(Introductory note by O. A. Stearns, a nephew of Mrs. Williams. The original diary was written in pencil in an old account book that, having been handled much and kept for over sixty years, is in many places illegible; hence the missing portions have been supplied from the recollections of the compiler, who has added much thereto that either escaped the observation of the writer of the diary or was deemed too trivial to record. In supplying added material or explanation, I have been careful to put in quotation marks, and in the actual phraseology the original contents of the diary.
    As an introduction permit me to say that my father, David E. Stearns, was a pioneer in the northern part of Illinois, having located in Winnebago County among the Indians in 1835. He was born in Monkton, Vermont, which was settled by his great-grandfather a few years prior to the American Revolution. At the beginning of hostilities, the town of Monkton was surprised and destroyed by a body of Tories and Indians who, after looting and burning the houses, conveyed the inhabitants as prisoners of war to Canada, where they were held in confinement until peace was declared. My grandfather was a Baptist minister, but also followed watch and clock repairing as a livelihood in order to maintain his large family of eleven children.
    My father, being next to the eldest, was bound out at an early age to learn the trade of carpenter and cabinet-making; so he left his early home and wandered westward, working at his trade until the lure of the land induced him to accompany some relatives to the then far west of Illinois. Here he married and followed farming until, hearing of the mild climate and fertile soil of the Willamette Valley in Oregon, he took the Oregon fever in 1851, which grew more acute each year until late in 1852 he succeeded in disposing of property in Illinois and began making preparations to move to Oregon. In this move he was joined by several brothers and sisters, then living in Ohio and Illinois, and also by an unmarried brother, who had been a practicing lawyer in Austin, Texas, but who was troubled with pulmonary disease, and thought a change of climate would cure him. This brother, Avery P., was very helpful in settling up my father's business and purchasing oxen for an outfit for the most of the family.
    My father had the running gears of four or five wagons built in a nearby shop, while he built the wagon boxes and fitted them with hoops and oiled canvas covers, made a supply of ox yokes and bows for the outfit and got everything in readiness. The wagon boxes were made with an extension top that was a foot or more wider than the lower part of the box, with sides about eight inches high. The lower box was divided into compartments for food and clothing, with tight covers, so the upper part could be used for sleeping purposes. The wagons were all provided with a hinged endgate and steps behind for easy access. As there were no patent brakes at that time, each wagon was provided with a large rope fastened to the front axle, and the other end furnished with a hardwood stick or toggle to insert between the spokes of the hind wheels to lock them for going downhill.
    Besides a wagon as above described for each family a light two-horse wagon for my grandfather, who drove a team consisting of an old white horse and black mare that my father had owned since my earliest recollection; another extra wagon to carry the surplus baggage and supplies, known as the baggage wagon; twelve or fourteen yoke of oxen to draw the wagons; some twelve or fifteen loose cows and young cattle and one young mare for my Uncle Avery to ride, constituted the motive and supply train of the Stearns outfit. In addition, B. J. Pengra, a brother-in-law of my father, with his family, who had a horse team, and an elderly neighbor by the name of Bullfinch, with a son of perhaps twenty years of age, and another young neighbor by the name of Herman Hoyt, who had a team of very fast traveling oxen, were added.
    The personnel of the party consisted of my grandfather, Rev. John Stearns, Baptist minister of 76 years; Myron N. Stearns, his wife Dorcas, with five children--Theresa, 17 years old, Leonora, 15 years, Myron N., 9 years, John R., 4 years, and Louisa, 3 years; Samuel E. Stearns, his wife, Susan W., two children--Louisa, 8 years, and Edwin A., 4 years old; Issacher Williams, his wife, Velina A., and four children--Alonzo W., 8 years old, Aseneth, 6 years old, Henry Orva, 3 years old, and Frank, about one year old; Bynon J. Pengra, his wife, Charlotte E., and one daughter, Stella, 4 years old; Avery P., my father's younger unmarried brother; my father, David E., and wife, Fidelia S., and five children--Oscar L., 11 years old, Orson A., 10 years, Newell D., 8 years, Arminda M., 5 years, and Mary A., 4 years old, the last-named an adopted child.
    As an addition to the above enumerated people, there was a man by the name of William Brannan, who came to my father just before starting and engaged to drive the baggage wagon across the plains for his board. There was no time to inquire as to this man's antecedents, but my father was not of a suspicious nature, and the fact that on the eve of starting this man brought to the train and put aboard the wagon he was to drive a very large heavy trunk, about which he was very solicitous, never aroused any mistrust as to the character of the man or curiosity as to the nature of his baggage; but the younger members of the train very soon came to believe there was something wrong with the man, as he would allow none of us around his wagon, and once while we were in camp, some of them peered into his wagon when he had his trunk open for some reason and before he discovered their presence they glimpsed many articles of jewelry and silk stuffs before he, discovering their presence, slammed his trunk shut and started as though to do them bodily harm, meanwhile cursing and reviling them for coming around. This I mention, as it may account for later disclosures.
    On the morning of April 5, all being in readiness, we left the old home, amidst the tearful farewells of many friends and neighbors. The elders of the party were full of hope, but saddened with the thoughts of leaving so many friends behind, and in contemplating the unknown perils and hardships of the long journey ahead.
    Our course was due west across the prairie for three miles, when we arrived at the home of George B. Cannon, my mother's brother, when we left her to a last evening with her brother and a sister who lived near, while the train traveled some six or eight miles farther and camped for the night, if I remember correctly, on Rock Run. My aunt's diary was illegible up to this encampment, so its exact locality is uncertain. From here on I take up her narrative.--O.A.S.)
    April 6--Resumed our journey; passed through Freeport, where Brother David's wife and her brother, with whom she stayed overnight, overtook us. Traveled about 16 miles and camped on Yellow Creek.
    April 7--Left Yellow Creek about 10 o'clock A.M. and arrived at our present encampment about dark, very tired and not a little fretful. Hope our patience may increase with the toils of our journey. Bynon lost one of his colts today.
    April 8--Left our encampment about 8 o'clock. Roads bad; baggage wagon got [up]set twice. Very windy and evenings cold. Traveled 10 miles and camped near some large bluffs about three miles from the Mississippi River.
    April 9--Cold morning; froze some last night. Continued our journey, fording two streams, the first since starting. About 2 o'clock stopped at a good camping ground about half a mile from Fulton. Myron went to the village and ascertained that the river was so rough that it was impossible crossing. Struck our tents and did some washing and baking. I remember the ferry which was propelled by two horses, one on either side, operating treadwheels. The village of Fulton was on the east side and that of Lyons on the west side. The river here was over a mile wide and quite clear.
    April 10--Sabbath! A beautiful morning. The wind lulled and it is decided that we must cross the river. The waters glided gently and peacefully along; they seemed to reproach us for disturbing them on this holy day. Teams all over by 2 o'clock. Went four miles and camped.
    April 11--Started about 8 o'clock. Country through which we passed hilly; roads bad; cold in forepart of the day; after noon it rained hard, with thunder and lightning. Susan sick. Traveled 20 miles; camped one mile west of DeWitt, Clinton County, Iowa.
    April 12--Rained hard all last night and until 9 o'clock this morning. Resumed our journey about 11 A.M. Roads very bad; sloughs filled with water from the heavy rains. Traveled 10 miles over an extensive prairie. Hoyt's and Bynon's teams started ahead this morning and have seen nothing of them since.
    April 13--Cold, windy, rainy night. Bynon came to our camp early this morning. Their camp is one mile and a half from ours. Crossed the Wapsipinicon in a small flatboat; swam all the cattle, but one yoke of oxen attached to each wagon. Traveled 12 miles.
    April 14--Cold morning; froze last night. Traveled 12 miles over very bad roads; passed through some timber, prairie at the right; a beautiful, undulating one. Camped in Tipton.
    April 15--Traveled 10 miles to Cedar River, a beautiful stream. Good ferry boat, moved by pulleys attached to a cable stretched across the stream. Eight horse teams passed us, bound for California. Camped on the prairie near a small grove; two houses a short distance away.
    April 16--The man of whom they got the hay and grain, hearing that Elder Stearns was in the company, came over to see him; says he heard him preach in Granville, Ohio, some 18 or 20 years since, one-half mile from camp. Bynon's team got slewed; had to unhitch the horses and put the ox teams on to draw out the wagon. We crossed at another place and had no trouble except with the baggage wagon; they doubled teams and came out straight. Traveled till night; struck our tents in an Irishman's field. Seven or eight miles from Iowa City.
