their feet frozen. One of the two men was carried in on the back of an Indian. From the California Star we learn that relief has been sent to the sixty-odd souls that remained behind, but the probability is that they all perished. Let not such horrid stories discourage immigration to these countries. Those who kept the old road to each country got in with their property, and in good season, except a small party who arrived at Fort Hall late in the season. This party have wintered comfortably at Dr. Whitman's mission, in Middle Oregon. There are two Baptist missionaries in this country, Messrs. Fisher and Johnston. Mr. Johnston lives a mile below this city, where he preaches, I believe, once in two weeks.
    I have written you a long letter; still I have not written one-third of what I would like to say. There are many persons in your neighborhood to whom Mr. Thornton and myself would be glad to write, but we cannot write to our friends individually. You will therefore oblige us by showing them this letter, faulty as it is.    *    *    *
Palmyra Weekly Whig, Palmyra, Missouri, October 14, 1847, page 1


Joseph Cornwall was a Presbyterian minister in Oregon and Washington. His last pulpit was at The Dalles, Oregon. He was the son of Josephus Cornwall. Josephus was tall--six feet two niches, with black eyes and black hair.

    We reached Fort Hall and camped there for a day's rest. There Mr. Applegate came to us and told us of his new way to Oregon, through the Rogue River Valley. Our company concluded his way was the best and talked of going that way. Soon the Oregon and California roads would part, and he would have us follow the California road to a point on the Humboldt River, and then head north for Oregon. There seemed to be one mind, to take the Applegate road, under a delusion that it was shorter and perhaps better road. We shall see that was a fatal mistake. I may say here that there was one train of emigrants in advance of us bound for Oregon. The following are the names of the persons who composed our company--
    Rice Dunbar (our captain) and family; Mr. Brisbin and family; James Campbell and family, Bridges, Shelby, several families of Smiths, Hall family, Crump family, Dr. Kendle, Woods and family, Nye and Gates, Goode, Alderman, Judge Thornton and wife, Scales, Clarke, Putnam, Kennedy and family, my father's large family, including Byrd, Stoley and Chrisman. There are others I do not remember.
    Nothing of special interest occurred until we reached the Humboldt or Mary's River, down which we followed many days. While traveling down the Humboldt we were met by a messenger from the train before us a few miles, who brought word that his train was attacked by Indians, and they wanted our help to fight them. We reached them by night. And sure enough they had a battle that day and drove the Indians away. As the result of that battle two or three were wounded, and one shot with poisoned arrows died.
    Before leaving that river there was one death, Miss Mary Campbell. She was buried right in our road, and the whole train of wagons was driven over her grave to conceal it from the Indians. Miss Campbell died of mountain fever, and Mother by waiting on her caught the fever, and for a long while she lingered, apparently between life and death, but at last recovered.
    In our journey we soon reached the point where the Applegate road left the Humboldt and faced north for Oregon. It was then past noon, and we had no guidebook of the road. Fifteen miles on the road brought us to a nice little spring where people could drink, but the stock could not. And a slip of paper left by the guides said it was twenty or twenty-five miles before we could reach water for the stock.
    Father had three wagons, and we were not in the lead of the train that day. There were two ox wagons and a family carriage drawn by a span of mules. We appeared on the road in the following order: Our lead ox wagon, Dick Chrisman the driver, the other ox wagon driven by myself, and that was followed by the family carriage with Father the driver. It was night then, and our stock without water until we traveled twenty or twenty-five miles. They soon decided to travel that night, and then we started. Well, that was a night of great anxiety for Mother, for she thought of her boy, Joe, who after driving a team through the day was accustomed to sleep like a log through the night. Often I heard her voice calling, "Joe! Joe! Don't go to sleep! Wake up, Joe!" But Joe did go to sleep and lost his hat.
    Fortunately the oxen were accustomed to follow the other wagon and the road was level and Joe did not fall out of the wagon. All went safe till daylight came and we reached water in abundance.
    After resting a day we went forward only to find a long, dry and rocky road until we reached the neighborhood of Klamath Lake. There we found the Indians wild and hostile. One day a poor old man for some reason lagged behind and the Indians killed him. Besides they shot some of our stock with arrows.
    We reached Goose Lake and camped by it one night. Soon after we reached the Siskiyou Mountains and had the first view of the Oregon pine, which we thought was [a] very handsome tree. We spent one night on the Siskiyou Mountain and reached the Rogue River Valley next day. There we saw the oak timber first after crossing the plains, and that gave a homelike expression to the country.
    We camped one night on the bank of the Rogue River and the Indians stole one of our best horses. We traveled down the valley on the west side of the river to a point near Grants Pass and camped near the river. There before we left the camp in broad daylight the Indians attempted to steal a cow, but our men guarding the cattle drove them away. From there we soon reached the Umpqua canyon, and there we all camped for a day. We found that all were in dread of the canyon, which we heard was a very bad road.
    Father went forward from camp to see the prospect and reported the road barely passable. He had a herder and owned most of the loose cattle in the train. Father killed a beef and divided it among the families of the train. He then took his herder to help with the wagons and we started on, leaving the company to rest another day and leaving his loose stock to come on in the herd. With our stock weak and poor and over bad roads, we spent the first day going some three miles and camped for the night. But a real surprise came before we retired. It began to rain on us, for it was then October, and the Oregon rains began.
    Next day we started on, but soon our road turned in to the cold mountain stream of the canyon, and it was death to our poor weak oxen, and nearly all of them gave out or died that day. But we reached a level spot and camped. When we heard from the rest of our train, they came on one day and their oxen gave out and we were left almost helpless, far from the end of our journey. Several of the old people died from the shock. And all but Father had to leave their wagons, and most of them had to foot it into the Willamette Valley. By joining teams with another friend Father saved his wagons and took them on through the canyon. Before we left camp the people from our train passed our camp, and they were in a sorry plight. Most of the men, women and children were on foot, and even women and children often carrying heavy burdens of bedding or other goods.
    As to ourselves we left camp to go through the canyon in the following order: Miss Chrisman, Byrd and Stoley went first, and carried the tent. Shortly afterward the family followed. Mother was put on a gentle mule, and she carried Laura, then an infant. Sister Lizzie and myself were able to help ourselves. Father went on afoot before us and led Narcissa and George. We were all on foot, except our mother and Laura. Much of the time we were in the water and sometimes deep wading.
    We passed through the canyon sometime before night, and we found our tent stretched and we moved into it once more. But what became of the cattle? They were left to care for themselves. But when the people came they also went on through the canyon. Four of our cows and three oxen were left. But it was said that the Indians there were wild and hostile. One day when I was after some stock on an active mule they tried to capture me. But I rode safely to camp. We heard that the Indians burned all the wagons left in the canyon by our train. We were among the last to leave the canyon.
    We passed on to our winter camp near where the town of Oakland now stands. But we learned afterward that a worthy man named Newton of our train was killed by the Indians somewhere near the present town of Roseburg.
    One cause of Father's anxiety was that he had a library, which was large and heavy and could only be transported in wagons. He arrived at our winter camp with his books and wagons too. I suppose it was after the middle of October, 1846, when we reached our winter camp. And we soon decided to remain there until spring.
    From the canyon to our winter camp we find little to mention, except scant rations, poor teams, bad roads and slow travel.
    But now we have reached camp for winter; let us resume our narrative. Our herder, Mr. Byrd, went on with James Campbell to the Willamette to try to get help for us. And Father sent some letters to friends asking for help. Mr. Byrd found a Mr. Middleton Simpson, an old friend of Father's, on the Luckiamute. And he sent a sack of flour and a mule to help us on to the Willamette, but that was all the help we got till spring. But that was a valuable treat then.
    Another rare sight to us was a herd of very fat beef cattle driven out to us. I never saw fatter cattle than those, and Father managed to buy one of the best. We kept the tallow for seasoning. And having plenty of milk, and deer being plentiful, and my cousin Stoley with us being an excellent hunter, we were well insured against starvation. But we had no bread or salt, and that we found a sad misfortune. And just here let me say that somehow word came to us that our commissary store might be replenished by a visit of someone to the fort of the Hudson's Bay Company, a day's journey or two down the Umpqua. Having a good riding mule, my cousin Stoley volunteered to go to the fort for supplies. A half bushel of peas, a half bushel of good, clean wheat, a handful of salt was all that he could get. But I suppose that was liberal for that day. And that was our supply of provisions until the next April. I must say of our neighbors, the Indians, that generally they behaved well and were peaceable and quiet.
    But let me say that when we camped there, Father by some little presents secured the good will of the neighboring chief. The chief was called by the Indians "Capitan."
    I may say that the food of the Indians consisted mostly of a vegetable resembling an onion [camas] but [which] was prepared by a process of cooking that gave it much the taste of a sweet potato. That root was gathered by the squaws in moist lands.
    In midwinter, Father decided to build a log cabin, having brought with him an ax, a crosscut saw, a froe and the timber being near made that an easy task. And I may say here that near our camp was some of the best cedar timber that I ever saw. With that we made some of the finest boards and puncheons that I ever saw. We finished our cabin about the Christmas holidays and moved in from our tent. Just behind our cabin stood a fir tree, having very thick foliage and a brushy top 50 feet high.
    As spring approached and on bright days we heard a mysterious hooting up in that tree, and we searched but could find nothing. That was the first grouse we heard hooting. It made us laugh when we found out what it was.
    April came at last with its warm sun, its gentle breeze and pretty flowers. And that all made us restless to go forward and finish our journey, our journey to the Willamette, our daydream for many months. Sure enough, on the 9th day of April our friends from the Willamette came at about 10:00 a.m., and I need not say that we were glad. But I must record their names here: They are Joseph Hess, Clark Rogers and Josiah Nelson, whom I met in Portland in 1926, and now of Newberg. Mr. Hess brought us two yokes of oxen, also flour, sugar, coffee, salt and bacon. By noon Mother and sister Lizzie had an old-time dinner on the table. And we began to prepare to leave next day, the 10th.
    It was just a year since we had left our old home in Arkansas. But we started with glad hearts. Capitan and Jo, his sub-chief, came to say goodbye. Father gave his cabin to Capitan, and I will always remember him as a noble Indian, a good friend, honest and reliable.
    We went a short day's journey and camped. Next day we crossed the Calapooia Mountain and reached the Willamette Valley. We passed down the valley on the west side over the sites where the towns of Cottage Grove, Eugene, Corvallis and Dallas now are, and it is hard to realize that it was all a wilderness then. But so it was. We passed on down to Chehalem Valley, where the parties lived who rescued us. And then we were at the end of our journey to Oregon. And now I am glad that I have finished my narrative.
(signed) J. H. Cornwall.
University of Oregon typescript CB C816

    We went down Emigrant Creek and camped on it another night. The next day we struck Bear Creek, traveled for some distance down its beautiful and fertile valley, when we crossed the broad prairie and camped at the Willow Springs, between this creek and Rogue River. The next night we camped on Rogue River just above the Point of Rocks, a place afterwards rendered famous, and a dreaded Thermopylae to travelers during the wars with the treacherous and bloodthirsty Rogue River Indians.
    Captain Medders Vanderpool had a fine flock of about fifty head of sheep which he had brought safely through the buffalo-wolves, and all the other dangers of the long journey thus far, but one morning while we were eating breakfast at a camp on Rogue River just below the Point of Rocks they were driven off by the Indians, and we were compelled to go on without making an effort to recapture them.
    After we had left camp about a quarter of a mile there was also a cow reported missing. Several of us went back to search for her and found the Indians butchering her, near the camp. The Rogues ran off into the bushes and did not show themselves again. So we were compelled to go on, leaving the beef with them as well as the mutton.
    We traveled down Rogue River about forty or fifty miles, and crossed it at a place where the ford was rather deep and rough. It is a swift, turbulent, and rapid stream, and there are not many places where it can be forded with safety, even late in the fall when it is at its lowest stage.
    The second day after we crossed Rogue River, we came to a place where the road cutters had done nothing, and it was impossible for us to pass with the wagons. So the train was brought to a halt. I went forward, and after searching for a long time I found a place where we could pass by cutting through the thick bushes for about a furlong. The place where the horse trail passed was too rough, and could not easily be made passable for wagons. We went to work on the line I had blazed out and cut our way through the woods, which brought us out near the Tetalum, or Louse Creek, as it it now called by the realistic and unpoetical people who live along its banks.
    In two or three days after passing this place we reached the Jump-off-Jo, where the road cutters had again done nothing, and we were compelled to stop and cut our way through to the open ground beyond, which occupied us for several hours, working all the available force of the company.
    Three days from here we struck the head of a small branch running into Grave Creek, which we followed down to its junction, through heavy timber and thick bushes. The road had been so poorly opened that the train was frequently compelled to stop and remove obstacles that ought to have been cleared away by the party in advance of us.
    As we came down this branch Miss Leland Crowley died. The wagon in which the sick girl lay stopped while she was dying, and those behind could not pass. This made a breach in the train, as those in front still continued to advance without noticing that those in the rear were delayed.
    This circumstance, perhaps, caused the Indians who were constantly skulking in the woods near us to become more bold and to venture upon us more closely. They shot one of the oxen of Virgil K. Pringle as it stood in the team with an arrow, wounding it so that the animal soon died. Yet the savage who aimed the arrow from the thick bushes by the roadside was so completely concealed that he was not seen at all, for it was late in the twilight of the evening.
    About the time that Pringle's ox was shot on the right-hand side of the road, one of the teamsters noticed that his dog turned up his hair and snuffed towards the thick bushes on the left-hand side, where the drivers stood. On looking in the direction indicated by the dog he saw an Indian about fifteen paces from the road, with a gun resting on top of a large log and pointed towards him. He hissed on the dog, at the same time springing into the wagon to get his rifle. At his bidding his own dog and two others dashed at the Indian who, finding himself thus suddenly assailed and by such a formidable and unlooked-for force, fled precipitately into the thick forest and instantly disappeared from sight.
    But the resolute dogs pressed upon him and soon caught him, for we could distinctly hear what seemed to be a life-and-death struggle between them for a few minutes, about a hundred yards away in the thicket. After the struggle had gone on for five minutes or more it ceased, and the dogs came back to us. One of them was severely, but not mortally, wounded with an arrow which was sticking in his side. We supposed that they had either killed the Indian, or that he had been succored by some of his comrades. At the very least, he must have been fearfully mangled by the dogs.
    When Miss Crowley was dead, the rear part of the train moved on again and came into its place in the camp after dark.
    The next morning we moved up a little and crossed the main creek, where we stopped to bury the dead girl. Mrs. Tabitha Brown, a generous and noble-hearted widow lady, who afterwards founded the college at Forest Grove in the Tualatin Plains, gave the upper sideboards of her wagon to make a coffin. We dug the grave in the middle of the corral, or circle of the camp, and after depositing the remains we filled it up level with the surface of the ground, replacing the sods which had first been carefully removed so as to give it the appearance of the natural, unbroken ground as much as possible. We then corralled all the stock so that they should tread over the grave, and when we got ready to start, drove all the wagons, one after another, over it in the hope of so obliterating all traces of it as to prevent the Indians from finding or disturbing it.
Levi Scott, 1888, as told to James Layton Collins, From Independence to Independence, unpublished typescript by Dean Collins 1967, SOHS 994.15.1, pages 191-194

    From Riddle we took the stage to Canyonville. This town is built on the spot where we camped fifty-two years ago, after emerging from that miserable Umpqua Canyon, and I venture the remark that no one who made that early passage will ever forget it. We were three days and two nights traveling nine miles, with nothing for our stock to eat, and most of the people in the fifty-two wagons but little better off. Getting through the canyon, the stock fared better, but the people found their condition hardly improved, as far as provisions were concerned. However, the Indians were friendly and allowed us to hunt--a privilege that had been denied us for months. In casting my eye down the creek, and bringing memory to bear on bygone circumstances, I thought I could almost see the spot where I killed a deer the first morning after we made a camp at the place. I am certain that no one can ever appreciate the value of that deer as I did, for I had a widowed lady and two children in my care, and neither they nor myself had had anything to eat since the morning before, and there was not a scrap of provisions about the wagon.
Tolbert Carter, "After Fifty Years," Corvallis Gazette, April 9, 1897, page 2