    April 16--Passed through Iowa City; crossed its river on a floating bridge; camped five miles west at a Welshman's.
    April 17--Another beautiful Sabbath; laid by our things in the bottom of the box; quite damp; took them out and aired them; packed them all over; baked two loaves of bread and some cake. Myron preached in the house at 2 o'clock.
    April 18--Resumed our journey; much of the way the roads bad; rained hard all of the afternoon and the wind howls terribly without. Oh, for a little home to call my own!
    April 19--Rained all night and till 9 o'clock A.M. Washed and ironed some. Just before night the clouds, which all day had borne a threatening aspect, dispersed and the sun shone forth in his glory. To us homeless wanderers it was a cheering sight.
    April 20--Sun rose bright and beautiful. A heavy dew, so that our white clothes were as wet as when they were hung out; had to pack them into tubs. Preparations to resume our journey made with all possible speed. Road very bad; men cross; altogether rather unpleasant state of feeling. Susan sick; camped early; hung out our clothes and got them drying. All feel rather better this evening.
    April 21--Two heavy showers this morning. Cleared off about 9 and resumed our journey. To attempt a description of the roads would be impossible; the worst we have seen. Commenced raining about 1 o'clock and continued to rain hard at short intervals until dark. Had to travel until after dark before we could find hay and grain for the teams. Camped near Montezuma.
    April 22--Passed through Montezuma, the county seat of Poweshiek County, situated on a small swell of the prairie not far from timber. But a few buildings, none of which show much signs of taste. A circular saw in operation; mill not covered. Roads bad, worse, worst. Bynon's horse team mires; baggage wagon [up]set, all the other trouble imaginable. Traveled all day; saw but few buildings, most of which we passed in uncultivated prairie. Stopped at the only place where we found hay and grain could be obtained; hay $15 per ton; corn 50 cents per bushel.
    April 23--Stormed all night, and such a sight as the tents were in this morning I hope we may not see again; indeed, the water in many places is over shoe-top deep; 'tis a perfect mud-hole; beds and children completely soaked. Our landlord informed us that we must be off forthwith, as we could not cross the creek perhaps for a week or more, therefore no time can be spared to get breakfast. I made a boiler full of coffee and all hands came to our wagon and took a basin of coffee and their bread and butter and their meal was dispatched with all possible speed. Hoyt and some of the other men went to the creek to see if it be possible to cross; thought it would; started their teams. D.C.B. went to them; found it would be unsafe to attempt to cross; concluded to drive towards the river to a more open spot, as the wind blew very hard. Two trees fell but a short distance from us. Pitched tents on a side hill, but everything is very wet and it continues raining some. Oh, what a sweet time!
    April 24--Sabbath again dawns; it brings with it a snow storm; ground white and it is quite cold for April. As there was no prospect of crossing the creek for some time, our men concluded to go to work today and build a bridge, which was accomplished before dark. About noon the clouds dispersed and the sun looked kindly forth upon us, reminding us of sweet Sabbaths in far-off lands.
    April 25--Started bright and early; arrived at the creek; got two wagons across; found that the bridge needed some more filling. All went to work, men, women and children, gathering brush, weeds and grass, and the work was soon dispatched. Attempted to swim some of the cattle, but the west bank was so steep that they could get no foothold and they were brought over on the bridge. Traveled 15 miles and camped in a pleasant grove.
    April 26--A pleasant morning. The banks of the South Skunk River are overflowed. We are told that it will be impossible to reach the ferry; it was therefore decided to remain at our present encampment until tomorrow. Washed and baked.
    April 27--Took corn for tonight and tomorrow and again resumed our journey. Some of the teams started before all were ready, which led to hard feelings and harsh, angry words, which made us all feel very unpleasant. Oh, that the spirit of forbearance and love were more prevalent in our company! About 2 o'clock arrived at the bluff bordering one mile from the river. The broad bottom and high bluffs with deep valleys running into it give it the appearance of having been the bed of a large body of water. There were as many teams near the ferry as could possibly cross today, so we pitched our camp at the foot of the bluffs; five other teams camped near us.
    April 28--This morning we resumed our journey at an early hour. The men had to ride through the water from knee deep to waist deep for nearly a mile before reaching the ferry. D.'s wagon came near upsetting into a creek, Fidelia and Susan with their three younger children in at the time. Fortunately they righted without injury. After reaching the ferry had to swim our cattle and much time was consumed collecting them and preparing to resume our journey. It commenced to rain soon after we started and continued to rain most of the day. Towards night we found a good place to camp and pitched our tents. A woman near was taken sick and sent to our camp for assistance. Fidelia, Dorcas and Charlotte went; found her in hard convulsions; administered such remedies as suggested themselves to them. F. returned, leaving her somewhat relieved. I went to take her place as watch with C. for the night. Applied mustard to her stomach and feet. In the course of an hour she became quite easy. We returned to the camp.
    April 29--A pleasant morning. Hoyts and Bynons started first; all off in good season. Soon after starting Myron and Samuel stopped to water; the other teams drove on and got some distance before them. Waited some time for them, but as they did not come in sight. Iss. went back to see what was the trouble. Found Samuel's wagon [stuck] fast; M.'s team not sufficiently manageable to help him out. Iss. came back, took his team and brought all out straight. One yoke of Sam's oxen unable to work; turned them loose. Traveled till near night and camped on the west bank of small creek. Have seen nothing of Hoyt's and Bynon's teams and fear we shall not till we get to the bluffs.
    (The teams of Hoyt and Pengra were never overtaken and as they took the northern route from Soda Springs, on Bear River, while the rest of the company took the southern route to Northern California and Southern Oregon, they both located in different portions of Oregon, neither learning the whereabouts of the other for nearly a year. The crossing of the Skunk River, as depicted under date of the 28th, was but one of quite a number of overflowed rivers crossed in Iowa. In fact, nearly every creek of considerable size was swollen into a river, and blocks of wood had to be put under the wagon beds to raise them out of reach of the flooded creek and river bottoms, as the supplies in the wagon beds would otherwise be ruined. At Skunk River it was hard to determine where the river banks were, and had it not been for the number of stakes driven at the river's banks many teams must have driven over them. The ferry itself was as far on the bank as its rope would allow, and it was necessary to lift the wagons up two feet or more to get them into or onto the boat. Note by O. A. Stearns.)
    April 30--This morning the air was balmy, and all seemed to enjoy its freshness. Reached the Des Moines at Martin's, G---- County, ferry about 11 o'clock. A good boat. Teams over by 2; went about three and a half miles and camped in a pleasant grove.
    (I think it was at this place where there was a dairy. At least quite a number of cows were kept. There was a small creek ran through the grove, coming from a spring. The cow sheds and stables were near the road and the little stream ran right through the enclosure among the trees. Soon after we were camped some boys drove in the cows and some of the men put a rope on one of them and tied her to a tree, making her hind legs fast to another tree, and proceeded to give her a terrible flogging with some large saplings. Some of the men of our company remonstrated with them, asking them what they were flogging the cow for. The man, who evidently owned the cows, replied that he had to flog that particular cow just about so often, otherwise she would kick and fight until they could not get near her to milk her. That after a flogging she would be quiet and gentle for three or four weeks, when they would have to flog her again. He knew as soon as the cows were brought in that she was about to have one of her tantrums, so he gave her a flogging as a preventative. I remember thinking he must be a very cruel man and that he simply lied to us to excuse his brutality; but after some twenty or more years running a dairy I have revised my opinion, as I have had just such a cow in my herd, on whom petting and coaxing was wasted. Though raised by hand and kindly treated as a calf, this cow, after she was broken to milk, would permit of no caressing, and she had to be beaten periodically until thoroughly cowed, before she would permit herself to be milked. This digression is deemed necessary to explain what impressed itself very vividly on my mind as connected with that particular encampment. Note by O. A. Stearns.)
    May 1--The Sabbath has again passed, but it brought no rest to us or our cattle. Traveled 10 miles, mostly through timber; camped in the edge of a large prairie. Had a season of prayer in M.'s tent, which was refreshing after the toils of the day.
    May 2--Concluded to remain at our present encampment today and let the cattle graze while the men hunt up corn to take along, as report says that it is almost impossible to obtain it a few miles ahead, even at exorbitant prices. Towards night a large company, styled "New York and California Company," passed us.
    May 3--Our men succeeded yesterday in procuring some 25 or 30 bushels of corn, and this morning we were again on our way. This day has been pleasant and all seemed to enjoy the sunshine. About noon we passed the "New York and California Company" that passed our camp yesterday. Camped on a swell of the prairie overlooking a large flat, where cattle are grazing.
    May 4--This morning we were wakened by the pattering of the rain upon our wagon covers. Remained in camp; rained all day.
    May 5--This morning were again upon our march. The day has been cloudy and cold. The roads were very bad. Passed through Winterset, county seat of Madison County. Traveled about 15 miles over a level prairie. Arminda sick, and tonight one of the hands have given up. A number of others are camped near us.
    May 6--Still cloudy. Traveled some 18 miles and have seen no house since we left our encampment this morning. Bell and Arminda still sick. The rain is now pattering upon our wagon covers as if to remind us that we are homeless.
    May 7--I have suffered so much from head and toothache that I have scarcely left my couch except when I am compelled to. Crossed Middle Fork on a bridge, which was accomplished in about two hours' labor. There have been a great number of teams in sight. The day has been cold, with alternate showers and sunshine. Our camp is again on the open prairie, far from the habitations of men.
    May 8--This morning we again resumed our journey and traveled till about 4 o'clock and again camped on the open prairie. Myron very unwell. Still cold and windy. My head and teeth still trouble me.
    May 9--Feel some better; have done some sewing and knitting. Still cold and windy, with frequent showers. Passed some timber; halted and laid in a supply of wood for the night.
    May 10--Was too unwell to write yesterday. We passed graves by the roadside. The spot seemed mournful and reminded me that earth is our common burial place; and when I reflect that some of us in all probability may find a like burial I involuntarily exclaim, "has Egypt no graves" that we thus seek them in this wilderness? While laying in wood Iss. found a yoke of oxen, probably strayed from some emigrant. Camped near the place of previous night.
    May 11--The owner of the cattle came this morning and, having identified them, David bought them. About noon crossed the Nishnabotna River by a rope ferry. Small stream, deriving its name from an Indian chief. My head and teeth have been so painful that I have observed little that was passing and must seek rest early. Our way today has been over some as beautiful country as I have ever beheld; as far as the eye could reach the prairie was spread in beautiful swells, covered with a carpet of green, dotted with groves of timber just putting forth their robes of green, so enchanting that an involuntary "Oh, that I was a painter that I might transcribe it and convey it to distant friends!" Who can blame the red men for striving ever to retain these beautiful hunting grounds. Crossed the Little Nishnabotna and made camp two or three miles west.
    May 12--Today the country over which we have passed has been quite hilly and barren in its appearance. Feed is scarce and we learn that near the bluffs it is all eaten off. Concluded to stop nine miles east and wait till someone goes forward and makes such discoveries as is necessary and then act accordingly. About sundown three Indian chiefs came to our camp. They were dressed in their native style and were fine specimens of aborigines. They asked for food and money; said their home was on the west of the Missouri. Our men gave each a dollar and we prepared some supper and they partook with us of our frugal meal with an eagerness that showed that their appetites were sharpened with hunger. They remained with us overnight.
    May 13--Had to remove our encampment some two miles in order to find feed for our cattle. David returned from the Bluffs, bringing a letter from Avery and one from Charlotte; they will probably be at the Bluffs in a day or two. Sister's letter was written Wednesday. They have gone on. Her letter shows what anguish of spirit she felt at thus being separated from us just as she entered upon the most dangerous part of the journey. Dear sister, shall we meet again in this world, or is our separation for time? Oh, may God protect you through all the way and bring you to the desired haven!
    May 14--All hands busy washing, baking and preparing for renewing our loading for the rest of the journey.
    May 15--Another Sabbath day has passed and brought no rest; had to travel eight or nine miles to the river bottom, and here we shall remain until we cross the river.
    May 19--One week today since we came into the vicinity of the Bluffs. The time has been spent in repacking and loading our provisions and the necessary preparations for our comfort over the plains. The boat on which Avery and the groceries were, arrived from St. Louis Sunday night. Monday it was decided that another team and wagon must be purchased, and considerable time has been thus consumed. Today we went to the ferry with the hope of crossing, but so many were there before us that we were obliged to wait another day. Therefore pitched our tents near the ferry. Quite a number of Indians have their fire near our camp and several have been here. They have been accurately portrayed by those who have sketched portraitures.
    (While at our camp before coming to Kanesville (the town where the ferry is situated) the children in the company observed several Indians coming from the direction of the town who left the road some distance away from our camp and went up a trail that led into a gully of the hills. We thought it would be quite an adventure to follow the Indians, keeping well out of sight, to observe where they were going and what they were doing. The Indians proceeded up the gully a half mile or more where it opened out into a timber valley. Here they appeared to have a camp, where several other Indians were collected, and when the Indians we were following arrived at the camp they all seemed to be sharing in something that the arrivals had brought in bottles. They would pass the bottle from one to another, and each in turn would throw his head back and elevate the bottom of the bottle for quite a period when it would pass to another. All but one Indian took freely of the bottled refreshments, which seemed to be plentiful, as one bottle after another was emptied and thrown upon the ground. We watched them for quite awhile, fearing they might discover that they were spied upon, but they did not seem to fear or know that they were being watched. Gradually they became noisy and staggered around until they fell to the ground, one by one, until the lone watcher only was left on his feet. As he seemed to be content to remain at the camp and we were becoming fearful that we would be missed, we carefully drew away and returned to camp.
    Doubtless we had witnessed an Indian orgy on firewater procured in the town of Kanesville. The day we were at the ferry awaiting the opportunity to cross I was in charge of the loose cattle, which I was herding in a lane at the edge of the town. Nearby was a lot where someone was living and I saw a boy, just a little larger than myself, working at something near the house. He glanced in my direction several times and finally yelled out at me something I could not understand, when I called back a rejoinder that he would have to talk plainer if he was speaking to me, whereupon he came across to where I was and commenced cursing me and calling me all the vile names he could think of, at the same time drawing a butcher knife that he carried in a leather sheath at his belt and flourishing it around in close proximity to my face and kept saying he would cut my heart out. I asked him what was the matter with him and he said, with an oath, that I knew d----d well what was the matter; that I had been stealing his sister's things and breaking them up.
    I told him he was mistaken; that I never saw his sister nor himself, and did not live there; that he must have mistaken me for someone else. After a great deal of profanity and seeing I was neither offering to fight nor run away, he finally went away, to my great relief.
    The town seemed to me to be the rendezvous of all the worst elements of the frontier, and I guess I had sized it up pretty accurately.--O.A.S.)
    May 20--Crossed the Missouri River on a steam ferry boat and set our feet on the Indian soil. My feelings on entering this benighted land and look upon its inhabitants, sunken in the depths of heathenism, were those of unformed pity, my heart yearning after a knowledge of their language that I may converse with them and communicate some light to their darkened minds. Oh, when shall the light of the gospel dawn upon these natives of the wilderness? Over a small stream some five miles from the river is a bridge said to be kept in repair by the Indians, where we were required to pay toll. Acting upon the peace principles, David paid them 95 cents, which was received with much pleasure. There was a wigwam near the bridge which was quite a curiosity to those who had never seen one. We passed around the head of a large pond, near which were 128 emigrant wagons and a number of tents, reminding one of Israel tents in the wilderness. After traveling some eight miles, we pitched our tents among the ruins of a Mormon town. They are situated at the foot of a large swell or bluff and seemed to extend along the bottom to the river, near a half mile distant. How long since they established themselves here and how long since they left is to us an uncertainty.
    May 21--This morning was bright and beautiful. Fidelia, Susan and myself started before the teams that we might enjoy its freshness and the beauty of the scene, which we imagined would present itself from the top of the hills, and richly were we repaid. There for miles we beheld the Missouri, as she rolled majestically through the valley, her banks skirted with cottonwood and other kinds of timber. The broad bottom and high bluffs on the opposite side, with the pond where we traveled yesterday all presented to view, made a most grand and beautiful landscape. On passing on to the next swell, at the left of the road was a burial ground. The monuments being of wood, the inscriptions were mostly obliterated. On some few the name of the individual, with the date of their death, are still to be discerned; the oldest that we were able to decipher was in 1846 and some as late as 1852. From this we conjectured that it is not more than a year or two since the town was evacuated, though there are but two log buildings standing; everything else bears the marks of fire. We traveled till near night before we found grass and water and here we have no wood and have had to make our supper on bread and milk; but we expect often to have such fare.