    Our journey [in 1846], with little exception, was pleasing and prosperous until after we passed Fort Hall. Then we were within eight hundred miles of Oregon City, if we had but kept on the old road down the Columbia River.
    But three or four trains of emigrants were decoyed off by a rascally fellow who came out from the settlement in Oregon assuring us that he had found a new cutoff, that if we would follow him we would be in the settlement long before those who had gone down the Columbia. This was in August. The idea of shortening a long journey caused us to yield to his advice. Our sufferings from that time no tongue can tell. He said he would clear the road before us, so that we should have no trouble in rolling our wagons after him. But he robbed us of what he could by lying, and left us to the depredations of Indians and wild beasts, and to starvation. But God was with us. We had sixty miles of desert without grass or water, mountains to climb, cattle giving out, wagons breaking, emigrants sick and dying, hostile Indians to guard against by night and day, if we could save ourselves and our horses and cattle from being arrowed or stolen.
    We were carried hundreds of miles south of Oregon into Utah Territory and California, fell in with the Klamath and Rogue River Indians, lost nearly all our cattle, passed the Umpqua Mountains, 12 miles through. I rode through in three days at the risk of my life, on horseback, having lost my wagon and all that I had but the horse I was on. Our families were the first that started through the canyon, so that we got through the mud and rocks much better than those that followed. Out of hundreds of wagons, only one came through without breaking. The canyon was strewn with dead cattle, broken wagons, beds, clothing and everything but provisions, of which latter we were nearly all destitute. Some people were in the canyon two or three weeks before they could get through. Some died without any warning, from fatigue and starvation. Others ate the flesh of cattle that were lying dead by the wayside.
.    After struggling through mud and water up to our horses' sides much of the way in crossing this 12-mile mountain, we opened into the beautiful Umpqua Valley, inhabited only by Indians and wild beasts. We had still another mountain to cross, the Calapooia, besides many miles to travel through mud, snow, hail and rain.
    Winter had set in. We were yet a long distance from any white settlement. The word was, "fly, everyone that can, from starvation, except those who are compelled to stay by the cattle to recruit them for further travel." Mr. Pringle and Pherne insisted on my going ahead with Uncle John [Brown, Tabitha Brown's brother-in-law] to try to save our own lives. They were obliged to stay back a few days to recruit their cattle. They divided up the last bit of bacon, of which I had three slices; I also had a cup full of tea. No bread. We saddled our horses and set off, not knowing if we should ever see each other again. Captain Brown was too old and feeble to render any assistance to me. I was obliged to ride ahead as a pilot, hoping to overtake four or five wagons that left camp the day before. Near sunset we came up with the families that had left that morning. They had nothing to eat, and their cattle had given out. We all camped in an oak grove for the night, and in the morning I divided my last morsel with them and left them to take care of themselves. I hurried Captain Brown so as to overtake the three wagons ahead. We passed beautiful mountains and valleys, saw but two Indians in the distance during the day. In the afternoon, Captain Brown complained of sickness and could only walk his horse at a distance behind. He had a swimming in his head and a pain in his stomach. In two or three hours he became delirious and fell from his horse. I was afraid to jump down from my horse to assist him, as it was one that a woman had never ridden before. He tried to rise up on his feet, but could not. I rode close to him and set the end of his cane, which I had in my hand, hard in the ground to help him up. I then urged him to walk a little. He tottered along a few yards and then gave out. I then saw a little sunken spot a few steps ahead and led his horse to it, and with much difficulty got him raised to the saddle. I told him to hold fast to the horse's mane and I would lead by the bridle. Two miles ahead another mountain to climb over. As we reached the foot of it he was able to take the bridle in his own hand and we passed over safely into a large valley, a wide solitary place, but no wagons in sight.
    The sun was now setting, and the wind was blowing and the rain was drifting upon the sides of the distant mountain. Poor me! I crossed the plain to where three mountain spurs met. Here the shades of night were gathering fast, and I could see the wagon tracks no further. Alighting from my horse, I flung off saddle and saddle-pack and tied the horse to a tree with a lasso rope. The Captain asked me what I was going to do. My answer was, "I am going to camp for the night." He gave a groan and fell to the ground. I gathered my wagon sheet, which I had put under my saddle, flung it over a projecting limb of a tree and made me a fine tent. I then stripped the Captain's horse and tied him, placed saddle, blankets and bridles under the tent, then helped up the bewildered old gentleman and introduced him to his new lodging upon the bare ground. His senses were gone. Covering him as well as I could with blankets, I seated myself upon my feet behind him expecting he would be a corpse before morning.
    Pause for a moment and consider the situation. Worse that alone, in a savage-infested wilderness, without food, without fire, cold and shivering, wolves fighting and howling all around me. Dark clouds even hid the stars. All as solitary as death. But that same kind Providence that I had always known was watching over me still. I committed all to Him and felt no fear. As soon as light dawned, I pulled down my tent, saddled my horse, found the Captain able to stand on his feet. Just at this moment, one of the emigrants whom I was trying to overtake came up. He was in search of venison. Half a mile ahead were the wagons I hoped to overtake, and we were soon there and ate plentifully of fresh meat. Within eight feet of where my tent had been set fresh tracks of two Indians were to be seen, but I did not know that they were there. They killed and robbed Mr. Newton only a short distance off but would not kill his wife because she was a woman. They killed another man on our cutoff, but the rest of the emigrants escaped with their lives. We traveled on for a few days and came to the foot of the Calapooia Mountain. Here my children and my grandchildren came up with us, a joyful meeting.
Excerpted from "A Brimfield Heroine--Mrs. Tabitha Brown," Oregon Historical Quarterly, June 1904, pages 199-202. Written August 1854. Mrs. Brown was sixty-six years of age during the journey.  
A longer version of the letter is found in "The Brimfield Heroine Letter," in Ella B. Spooner, The Brown Family History, Laurel, Montana 1929. The widely reprinted version found in Webb Research Group's "Over the Applegate Trail to Oregon in 1846: is an abridged version of these letters.

Narcissa Cornwall Moore
Daughter of J. A. Cornwall
Narcissa Cornwall Moore was a sister of J. H. Cornwall, and of Elizabeth Cornwall Geiger, wife of Dr. Wm. Geiger, of the Whitman Mission.

    At Fort Hall several companies of emigrants were met by one Jesse Applegate, who came out from the Willamette Valley assuring them he had found a much shorter road into the settlement than the old road down the Columbia River. This was in August. Several companies, I think about three, decided to take this cutoff, which led them hundreds of miles into Utah and California. We soon found we had made a terrible mistake. This narrative refers particularly to what was known as Captain Dunbar's Co.; the persons who composed this company, so far as I remember, were as follows:
    John H. Bridges, single, Daniel Goode, single, Rice Dunbar and family, father of Judge O. R. Dunbar, James Campbell and family and negro boy, Edward, J. Quinn Thornton and wife, Mr. Shelby, single, lawyer, James Smith and family, Henry Smith and family, James Crump and family, Miss Adeline Social, Ira Farley and mother, Mrs. Colwell, widow and children, Mr. Loveland and family, Morgan Savage and wife, Henry Croizen and wife, Henry Hall, young man, Daniel Boone and family (his daughter married Gov. George L. Curry), Mr. Nye and Mr. Gates, bachelors, Grandpa Brisbin, Mr. Perkins and family, Mr. Hall and family, Mr. Long and family, Daniel Culver, bachelor, Mr. Van Bebber and family, Mr. Kennedy, wife and grandson, William Smith and family (he died in the canyon), Mrs. Burns, widow and children (husband died on the plains), Mr. Newton and wife (he was killed by Indians in the canyon), Rev. J. S. Cornwall and family and three men as help, Israel Stoley (cousin), and Richard Chrisman drove the two ox teams and Lorenzo Byrd drove the loose cattle. (He is the father of Dr. W. H. Byrd of Salem, Oregon, an old neighbor of the Cornwall family in Ark.) Albert Alderman, single, father of ex-State School Superintendent Alderman, William Brisbin, single.
    The road was almost impassable in a great many places, and we were oftentimes compelled to camp without water. And sometimes there were trees fallen across the road which the wagons could not pass under until they had let down the bows from the top of the wagons. And in places there were logs which had to be cut away before the wagons could pass. We finally arrived at the Umpqua canyon.
    Our train arrived at the canyon in the afternoon. All were called to look down the hill at the entrance of the canyon. It seemed almost perpendicular and [it] did not seem possible for a wagon and team to get down it, but they did. The emigrants were almost entirely out of provisions; all of their groceries were gone. There were several families who had small bands of cattle, mostly cows. They decided some person must kill a beef, and as Father had the largest band of cows it fell to him to furnish the beef. Father told me to pick out one and kill it, but they were to drive our cattle through the canyon, which was about twelve miles, as we were intending to start into the canyon next morning and needed all our men with the wagons. The next morning we started with our two wagons and carriage and two other wagons. They fastened ropes to the wagons and held them back to keep them from pitching over onto the oxen, and in spite of all their care one wagon turned completely over onto the team. We traveled until the middle of the afternoon through a drenching rain. We made up a fire and as we were thoroughly chilled decided to camp for the night and go on in the morning, but when morning came we found several of our oxen had died during the night. We were compelled to remain in camp, but the two wagons who were with us continued their journey through the canyon. The remainder of the company never attempted to bring their wagons into the canyon but abandoned them and started to bring their families through on foot. Some had a gentle horse or ox on which they packed their small children, but the most of them were afoot.
    Our camp made a nice stopping place for the tired and hungry emigrants. There was plenty of wood, and we kept up a rousing fire night and day and a great many stopped with us overnight. They were always cold and hungry, and we often had to divide what little we had to eat, which was not really enough for ourselves, as we were entirely out of flour and all kinds of groceries. The starved emigrants would eat anything. We generally had plenty of meat, but could hardly get a chance to cook it, as they would beg for the beef when it was only put on to boil. We often would take the meat off the fire and hide it in the bushes when we heard a crowd coming. We had scarcely enough for ourselves, nothing to divide.
    We remained in this camp several weeks. Father and our hired men had taken several loads of our things out of the canyon on mules, and we had given up all hope of taking our wagons any farther. This seemed a very unfortunate camp for us, and to add to our troubles, Father was kicked by a mule and had three ribs broken. By the time he was able to travel the river had risen until the wagon road was impassable, and we were compelled to go [by] the pack trail, which ran along the edge of the bluff. We decided to leave this camp and Father cached his books, thinking he would return in the spring and get them.
    Early in the morning we all started on foot except Mother. We had a good, gentle mule, and we got a sidesaddle and Mother rode, carrying the baby, and a man (Byrd) walked by her side holding onto the saddle and helping her in any way she needed. The rest of us walked, each one carrying something. The road was very rough and steep in many places. We crossed streams of water often, which we found were very cold and deep. My brother and I could not cross the streams alone, and Father was carrying such a load that he could not help us but told us to catch hold of him when the water was too deep for us. We crossed streams a number of times where our feet did not touch the bottom. I carried a coffee pot with a bail to it and would bring it out full of water every time we crossed a deep stream. We found walking in our wet clothing very tiresome, and my brother thought he could not go any farther. We sat down and rested and I told him I would take our cloaks and hang them on the bushes beside the road and some person would see them and take them into camp. We found this a great help about walking, as they were very heavy and thoroughly soaked with water. In a few days our cloaks were brought into camp and were turned over to us. The rest of the crowd got far ahead of us, and we did not see them anymore until we reached camp.
    It was nearly dark when we reached camp. The men had stretched our tent and built up a large fire and we warmed and dried ourselves. Supper was soon prepared by our sister, Elizabeth, a girl of seventeen. We had given up all hope of taking our wagons any farther when a man who had left his wagons at the entrance of the canyon offered Father a yoke of oxen to work into the settlements if he would give him one of his wagons. Father accepted his offer, and our wagons were brought out of the canyon and we were able to bring many things we expected to leave, among them our books. It was said Father brought the largest library ever brought across the plains. Only about four cows of our band ever came out of the canyon.
    We soon started on our journey. Our two mules were only able to carry their harness, and the oxen could only draw the wagon, and the family all walked except Mother. I was nearly ten and my brother, George, two years younger than myself, walked every day through rain and snow. We finally decided to stop near where the town of Oakland now stands. We remained some time undecided what to do. The snow was getting pretty deep. There were a lot of emigrants at this camp; some were starting almost every day. They were mostly on foot, all trying to reach the settlements. Father decided to build a cabin and remain there until spring. Mother was not able to undertake such a trip, as she was suffering with the mountain fever, which she had caught from laying out persons who had died with it.
    Our cabin was finished after Christmas, and we moved in. It was real warm, and we found it quite a change from camping out in the rain and snow. There was a large fireplace and a place for our beds, made after the style of the camp meeting scaffold running all the way across the end of the cabin. Under this we stored our trunks and things left by the emigrants. They were to return for them in the spring. Back of our cabin a corral was made of brush where we kept our mules and cows at night to keep the Indians from stealing them. There was a shed on one side under which our wagon stood. Israel Stoley slept in this with several loaded guns by his side. The Indians had but few guns; in fact we only saw one among them, and this one belonged to a Mr. Newton, a member of our company who was killed by the Indians near the canyon. This Indian had Mr. Newton's horse, and when the emigrants came for their things they bought the horse and took it into the valley and gave it to the widow.
    A number of the Indians moved their camps near us. One morning we noticed unusual confusion in the Indian camps. Someone of us ran over to the camps to see what the trouble was, and we discovered they were all fighting among themselves, both men and women, and little children were screaming. They made everyone large enough fight. They used the sticks with which they dug camas, and some of them were terrible cut and bruised. We all stood and watched them through their battle, but we never knew why they did it.
    It was after Christmas when we moved into our cabin. We were entirely out of groceries of all kinds. We did not even have salt. We had plenty of venison. Israel Stoley was a fine hunter, and he seldom failed to bring in a nice fat deer. After our cows were fat Father killed a young heifer. This gave us fat with which to cook our venison as well as beef. We had three milk cows left which gave us all the milk we needed. There was an abundance of camas, a vegetable which grew wild on the prairies and was used by the Indians about the same as we use potatoes. There were two kinds; one kind the Indians told us was poison. They taught us how to dig them, and then would sort them for us, picking out the poisonous ones. We baked them like potatoes, but they were not so good as the way the Indians cooked them. They would heat rocks and dig a place in the hot ground and pour them in and then put in the hot rocks and cover them up with dirt and leave them in the ground for at least twenty-four hours. We would buy them from the Indians, wash and dry them and then eat them with our milk.
    There was an old lady in our company who taught us how to make blood pudding. The blood from the beef or deer was caught in a vessel, and they cut up little pieces of suet or fat in the blood and then added a little salt if they had it and then they would bake it. It was considered very good by the hungry emigrants.
    All of the families were entirely out of provisions, and the men were not always successful in killing wild game. Sometimes they would eat crows and cut meat from dead cattle. It seemed a shame when deer was so plentiful. We learned the country where we were was called the Umpqua Valley, but there were about as many Calapooia Indians as there were Umpquas living there, but I suppose the country really belonged to the Umpqua Indians. Father told the chief we wanted to stay there until spring, and if he would not allow his men to steal our cattle and mules, or trouble us in any way, in the spring when we were ready to leave we would make presents and have the emigrants who had left their things with us give them presents.
    We were about ten miles from the Umpqua River, and the Indians living there would often come and spend the greater part of the day. There was one who spoke English, and he told Mother the Rogue River Indians were coming to kill us. Mother told them if they troubled us in the spring the Bostons, the Indian name for the white people, would come out and kill them all off. Whether this had any effect or not I don't know, but anyway they did not kill us. But we always thought they came one day for that purpose. Father was busy reading and did not notice the house was being filled with strange Indians until Mother spoke about it. Most all of them wore blankets or skins over their shoulders, and we could not tell what they had concealed under these. As soon as Father noticed them he got up and got his pistols and asked the Indians to go out and see him shoot. They followed him out, but kept at a distance. The pistols were a great curiosity to them. I doubt if they had ever seen any before. As soon as they were all out of the cabin Mother barred up the door and would not let them in anymore. Father entertained then outside until evening, when they got on their ponies and rode away. They never returned to trouble us anymore. They seemed satisfied.
    Israel Stoley concluded to go on a hunting trip and camp out for the night. He took the two mules and an Indian who spoke English--he was a Calapooia and very friendly to us. They returned next evening with the mules loaded with deer. When he dressed the deer he gave the Indian the skins and such parts as he did not care for himself. While Stoley was away the Indians took advantage of his absence and made a raid on our camp and stole everything they could carry off. We were drying a lot of deer meat for an old man by the name of Culver, whom we were going to send into the settlements for help. They took the meat. This caused him to give up his trip until later on. Father sent for the old chief and told him what they had done. He made them return some things, but they kept all the clothing. They found Stoley was gone and no person in the wagon, so they helped themselves.
    We were getting anxious to start on towards the Willamette. We could have gone ourselves, but many of the emigrants had left all their clothing with us and Father would not go off and leave them, for we knew it would be a long time before they would be able to get any more.
    We tried more deer meat and started our man on his way to the Willamette Valley for help. He had only been gone but a few days when early one morning we saw him coming. We all ran out to meet him and hear the news. Mr. Culver told us he had met a man by the name of Joseph Hess and two young men, Josiah Nelson and Clark Rogers, coming for us. They were from the Chehalem Valley near where the town of Newberg, Yamhill County, now stands, and Mr. Nelson still lives there, but the other two have long since passed to the other shore.
    The emigrants who had left their things with us most all arrived that day or the next. Our preparations for our journey were short, and we bade adieu to our neighbors, some of them looking sorrowful with tears in their eyes when they saw us drive away. We were all delighted to start on our journey to the settlement. We had been a long time on our way. Mr. Hess had brought flour, coffee and salt. He had known Father back in Arkansas. He was surely a friend indeed, as well as we a friend in need. We traveled through a beautiful country. We hardly ever passed a place where any person lived. We finally reached the home of Mr. Hess, where we met his family. Mrs. Hess soon prepared us a good dinner, which we all enjoyed very much.
    After dinner we moved into a cabin on the homestead of Josiah Nelson, near the home of Mr. Hess. He continued to help us when we needed help. He would often kill a beef, and we always got a piece, and when they cut a cheese we were always remembered with a generous piece.
    We soon got acquainted with the neighbors, and Father was invited to preach in their houses where they were large enough. Lewis Rogers, an old settler in the Chehalem Valley, had the largest house, and he generally preached in his house.
    There was a band of Spanish cattle in the valley which were a terror to the neighborhood. They belonged to a man by the name of Sydney Smith. They were brought from California by a man by the name of Ewing Young, who died. I have often seen his grave.
    Father started out to hunt land on which to file a homestead, as all the good land in the Chehalem Valley was already taken up. He heard of the Tualatin Plains and went there to look at the country and became acquainted with the Rev. Harvey Clark, who was a Congregational minister, and Alvin T. Smith, an elder in Mr. Clark's church. He was a very pious man, and I have heard he would never let a traveler stay all night Saturday unless he would remain until Monday, and he whipped his cow because she bawled on Sunday. Anyway we found him to be an excellent man. They prevailed on Father to move there and teach their school and preach. Mr. Smith came to help us move. We bade our Chehalem neighbors farewell and moved to the Tualatin Plains. We moved into a house in Mr. Clark's dooryard, but it was only partly finished. There was no fireplace, and such a thing as a cook stove was hardly thought of in those days. We made a fire outside and cooked the same as we had in crossing the plains.
    There was an old house standing nearby which we decided to fix up for our winter residence. Father and my brother built a chimney and made a partition through the house, and we were soon settled for the winter. Our cabin stood near where the Congregational Church now stands in the town of Forest Grove, Oregon. While living there my youngest sister, who is now Mrs. Anna Shinn, was born. A few days before moving into our new house my eldest sister, Elizabeth, was married to Dr. William Geiger, who owned a home about two miles from where we were living. Dr. Geiger had lived at the Whitman Mission. He was left in care of the mission while Dr. Whitman made a trip east of the mountains. This was the winter of forty-three. The Whitmans were killed by the Cayuse Indians in November, 1847.
    While we were living at Mr. Clark's, Dr. Whitman and his nephew, Perrin Whitman, called one afternoon for a short visit with Mr. Clark's family. My mother asked him if his wife was not afraid to live among the Indians. He said that Mrs. Whitman would say when any person spoke of being afraid that the Indians never killed women.
    Father soon began teaching. I don't think he ever received a dollar in money, but we were supplied with vegetables, meat and flour. Either Father or Mr. Clark preached every Sunday, and they kept up a sabbath school, Dr. Geiger being superintendent.
    That fall the news came that Dr. and Mrs. Whitman had been murdered, and a runner came to our house in the night and called Father and asked him if he had a gun. He answered that he had a gun and two large pistols. He told him to keep them loaded and be prepared to protect his family, as they were expecting Indians to attack the settlers any night.
    The cabin in which we were living had been used for a church house for a long time, and the graveyard was nearby. There were a number of funerals during the winter.
    Father dug a well a long ways from the house, and I had to carry most all the water for the house and for washing. We had no barrel and only one pail, and our cooking utensils were an oven and two coffee pots, in one of which we made our wheat or pea coffee; in the other we cooked meat or vegetables.
    The family all went to school during the day except me and my two little sisters. I was left at home to do the housework and cooking and take care of Mother, who was sick. It was a pretty hard task for a girl of eleven years who had never been used to work, but when anything was to be done call a darkie to do it. I was almost too tired when night came to sleep. Father kept a fire burning all night, and I was always called to get up in the night to look after the baby. I had to get up before daylight to get breakfast so the folks could get off to school. There was a young minister who came to live with us; he never helped about anything. I had to wash his clothes, starch and iron his white shirts. We had no starch, and I would scrape potatoes and put them in water and the starch would settle on the bottom. This made a very good starch.
    We had three milk cows, and I was expected to make enough butter for the table. I would save up the cream, but we had no churn, having thrown ours away on the plains. I would take the cream to a neighbor's and churn, then carry it home and dress the butter.
    I learned how to make squash pies, and I often spent a whole afternoon baking pies, but I could only bake one at a time. I had no shoes. We started with several pairs apiece, but did not make allowance for our growing feet. I set the only pair that I could wear too near the fire and they drew up so I couldn't get them on. Mrs. Joseph Gale made me three pairs of moccasins, and I gave her my gaiters in exchange for them, as they fitted her oldest daughter.
    By the next spring, 1848, my father had found a location that suited him in Yamhill County on the South Yamhill River, about three miles south of McMinnville. There was a cabin on the place. In the spring we moved to our new home, but it was not finished enough to live in and we moved into William Rogers' cabin nearby and lived there until ours was ready. It was not long until ours was ready and we moved in, but it did not seem like the lovely home we had left in Arkansas, but it seemed better than moving from place to place.
    We soon got seed wheat and potatoes. We had brought garden seed with us, and we began making garden.
    There was one thing we all had, and that was good health. My brothers began making rails, and we soon had a garden and a small field fenced and a good garden planted, and it really began to seem like home.
University of Oregon typescript CB C816

From the Oregon Spectator.
    THE EMIGRANTS--SOUTHERN ROUTE.--We have no further information to give concerning the emigrants on the southern route, excepting that which is contained in the following letter, received a few days since.
Settlement on the Rickreall,
    November 30, 1846.
    Editor of the Spectator:--I have just arrived in the settlements of this valley from the Kenyon in the Umpqua mountains. I left the people suffering beyond anything you have ever known. They must perish with hunger unless the people of the settlements go to their relief with pack horses and bring them in. They will have property with which to pay for such services. If they are not brought away they must perish. Before I left, they had already commenced eating the cattle that had died in the Kenyon. At least one hundred head of pack horses should be taken out immediately. I implore the people of this valley, in the name of humanity, and in behalf of my starving and perishing fellow travelers to hasten to their relief.
In haste, I am, sir, yours &c.
    We have understood that a considerable band of horses have been sent out from Champoeg county, sufficient probably to bring in all or most of the emigrants.
Californian, Monterey, February 20, 1847, page 4

Polk County, Oregon
    Oct. 11, 1847
Dear Brother:-
    Your letter by the hand of Mr. Burch has been received, and I have this day been employed in writing powers of attorney for Charles, Lindsay and myself, but we may yet miss the opportunity of sending them by the present opportunity for want of a proper officer to take the acknowledgments. In case we succeed in sending you the proper authority, I have from Charles the following directions to give you. In order to avoid trouble and future expense, when we left Missouri he executed to his father-in-law a regular deed duly acknowledged, which, together with his Land Office Certificate, was deposited in the hand of Joseph Story, a neighbor who enjoyed our full confidence. Mr. Miller and Story are now both dead, and we have not heard any mention made what has become of his papers or whether his land is reckoned as a part of Mr. Miller's estate or not; but as it is well known to the heirs of the estate that no consideration was paid by Mr. Miller for the land and that the deed was made merely to enable the old gentleman to sell it for Charles when the opportunity should offer, it is presumable they do not consider it a part of the estate.
    His request is that you turn into money or funds available in this country all lands or property you may obtain for him, and send it by the first opportunity. He would have written himself but he is, and has been for many weeks, closely confined night and day in attendance on his daughter Susan, who either from a fall from a horse, or perhaps obstructed menses from cold, has fallen into a state of catalepsy attended with violent spasms which continually threaten her life--and has already much injured her mental faculties. The rest of his family are well except his second son, your namesake, who has had epileptic fits since he has been in this country.
    Lindsay will perhaps write you himself; if he does not I will mention his business hereafter. His family are well.
    My affairs are much deranged as well in Missouri as this country. When we arrived here, myself and Lindsay purchased some Spanish cattle, I, 118--he 108. With mine I did well. Having kept them about 18 months I sold them for a handsome profit, making them pay for themselves and a debt of $1000 and over, which we jointly owed in Vancouver. But Lindsay upon the faith of $1000 dollars for which he sold his land and some debts due him in Missouri, promised to pay cash for his cattle. As I was his endorser and the man failing who purchased his land, I took the cattle off his hands but have not been able to meet his engagement. Tho' I have due me in this country perhaps two dollars for every one I owe I cannot collect anything, and instead of the funds which I have been long expecting from Missouri I have received letters from Synthia's brother, Sisney, that my agent Joseph Story is dead.
    I have not as yet received any letters from St. Clair County this year, as the emigrants from that quarter of the state have not arrived, but from Sisney's letter I expect nothing. Last year's advices were very discouraging. The person I left on my farm in charge of a considerable stock of hogs, a large quantity of Indian corn, some bacon, wheat and oats has not rendered a satisfactory account of his trust, and has assisted the elements in bringing my once flourishing little home to destruction. I hope the first act of your attorneyship will be to turn his reverence (for he is a preacher) off of the premises. I also had about 5 miles higher up the Osage River another very pretty little farm, about 40 acres in cultivation, a very good peach orchard, and a comfortable cabin. Of this property I have heard nothing whatever. I have another tract of land lying on both sides of the Sac River at the junction of that stream with the Osage. Tho' this tract of land is not improved it yet may sell well, as it is finely timbered and besides being rich, covers a valuable water power.
    There is, Sisney writes, 6 or 800 dollars of my dues ready to be paid over to my agent as soon as I can appoint one, and if you can so far trouble yourself as to obtain it and send it to me by a safe hand nothing would be more acceptable. It is the request of all parties that for all expenses and trouble you may be at on our account that you pay yourself to your satisfaction. It is neither wished nor expected by us that you render us such essential service gratuitously.
    Perhaps Col. Marmaduke and your colleague C. F. Jackson will purchase my land. P. H. Burnett has informed me that a son of Gen. T. Smith wished to buy. I much desire to sell as I never desire to return to Missouri, much less make it my place of residence. Mr. Evans, a merchant who had a store at Osceola in charge of J. T. McLane, shipped me a lat of bacon, pork and lard and made on it an advance of $100; of this matter I have heard nothing. You will perceive by Mr. Story's receipt which I enclose, some notes given to him for collection. My land titles were left with Dan'l. Dale, who lives 5 miles south of my old place. For information I refer to Wm. Waldo of Osceola. He is a friend and an active business man. Capt. Montgomery, one of my nigh neighbors, I wish you by all means to visit if you find it necessary to visit that country. Tho' he is a Benton Locofoco in politics he is a good honest man for whom I have the highest esteem. You will see by Mr. Story's receipt that notes on Winfield were left with him amounting to 142.34 dollars. Winfield had at that time a good wagon and team which in the presence of witnesses he surrendered to me in pledge to satisfy this demand, and he was to bring them to me in Oregon the following year. But he has not come, and I suppose from his dissipation he could not even with that assurance procure an outfit.
    I am still well pleased with this country. It is pleasant and healthy, but we had the last winter one of great severity followed the present year by light crops, and as the emigration is very large, bread will be scarce. In truth people live very hard in this country--a scarcity of the necessities of life--and a poor man with a family can scarcely feed them, much less clothe them. We look to see these difficulties soon removed by improved commercial facilities.
    Unfortunately for the present emigration, the emigrants who traveled the southern route to Oregon did badly. For want of energy and diligence in traveling they were caught by the rains which were of unusual severity at the Umpqua Mountains about 75 miles from the Willamette Valley. Being out of bread and much discouraged many of the families abandoned their wagons and much of their property and were packed into the settlements. The merchants of Oregon City, a chartered company which has a toll gate in the Cascade Mountains, and the major part of the old settlers, being interested in the profits arising from the old road down the Columbia, eagerly seized upon the circumstance to denounce the newly discovered route and of course the men who had found and recommended it. As our whole party, with I think few if any exceptions, undertook the hazardous duty of discovering a better road from the purest spirit of philanthropy, having no pecuniary views whatever, you may imagine our feelings when for our exertions for the general good instead of the thanks of our fellow citizens we were assailed from all sides with abuse and slander the most injurious. By exercising my patience and summoning all my fortitude to my aid I steadily maintained my position and defended the road without noticing private slanders. In a series of articles signed "Z" I reviewed the difficulties encountered by the several emigrations in reaching this country and closed by showing plainly the advantages of the southern route over any heretofore known.
    Tho' fully convinced of the truth of my statements yet I made no effort to induce emigrants to travel the road. Your friend Mr. Burch with 25 wagons were all that we know of who traveled the new road. They have all arrived safely and are highly pleased with the road. A great reaction in the public mind must take place, as an even greater amount of suffering and loss is now taking place on the old road than usual. The result will be the permanent establishment of the southern road.
    To reap the advantages of my exertions, I intend next spring to lead a party to the mouth of the Too-too-ta-ne, or Rogue River, in lat. 42°26'. The southern route passes through a very fine valley on this stream which is said to extend down it to the coast. Mr. Douglas of the H.B. Co., has kindly furnished me with a chart of the harbor at the mouth of the river and such sketches of the country as his marine officers had taken. The harbor will not admit large vessels, but ships may enter of sufficient size to answer all the purposes of trade. The stream is, according to his account, navigable for large vessels about 40 miles into the interior, and the Klamath and Rogue River which there unite are navigable for small boats much further.
    This country from the wild and untamable character of the natives has as yet no white inhabitants, but as much of the land is really very fine and the grazing superior of the valley and the mountains clad with a noble growth of pine, to those who have the courage to secure the first choices in that country will accrue what many men desire--a large fortune. I have (perhaps deservedly) the character of a bold adventurer, and no small desire for wealth; I may be destined to found in this valley the first Christian community.
    I must not I suppose withhold from you the fact that Synthia and Rozelle have become members of the Christian or Campbellite Church. Tho' not a believer, I am happy in their evidently increased happiness, and fully concur with that order of Protestants in the construction they receive the sacred writings. Charles' daughter Susan (the invalid) was also baptized into that church, and Harriet (Lucy's daughter) was baptized a few months since. She is I think a good woman and blessed with an equally good man for a husband. He is moral, sober & industrious, and there can scarcely be found in humble life a couple who enjoy greater felicity.
    Could I have received the money from Missouri that I had every reason to rely on I might have considered myself comfortably settled in this country. I have a superior claim, with buildings when finished sufficiently roomy and fine for a farmer's residence, about 80 acres of land in cultivation, and a pasture of about 500 acres enclosed. I have besides a saw and grist mill which 1 built this summer, good machines and of my own construction; a sufficient stock of hogs and horses, and 300 head of fine American cattle, about 2 dollars of dues to 1 of demands against me. But the point of honor with me is punctuality. I cannot collect debts; I must sell property much as I regret it.
    I am tired of writing and perhaps you of reading so I must close. Give our respects to Betsy and the boys. Tell her I do not blame her for being opposed to a journey to Oregon; it is one of great hardship and risk, and even if successful she must expect never to enjoy the comforts of life or the pleasures of society--a selfish community and a hungry land.
Your affectionate brother
    Jesse Applegate.
Lisbon Applegate, Esq.
Yale University Beinecke Library, WA MSS-10

From Fort Hall to Willamette Valley.