    May 22--Some rain last night and quite cold this morning. Again took up our line of march; reached a small creek about 9:30; the banks are very steep and high and its waters deep. A narrow, slender bridge has been thrown over it and the Indians ask toll. A great number of teams were there before us and as the teams have to be taken over first and the wagons drawn over by hand it was near 3 before we all got across. Drove till near night and camped near a grove, where water and wood are plenty. Three other teams attached themselves to our company today. The prairie here is beautiful.
    May 23--Left our encampment about noon, having washed and baked some, and arrived at Elkhorn River about 2. There being quite a number of teams there, we had to wait some time before crossing. The ferrymen live in tents and remain, as I suppose, only while the emigration lasts. The stream is deep and rapid and we feared lest some of the cattle might not be able to breast the current, but they all came out safely and by 6:30 we were again under headway. Drove about three miles and camped on a level plain.
    May 24--This morning three Indians visited us. They were dressed in buffalo skins instead of blankets. Three more came to our wagons about noon, as we stopped to take in wood and water. They belong to the Pawnee tribe. Night before last some of the tribe killed four oxen and badly wounded the fifth, belonging to some emigrants. They no doubt gave the Indians some cause for committing the outrage. Since leaving the river what is called "the plains" commences, and rightly is that portion over which we have passed today named. One vast, widely extended plain presents itself on every hand. We passed a newly dug grave this morning, to which the remains of a young lady were to be consigned, her disease, consumption, of 15 months' standing, a warning that we, too, are mortal. May we take good heed to it and be prepared to meet death whenever she may come.
    May 25--Susan has been very sick all day, a severe attack of diarrhea, but is some better tonight. We had hoped to have reached Skull Creek tonight, but there are so many teams ahead that will camp near there that it was thought best to stop two and a half miles east. There is no wood and we have had to burn weeds to cook our supper.
    May 26--Susan is still very feeble and David was taken with the same complaint and has been and still is quite unwell. We reached Skull Creek at an early hour. It is a narrow stream, with steep, sandy banks. A narrow bridge has been thrown across it. No trouble in crossing. Thence we passed on to a low, marshy portion of land, extending some miles. Though there were two roads, one went south through a portion of the marsh to timber on the margin of Platte; the other went around the marsh and away from timber. Having a supply of wood, we concluded to take the road around the marsh. Found a good camping ground and excellent grass.
    May 27--Started early, hoping to reach the Loup Fork ferry in time to cross, but when we came into the other road, about the middle of the afternoon, we found ourselves two and a half miles above it. We, however, learned from those who were just before us, who came by the ferry, that there were so many there that it would be impossible to cross for three or four days. Therefore concluded to keep up Loup Fork two or three days, till we could ford it, as it is equally as near the new road. Camped on the bank of the river. Our men caught six fine fish.
    May 28--Crossed Lookingglass Creek and Beaver River. Had to raise our wagon beds with blocks. The steam is rather rapid and from two to three and a half feet deep. Our camp tonight is not far from the old Pawnee village. We passed their cornfield on our right. The feed is poor, the old grass not having been burned off until very late.
    May 29--We passed through the old Pawnee village this morning. But little remains to show that it was once the home of rational beings. It was taken by Sioux in 1846 and has its tales of war and bloodshed. Crossed Ash Creek and Cedar River and camped on the bluffs bordering on Loup Fork. Oh, when will the Sabbath bring to us that rest which God designed it should bring to his children? My heart is weary of the cares that binds it to earth and longs for a little time to lay by and commune with the great author of all things.
    May 30--Traveled about 17 miles to the ford, where we expect to cross the Loup Fork. Some of the men have examined the ford and find it quicksand bottom. They feel that it will be hardly prudent to attempt to cross tonight. Concluded to go up the river and camp near the upper ford and examine it before crossing. There is but very little grass here.
    May 31--Spent the day in searching for a place where it would be possible to cross, but they feel that it will be perilous to undertake to ford and they have decided to pitch two wagon boxes and lash them so as to form a kind of boat and ferry.
    June 1--This morning it was decided to ford to the island and there prepare the boat and ferry across the main current. Accordingly all the teams were brought and to it the boat prepared and launched. Myron, Samuel and Avery, with two others, were in it, designing to take a cable to the opposite shore in order the more easily to convey it to and fro. But the current was so strong and they, being unused to the management of such a craft, were borne rapidly down the stream, notwithstanding the efforts of those on the shore to check them by means of the cable which was let out to and from the boat. It, however, lodged on a sand bar about three-fourths of a mile below the point from whence they started. By some means they succeeded in reaching the opposite shore and mooring their bark. But we were left without any means of reaching them or they us. The river, which had been rising all day, though to us almost unnoticed, had now become so high and rough that it was thought best to return immediately to the shore. Preparations were accordingly made with all haste. A messenger was dispatched to examine the place where we came onto the island, but soon returned with the news that it would be impossible to retrace our steps, and there being no other place of egress, we must bide our fate. What that may be is known only to Him who sways the destinies of all men.
    Our feelings may be better imagined than described as we sit in our wagons or tents listening to the roaring of the waters and hear the mutter of the thunder and see the flashes of lightning that warn us that the clouds are not fully emptied of their contents upon the earth. I feel that in God only have we hope. There are ten or twelve wagons on the island besides those belonging to our company.
    June 2--The day has been one of anxious suspense. The river seemed to rise until about 3 P.M.; since then the water has slowly abated. The current is very rapid and our friends on the opposite side have as yet found no means of reaching us and cannot until the river falls considerably. They are well cared for at the camp where they have been kindly received.
    June 3--This morning the water had fallen so much that it was thought some kind of a craft might be managed. Accordingly our friends on the opposite shore launched their bark and safely reached the shore. They were greeted as messengers of hope. After some repairs, a number of loads were conveyed to the opposite side. A large portion of the provisions and some clothing and bedding, also Samuel's, Myron's and Hulbert's families have been transported across the river. A number of other wagon boxes have been rigged for skiffs and ply singly [i.e., cross one by one]. A number of those who have been water-bound on the island have today rejoined those of their company who were fortunate enough to cross before the river rose. The different companies have rendered each other mutual assistance.
      June 5--The remainder of the goods, David's and our families, arrived safely on the mainland, our hearts somewhat relieved of the anxieties which have for the last week oppressed them. Several of the wagons have also been brought over. The running parts were taken to pieces and brought over in the boats and the boxes towed over.
    June 6--The remainder of the wagons have been brought over, put together and packed. Tonight as we repose from the toils of the day we feel that we have abundant cause for gratitude to our Heavenly Father for His preserving care while we have been so perilously situated.
    (There is one incident connected with the transfer across the Loup that Aunt V. failed to chronicle. It is in the first attempt to get the running gears of the wagons across. A rope was stretched across from the island to the mainland, some sort of pulleys attached, and the attempt to draw the running gears of a wagon, tongue first, through the waters. The only wagon to start on that journey was whirled over and over like a water wheel, just as soon as it reached the swift water, where the sand rollers [i.e., wave crests] were nearly three feet higher than the valleys between. The linchpins came out of the spindles and the wheels were thrown out as though from a catapult, so the running gears, minus the wheels, was all that survived the trip, and it was deemed a failure. During the time we were marooned on the island, and while the water was rising rapidly, someone who was exploring the place of our enforced retreat found driftwood lodged in the trees several feet from the ground, proving conclusively that it was subject to inundation by the waters of the river. The discovery of this fact did not add to our feelings, as the prospect of being drowned or forced to climb trees to save ourselves from such a fate was not very consoling. The peculiarities of this stream will be best understood when it is remembered that other wagon trains coming up to the eastern shore the very day our last boatload was safely landed crossed over to the island by the same route we had come over and forded to the opposite shore almost in the wake of our last boat.)
    June 7--This morning we were again on our winding way. The roads for about five miles were very wet and marshy. The rest of the way has. been over sandy bluffs. There are three camps in sight of our camp.