    Emigrants to travel the Southern Route in safety should strictly observe the following directions, to wit:--
    1st. To carefully extinguish their camp fires, to prevent the burning of the grass.
    2nd. To travel in companies of about 20 wagons, and at least 25 men able to bear arms.
    3rd. To keep a guard with their animals at all times when not traveling (day and night). Three or four men on guard at a time will be sufficient on any part of the road.
    4th. Never to sleep two nights in the same camp--but move every day if but a short distance, nor pen or tie up their teams at night, but allow them to feed wherever they can.
    5th. Always to select an open spot for a camp, at a distance from the timber and brush along the streams, and from the rushes about the lakes. The stock also should be kept away from such places, as the Indians conceal themselves in them to do mischief.
    6th. From the headwaters of Ogden's River to the Cascade Mountains, the Indians along the road are poor, cowardly and treacherous; they are beggars by day and thieves at night. The less emigrants have to do with them either as friends or enemies the better for them. They should be kept at a distance, by signing them away by day and firing a few shots about occasionally through the night to let them know you are vigilant.
    The Rogue River Indians are rather better but more dangerous. They will wish to trade horses (which they have stolen), skins, salmon &c., for guns and ammunition, but it is not only unlawful to trade these articles but very unsafe to arm them, for they will undoubtedly steal your property or kill you if they have an opportunity. There is but few of the Umpquas, and of course they are not dangerous--but they have stolen from, robbed and murdered the emigrants. If you should need their assistance in crossing the Umpqua River, pay them for the service what is right but do not permit them to extortion.
    7th. From where Greenwood's Cutoff enters the Bear River Valley on a direct course (nearly E. & W.) to the head of the Cajeux Creek is less than 100 miles; by the road it is 225. There is nothing to prevent wagons from making this cutoff, but some 6 or 7 miles of rough road in descending into Cache Valley; this might be examined and its practicability determined in a day or two.
    Mr. Anderson and many other mountaineers you will meet with on Bear River are well acquainted with this route and would conduct a party through for a trifle; I would advise emigrants to examine and if practicable to make this cutoff; it will avoid some bad road and save seven or eight days' travel.
    If the road still pass Fort Hall, it will be as follows.
    From Fort Hall to American Falls on Snake River,   24 miles
Good camps to the big spring 2 miles above the falls.
    Crossing of Cajeux Creek,   26    "
A rough road and scarce of grass; the last water is at the crossing of Fall Creek, 10 miles above Cajeux.
    Up Cajeux Creek,   35    "
At the crossing of this creek the roads fork; the northern route continues down Snake River; the southern route goes up the creek, good grass along the Cajeux, and camps plenty.
    To Goose Creek,   17    "
The road when it leaves the waters of Cajeux Creek follows up a brook into a narrow rocky pass of the mountain--it is 8 or 9 miles to the next water, two springs about a mile apart; the next water is about 3 miles from Goose Creek, a good camp--road hilly and rough.
    Up Goose Creek,   20    "
Good wood and good grass--the last camp on the waters of Goose Creek is a sulfur spring, on the north side of a hollow, and opposite to the place the road climbs the hill.
    First spring in Hot Spring Valley,   12    "
Crooked, rough road.
    Along Hot Spring Valley,   25    "
From the first it is about 5 miles to the next water, 3 or 4 more to some sulfur springs, 10 miles to the next water, from which there is plenty of grass and water to the head of the valley. The hot spring from which the valley takes its name is about 5 miles from the head of the valley.
    First waters of Ogden's River,     8    "
    Ogden's River,   22    "
The road formerly run around the S. end of the mountain, and was a day's travel longer than at present. The right road follows the little stream through a narrow defile about 3 miles in length, which a party in advance of the wagon could much improve in a short time.
    Down Ogden's River, 200    "
    Springs in the pass,   12     "
    Rabbit Hole Springs,   13     "
    Black Rock,   20     "
From Ogden's River to the Black Rock is known as "the dry stretch," and to perform the journey in safety, emigrants should send a party 2 or 3 days in advance to dig out large reservoirs for the water at the springs, by which means water may be had for their animals. At the first springs there is some grass; at the second there is little or none, but at Black Rock there is abundance.
    Emigrants should encamp at the first springs and perform the journey from there to the Rock in the next day and night. The loose animals should be driven ahead as fast as possible until they reach the Rock, and not suffered to drink at the second springs, as the water should all be reserved for the teams. Care should be taken to prevent the loose animals from leaving the road during the night travel, as many have been lost by neglecting this precaution.
    From the Rabbit Hole Springs, Black Rock is in sight in a N.W. direction across a level plain; it is the south end of a range of naked burnt mountains, and all the water in its vicinity is nearly boiling hot. There is about 5 miles south of the Rabbit Hole Springs a hot spring and a plain of grass. If the road passed that way it would be longer, but a night drive would be avoided; it is worth examination.
    Last Flat Spring,     5     "
    Salt Valley,   20     "
    First camp in High Rock Canion,   10     "
    Up High Rock Canion,   20     "
The High Rock Canion is a great natural curiosity, a good road, handsome little meadows and excellent water enclosed by beetling cliffs, rising in places hundreds of feet perpendicular.
    Little Mountain Pass,   18    "
Four miles from the last water of High Rock Creek to a good camp at a running brook, two miles further there are springs left of the road, fine grass and water at the pass on both sides of the ridge.
    Warm Springs,   12    "
    Summit of Sierra Nevada,   18    "
The road in 1846 run directly across the dry lake to Plum Creek about 12 miles from the warm springs. The front company last year, having nooned at the warm springs, left the road and struck off to the left for the foot of the mountain in order sooner to make a camp; the rest of the emigrants followed--the old road is 3 or 4 miles shortest. Plenty of grass and water all along the mountainsides on both sides of the pass within half a mile of the summit.
    Keep close watch here; the Indians are very mischievous.
    Goose Lake,   10    "
Immigrants to California should follow the Oregon road to this point and turn down the the foot of the mountain; by doing so they would avoid those tremendous mountains so difficult on the present route.
    Around the Lake,   20    "
    Canion Creek,     8    "
    Down Canion Creek,   10    "
    Goff's Springs (warm water),     8    "
    Big Spring,     4    "
    Shallow Lake,   10    "
    Sacramento River (long drive),   20    "
    Crossing of Sacramento (Rock Bridge),     4    "
    First camp on Klamath Lake   10    "
    First Creek,     7    "
    Second Creek (Fish Creek),     3    "
    Third Creek (Big Spring),     6    "
    Leaving of the Lake,     6    "
    Crossing of Klamath River,   10    "
    First water in Beaver Creek,   18    "
At the leaving of the Klamath River, the road enters the timber of the Cascade Mountain, and on Beaver Creek is the first camp; parties should make an early start, and the first one should send persons ahead to open the road. Good grass on Beaver Creek.
    Crossing of Beaver Creek,     6    "
    Round Prairie (good camp),     2    "
    Headwaters of Rogue River,     8    "
    Down South Fork,   20    "
    Rogue River,   15    "
    Umpqua Mountain,   35    "
First 14 miles good road, next 14 very hilly, last 7 up the valley of a creek, good road.
    Through Umpqua Mountain,   12    "
Send a party before you to open the road, make an early start and you will get through in a day--you go over other mountains, this you go through.
    Down South Fork to crossing of Umpqua River,   30    "
    Scott's Farm,   20    "
    Calapooya Mountain,     5    "
    Over the mountains to Willamette Valley,   10    "
From the Sierra Nevada to Willamette Valley there is no scarcity of grass or water--camps may be had every few miles except as before noted.
    As the emigrants may be days without seeing an Indian, the indolent and incautious may think there is no necessity to keep a strict watch over their animals.
    And the humane may think it wrong to refuse a poor Indian a piece of bread.
    To the first I would remark that it is better to spend a few hours every second or third night in guarding their cattle than to be left in the desert without a team, or arrive in Willamette without a cow to give them milk; the people here are poor and hardhearted. The humane I would remind that gratitude is a sensation unknown to a savage; the beings you would tame by kindness will take the life of the living or disinter the dead for the sake of the clothes that cover their bodies.
    And as they give only to those they fear they ascribe your charity to the same motive. Fear in you encourages aggression in them.
    In 1846, Mr. Newton gave to a poor Umpqua some powder and balls to kill a deer; the Indian returned the same night and murdered him with his own ammunition. When you see the bodies of your deceased friends torn out of their graves and stripped by these ghouls, you will not consider the sentence a harsh one which keeps them at a distance.
                             JESSE APPLEGATE.
Oregon Spectator, Oregon City, April 6, 1848, pages 1-2

Indian Hostilities in the South.
JACKSON COUNTY, Ogn., Aug. 19th, 1861.
Editor of the Oregonian:
    You are, and the public is, generally informed of the murder of Messrs. Joseph Bailey and Evans by the Modoc Indians while on their way to Washoe with a drove of cattle--some six or eight hundred head. There were sixteen men in the company, probably well armed, and they were defeated after a fierce engagement.
    By later news we are informed that a company of 20 soldiers were sent out from Fort Crook, in pursuit of the Indians, and but one of the 20 escaped to tell of the sad fate of the remainder. (This report has been contradicted.) [line of type obscured by a fold] The Indians about Goose Lake and Pit River are in force, very numerous, well armed with guns, pistols, arrows, &c., and elated with victory; but as it would not do to delay for a stronger force to assemble, as emigrants coming by the old emigrant trail to Oregon, by the Klamath Lakes, might already be in the enemy's country, a company of volunteers, under the command of Captain Lindsay Applegate, on the 10th ult. organized in Rogue River Valley and started on the old emigrant trail to protect the emigrants into this valley. The company numbered but forty-two men, but they are well armed--good shots and very cautious--most of them have seen service in most or all of the wars with the devilish Indians of this section. To do the company justice, the men are picked for this dangerous service; and I am confident if the Indians attack them where they have a chance to fight there will be many a dusky warrior bite the dust. The company, however, will be compelled to pass through ravines and other places where the skulking foe may take all advantage. About 30 Rogue River Indians came into Rogue River Valley about two weeks since and requested the settlers to leave the old reserve on Evans Creek. The settlers talk of making them glad to stay away. The inquiry is why are the Indians not kept on the Grand Ronde reserve but allowed to return and disturb the settlements?
Yours in haste,
Weekly Oregonian, Portland, August 31, 1861, page 1

    THE NORTHERN IMMIGRATION.--G. F. Anderson, who has lately arrived in Jackson County, over the plains, says, in a communication to the Jacksonville (Oregon) Sentinel, of August 31st:
    As to the extent of the emigration, from our own observation and from what we could learn from others, it is equal in numbers--cattle alone excepted--to the famous emigration of '52. The greater portion went to California, and had with them a "copious effusion" of fine stock (horses) for that fast country. For the benefit of future emigrants, I would say take the celebrated Lander's Cutoff, as we did, from the last crossing of Sweetwater, and find for yourselves and stock an abundance of the best water and grass, instead of the barren wastes of the old route; also a saving of sixty miles of travel. Another great advantage of this route is that it leads you through the Green River Mountains above the forks of that rapid stream, allowing you to ford it with safety, instead of having to ferry the dangerous stream below. This route joins the old road at the City of Rocks, the junction of the Salt Lake road and Sublette's Cutoff. We left Tenbrook and friends at this place--the City of Rocks. He waited at this place for a company of California emigrants that were calculating to go by way of Honey Lake, as he preferred that route to the one by way of Goose Lake. At Lassen's Meadows, the junction of the Old California, Northern California and Southern Oregon roads, we were joined by Dr. Wells and Commodore Rose, who were designing, as we also were, to come through on the Goose Lake route; but before getting to the junction of the Honey Lake and Goose Lake roads, at the Antelope Springs, myself and friends, finding that our horses would not be able to make the trip over the Goose Lake route, they being barefooted and the route a very rocky one, concluded to go by way of Honey Lake, where we could get our animals shod. This left of the company to come by the way of the Goose Lake route fifteen men and several women and children. They expected to get into the valley seven days ahead of us, which was however too great a difference in favor of that route. We have been in six days and they have not yet arrived. The Indians on that route are known always to have been more or less hostile. They have lately killed Bailey and one of his comrades, and until further is heard from them, you must draw your own inferences as to their fate. I fear the worst, but sincerely hope they may have been detained by a better fate than that which befell Bailey and his party. Lemuel Baker, of Albia, Iowa, whose father lives in Portland, was with this company when we left them. There were of our company, already arrived, about eighteen men, nine women, quite a number of children, nine wagons, twenty horses, and twenty-five head of cattle. Three of these teams, with their cargoes of humanity, were bound for Linn County, Oregon; two of them for Puget Sound; one was "scattering," that is, didn't know where it would fetch up, and the others would stop in this county.
Sacramento Daily Union, September 4, 1861, page 1

    J. M. McCall, belonging to Capt. Applegate's company, which went from Rogue River to meet and protect emigrants from Rogue River to meet and protect emigrants on the southern route, has returned. They met a company near Clear Lake of some forty persons and nine wagons. They were furnished with provisions and escorted in by thirteen of the company. Capt. Applegate, with twenty-three men, started north on an exploring tour. They will be in in a few days. Seven of the company proceeded on to Honey Lake Valley.
"News Items," Weekly Oregonian, Portland, September 14, 1861, page 2

    The following has also been furnished by Mr. [Jesse] Applegate, and is inserted here from a desire to give as near an absolute correct version of every historical event as can be obtained from the memoranda and recollections of the early pioneers:
    "Pages 148 and 149.--On these pages you notice what has been known as the 'Southern Route' to Oregon. The notice is very imperfect and essentially untrue. The fall of 1846 was one of exceptional drought and sterility west of the Rocky Mountains, and immigrants suffered much more for grass and water on the old established routes to Oregon and California than upon the new. It is true the teams of the immigrants were much weakened by breaking a new road through the sage plains of Nevada, but the timbered portions of it were opened before them by the labor and at the expense of the explorers. The loss of wagons and other property at the Umpqua Canyon was great, but it was not suffered by the company that led the van and broke the road, but as usual by the loiterers in the rear. As the leading company passed through the canyon in a single day and suffered no loss--so might the rest had they used due diligence, but they were a week behind and the fall rains came on before they had passed this defile, so it was the abundance of water and not its scarcity that caused them loss and suffering. It was not 'a few years later' as you state but every year from the time of opening the road in 1846 (until 1855 when the fierce hostility of the Modocs and other Indians along the route closed it)--'this route through Nevada * * * was used by thousands of immigrants entering Northern California and Southern Oregon.' The desert that everywhere surrounds the lower Humboldt is the only one on this route 'a level plain of twenty-five miles.' There is no lack of grass and water at convenient distances elsewhere.
    "Steve Meek never saw the canyon in 1843, nor did any other white man before it was explored and opened in 1846. The canyon, instead of being a shame and disgrace to its explorers, is an honor to everyone engaged in the arduous undertaking, for though frequently undertaken, in the interim of 38 years no other route has been found by which a wheeled vehicle has passed between the Umpqua and Rogue River Valleys, and consequently staging and all other land intercourse (except a very little east of the Cascades) between Oregon and California has been carried on through this much abused, though wonderful, natural route. As to the motive of the exploring party, it is enough to say it was neither selfish nor pecuniary as none of them received or asked a cent from anyone who traveled that road. The Oregon legislature authorized Capt. Levi Scott, one of its explorers, further to improve it, and charge toll for its use (see Acts of 1847); but he only traveled it once and made a few changes."
David D. Fagan, History of Benton County, Oregon, A. G. Walling publisher, Portland 1885. These paragraphs were "tipped in" to the volume after printing, pasted after page 196.