    June 8--Reached Prairie Creek about--o'clock. The banks were very high and steep. Before we started on this journey we should have thought this stream impassable without a bridge, but no accident occurred. We also crossed another small stream which afforded a greater obstacle than Prairie Creek. The banks were steep and muddy and the water deep. Had to block up our wagon boxes and double teams. Our camp tonight is on east bank.
    June 9--Traveled seven miles to Wood River. It is a narrow deep stream, with high, steep banks, with a brush bridge. Our cattle were swum and our wagons drawn to the bridge by hand and then drawn off by means of a long cable attached to the end of the tongue. There being so many wagons, it was late before we all got over. Our wagon came near upsetting. Traveled about three and a quarter miles. Weather fine, and tonight plenty of mosquitoes.
    June 10--Traveled over 20 miles; came in sight of the Platte River and camped about half a mile from it. Had to haul our water from the river. Saw a number of antelope and deer. A severe thunderstorm blew over the tent, spoiled our supper; had to eat hard bread and milk, and all sleep in wagons. Two or three other camps in sight.
    June 11--Started early; crossed some steep ravines about 2 o'clock and made our camp early on the bank of a small stream. Just as we were making our way to the camp and I was walking along examining the ground, stooping to look into a hole, I found myself standing on a copperhead snake. He was coiled and my foot was across the coil so that the head was fortunately too nearly under my foot to injure me.
    June 12--Traveled today, notwithstanding the protestations of some against it. Crossed Elm Creek; passed on to Buffalo Creek and followed it up a number of miles. Here we found a pleasant camping spot and a spring of beautiful, clear, cold water, the best we have seen since we came into this territory.
    June 13--This morning we followed the creek up a number of miles further, where we found bridges and crossed over. Took in wood and some water. The road being a different one from that described in the guide, we were unable certainly to ascertain our whereabouts.
    June 14--Our road led us to the Platte, but at what point we are unable to determine. Our camp is not far from the bank. Five men called at our camp who had been buffalo hunting. They had been successful, having killed two, and were on their way to their camp some miles ahead. They took tea with us and we shared some of their buffalo meat. It was quite a treat.
    June 15--This morning four of the men belonging to our camp started on a buffalo hunt and have not yet returned. Our road struck the Platte about noon, at the foot of some sandy bluffs. While the men were taking their dinner Fidelia and myself went to the top of one of the highest. It was cone-shaped on the side on which we ascended, but nearly perpendicular on the opposite side for near 50 feet, and forming a large, sandy basin. There were roots of trees some distance down the bluff, showing that in some ages past these now barren sandy bluffs were once covered with forest trees. Our camp is not far from a spring of excellent water.
    June 16--Crossed Skunk Creek this morning and watched anxiously for the excellent springs mentioned in our guide, as being some six miles from the creek, but noon came and we had not yet reached them. As we were dining one of the hunting party made his appearance, weary and footsore in his chase after buffaloes. He had become separated from his companions and having gone considerable distance, was unable to find them. At last he started for the road, but night came while he was still in the bluffs, and he, having taken no food since about 3 o'clock in the morning, was compelled to yield to Nature's claims and seek rest under the canopy of heaven. In the morning he sought the road and coming to a camp of emigrants he procured breakfast. Between 1 and 2 we came to the springs, so much desired to find. They are, indeed, worthy of note. The water boils up as from a cauldron, cold and pure. The land around is mostly quicksand. There seems to be an exhaustless supply of water. Tonight the other three buffalo hunters made their appearance, each with his tale of suffering and privation, and thoroughly sick of buffalo hunting.
    June 17--This morning those of the men who were hunting felt the effects of their tramp, being very footsore. We crossed Black Sand Creek and a number of small streams and made our camp on the bank of a large slough, where mosquitoes reign without a rival.
    June 18--Last night we had one of the most fearful thunder storms I ever witnessed. This morning we left our encampment early. After an hour's travel reached North Grass Creek, and about 10:30 Bluff Creek. It is a clear stream, with quicksand bottom. Thence our way lay over a sandy bluff, nine miles to Buffalo Creek, near which we camped. All very tired.
    June 19--This morning after considerable deliberation it was decided that it was best to travel part of the day. The reasons for doing so are that it is impracticable to lay by more than one day in a week. That it is necessary for us to have one-half of some day to rest and do other needed work. Accordingly we went seven miles and camped near Wolf Creek. But the Sabbath does not seem like Sabbath here. No sound of the church-going bell; no voice of prayer; no hymns of praise to remind one of its sanctity or assist the soul in its devotions.
    June 20--Started early; crossed Petite and Dutch creeks in the forenoon and Rattlesnake River in the afternoon; camped on the Platte nearly opposite Cedar Bluff, making about 16 miles travel.
    June 21--Dined on the banks of Camp Creek, a very clear, swift stream, though not deep. In the afternoon crossed Hearns' Creek, and made our way over sandy bluffs for a considerable distance, when we again approached the Platte and passed along the foot of the bluffs for two or three miles and camped a little west of the "lone tree." The day has been extremely hot.
    June 22--This morning it was so cold that coats and shawls were necessary appendages. The wind has blown hard all day, causing the dust to fly so that traveling has been very unpleasant, and tonight we need a fire in the tent to be comfortable. We crossed Castle River about noon and tonight we are as near, as we can judge, between 16 and 20 miles from where we started this morning.
    June 23--'This morning we started early, having, as we judged, over 20 miles to travel before reaching a convenient camping place. Reached this place--Crab Creek--about 4 o'clock; found good water, grass and other conveniences for camping. Roads have been good, and the day cool and pleasant.
    June 24--This morning after about two hours' travel we struck ancient bluff ruins and passed over a portion of them to a point on the river, where we dined and had a fine view of the most interesting of them. They resemble fortifications, towns, castles, etc., in ruins. Has the mighty deep in ages past rolled over these plains, and lashed with its surges these barren halls, or has the action of wind and rain upon their sands given them their present fantastic forms? Imagination here has a wild field in which to range. In the afternoon got a view of Chimney Rock, on the south of the river, 10 miles from our encampment. Traveled about 21 miles; the day very warm.
    June 25--After traveling some 10 or 12 miles about noon we came opposite a point designated in our guide as "Chimney Rock," but in Fremont's and other guides as "Court House Bluff," Chimney Rock being some 10 miles further up the river. "Court House Bluff" as seen from this point is truly interesting. The ground seems to ascend gradually from the river to the foot of the bluff, which resembles a large tower or castle in ruins. As I looked upon it I thought, "were I only in Persia easy to imagine this Babel's tower, with the broad Euphrates at its base." Tonight our camp nearly opposite Chimney Rock, where we have a fine view of this interesting point. From here it seems to be of soft sandstone. It is pyramidal in form for about two-thirds of the distance from its base, when its form is that of a chimney, rising to a considerable height. We saw it distinctly from a distance of at least 25 miles. The day has been very warm and the roads dusty. A spring of excellent water near our camp.
    June 26--Soon after starting the team attached to Myron's baggage wagon took fright and ran some distance. One yoke of oxen were considerably hurt, but no other injury was done. Traveled about six miles farther and Myron quite unwell.
    June 27--The morning was warm and sultry. About 10 the wind rose and for a time fanned us gently, but ere long old Boreas showed us what he could do. By noon traveling was quite unpleasant, but we resumed our journey after dinner and traveled three or four miles amid clouds of sand and dust to where we made our way to the river and stopped for the night opposite Capitol Hill. Seems more like a November night than the balmy month of June. Myron is some better, but Father is under the weather.
    June 28--Father has been so unwell that he has kept his bed all day. While we were taking dinner Mr. Brannan was taken with violent convulsions, caused by taking camphor to excess to check a diarrhea, but he is more comfortable to night and we hope to be able to travel tomorrow.
    June 29--Father is still very feeble. Mr. Brannan is able to be up, and we have traveled about all day. A man who has packed through from Michigan is with us tonight and talks some of accompanying us the most of the way.
    June 30--Those who have been unwell are now much better and we have made a good day's travel. Passed one or two trading posts and camped near the river, about seven miles from Fort Laramie. The Black Hills show their dark fronts and Laramie's Peak, with its canopy of clouds, towers majestically in the distance.
    July 1--Came opposite Fort Laramie about noon. Wrote hasty notes to friends and D. and M. went to the fort and the other teams went on to find a convenient place to camp, but we had not proceeded far before the face of the country became entirely changed. Rugged, barren hills presented themselves on every hand and we had to go some eight miles before we could find grass for the cattle. At the fort they learned that an affray had taken place between the soldiers and Indians, in which a number of the latter were killed, in consequence of which they have gone into the hills in large companies for the purpose of revenging themselves on the emigrants. Deeming it more safe to go in large companies, six wagons have tonight attached themselves to our company, which makes us number 16 wagons.
    July 2--Remained in camp all day, washing and shoeing cattle, etc. Soon after the guard took their stations a disturbance occurred among the cattle, which, with the cry of Indians in the camp, produced considerable excitement.
    July 3--To attempt a description of the country and roads over which we have passed today would be useless. One must pass over the Black Hills to form any idea of their wild, barren ruggedness. Traveled some 14 or 15 miles before we found a spot that afforded any facilities for camping, and here there is not grass enough to satisfy the appetites of our cattle. The North and the South Platte unite just below our encampment.
    July 4--Learning that there was good feed a mile and a half down the river, the stock were all driven down and allowed to feed till about 10, when we resumed our journey. The roads have been hilly, but not very rough. The scenery in some places is beautiful, in others wild and picturesque. About 3 we descended into a pleasant valley; after following it a short distance we struck off to the left of the road to a rolling prairie, and after traveling about two miles found excellent grass and water. At the side of our camp opens up a beautiful little valley; on the other the prairie spreads before us, gently sloping to hills studded with dwarf pine and cedar, which renders our encampment truly delightful.
    July 5--Some dissatisfaction with the company we have been with and also strong objections to some of those who have lately attached themselves to us has at last led to a proposition on our part to travel separately. The question not yet decided. Have traveled over 20 miles, and tonight our camp is on a knoll covered with wild sagebrush; no grass near, and the cattle have to be driven one and a half miles to a valley on the river, enclosed on three sides by high bluffs. The company who were with us at Loup Fork are camped with us.
    July 6--The company have at last separated. One of hands became enraged and used violence on the persons of two of the company, which resulted in his dismissal. All feel much relieved, as he was a person of ungovernable temper. Have united with the company who camped with us last night. As a company they are mostly intelligent and a number of them are religious.
    (The person referred to above was William Brannan. He constantly wore a belt with a sheath knife and six-shooter (pepper-box) and while he doubtless purposely raised the row to get dismissed, he was so overcome with rage while striking Uncle Samuel, who would not fight, only attempting to fend off Brannan's blows, that he fell in a fit or paroxysm, frothing at the mouth, with his legs all drawn up in a cramp and his arms and all the muscles of his body in knots. He was carried to his tent, where he remained until recovered sufficiently to travel, when he joined with an Arkansas train, where were some girls with whom he had been very familiar and one of whom wore some of his jewelry. A few days before all were ready to start, the wagons all packed, my father learned that a murder had been committed somewhere near the Pecatonica River, and that a man by the name of Brannan, a brother of William Brannan, had been arrested on suspicion that he was the murderer. The victim was a peddler, who was well known all over the country, and Brannan was seen riding with the victim a short time before his disappearance. The body had not been found; only the horse and wagon with its rifled contents were found near the river. Do not know if the body was ever found. There was not evidence enough to convict the arrested man for murder, and we afterwards learned that he was released and left the country. The brother who started across the plains with us was a new arrival in the neighborhood, and of course was not under suspicion. I mention this that it may explain somewhat the suspicious action of our teamster, and which would justify the feeling his conduct engendered among the members of the train. He afterwards made chums with one or two other teamsters and was seen showing them the contents of his trunk, among which appeared a large quantity of jewelry. I insert the previous leaf as explanatory of some of the occurrences of preceding chapter and to explain the reason for the relief all members of the train felt with the departure of Brannan, whom we all had come to believe was a party to the murder of the peddler, and that his trunk contained the most valuable part of the booty secured from the murdered man. We learned afterwards that Brannan married one of the girls of that train; that they settled in Humboldt County, California, where they were killed by the Indians, together with two or more children, quite a number of years afterwards. This is only rumor, as we never heard it either denied or confirmed.)
    July 7--Traveled over rough, hilly roads, the country generally barren. Found no feed until near night. Have procured a man well recommended in the place of the one discharged.
    July 8--Traveled about 12 miles; the country still barren; the soil fine sand. Wild sage is the only herb that grows. Bill, dissatisfied because of Brannan's dismissal, left today, but we have a better one for his place. All well satisfied.
    July 9--The country still rough and barren, only occasional fertile spots. The cattle have to be driven some distance to feed.
    July 10--Traveled until about 3 o'clock before we found feed for the cattle, and have to drive them two miles into the bluffs. Had meeting in the evening.
    July 11--About noon passed the bridge across Platte River, distant 55 miles from Fort Laramie. Learn that there is a new road by which we may avoid eight miles of desert. Camped about 1 o'clock in order that the cattle may have one-half day's rest today, that they may be better prepared for the 18-mile desert without feed or water.
    July 12--Found the road follows the Platte farther than we anticipated. Traveled all day over rough, hilly roads till we reached the point where the road leaves the river. We made our camp opposite the red bluffs. A creek which we called Skull Creek runs near.
    July 13--Remained in camp. Men went hunting, brought in an antelope--a choice piece of meat.
    (This camp, as I remember it, is the one where Brother Newell and myself came very near drowning. The creek is in the bottom of a ravine, the banks of which are some 12 or 15 feet high. The camp was just a little ways back from the bank and the creek was at that time a rather small, sluggish stream, rather crooked, and with deeper pools near the curves in the bank. Three of us, Cousin Alonzo, Newell and myself, thought it would be a good place to go in swimming, so we called it, though neither of us could swim. Accordingly we went down just below the camp and stripping off our clothes began splashing in the water that seldom reached above our knees. We kept following upstream, thinking we might find a pool waist deep in which we could splash around to better advantage. Just below the bank upon which the camp was pitched we found a large pool where the waters made an abrupt curve, leaving considerable of a pond. Into this Brother and I both waded, he at one side and I at the other. As the pond had two outlets, joining each other a short distance below, we soon found water waist deep, and throwing ourselves forward were prepared to go through swimming motions, while expecting to have the bottom of the pool safely within reach. Unfortunately there was a very deep hole there, quite beyond our depth. I went under, and when I tried to emerge found no bottom, and when my head did emerge I tried to call for help, but the water ran down my throat, strangling me, and under I went again. All this time I was striving to keep from sinking, and with the fear of drowning, I seemed to pass in review all my former life and wonder how the folks in the camp would feel when they found my body. I came out enough to see the tops of the wagon covers over the bank and to see my cousin sitting just under the top of the bank laughing at me. I struggled hard to cry out to him, but only succeeded in swallowing so much water that it seemed as though my lungs would burst. I had nearly given up struggling, and thinking that it was no use trying further, when O, joy, my hand came in contact with some grass at the edge of the pool and I came again into the light of day. I was so weak and exhausted that it was some little time before I could pull myself out on the bank, and when I did crawl out and was able to stand I found that my brother had got beyond his depth at nearly the same moment as myself and emerged at about the same time, while our cousin sitting up above the pool thought he was witnessing a strife between my brother and myself to see which could remain under the water the longer. I have read and heard many accounts of the painless feeling experienced by drowning persons, but my experience in Skull Creek convinced me that one can suffer ages of agony in the few moments preceding unconsciousness, and how much longer I have no desire to learn by observation.--O.A.S.)
    July 14--Started early; passed Avenue Rocks. Here the rocks form a gateway through which the road passes. High rock ridges present themselves on the right; those on the left are not so high. Passed Alkali Swamp; it is surrounded by high bluffs; a lot of alkali springs discharge their poison water into this reservoir; the water where it stands is black and smells bad; a whitish substance resembling saleratus is seen all around. Saw several buffalo. Found a convenient spot and camped early, as it is uncertain about finding grass again before we reach Sweetwater. Our men killed a buffalo today and we have a good supply of beef.
    July 15--Traveled four miles to a clear spring creek, thence three miles to Willow Springs, then passed over Prospect Hill, from the top of which we had a most beautiful view of the surrounding country. Halted on ----- Creek to rest our cattle and eat our dinners. We then resumed our journey, not knowing that we should find anything for our cattle short of Sweetwater, 13 miles distant. Our captain and one or two others went off the road in different directions in search of grass; found a spot about two miles from where the road crosses Greasewood Creek; camped on the creek and drove the cattle to the grass. Traveled 17 miles.