    I recall now the names of the fifteen South Road explorers--Father, Uncle Jesse, Parker, Levi and John Scott, Henry Boygus, Ben Burch, John Owens, John (Jack) Jones, the man who moved the pioneer orchard, Robert Smith, Sam Goodhue--who was periodically insane; Moses (Black) Harris, David Goff, Bennett Osborn and William Sportsman. At the time this party went through Rogue River Valley so quietly another company was fighting every rod of the way!
Elisha Lindsay Applegate, quoted in Reese P. Kendall, Pacific Trail Camp-Fires, Chicago 1901, page 313

    "We came to Oregon in 1846, when I was 14 years old. I was born in Independence County, Arkansas, on October 8, 1832. My father, Josephus A. Cornwall, was a native of Georgia. My mother, Nancy Hardin Cornwall, was born in Arkansas shortly after her parents moved there from Kentucky. On the tenth of April, 1846, we started by ox team for Independence, Mo., to join the emigrants who were assembling there to form a wagon train for Oregon. There were about 80 wagons in our train. Captain Russell was elected to have command of the wagon train. Captain Russell took the California trail, going on horseback. After the Donners and the other emigrants for California left us at the branching of the trail our party was cut down to 21 wagons. Captain Dunbar was put in command after Captain Russell took the California trail. My part of the work in crossing the plains was to drive the loose stock. My assistant in the work was a boy about my own age, George Donner.
    "The Donner family had a terrible experience. They were overtaken by winter in the Siskiyous. They camped by the shores of a lake, later known as Donner Lake. They ran out of food and killed [sic] and ate several of their party. George Donner survived this cannibalistic experience. I met him later in California, but he wouldn't talk of it.
    "At Fort Hall we were met by Jesse Applegate and some others. Captain Levi Scott, Jesse and Lindsay Applegate and some others had surveyed or rather cruised out a new road by what has since been termed the Applegate cutoff. We followed their guidance through Central Oregon by way of Goose Lake and Klamath Lake. They left us there to go ahead and work on the road through the canyon near what is now Canyonville. While we were traveling down the Humboldt a messenger came back to us asking us to hurry forward as their wagons were attacked by Indians. We hurried forward but when we arrived the Indians were gone leaving several of the emigrants wounded. One of them, Mr. Sally, died of his wounds.
    "The Indians shot some of our cattle near Goose Lake. We were so late that we decided to winter in Southern Oregon. The Kennedy family and our family wintered about where the town of Oakland now is. My cousin, Israel Staley, who was 21 years old that winter, kept us well supplied with venison. He had the only good gun in the party and he was an extra good shot."
Joseph Hardin Cornwall, quoted by Fred Lockley, "In Early Days," Oregon Journal, Portland, August 21, 1915, page 4

    "Francis Marion Collins is what I was christened but they generally call me Frank," said an Oregon pioneer of 1846 when I visited him recently at his home in Dallas. "I was born in Missouri on November 19, in the year 1834. My father, Smith Collins, was born in Virginia. My mother, Emily Wyatt Collins, was a Kentuckian. They were married in Missouri and had 12 children, eight boys and four girls. I was 12 years old when we started for Oregon in the spring of 1846. On Bear River, six or seven miles this side of Soda Springs, one of my brothers fell out of the front of the wagon and before the oxen could be stopped the front wheel ran over him and killed him. Father made a coffin for him from the false bottom of our wagon. They buried him by the side of the trail. They covered his coffin with flat water-worn rocks from Bear River so the coyotes could not dig him up. At Fort Hall we were met by Captain Levi Scott, the founder of Scottsburg, near the mouth of the Umpqua. He told us that he and the Applegates and some others from Polk County had a new cutoff which saved the hard climb across the Cascades or the dangerous trip down the Columbia by raft or bateau.
    "Four families of our train decided to take the new cutoff. There was our family, the Pringle family, the Faulkners and old Captain Brown who followed Captain Levi Scott. We took a different road than that taken by Stephen Meek the year before when he attempted to show a large train of emigrants a cutoff by the southern route and they came to grief.
    "We had no trouble except near Klamath Lake. One of our party, a man by the name of Tanner, lagged behind and failed to come in one night. Next morning they went back to look him up and found him back a piece in the road, stripped naked and full of arrows. They dug a shallow grave for him beneath a big chunk of sagebrush with their hunting knives and tramped the ground down and left him.
    "We struck the head of Bear Creek and followed it down to about where Medford now is. We had been joined by nearly a hundred wagons which had turned south at Fort Hall, among them the Vanderpools, the Crowleys and others. Old man Vanderpool was bringing in some blooded sheep, but at near what is now Grants Pass the Indians charged his band of sheep, scattered them and got most of them. As we were making our way down a heavy grade the man who was driving Crowley's wagon called out for me to stop. I had the wagon just ahead of Crowley's. He told me Leland Crowley was dying and for me to send my mother back at once. Mother went back to Crowley's wagon but Leland only lived a few minutes. She was a very bright, pretty and likable girl about 17 or 18 years old. We drove down the grade and camped beside the stream. Mother laid Leland out and prepared her for her burial. They buried her by the side of the stream which for years went by the name of Grave Creek. It is now called Leland Creek after Leland Crowley. Crowley station and post office here in Polk County is named for the Crowley family.
    "A few days after we buried Leland another party came along and found the Indians had dug her up and taken all her clothes, leaving her naked. They reburied her. J. D. Smith, who lives in Dallas, was in the party that reburied her. He still has the iron fire shovel they used to bury her. It happened to be the only shovel they had."
Fred Lockley, "In Early Days," Oregon Journal, Portland, August 23, 1915, page 4

Southern Oregon's First Road

    I am writing this article in the hope that the people of Southern Oregon, and the Rogue River Valley in particular, may become interested in learning something of the history of the first road through this valley.
    The only account of this hazardous undertaking was written by Lindsay Applegate, one of the organizers of the expedition, some years after the completion of the work.
    In order that all who read this little sketch may understand the motives which induced this little body of men to undertake this dangerous work, I shall quote from the manuscript written by Lindsay Applegate:
    ". . . Our immigration of 1843, being the largest that had ever crossed the plains, our progress was necessarily slow, having to hunt out passes for our wagons over rivers, creeks, deep gullies, digging down the banks where nothing but a pack trail had been before, cutting our way through the dense forests before we could reach the valley of the Columbia, and then it appeared as though our greatest troubles had begun, for here we had to encounter cataracts and falls of the Columbia and the broad and lofty Cascades, with their heavy forests.
    "At Fort Walla Walla, on the banks of the Columbia River, with our teams about exhausted, we were advised to leave our wagons and animals over winter at that place in the care of the Hudson Bay Company. A portion of the immigrants, including my two brothers' families and my own, accepted the proposition, providing we could procure boats in which to descend the river, as it was supposed we might procure them from the Hudson Bay Company. Under these considerations we made arrangements with the said company for the care of the latter through the winter. We failed in our efforts to obtain boats. Having a whipsaw and other tools with us, we hunted logs from the masses of driftwood lodged along the river banks, hewed them out, sawed them into lumber and built boats, and with our families and the contents of our wagons commenced the descent of the river. Dr. Whitman procured us the services of two Indians to act as pilots at The Dalles. From there we thought we would have but little trouble by making a portage at the Cascades. We did well until we reached The Dalles, a series of falls and cataracts. Just above the Cascade Mountains one of our boats, containing six persons, was caught one of those terrible whirlpools and upset. My son Warren, 10 years old; my brother Jesse's son Edward, same age, and a man by the name of McClellan, who was a member of my family, were lost. The other three, who escaped, were left to struggle the best they could until we made the land with the other boats. Leaving the women and children on shore while we rushed to the rescue, it was only with the greatest effort that we were able to keep our boats from sharing the same fate. William Doake, a young man who could not swim, held on to a feather bed until overtaken and rescued. W. Parker and my son Elisha, then 12 years old, after drifting through whirlpools among cragged rocks for more than a mile, rescued themselves by catching hold of a large rock a few feet above water at the head of Rock Island. At the time of the disaster it was utterly impossible to render them any assistance, for it was only with the greatest skill that we succeeded in saving the women and children from sharing the same fate. It was a scene painful beyond description. We dare not go to their assistance without exposing the occupants of the other boats to certain destruction, while those persons were struggling for life in the surging waters. The whole scene was witnessed by General Fremont and his company of explorers, who were camped immediately opposite, and were powerless to render us any assistance. The bodies of the drowned were never recovered, though we offered a reward to the Indians, who searched the river for months. We reached the Cascades without any other incidents worth relating.
    "We then made a portage around the falls, packing the most of our effects on our backs, dragging our boats over the rocks, reloading and proceeding on our way to Vancouver, ascended the Willamette River to the falls, there made another portage
around the falls, reloaded again, ascended the river twenty-five miles, coming to a place called Champoeg, where we finally left our boats and made our way across the valley to Lee's old mission, ten miles below where Salem now stands, and on the 1st day of December, 1843, entered one of the old buildings to remain for the winter.
    "Previous to this, we had been in the rain most of the time for twenty days. 0h, how we could have enjoyed our hospitable shelter could we have looked around the family circle and beheld the bright faces that accompanied us on our toilsome journey almost to the end! Alas, they were not there! That long and dreary winter, with its pelting rains and howling winds, brought sadness to us. Under these sad reflections we resolved, if we remained in the country, to find a better way for others who might wish to emigrate, as soon as we could possibly afford the time.
    ". . . So, in 1846, after making arrangements for the subsistence of our families during our absence, we organized a company to undertake the enterprise, composed as follows: Levi Scott, Henry Boygus, Jesse Applegate, John Owens, Robert Smith, Moses Harris, Benit Osborn, John Scott, Lindsay Applegate, Benjamin Birch, John Jones, Samuel Goodhue, David Goff, William Sportsman and William Parker.
    "Each man had his pack horse and saddle horse, making thirty animals to guard and take care of. A portion of the country we proposed to traverse was at that time marked on the map 'unexplored region.' . . . The idea of opening a wagon road through such a country at that time was counted as preposterous.
    ". . . One thing which had much influence with us was the fact that the question as to which power, Great Britain or the United States, would eventually secure title to the country, was not settled, and in case war should occur and Britain prove successful, it was important to have a way by which we could leave the country without running the gantlet of the Hudson Bay Company's forts and falling a prey to Indian tribes, which were under British influence."
    On the morning of the 20th of June, 1846, the expedition was under way. On the morning of June 29 they passed over a low range of hills from the summit of which they had a splendid view of the Rogue River Valley, which is described as a great meadow interspersed with groves of oaks, which appeared like vast orchards.
    As they made their way through the Rogue River Valley they were constantly followed by the Indians and had to be on guard day and night. When they had to pass through heavy timber and brush they dismounted and led their horses, carrying their guns across their arms ready to fire. The Indians were armed with bows and poisoned arrows, the pioneers with the old-time muzzle-loading rifles. They made their way through the valley, crossed the Cascade Mountains into the Klamath country, and thence east to the Humboldt River. Here they met a train of immigrants. They brought back with them 150 people, the pioneers traveling ahead and making a road over which the wagons could pass. This train was taken through to the Willamette Valley.
    Here I shall again quote from the account of the expedition when on the return trip:
    "No circumstance worthy of mention occurred on the monotonous march from Black Rock to the timbered regions of the Cascade chain. Then our labors became quite arduous. Every day we kept guard over the horses while we worked the road, and at night we dared not cease our vigilance, for the Indians continually hovered about us, seeking for advantage. By the time we had worked our way through the mountains to the Rogue River Valley, and then through the Grave Creek Hills and Umpqua chain, we were pretty thoroughly worn out. Our stock of provisions had grown very short, and we had to depend, to a great extent, for sustenance upon game. Road working, hunting and guard duty had taxed our strength greatly, and on our arrival in the Umpqua Valley, knowing that the greatest difficulties in the way of the immigrants had been removed, we decided to proceed at once to our homes in the Willamette. There we arrived on the 3rd day of October, 1846, having been absent three months and thirteen days. During all this time our friends had heard nothing from us, and, realizing the dangerous character of our expedition, many believed in the news which some time before reached them that we had all been murdered by the Indians."
    It is a fact that a great proportion of the population of Oregon entered the state by this route laid out by the fifteen pioneers in 1846. [Only a small proportion of settlers used the southern route. George W. Riddle wrote that his train of twelve wagons was the only one to follow the southern route in 1851. Some years it wasn't traveled at all.]
    We have living here in this valley today people who came into Oregon over this old south road or, as it was usually called, "the old immigrant road."
    The road was free to all, a work of humanity--the only compensation to the builders was a consciousness of duty nobly done.
    All the members of this road party returned in safety to their homes except Henry Boygus, a brave and handsome youth, who was probably murdered by the Indians near Fort Hall.
    In closing, I will quote again from the Applegate manuscript:
    "Perhaps few companies of men ever performed such a campaign without repeated quarrels and even serious altercations, but the members of the Old South Road company bore together the trials and privations of the expedition with a 'forgiving and forbearing' spirit, and their mutual burdens and the dangers to which they were exposed continually developed and strengthened their friendship. A reunion of them, were such a thing practicable, would be a season of peculiar joy, one to be remembered by the veteran survivors with pleasure until they, too, shall pass away into the great unknown."
    Since the account of the road expedition was written, all members of the party have passed into "the great unknown." But their memory should be kept green by those who were so greatly aided and benefited by their labors and unselfish sacrifices. May their brave souls rest in peace.
Ashland Weekly Tidings, October 26, 1921, page 2

    "My mother, Mrs. Catherine Sager Pringle, died in 1910. The Pringles came to Oregon by the southern route. Levi Scott acted as their guide and they had a trip full of hardships. Creswell is located on Levi Scott's old donation land claim. Orris Brown, my grandmother's brother, advised them not to leave the main party and go by the southern route. When they were so delayed and ran out of provisions he came with a number of others from Forest Grove with food and met them at about where Eugene is now located. Eugene Skinner had built a 'location cabin' on the claim at Eugene but was not living in it. It had no doors and no windows. The men of the Pringle family spent the winter in Eugene Skinner's cabin, because the cattle were too weak to make the trip down the Willamette Valley."
Kate Pringle Miller, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Observations and Impressions of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, November 24, 1921, page 10

    "I was in my seventeenth year when we crossed the plains," said Mr. Burch. "My job was to drive the loose cattle, and if you want to know what dust is just drive a bunch of loose cattle on a windy day. You'll eat your peck of dust, all right. On the banks of the Sweetwater we laid over to bury my brother Wesley's wife. We buried her by the side of the Old Oregon Trail, drove the oxen over the grave till it was well trodden, and then built a fire over it so the Indians would not discover the grave and dig her up to get the clothes she had on. My brother Ben, who had come here in 1845, started back to meet us. He met us at Bear River.
    "We had divided our train into three at Ash Hollow and after that we didn't have any captain. Captain Levi Scott had come from the Willamette Valley the year before to find an easier way for the emigrants. My brother Ben was one of his party. They surveyed a way by the southern route. Captain Scott met us near Fort Hall. He acted as our guide by the southern route.
    "It was on this trip that the emigrants were attacked by Indians and some of their loose cattle were shot. Henry Williamson, one of the men guarding the cattle, was wounded. Garrison, who went with Captain Levi Scott from Polk County to Fort Hall to meet and guide the emigrants, was killed near Granite Ridge by Indians. Captain Levi Scott, though his arm was pinned to his side with an arrow, drew his revolver and killed the Indian. The Indians also attacked the train near Tule Lake, but were driven off. We settled here on the Rickreall.
Samuel Burch, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Observations and Impressions of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, March 12, 1922, page 20