    July 16--Crossed Greasewood and passed over sandy roads six miles to Saleratus Lake. The country all this distance is almost barren of anything except wild sage. The lake, or lakes, are in a valley almost entirely surrounded by high hills, which seem to be composed entirely of granite. The water, when disturbed, is black and smells bad; where it has evaporated there is white crust of saleratus; in some places it is quite pure, in others it is mixed with sand. Four miles from the lake we reached Independence Rock. This rock is a great curiosity. It stands in an open plain near Sweetwater, is 60 to 100 yards long, 100 or 150 wide, and probably 100 feet high, hard granite, lying on the top of the ground. Camped on Sweetwater, within sight of "Devil's Gate."
    (As Aunt's diary is about complete as to the Platte River country, and that I may not forget to mention it later, I wish here to record an experience such as very few in crossing the plains ever witnessed and which no one hereafter will ever witness. This whole Platte region is subject to frequent, sudden and frightful thunderstorms. They come up and are generally accompanied or preceded by violent windstorms. The emigrants soon learned to prepare themselves to withstand these terrible storms and prevent the stampeding of their stock by placing their wagons in a circle, with the oxen on the inside, frequently chained to the wagon wheels by their heads. This method had the advantage not only of preventing loss of stock, but by concentrating in a small space all wagons offered more resistance to the wind and less surface to the storm. As the premonitory symptoms of a coming thunderstorm were usually the distant gathering of clouds on the horizon and the faint rumble of distant thunder, such signs were sufficient warning to enable the trains to get ready to withstand their shock. While traveling one day on the Platte River, at some place whose exact location I do not remember, a distant rumbling like thunder and a gathering cloud far to the south of west on the opposite side of the river caused the company to apprehend one of those storms, and the usual precautions were taken to meet it. Anxiously we watched the gathering cloud for the usual lightning flashes that accompanied such storms, but none were visible, and the cloud, while constantly growing in volume and rapidly nearing, seemed to be lighter in hue than usual with such storms. The noise of the thunder also seemed to be more continuous and while constantly increasing in volume, was not so intermittent as thunder usually was. The cloud, too, that at first seemed to be coming directly towards us was now seen to be following a course parallel to the river, and to follow the high, rolling tableland or bluffs on the south of the Platte. As the gathering cloud came nearer on the opposite side of the valley, some three or four miles, the ground seemed to fairly tremble, and one or two of the company who had crossed the plains several years before said that it was caused by an immense herd of buffalo. Soon the dust cloud was opposite us, when a gust of wind from downriver lifted the cloud for awhile, and we beheld a compact black mass, extending beyond farther than we could see and coming in unbroken masses from the rear. The quaking of the earth and the rumble of the rushing torrent continued for a long time, many estimating the herd to be from four to eight miles long and of unknown width. Surely many, many thousands of those animals. Nothing even approximating it did we ever see before, nor did any of those with us who had crossed the plains before and who had seen many large herds previously. With this one exception, we saw but few buffalo while crossing the plains. Usually a small group of bulls or one or two solitary individuals, whose age and condition rendered them unfit for food. Antelopes were frequently seen, but these shy, fleet-footed creatures were seldom killed by any of our train, as we had very few hunters, and especially among the original members of our company but two guns. Before starting on our journey my father bought two rifles. One of these was a half-stock, smooth-bore gun which was turned over to Uncle Issacher Williams. The other was a long-barreled, full-stocked, steel rifle of about 32 to the pound caliber, that my father bought of Uncle George Cannon, who was an expert hunter and considered this rifle one of the best manufactured at that time. My Uncle Avery had two holster or "horse pistols," as they were called, and these, with the two rifles, constituted the entire armament of the Stearns families on that long, arduous, dangerous journey. The only time I ever knew of my father using his rifle was while coming up the Platte River. A number of large, white or buffalo wolves crossed our line of travel, and stopping our wagon, my father took out his rifle and ran across to the top of a sand ridge towards which the wolves were going and as they came opposite him shot one of them and dragged it down to the wagon. The wolf was not quite dead, the bullet having passed through his head at the junction of his jaw bones, cutting its tongue nearly off in its passage. It was a large, fierce-looking brute. There were also two kinds of gray wolves, one a small kind, somewhat near the size of the western coyote, the other a larger one, but not quite as large as the buffalo wolf. Another feature of the country that she speaks about, the alkaline pools, that abound in that region. Emigrants learned to avoid turning their cattle loose near such places or allowing them to drink of the water, as it was nearly always fatal to them, as attested by the hundreds of dead cattle along the line of the road where these alkaline pools abound. Sometimes it seemed we were seldom out of reach of the stench of these dead animals, in all stages of decomposition. Many trains lost so many of their oxen from alkali poisoning that they had to abandon their wagons, having no oxen left to draw them. And yet the traders, who had their tents at intervals along the road, all claimed that cattle that were not over thirsty or jaded from travel could and did drink of these waters with impunity, which statement was verified by their having a large number of cattle grazing constantly in the immediate vicinity of these pools. These herds were almost always made up of cattle bought of emigrants, they having become too sorefooted to travel, or, as many shrewdly suspected, stolen from herds passing through the country by the Indians and turned over for goods to the traders, who were usually French Canadians, with Indian wives and half-breed families, and consequently on good terms with the Indians, with whom they associated and to whom they were connected by ties of kinship.--O.A.S.)
    July 17--This morning visited "Hell's Gate" and found myself richly repaid for my walk of two and a half miles. It is a gorge in the rocks through which the Sweetwater forces its way. They are perpendicular and 400 feet high. The Wind River chain of the Rocky Mountains, along whose base we traveled, are literally made of rocks ranging from 1,200 to 1,500 and 2,000 feet high, and mostly bare of vegetation or earth. Traveled about 10 miles. Some snow on the mountains now at our left.
    July 18--Traveled about 17 miles over hilly roads. Camped on the Sweetwater; one of the cows missing tonight.
    July 19--Traveled 12 miles; crossed the Sweetwater three times. The road for two miles runs between rocky ridges, between which there is only room for the Sweetwater and the road.
    July 20--Passed Ice Springs, a low, swampy piece of ground, where it is said by digging down from one to two feet ice can be got at all times. There is an alkali lake near. After leaving the springs passed over a barren country seven or eight miles to the river again; have excellent grass. Saw the main chain of the Rocky Mountains to the north, with their snow-clad tops towering to a great height. The sight is truly grand and worth a journey across the plains.
    July 21--Crossed Sweetwater three times, Muskrat Creek, and camped on the river at the point where the road leaves it for some distance, having traveled 12 miles.
    July 22--Our road today leads us over rough hills and hollows four or five miles, when we came to three small lakes, called Soapsuds, as the water looks and tastes like it. Crossed a number of small streams, gathered snow from a snow bank a short distance from the road and a few yards from the bank saw strawberries in bloom. Tonight Samuel brought a bunch of flowers and a string of ripe strawberries in one hand and snowball in the other, gathered from opposite sides of the stream near our camp. It is as cold as November tonight.
    July 23--Crossed Willow Creek and forded Sweetwater the ninth and last time and made our camp on its bank about one mile from the summit of the pass. Its altitude about 7,900 feet. Traveled about 17 miles.
    July 24--Remained in camp; wrote hasty notes to friends by packers.
    July 25--Passed Pacific Springs; crossed Pacific Creek and followed it down 10 or 11 miles and made our camp on its bank. Have to drive the stock two miles to grass. The road has been gently descending, the country barren and sterile.
    July 26--Traveled 25 miles over sandy desert; the country still gently descending, it seems, like a slightly inclined plane. Camped on the bank of Big Sandy; drive the cattle some distance for grass.
    July 27--Crossed Big Sandy soon after starting and soon after came into the "Great Salt Lake" road, which we followed until we left the river, when we turned to the right, hoping it may prove "Kenny's cut-off," but as yet we are uncertain. Camp about two miles from the river; no water for the cattle.
    July 28--Traveled till about 4 o'clock before reaching water, when we came to Green River; ferriage $6 a wagon. The country barren and desolate. Camped on the west side of river.