    "Just beyond American Falls we met Jesse Applegate, who had come to tell us about the new route to the Willamette Valley by way of Southern Oregon. On Raft River the road forked, one branch leading westward to Oregon and the other to California. We took the California road, intending to follow it for 300 miles and then turn westward by way of Klamath Lake into Oregon. We turned south on August 10 and traveled southward until September 5, when we left the California road and struck westward for Oregon. We had to cross a 55-mile desert, with only two springs to water our stock in the entire stretch. Our oxen were so weak that we had to leave two of them while crossing the desert. As we entered the timbered foothills on September 19 one of Virgil Pringle's oxen was shot by an Indian with an arrow and two of the loose cattle were shot.
    "Some of our party had kept tally on the mileage, and this day saw the passing of the 2000-mile mark. During the latter days of September we were passing through a country of lakes--Klamath Lake and others. Some of our party lost some cattle on Klamath Lake, which were driven off by the Indians. On October 15 we camped on Rogue River. Four days later we stopped to bury Mr. Crowley's daughter, who was 14 years old. The going was very slow and difficult along the Umpqua, as the roads had to be made, and the rains had started. We did not get to our destination until early in December, the last month's travel being very difficult and unpleasant.
    "We left our cattle on Eugene Skinner's donation land claim, where the city of Eugene is now located. Our oxen were so weak we had to leave them there, packing what goods we could carry, as well as the women and children, on our mules and going on to Luckiamute and stopping at what is now called Parker's Station. A couple of bachelors had a log cabin there. They offered to share it with us for the rest of the winter. One of these bachelors, Mr. Nealy, married my sister. My brother Jim, better known in later days as Judge Collins, with a man named Turnidge, stayed that winter in Eugene Skinner's unfinished cabin to look after their cattle. The cattle just about held their own during the winter. As soon as the cattle were strong enough to travel and the roads had dried up a little, early in the next spring, they drove the wagons to where we were staying on the Luckiamute."
Frank Collins, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Observations and Impressions of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, March 18, 1922, page 4

    "Early in the spring of 1846 the emigrants began assembling at St. Joe, Iowa Point, Council Bluffs, Weston, Elizabethtown and Independence. About 500 wagons started for Oregon that spring, of which about 200 were bound for Oregon, while the others were going to California. While most of the emigrants were going to Oregon to secure free land, yet there was a strong political feeling, and some of the men had painted different mottoes on their canvas wagon sheets, such as '54-40--All or None.'
    "l was 11 years old when we crossed the plains in 1846, so my memories of the trip are very vivid. I remember how filled with terror I was when we experienced the violent thunderstorms with the torrential rains that occurred in the Platte country. Our oxen would try to stampede, our tents would be blown down, and everybody and everything would be soaked with the driving rains. I remember with what terror I saw the Indians come out from Fort Laramie, they looked so naked and so wild. The men got out their guns, but all the Indians wanted was to see us and see if we would give them anything. Mother was baking some bread when some of these savage-looking Indians came into our camp. While she looked up to watch them one of them came near the fire. When Mother looked back to see how her bread was coming along the bread was gone. The Indian had stolen the hot bread. Mother hoped that it had burned him well, but if it did he made no sign. While we were stopping at Fort Laramie the Indians gave a war dance. I was scared nearly to death. They were nearly naked, and all painted, and they jumped and yelled and brandished their tomahawks while the fire around which they danced lit up their savage faces. There was one young squaw who was really pretty. She had a shirt and skirt of beautifully beaded and nicely tanned buckskin. It looked very pretty, but I was afraid of Indians, so I didn't go very close to her.
    "We went as far south as the Humboldt, from which place we worked northward to Antelope Springs, Rabbit Hole Springs and across the Black Rock Desert. While on our way to the pass across the Cascades we had to cross a desert that took two days' and one night's travel. There was no water at all, so we filled every keg and dish with water so the cattle should have water as well as ourselves. We had no grain or hay for the cattle, so Mother baked up a lot of bread to feed them. When we had finally crossed the desert the cattle smelled water, and we couldn't stop them. They ran as hard as they could go, our wagon bouncing along and nearly bouncing us out. There were three boiling springs and one ice-cold spring.
    "I shall never forget that camp. Mother had brought some medicine along. She hung the bag containing the medicine from a nail on the sideboard of the wagon. My playmate, the Currier girl, who was of my own age, and I discovered the bag, and so I decided to taste the medicine. I put a little on my tongue, but it didn't taste good, so I took no more. The Currier girl tasted it, made a wry face, and handed the bottle back. My little sister, Salita Jane, wanted to taste it, but I told her she couldn't have it. She didn't say anything, but as soon as we had gone she got the bottle and drank it all. Presently she came to the campfire where Mother was cooking supper and said she felt awfully sleepy. Mother told her to run away and not bother her, so she went to where the beds were spread and lay down. When Mother called her for supper she didn't come. Mother saw she was asleep, so didn't disturb her. When Mother tried to awake her later she couldn't arouse her. Lettie had drunk the whole bottle of laudanum. It was too late to save her life. Before we had started Father had made some boards of black walnut that fitted along the side of the wagon. They were grooved so they would fit together, and we used them for a table all the way across the plains. Father took these walnut boards and made a coffin for Salita and we buried her there by the roadside in the desert. Three days later, at Black Rock, my sister Olive, now Mrs. Failing of Portland, was born."

Lucy Ann Henderson Deady, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, January 24, 1923, page 6

By Fred Lockley
    Mrs. Matthew P. Deady [Lucy Ann Henderson Deady], who has lived in Oregon for the past 77 years, recently told me of her experiences in crossing the plains to Oregon in 1846.
    "You have no idea," said Mrs. Deady, "of the confusion and uncertainty in the minds of the emigrants as to which was the best route to take. There were so many people who claimed to know all about it that gave such contradictory reports that the emigrants did not know whom to believe. A good many of the emigrants had started out with the intention of going to California, while others, meeting California boosters at Fort Laramie or Fort Bridger, changed their original plans and took the California trail in place of going on to the Willamette Valley. Some of the emigrants disposed of their wagons at Fort Laramie and started for California with pack horses. L. W. Hastings had come up from California to persuade the emigrants bound for Oregon to go to California, to Sutter's Fort. All sorts of reports were circulated. Some said you had to buy the land in California while in Oregon it was free. Others said Oregon was the best climate, but it was much easier to go to California. Some advised us to take the shortcut across the 45-mile desert, avoiding going to Fort Bridger. Hastings told the emigrants that he could lead them by the Fremont cutoff, by the Great Salt Lake, and save many miles of travel. Many of the emigrants lost most of their oxen. I don't know whether the Pawnee or Dakota Indians stole them or whether they got homesick for Missouri and started on the back track but in any event, many of the emigrants had to abandon in large part their loads and get along with one yoke of oxen in place of two or three. We had six heifers, which Father yoked up in place of our lost oxen, and they brought us through to Oregon.
    "At Fort Hall we were met by Jesse Applegate, Moses Harris, David Goff and John Owens, who told us of an easier road to the Willamette Valley than the one by way of The Dalles. It was called the southern route, and had been laid out by a party of settlers from Polk County--Levi Scott, Benjamin Burch, the Applegates and some others. The Donner party traveled with the party in which J. Quinn Thornton was traveling. They had 72 wagons. At Fort Bridger Hastings persuaded about 80 of them to go to California by way of Weber canyon, to the Humboldt Valley. The others kept on to Fort Hall. The Donners were delayed in the Sierras and snowed in, and finally ran out of food and resorted to cannibalism, few of them living to get to Sutter's Fort. Nearly 100 wagons followed Jesse Applegate and his party for the southern cutoff. Levi Scott and David Goff acted as our guides, while Jesse Applegate and the others, with a lot of the unmarried men among the emigrants, went ahead to fix up the road so we could travel on it.
    "Three days after my little sister Lettie drank the laudanum and died we stopped for a few hours, and my sister Olive was born. We were so late [in the season] that the men of the party decided we could not tarry a day; so we had to press on. The going was terribly rough. We were the first party to take the southern cutoff so there was no road. The men walked beside the wagons and tried to ease the wheels down into the rough places, but in spite of this it was a very rough ride for my mother and her newborn babe.
    "Some weeks later we camped in the rain on the present site of Ashland. I shall never forget this camp, for the wood was wet and I stood around shivering while Father was trying to make a fire with flint and steel. Many years later, after I had married Judge Deady, Jesse Applegate showed me a big tree in Ashland and said, 'That is the tree you camped under in the fall of 1846 on your way to the Willamette Valley.'
    "One of the emigrants in our party was named Crowley. He had lost several members of his family by death while crossing the plains, and at one of our camps another member of the family, a daughter, Martha Leland Crowley, died. Theodore Prater and Mrs. Rachel Challinor and some others from our wagon train helped bury her. They buried her beneath a big pine tree on the banks of a small stream which they christened Grave Creek, and which still bears that name. The oxen were corralled over her grave so the Indians would not dig her up to get her clothing. Colonel Nesmith saw the grave in 1848 and said it had been opened and that a number of human bones were scattered about. The bones were reinterred and the grave again filled in. Mrs. Crowley, the girl's mother, later married a Mr. Fulkerson, of Polk county. My husband, Judge Deady, used often to stop at the Bates stage station, on Grave Creek, near where Miss Crowley was buried. It was called the Bates house, but was later renamed the Grave Creek tavern. In 1854 the territorial legislature changed the name of Grave Creek to Leland Creek and the hotel's name was changed to the Leland house. I forgot to tell you that in crossing the stream near what was later called Linkville, now Klamath Falls, we crossed the river on a ledge of rocks that ran clear across the stream. It was called Stone Bridge.
    "In coming north from the Rogue River country we followed the bed of Cow Creek. It took us five days to make nine mules. I have never, before or since, seen such rough going. The cattle could hardly keep their feet, on account of the smooth water-worn boulders in the bed of the stream, and the wagons would occasionally tip over. It was getting so late that at a meeting of the men of the wagon train it was decided to throw away every bit of surplus weight so that better speed could be made and so that the others should not have to wait for some one overladen wagon. One man had brought two hives of bees clear across the plains and hated to give them up, but the men of the train decided he could get along without them; so he had to leave them. A man named Smith had a wooden rolling pin that it was decided was useless and must be abandoned. I shall never forget how that the man stood there with tears streaming down his face as he said, 'Do I have to throw this away. It was my mother's. I remember she always used it to roll out her biscuits, and they were awful good biscuits." He had to leave it, and they christened him 'Rolling Pin' Smith, a name he carried to the day of his death.
    "If you want to know what a terrible time we had coming through Cow Creek canyon, just read J. Quinn Thornton's book, 'Oregon and California.' He published it in 1849, and it tells all about our trip. Mr. Thornton was a lawyer, a sort of dreamer, not very well, very irritable and peevish. I lived with them later, when I was going to school at Oregon City, so I learned what a peculiar man he was. He was the type of man that always blames someone else for misfortunes he himself has caused. I remember one morning he came down and after breakfast he started to get up without the usual family prayers. His wife said, 'Are you not going to conduct family worship?' He said, 'No, I don't feel like praying. You aggravate me so that I am in no mood for praying.'"
Oregon Journal, Portland, January 25, 1923, page 8

    "After great hardship and discomfort we finally made our way through Cow Creek canyon," said Mrs. Matthew P. Deady, when I visited her recently. "We came on northward, having very hard going, as it was late in the year and the winter rains had started. We had been eight months on the road, instead of five, so we were out of food and our cattle were nearly worn out. We crossed the river near the present site of Roseburg by tying two canoes together and putting the wagons on them and ferrying them over. We had obtained some fresh meat from some trappers, and a day or so later my mother's brother, Mr. Holman, met us. He had heard of our plight, so he came with food and horses to get us. We left the wagons, and with Mother on one horse holding her 6-weeks-old baby in her lap, and with one of the little children sitting behind her, and with the rest of us riding behind the different men, we started north. I rode behind my uncle, Mr. Holman. Two of the children rode with our cousin, one in front of his saddle and one back of it. One family of our party had thrown away almost everything and had finally reduced their treasured possessions to one trunk. This trunk came off the horse while fording a river and was swept from sight and never recovered. I think it was lost in crossing the Long Tom, though it might have been lost in the river near the present site of Corvallis. At Avery's place, now called Corvallis, we stayed all night in a log cabin. Bother and we children slept on the floor, as also did some men who were staying in the cabin. I shall never forget that night. Some Indians were camped nearby and they had lost one of their number, so they moaned and groaned and chanted all night, mourning for their dead.
    "We went with my uncle to what is now called Broadmead, where we stayed with an uncle who had come here the year before, in 1845. We reached his cabin December 17, 1846, and stayed there two weeks. Father, who had come on with the wagon, did not get there until Christmas Day. After a week or so we moved into a cabin owned by Henry Hyde. His wife was my mother's sister. We spent the winter there. There was no floor in the cabin--just earth. There was a big fireplace. There was but one room,. There was a big chest and Mother filled this nearly full of clothing, and Betty and I slept in that. There were five of us children, so Father fixed up some shakedowns for beds. We lived on boiled wheat and boiled peas that winter. My mother got sick, so my Aunt Susan came to live with us and took care of Mother. When Mother got well Aunt Susan went to visit the Humphreys at Dallas. I begged to go along, so she took me. She told me that General Gilliam lived there and that he had a little girl about my age. I thought a general would be all covered with medals and have a fine uniform and that his daughter would be dressed in silk and lace, so I could hardly wait to get there. I was so disappointed that I cried when I saw General Gilliam and his daughter. I saw her first. She had an old dress on and was wearing moccasins. In place of wearing a wonderful uniform and having a sword, General Gilliam looked as poor as the rest of us and was just an ordinary man, so I thought I had been badly defrauded."
Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, January 26, 1923, page 8

    “In the spring of 1846 we started for Oregon. I was five months old. My father's parents were 75 years old. Father [Harrison Linville] thought they were too old to stand the trip, but they didn't want to be left behind, so he brought them along. Grandfather Linville brought two of his slaves with him. When Maria, one of these slaves, was 16 she began to buy her freedom from Grandfather. We agreed that if he took her to a state where it was illegal to hold slaves he would return the money to her. She had paid Grandfather nearly enough to buy herself, when they decided to come to Oregon. When they started across the plains they didn't know whether Oregon was to be a free or a slave state. Some of the Southerners had brought their slaves with them. They hadn't been in Oregon long till it was decided Oregon was to be a free state, so Grandfather gave Maria her freedom and paid back the money she had paid him, as he had agreed. He also freed the man he had brought with him.
    "When we started across the plains my parents had been married 10 years and had five children. My mother was not strong. The spring we started for Oregon a number of the settlers in Polk County decided to survey a road for the emigrants by the southern route. Captain Levi Scott, formerly of Burlington, Iowa, with Jesse and Lindsay Applegate, Moses Harris, Benjamin Burch, David Goff and a number cf others, started out from the Rickreall settlement late in June to explore a road. Jesse Applegate, with Squire Harris, David Goff and John Owens, met the emigrant train at Fort Hall.
    "A large number of emigrants decided to try the southern route. It would take a book to tell of the hardships and dangers we encountered between Fort Hall and the head of the Willamette Valley. The Indians ran our stock off, they stole my uncle Vanderpoole's sheep, and they insisted on buying my little 4-year-old sister, and when Mother refused to sell her the Indians became ugly and followed our train several days. You can get an idea of the difficulties and dangers we had when I tell you we traveled in the bed of the stream of Canyon Creek and crossed the creek 17 times. The oxen were worn out and would fall in the bed of the stream. The wagons would upset. We were short of food, and, altogether, it was a heart-breaking trip from the Rogue River Valley to the head of the Willamette Valley.
    "Near the foot of the Calapooia Mountains, while fording a stream, the wagon tipped over and my grandmother was drowned. My father had gone ahead to look for a camping place. Some of those who had witnessed the accident told my father his wagon had tipped over and all his folks were drowned. You can imagine his feelings. He hurried back and found his mother was the only one who had been drowned. They buried her that night by the bank of the stream. This was on November 22, 1846. We reached the Luckiamute, near what is now known as Parker Station, late in December. The stream was high. We crossed in a canoe. The wagons were placed on rafts and poled over and the stock swam across. We went to Salt Creek, to Jesse Applegate's ranch, where we spent the winter. Jesse Applegate's wife was my father's cousin."

Hannah Jane Linville Richardson, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, May 20, 1926, page 18

    William Cornwall of Prineville said, when I interviewed him recently, "I was born on the family donation land claim near McMinnville on November 8, 1852. My father, Rev. Josephus A. Cornwall, who was born in Georgia, February 18, 1798, came to Oregon by the southern route in 1846. My mother, whose maiden name was Nancy Hardin, also was a Southerner. She and Father were married on November 18, 1828, and prior to their coming to Oregon they lived on Green Briar, a branch of the White River, in Arkansas. Father started for Oregon in the spring of 1846 with two wagons drawn by oxen, and a family carriage pulled by two large mules, Jude and Jim. When Father made up his mind to come to Oregon he was 48 years old, my mother was 35 and their oldest child, Elizabeth, was 16. My brother, Joseph, was 13 years old, and Laura, who now lives at Prineville with me, and who was the youngest member of the family at that time, was two years old. Three young men of the neighborhood, Lorenzo Byrd, Richard Crisman and Mr. Jones, came along to help drive the wagons. When they reached the Big Blue River the wagon train was divided, those bound for California forming one train under Colonel Russell, while those who were bound for the Willamette Valley formed a separate train. The Oregon wagon train was composed of 23 wagons. There were 45 men in the train capable of bearing arms and standing guard. Rice Dunbar was elected captain. Prior to the separation of the trains Mrs. Keyes, who was going to California, died on May 29, and my father preached the funeral sermon. John Denton, an Englishman, who understood carving and lettering, hewed out a headstone on which he carved: 'Mrs. Sarah Keyes, Died May 29, 1846, Age 70.'
    "The emigrants in 1846 found an abundance of game. From the Platte clear to the foot of the Rocky Mountains they had all of the buffalo and antelope they could eat. At Fort Hall the wagon train was joined by Jesse Applegate and other settlers from Polk County. Mr. Applegate told Captain Dunbar they would find easier going by what he called the southern route, which went by way of Humboldt River, Klamath Lake, Rogue River and the Umpqua Valley.
    "While they were on Humboldt River a messenger came to them asking them to hurry on, as the Indians had attacked the wagon train just ahead of them. Several of the men in the train ahead of them had been wounded by the Indians and one of them, a man named Salby, shot with a poisoned arrow, died of his wounds. On the Humboldt Mary Campbell, a young woman on the same train as my parents, died and was buried in the roadbed. The train of wagons was driven over her grave so the Indians would not molest her body. Just before coming to Goose and Klamath lakes the Indians attacked the wagon train, killing one man and some of the stock. They reached Umpqua canyon in early October. They made but three miles the first day's trip through the canyon. They had to travel in the bed of the creek. The cold water chilled the oxen, which were weak, and some of them lay down and died. One horse and all of the oxen belonging to my parents died while making the trip through the canyon. My mother was still sick from mountain fever, so Father let Mother and Laura, who was two years old, ride on the mule Jude. Father gave one of his wagons to an emigrant for hauling the other through the canyon. Near where the town of Oakland was later built some settlers from Willamette Valley met the wagon train and gave them provisions, which they greatly needed.
    "My father brought his library with him. If he pressed on to the Willamette Valley he would have to abandon his library. The roads were almost impassable. Father decided to spend the winter in the vicinity of the present town of Oakland. Middleton Simpson sent 80 pounds of flour to Father, so Father believed that with what deer meat they could kill he would have enough provisions to carry them through the winter. Of course, they had to do without bacon, sugar, coffee and things of this kind. A cousin of ours named Israel Stoley, who was a good hunter, kept the family in deer meat during the winter. He also visited the Hudson's Bay fort on Umpqua River, where he secured a bushel of wheat, some peas and several handfuls of salt. By Christmas Father and the others had built a cabin of cedar trees with cedar shakes for the roof. Cabin Creek is named after the cabin my father put up there. Father was the first white settler to spend the winter in Southern Oregon.
    "In April, 1847, Joseph Hess, who had a farm in Chehalem Valley, and Josiah Nelson and Clark Rogers came down from the Willamette Valley with two yoke of oxen and plenty of provisions to take our family to Willamette Valley. Josiah Nelson died some years ago at Newberg. Lorenzo Byrd, who came with the family, later died at Salem, where he became a well-known, useful citizen. His son, Dr. W. H. Byrd, still lives there.

Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, July 4, 1926, page 6

    We would probably hear an interesting story from the boulders at Rock Point if they could talk. They would tell of how they had been rolled down from the cliffs by the Indians, when they were on the warpath, to crush the immigrant wagons as they passed by. [No known emigrant account mentions rolling boulders.]
Thelma Williams, age 13, "Sketches of Pioneer Days," Gold Hill News, July 8, 1926, page 3

By Fred Lockley
    "My name is Narcissa Cornwall Moore, and I came to Oregon 80 years ago," said Mrs. Moore when I visited her recently in Sellwood. "My father, Josephus A. Cornwall, was a Cumberland Presbyterian minister. He was born in Franklin County, Georgia, February 18, 1798. His parents took him to Kentucky when he was a little chap and he lived there till he was nearly grown. From Kentucky they moved to Missouri. My mother's maiden name was Nancy Hardin. Father and Mother were married on November 13, 1828. They went to farming on uncleared land on Green Briar Creek in Arkansas. Elizabeth, my oldest sister, was born in 1829 and married Dr. William Geiger of Forest Grove. There were 12 children in our family. Four of us are still living. I was born in 1836.
    "In the spring of 1846, when I was 10 years old and my father was 48 years old, we started across the plains to Oregon. We started with two oxen to pull the wagons and the buggy was drawn by two mules. Lorenzo A. Byrd, an orphan boy, drove one of our wagons. His wife, his son, Dr. W. H. Byrd, and his daughter, Virginia, are now living in Salem.
    "While camped eight miles this side of Fort Hall, Jesse Applegate came into our camp and said that Nathaniel Ford, Squire Harris, David Goff, Captain Levi Scott and some other settlers from the Willamette Valley had surveyed a new road by the southern route to the Willamette Valley that was 200 miles shorter than the road by way of The Dalles. This was on August 8. Captain Rice Dunbar was the captain of our wagon train. Captain Dunbar talked it over with the members of our wagon train and they decided to take this so-called cutoff. One or two other wagon trains also decided to come by the newly opened way. The members of our wagon train, so far as I remember them, were: Captain Rice Dunbar, with his family--you probably knew his son, Judge O. R. Dunbar; J. Quinn Thornton, with his wife--he wrote a book about our trip, called 'Oregon and California'; James Campbell, with his family and a negro boy; James Smith and Henry Smith and their families; James Crump and family; a man named Loveland, and family; Morgan Savage and his wife; Henry Croisen and wife--their son, E. M. Croisen, was later sheriff of Marion County and still lives in Salem; Jesse Boone, a great-grandson of Daniel Boone of Kentucky, with his family--his daughter Chloe married George Curry, later governor of Oregon: Mr. Perkins, with his family: Mr. Hall and family; Mr. Van Bebber and family; Mr. Kennedy, with his wife and grandson; Mrs. Burns, with her children--her husband died on the plains; Mr. Newton and his wife--the Indians killed him as we were coming through Cow Creek canyon; John H. Bridges, Daniel Goode, Mrs. Colwell, with her children: Ira Farley and his mother; Henry Hall, Adaline Social, Mr. Nye and Mr. Catos; Daniel Culver; 'Grandpa' Brisbane, Albert Alderman, whose son was later superintendent of the Portland schools; William Brisbane, William Smith, with his family--he died while we were coming through the canyon; our family, with my cousin Israel Stoley and Richard Crisman, and possibly some others.
    "The road on the
cutoff by way of Southern Oregon was at first good, and there was plenty of grass. Soon, however, the Indians began being troublesome. The men had to guard the cattle. Jesse Boone and a man named Loveland shot one of the Indians who had come into the camp to steal cattle. When we came to the mountains there was no road, and in many places trees had fallen across where we had to go, so they had to be cut and dragged out of the way. We frequently had to make dry camps, which was hard on the cattle as well as the people. We expected to reach our destination in the Willamette Valley early in October. The rain started, and we did not reach the Umpqua Mountains till the 29th of October. In going through the heavy timber we had had to take down the bows of our wagons so as to go under the low-hanging limbs, which allowed the rain to wet our goods.
    "Our train reached the mouth of the canyon in the middle of the afternoon. We waited there till the others had come up, for it did not seem possible for the oxen to go down the almost perpendicular sides of the hill into the canyon. They finally decided to let the wagons down with ropes, while our oxen sat down on their tails and slid down. We had a riding mare, of which my father was very fond. I found an Indian trail by which I was able to lead her down into the canyon. She was so thin and worn and so exhausted from the trip she died that night. Most of the emigrants were out of provisions, as the trip had taken much longer than they expected. My father had brought a band of 25 or 30 cattle with him. As we came up we heard someone say, "Here comes Cornwall's cows. Maybe he'll kill one of them and give us some meat.' My father had just broken three of his ribs, and was lying down. He recognized the cowbell on our lead cow and taking his rifle, he shot one of the cows for food for ourselves and the others. We pressed on through a drenching rain. We were all so wet and so chilled that Father decided we had better camp where we were and go on the next morning.
    "Next morning we found several of our oxen had died during the night. We were traveling with Mr. Perkins and two young bachelors, Nye and Gates. They decided to press on through the canyon with their wagons. Most of the other emigrants abandoned their wagons and started through the canyon on foot. If they had a horse, they packed what goods they could on the horse, or if they had no horses, they packed on their poor, tired oxen. A good many of the emigrants rigged up blanket saddles and let their children ride on the oxen. Some of the oxen would have two or three children on board. We were unable to go on, and we couldn't go back, so we stayed in our camp. There was plenty of wood there, so we kept up a rousing fire night and day, and the emigrants, who were struggling through the canyon on foot, on horseback and on ox-back, would stop at our camp to get warm and to share whatever we had to eat. We camped there in the canyon for several weeks."
Oregon Journal, Portland, July 12, 1926, page 8

By Fred Lockley
    Mrs. James Monroe Moore, whose maiden name was Narcissa Cornwall, told me recently, when I visited her in Sellwood, of her trip to Oregon 80 years ago. She was 10 years old when she came with her parents across the plains in 1846.
    "We took what was called the 'Applegate cutoff,' which brought us to the Willamette Valley by the southern route, by Goose Lake, Klamath Lake and up through the Rogue River Valley, the Umpqua Valley and on to the head of the Willamette," said Mrs. Moore. "Most of the members of our wagon train were afoot, having abandoned their wagons when their oxen died. Our oxen died the first camp we made after entering Umpqua Canyon. In trying to pack some of our goods on one of our two mules Father was kicked by the mule and had three ribs broken. We camped there for three weeks. We were out of flour and out of groceries. The other emigrants were as destitute as ourselves. We lived almost entirely on meat, but we could hardly get a chance to cook it, for groups of straggling emigrants would come into camp, ask for a fork, and take the meat out of the pot before it was half cooked, and eat it. Frequently, when we heard people coming, we would take the meat off the fire and hide it in the bushes, so as to have some for ourselves.
    "By the time Father's ribs had healed so we could travel, the water had risen till we could no longer travel up the bed of the stream on account of the high water. We had to make our way the best we could, along the edge of the bluff. Father had brought along his library, and hated to leave it. He cached his books, thinking he would come back in the spring and get them. Mother rode on the mule, carrying Laura, the baby, on her lap. Laura, who is now a widow, lives at Prineville with my brother Will. Laura was 2 years old. Father and the other children walked. Each one of us had to carry something. We had to cross and re-cross the stream. In some places it was almost up to Father's shoulders. He told my brother and me to hold on to him so we wouldn't be washed down the stream. One of the things I was carrying was a coffee pot. Every time we crossed a stream where it was deep I would go under, and when I came up the coffee pot would be full of water. Finally my brother and I got so tired that we sat down to rest. Our clothes were sopping wet. I hung my cloak and his coat on the bushes to dry. We finally decided to leave them there, because we couldn't carry them and the other things we were carrying. My father and the others had gone on, so my brother and I pressed forward the best we could, but it was dark when we reached camp. An emigrant who came through the canyon just back of us found our castaway garments and brought them into camp. I recognized them and claimed them. My sister Elizabeth, who was 16 years old, had helped put the tent up and had supper ready by the time we got there.
    "At this camp we met a man who had left his wagons at the entrance of the canyon. He had four oxen. He told Father he would give him a yoke of oxen for one of the wagons we had left in the camp in the canyon. Father very gladly accepted his offer, and this enabled Father to bring his library and most of the things we had abandoned through the canyon. Of the 25 or 30 cattle we had, all but four had either escaped or were killed by other emigrants for food. Father's library, which he brought to Oregon with so much trouble, was later shipped to The Dalles and in a sudden rise of the Columbia River the warehouse was flooded. The books were moved elsewhere, and disappeared. He was never able to trace them.
    "The mules were so thin it was all that the one Mother rode could do to carry her. The other carried the harness and a few light things. My brother, who was two years younger than myself, and I were inseparable companions, and we walked day after day through the rain and snow till we came to where the town of Oakland is how located. Here a number of emigrants were camped. Most of them were on foot. The snow was getting deep, so every day some of them left, to press on to the Willamette Valley. Father decided to build a cabin and winter there, for the oxen were too weak to draw the wagon with his books in it. Mother was so sick with the mountain fever that Father did not expect her to live. Father finished building the cabin just after Christmas, and we moved into it. Cabin Creek, in Douglas County, is named for the cabin Father built. We were the first actual settlers to spend the winter in Douglas County. Father built a fireplace and a stick-and-clay chimney. He also built some beds clear across one end of the cabin, camp meeting style. The emigrants who went on afoot asked us to take care of their trunks and extra clothing. My sister Elizabeth and myself washed their dirty clothes, dried them in front of the fireplace, and put them away neatly under the pole bed till they would come in the spring to get them.
    "Just back of our cabin Father and Israel Stoley and Lorenzo Byrd built a corral of brush in which we kept our two mules and our oxen and our cows, to keep the Indians from stealing them. The Indians were armed at that time with bows and arrows. Only one of them had a gun, and that was a gun that belonged to Mr. Newton, a member of our wagon train, who was killed by the Indians while he was camped near us in the canyon. Mr. Newton was the man who had the negro slave boy. The Indians came into his camp, clubbed him to death and took his gun and his saddle horse. Friends of Mr. Newton next spring recovered his horse from the Indians and took it on to the Willamette Valley to Mrs. Newton. My cousin, Israel Stoley, slept in a shed near the corral, so as to guard the cattle. A number of the Indians moved their camp to be near us. One morning we heard a lot of shouting and screaming and, running over to their camp, we discovered the Indians were having a regular battle. The squaws and the children, as well as the men, were fighting among themselves with camas sticks, stones and anything else they could lay their hands on. They fought till they were too tired to fight any longer. Many of them were badly cut and bruised. We tried to find out what they were fighting about, but all we could learn was that they were settling a little dispute over a difference of opinion among themselves."
Oregon Journal, Portland, July 13, 1926, page 10

    "Ours was the first family to winter in Douglas County," said Mrs. Narcissa Cornwall Moore when I visited her recently in Sellwood. "We came to the Willamette Valley by way of the southern route, through the canyon near the present town of Canyonville. Like most of the emigrants, we lost our oxen and abandoned much of our property. While coming through the canyon my father, Rev. J. A. Cornwall, had three ribs broken, and my mother took sick with the mountain fever. Father built a cabin on what is now known as Cabin Creek, near Oakland, where we spent the winter of 1846-47. We moved into our cabin shortly after Christmas. My cousin, Israel Stoley, was a fine hunter. Every day or two he would go out and bring back a fat deer. We had no flour, no salt, and no other groceries. Of our herd of 30 cows we had started with, we had three milk cows left, so we had all the milk we needed. The Indians showed us how to dig camas, and the squaws helped us to pick out the poisonous ones and showed us how to cook the good ones. They would dig a hole in the ground, put the camas in, heat some rocks and put the hot rocks on the camas and then fill the hole with earth. After 24 hours they would open the hole and take out the camas, which would be thoroughly cooked. We children ate the camas with milk, while the grown folks ground it up and made a sort of bread of it. An old lady in our wagon train had taught my sister to make blood pudding. After killing a deer or steer, you cut its throat and catch the blood. You add suet to this and a little salt, and meal or flour if you have it, and bake it. If you haven't anything else to eat, it's pretty good. We had no salt, so Israel Stoley went to the Hudson's Bay fort near the mouth of the Umpqua River and got a little flour and two handfuls of salt. We were then able to make blood puddings that had some taste to them. Some of the families who had camped near us before pressing on to the valley had been eating meat cut from dead cattle, and even killing crows. Israel Stoley couldn't understand why they would do this when there were so many deer to be had for the shooting, but some of the emigrants were city people and had never done much hunting.
    "We had Calapooia Indians as well as Umpqua Indians living near us. My father told the chief of the Umpqua Indians that if he would keep the other Indians from stealing our cattle or any of our possessions, when he left next spring he would give him a present. We were about 10 miles from the Umpqua River. The Indians would often come and spend the day at our place. One of these Indians spoke some English. He told mother the Rogue River Indians were planning to come and kill us. One day a lot of strange Indians came to the house to visit us. Father was absorbed in his books, for he was a regular bookworm. Mother finally said to him, 'These Indians are wearing blankets or deer skins over their shoulders. I think they have knives or other weapons under them.' My father had two pistols. They were about as long as your forearm. He invited the Indians to come on outdoors and watch him shoot. They had seen full-grown guns, but they had never seen small guns like these, and were very curious about them. As soon as Father had got the Indians out of the house, Mother barred the door. Father shot at a mark with these pistols, and as he was a good shot the Indians decided to put off killing us till some other time.
    "Israel Stoley wanted to see something of the country, so he took the two mules and a friendly Calapooia Indian for a two days' trip. While he was away the Indians raided our camp and took all of the jerked deer meat we had dried to send out by a man named Culver, who was going to the settlements to ask the settlers to send help to us. Israel Stoley came back with the mules loaded with deer meat. Father sent for the chief and told him his Indians had stolen everything they could carry away. The chief made the Indians return everything but some clothing that they had stolen from the wagons.
    "Father was anxious to start north, as Mother had recovered from the mountain fever and we had plenty of jerked deer meat to see us through. However, Father wouldn't go and abandon the clothing and trunks and other goods the emigrants had left in our cabin, for clothing was hard to secure in the Willamette Valley in 1846. Father started Mr. Culver off to summon help. He had only been gone two or three days when he returned, saying that Joseph Hess, Josiah Nelson and Clark Rogers were on the way from Chehalem Valley with provisions for us. Within a few days the emigrants who had left their things with us also arrived, so that there was no reason for us to linger longer. The Indians came to tell us goodbye. They seemed sorry to see us go. Father gave the chief the present he had promised and also gave presents to some of the other Indians."

Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, July 14, 1926, page 12

    Mrs. Laura C. Caldwell lives at Prineville. "I was 2 years old when I came across the plains with my parents to Oregon," she said, when I interviewed her recently. "We started from our home in Arkansas in the spring of 1846. I was so young that I only remember three incidents on the entire trip, which took a year, for we started from Arkansas as soon as spring opened and we went into our winter camp in Southern Oregon just before Christmas, staying there until spring before we came to the Willamette Valley.
    "The first incident I can remember was being left out of our covered wagon. I was frightened. Mother told me to go to Father. He reached down from the wagon, told me to hold my arms up, and lifted me into the wagon. The next incident I remember was while we were camped near Umpqua Canyon, where Father killed a black cow and they caught the blood to make a pudding. The third incident was of going out from our cabin on Cabin Creek, in Southern Oregon, to meet my brother Joseph and my cousin Israel Stoley, who had been hunting. Each of them took one of my hands and led me back to camp. My next childhood recollection is of going out to the woodpile while we were living in a log cabin on Tualatin Plains and trying to cut wood with my brother Joe's ax. I cut myself in the ankle, and when I saw the blood flowing over my foot, I was very much frightened. When my brother George was 8 years old he got hold of cousin Israel's gun and said he would show my sister and myself how to shoot it. He didn't know it was loaded, but it was, so when he pulled the trigger it went off with a terrific roar. I screamed, the squaws ran to where we were, and Mother rushed out and said, 'Are you hurt? Are you hurt?' I said, 'I am shot.' She said, 'Where are you shot?' I said, 'I am shot through the head; the gun nearly killed my ears.'"

Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, July 22, 1926, page 10

    "I was born on October 31, 1854. My father's name was Lorenzo A. Byrd. He was born in Arkansas. When he was 20 years old--this was in 1846--he crossed the plains to Oregon. He drove a wagon for Rev. Cornwall. They came by the southern route, coming up to Canyon Creek, a trip filled with hardship and danger."

Dr. William Henry Byrd, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, November 8, 1926, page 10

    "My mother's maiden name was Margaret Farrar. Mother was born at Newcastle, W. Va., on April 9, 1809. Her father was an officer in the army and was away from home most of the time. Mother married Barclay K. Caldwell. They had 11 children. In the spring of 1846 my mother, who was a widow, started with eight of her children across the plains for the Willamette Valley. One of her older boys, Arthur, had gone to California a year or two before that. The children who came with my mother were Gerard, Calohill, Direly and the twins, Laurilla and Liona, Mabury, Mary and Almeda. While they were crossing the plains Mary died and was buried beside the Old Oregon Trail. The wagon train of which my mother was a member took the southern route. Mother had started for California but when they were on the California road her son Calohill and several other men in the wagon train enlisted as volunteers to serve in Captain Fremont's battalion and went on to California. The train separated here, some going on to California while the others headed north, coming into Oregon by way of the Rogue River Valley and Cow Creek Canyon. It took eight months to make the trip. Most of their oxen died, and when their places were taken by cows the cows died of hard work and lack of food. Most of their wagons were abandoned. The wagon train camped in Cow Creek Canyon while my half-brother Gerard and some of the other men went on to the Willamette Valley to get help and provisions. Gerard and the others made their way to Polk County, where they secured provisions and returned. They got to Polk County just in time to eat their Christmas dinner while camped on the Luckiamute.
Julia A. Vaughn, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man,"
Oregon Journal, Portland, June 10, 1932, page 8

By Fred Lockley
    "My maiden name was Hannah Jane Linville," said Mrs. A. J. Richardson when I interviewed her recently at the home of her grandson in Monmouth. "I was born October 2, 1845. My father, Harrison Linville, was born in Campbell County, Tennessee, September 22, 1813. In 1820, when he was 7 years old, he went with his parents to Missouri. He was married in Missouri, November 20, 1837, to Nancy Bounds. We came across the plains in 1846.
    "My grandfather's name was Richard Linville. The Linvilles came originally from France. They came to America with William Penn. My grandfather, Richard Linville, was born in North Carolina, but some time before my father's birth they moved to Tennessee, where Father was born. My mother, Nancy Bounds Linville, was born in Missouri. Her people were slave owners. My mother's father, Thomas Bounds, married Elizabeth Lovelady. John Byrd Bounds married Mary Lovelady. The Loveladys were not slave owners, and as Grandfather Bounds married against his people's wishes he was disinherited and was no longer counted as one of the family. The 'quality' folks down South who owned slaves didn't believe in their sons or daughters marrying below their station.
    "I was born in October, 1845, and we started across the plains next spring. The captain of our wagon train was Medders Vanderpool. He was my uncle. He married Father's youngest sister. Captain Levi Scott, who came from Burlington, Iowa, in 1844, knowing what a hard trip the emigrants had by the Old Oregon Trail, decided to find an easier way, so he got in touch with Jesse and Lindsay Applegate and some others to see if they couldn't survey an easier way to the Willamette Valley. Jesse Applegate and my father Harrison Linville were related. Captain Scott, Jesse Applegate and some other settlers in Polk County surveyed what was known as the southern route, and they met us at Fort Hall to guide us by the new way, by way of the Rogue River Valley."
    Right here is a good place to interject a note of explanation about this new route. Captain Levi Scott, Jesse Applegate, Lindsay Applegate, Moses Harris, John Scott, Henry Bogus, John Owens, Robert Smith, Samuel Goodhue, John Jones, Bennett Osborne, William Sportsman, Benjamin Burch, David Goff and William Parker--none of whom had any ax to grind--volunteered to try to survey a more practicable route from Fort Hall to the Willamette Valley.
    William G. Parker came across the plains in 1843. His sister was the wife of Jesse Applegate., Robert Smith, who was a Virginian, also came to Oregon in 1843. He had married a daughter of Charles Applegate, and his brother-in-law, Stephen F. Chadwick, later became governor of Oregon. David Goff crossed the plains in 1844. Colonel J. W. Nesmith married a daughter of David Goff. Benjamin F. Burch came to Oregon in 1845. I interviewed him more than 35 years ago at his home in Polk County and he told me of his experiences on this trip. John Owens came from Missouri across the plains in 1843. Samuel Goodhue came to Oregon in 1844. He later lived in Salem. Moses Harris, usually known as "the Black Squire," was an associate of Joe Meek. He had been a trapper and mountain man and was thoroughly familiar with the Indians and spoke the Shoshone language. He settled in the Willamette Valley In 1844.
    These 15 public-spirited Oregonians traveled through the Willamette Valley and thence through the Rogue River Valley. They crossed the Cascades just north of what is now the southern boundary of Oregon. They made their way along the northern shore of the Klamath Lakes. They crossed Lost River by what is known as the "stone bridge." Part of the company of explorers went on to Bear River, while Jesse Applegate, Squire Harris, David Goff, John Owens and Henry Bogus made their way to Fort Hall. Henry Bogus left the party to overtake a son of Captain Grant. He failed to join Captain Grant's son and has never been heard of since. It is supposed that he was killed by the Indians.
    Lansford W. Hastings, who had come to Oregon in 1842, met the emigrants at Fort Hall to try to persuade them to go to California. Many of the emigrants who had started out for the Willamette Valley decided to go by the southern route, which had just been surveyed by the Polk County pioneers. David Goff and Levi Scott remained with the emigrants to serve as guides, while Jesse Applegate and the other members of the surveying party went ahead to improve the road. The Applegates asked for volunteers from among the emigrants to help work on the road, and Thomas Powers, Alfred Stewart, Charles Putnam, who later married a daughter of Jesse Applegate; J. M. Wair and William Kirquendall, with a number of others, including Messrs. Burgess, Shaw and Carnahan, shouldered their axes and went ahead to improve the road.
    They dug Antelope Spring larger. They also enlarged Rabbit Hole Spring, and they cut a passable road on the eastern slope of the Cascades as well as improving the road in the Rogue River Valley and the Umpqua Canyon. The Polk County surveyors had been absent from home for four months, so they went on home, leaving explicit instructions to the emigrants to hurry forward so they would not be delayed by the fall rains.
    After the guides left, the wagon train was divided, one section being led by Mrs. Richardson's father, Harrison Linville, and the other by her uncle, Medders Vanderpool. The Indians tried to prevent the settlers from passing through the country. In a skirmish with the Indians, Jesse Boone, a great-grandson of Daniel Boone of Kentucky, killed one of the Indians. Four of the emigrants were wounded with arrows. Daniel Tanner of Iowa died of his wounds, as did a man named Sallee. Whately and Lippincott, who were wounded, recovered.
    The emigrants found rough going between the Thousand Springs and the Rogue River Valley. In place of hastening on, they decided to recruit their cattle and linger awhile in the Rogue River Valley. This resulted in untold hardships when they attempted to make their way northward through Cow Creek Canyon. Many of the cattle were lost, the wagons abandoned and a number of the emigrants died as a result of the hardship.
Oregon Journal, Portland, June 13, 1932, page 6

    Mrs. Albion J. Richardson has been a resident of Polk County since the fall of 1846. When I interviewed her recently, at Monmouth, she said:
    "I only know of our trip across the plains to Oregon by hearsay, for I was a little tot when we left Missouri, in the spring of 1846. We came by way of the southern route. In coming through Cow Creek Canyon the water was high and for a good part of the way the wagons had to follow the bed of the stream. The cattle were thin; the cold water chilled them; occasionally the wagons would overturn; and it took us from October 11 to November 4 to make the 60 miles of our worst going in Southern Oregon. The water in the streambed varied from a foot to several feet in depth. Many of the emigrants had to leave their wagons, and some of the families didn't get to the Willamette Valley till midwinter.
    "Moses Harris and some of the other Polk County settlers brought flour and other provisions for us. Among the families who were greatly delayed were the Croizens, Kennedys, Halls and Lovelins and the families of James Campbell, Rice Dunbar and the Rev. J. A. Cornwall, as well as the Crumps, Butterfields, Townsends, Bakers and some others.
    "Father had started with three wagons. As he was the leader of the train he used to go ahead to look up the best route and to select camps. When we were coming through Cow Creek Canyon my grandmother, Mary Linville, left the wagon she was in and got in our wagon. The bed of the stream was full of slippery round boulders. The oxen would frequently slip and fall, and in some way our wagon was overturned in the stream. Grandmother and the rest of us were thrown into the stream. She was killed. This was on November 26, 1846. Some of the other emigrants hurried to where our wagon was overturned, righted the wagon and fished the rest of us out of the water. I was a baby and they thought I was drowned but they held me up by my feet, thumped me on the back and let the water drain out of me; so I came to. They had to work pretty hard on some of the others to revive them, for the wagon had held us under the water.
    "Tom Crowley, who had married my father's sister, Catherine Linville, or Aunt Katy, as we always called her, died as we were crossing the Calipooia Mountains. It seems too bad that he had gone through all of the hardships of crossing the plains and coming through Cow Creek Canyon and then died just before coming to the land of promise he had started for--the Willamette Valley,
    "Another relative of ours, Martha Leland Crowley, the daughter of Tom Crowley, took the mountain fever, as they used to call the typhoid. She died on the bank of a stream in Southern Oregon. They buried her under a big pine tree. They corralled the cattle on her grave so the Indians wouldn't desecrate the grave. They made a coffin for her from the sideboards of the wagon box. The Indians discovered the grave and dug up the body to get her clothing. In 1848 Colonel Nesmith found that the grave had been opened; so he gathered up the bones and reburied them. They named the stream Grave Creek. Later a stage station was located there known as Bates tavern or the Grave Creek house. The legislature later changed the name of Grave Creek to Leland Creek, in honor of Martha Leland Crowley's being buried there. Harkness & Twogood, who ran a stage station there, called their hotel the Leland house, and the post office there was named Leland post office."

Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, June 14, 1932, page 7

    Mrs. A. J. Richardson of Monmouth was present at the burial on Grave Creek, in Southern Oregon, of Martha Leland Crowley, in November, 1846. She died of typhoid fever, and the stream on the banks of which she was buried was named Grave Creek. The post office later located there was named Leland, for her middle name. Her father, Tom Crowley, married Mrs. Richardson's aunt, "Aunt Katie" Linville. Tom Crowley died shortly after the death of his daughter. His widow married J. M. Fulkerson in 1848. The town of Crowley, in Polk County, is named for this family.
Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man," Oregon Journal, Portland, September 2, 1933, page 4

    "My father's brother, Benjamin F., was born in Missouri in 1825."… Benjamin F. Burch crossed the plains to Oregon in 1845. He taught the first school in Polk County. He was adjutant of his regiment in the Cayuse Indian war. With other settlers in Polk County he helped lay out the Applegate route, by way of Southern Oregon. He was married on September 16, 1848, to Eliza Davidson, who was born in Kentucky in 1828 and came to Oregon in 1847. In the war of 1855-56 he was captain of Company B, 1st Regiment of Oregon mounted riflemen. He was a member of the state constitutional convention, which met at Salem in 1857, and was a member of the first state legislature. He was superintendent of the penitentiary for some years. He was in the state senate four years from 1868. Later, he was receiver of the land office. He was elected worshipful master of the Masonic lodge.

Mark A. Burch, quoted by Fred Lockley, "Impressions and Observations of the Journal Man,"
Oregon Journal, Portland, April 29, 1936, page 10

    A delegation of three Jackson County residents, Atlanta Parker Naffziger, John E. Ross and Arthur Powell, left yesterday afternoon for Portland and today are attending the launching ceremonies of the S.S. Table Rock at the Kaiser Swan Island shipyards as representatives of Jackson County. The S.S. Table Rock is the first of two ships which are being named after historic Southern Oregon spots and is the 41st tanker to be launched at the Swan Island yard.
    Mrs. Naffziger's father, William Parker, gave Table Rock its name. Parker, with Lindsay and Jesse Applegate, blazed a trail through the Rogue River Valley in 1846 in an effort to find a better route from Fort Hall to the Willamette Valley, and Table Rock was named at that time, the pioneers using it as a landmark. Mr. Parker and Jesse Applegate were brothers-in-law. Mrs. Naffziger is the only living first-generation descendant of these three men.
"Valley Folks to View Launching S.S. 'Table Rock,'" Medford Mail Tribune, November 28, 1943, page 10

Last revised June 24, 2024