    July 29 and 30--Sick and unable to observe or write.
    (We swam the cattle over the river below the ferry, which was near the present bridge in Green River City. The ferry man kept a small trading post and from him we procured a few onions, being the first vegetables we had seen since leaving Iowa. Whether the train traveled on the above dates or not my aunt does not state, and I do not remember, but from the knowledge of the country, having passed over the route four years ago, am quite sure the train traveled both those days to enable them to reach the place described in her journal of the 31st.--O.A.S.)
    July 31--Some better. Have passed over some very rough hills, and about noon camped in a small valley near a fir grove. Plenty of snow in the mountains.
    August 1--Ice one-fourth of an inch thick in the tents this morning. Remained in camp.
    August 2--Traveled nine miles to Ham's fork of Bear River; crossed and ascended the mountains two miles to its summit, from which a most beautiful view of the surrounding country.
    (Traveled about three miles farther over a gently descending country and pitched our tents in a very elevated region. In Ham's Fork Valley two Indian boys rode screaming past our teams and two of them took fright and ran quite a distance. This incident I remember well, and as I think it deserves further mention, will give my recollection of it. We had been traveling over a sandy, cactus-covered desert all morning when we came to a small creek or some springs with many willows nearby at the foot of a long, high, steep ridge. There we came upon a trader's post, with quite a number of Indian lodges nearby. The wagons all stopped, both to water their stock and also to make some purchases of the trader. A number of us youngsters gathered near the trader's tent, more out of curiosity than anything else; but our presence seemed to anger some Indian boys who were there and without any provocation one of them suddenly gave me a shove backward and in trying to prevent falling I staggered back and set my barefoot on top of a large prickly pear. As the spines ran very deeply into the bottom of my foot, the pear pulling away with my foot, I gave quite a yell of pain and a number of men and women of the train ran up to relieve me of the spines that were imbedded in my foot. Perhaps some of them expressed their opinion of the outrage in pretty plain terms to the trader; of that I do not know. At all events, all members of the train left his post and passing through the willows were traveling along near the foot of the steep ridge when suddenly from out the willows near the trader's post issued two Indian boys riding their ponies at top speed and as they passed the wagons they swung blankets and gave a "Yip! Yip! Yip!" which scared all the teams and frightened the women and children. Many of the teams attempted to turn abruptly to the opposite side so there was danger of upsetting the wagons or breaking out wagon tongues. Two of the advance teams started to run; one of them turned to the right, and started straight up the steep ridge, but their strength soon exhausted, they began to slowly slide down hill backwards, as the wagon pulled them down the steep incline, until the driver came up to them and got them under control. The other team ran farther, as they did not try to climb the bluff. All were soon quieted and the journey resumed without further mishap.--O.A.S.)
    August 3--Passed "Quaking Asp Grove" and three miles farther a fir and pine grove, where we met a crazy man, who asked for food; also saw the head and skin of a grizzly bear, recently skinned. Thence passed over rough, hilly roads to the descent of the mountain, which was very steep and rough, thence to Bear River Valley, making 18 miles travel.
    (The grove mentioned where we saw the crazy man was at the summit of a range or spur of mountains. The fir was the balsam variety and during our halt there quite a number of the members of the train engaged in collecting quantities of the balsam in small vials for use in wounds, etc. The crazy man was a very ragged, dirty-looking person. He had a sort of bag or sack in which he deposited the food and other articles given him by members of the train. No intelligent reply could be elicited from him, and after securing all gifts, he started off into the woods at right angles to the road. Myself and one or two other boys followed him stealthily to see where he would go and what he would do. He did not go very far; when coming to an opening among the trees he paced back and forth from one end of the open space to the other, alternately eating from his sack and talking to himself, gesticulating the while as though addressing an audience. Of his fate or how he came to be in that condition we never heard. His was doubtless one of the many tragedies of the plains.--O.A.S.)
    August 4--Traveled about 16 miles in the valley; crossed "Smith's Fork" and several small streams.
    August 5--Crossed Thomas' Fork, Brokeheart's Creek, thence passed on to the summit of the mountain, two miles; the descent, three miles, very rough and steep, where we again entered Bear River Valley; thence to Deep Creek, making 22 miles travel.
    August 6--Traveled 11 miles in the valley; crossed several beautiful streams; camped on Indian Creek.
    August 7--Passed white sand hills; thence eight miles to Black Mud Creek; thence made our way to Bear River and made our camp on its bank, making 12 miles travel. The river which to this point runs north and northwest here turns around a range of mountains and makes its way to Salt Lake.
    August 8--After about seven miles travel reached Soda Springs. These are considered the greatest curiosity on the route. They are scattered over about 40 acres of ground, and unlike most of the springs, boil up from the level ground. The water contains a gas and has quite an acid taste, and when exposed to the sun and air it passes but a short distance before it forms a crust or solid of scarlet hue, so that the constant boiling of any of these springs will form a rock to the height of its source. Some are from 15 to 20 feet high and from 10 to 20 feet in diameter. The water has ceased to run from a number of them and bursts out in a different place. The Shoshone Indians have a village near. Six miles farther we passed the junction of the Fort Hall and California roads. We took the latter. Thence we passed on the foot of the mountain eight miles, intending to camp there, but to our great disappointment found no water there and were obliged to go seven miles over the mountain to Cady Creek, making 29 miles travel. A little west of the junction is an old crater.
    August 9--Passed over very rough, dangerous roads six miles to Shoshone Creek; thence four miles to Denison's River. D. lost one of his heaviest oxen.
    August 10--Traveled 10 miles to a branch of Panack River, where we dined. Then passed over a hilly country nine miles to a small branch.
    August 11--Traveled 12 miles over pretty good roads to Spring Creek.
    August 12--Passed through a canyon five miles to the summit of the mountain; then down the descent one mile, which was very steep and rough. Camped at the foot of the mountain about five miles from the descent.
    August 13--Traveled about 12 miles over hilly roads; warm and dusty. Camped in a low, narrow valley.
    August 14--Traveled about 17 miles, mostly over mountainous roads. Camped between high mountains.
    August 15--The companies separated by mutual consent--no hard feelings. Traveled 22 miles; crossed Sinking Creek four times and east branch of Raft River and camped near the middle branch.
    August 16--Traveled about 14 miles; camped on the west branch of Raft River.
    (This is a small, rather swift-flowing river. Uncle Avery caught a mess of fine trout here. Early in the morning there was an accession to our company in the shape of a dark brindle dog. He had a wound over one hip that looked as though it might have been made either by a bullet or an arrow, as it was a shallow wound that was perhaps two inches long and less than an inch wide through the skin only. He was a good, large dog and had a very peculiar stump of a tail, being turned to one side at the end, resembling the turn in a cane or umbrella handle. Many were the conjectures as to where he came from, but the consensus of opinion was that he was the only survivor of a massacre by Indians or Mormons, or both. This dog attached himself to our wagon and followed us to Oregon, where for many years he was a faithful servant. An excellent hunter, stock-driver, watch dog and friend. He was foully murdered by a cowardly neighbor, who disliked him for his loyalty and watchfulness. We named him Bull, and there was no animal so large or so fierce that he would not attack if bidden to do so. He killed many hundreds of skunks and other predatory varmints and was the special enemy of snakes, killing many rattlesnakes, and though severely bitten by them until his head was swollen to near double size, we always succeeded in saving his life. His death by poison was a severe blow to the entire family, and his loss was severely felt. Though we afterwards owned a number of fairly good dogs, none of them were as useful and faithful as old Bull.--O.A.S.)
    August 17--Crossed a number of small streams and several alkali springs and made our camp on the west bank of Cedar Creek at the entrance of Pyramid Circle. The road, except the last three miles, generally quite level. Traveled 17 miles.
    August 18--Passed through Pyramid Circle, five miles. This is a most interesting place, five miles from the eastern entrance to the western outlet and five miles from north to this southern boundary. It is mostly level within the walls and studded with numerous white and green stones from 60 to 150 feet high, some of them running almost to a point. It is surrounded by mountains which are covered with pine and cedar trees and when seen from the eastern inlet is one of the most beautiful and picturesque scenes we have yet seen. One mile from the Circle passed the junction of the Salt Lake and California roads; three miles farther we passed a small creek and some three miles up it, at the foot of the mountain, we made our camp. Quite a shower of rain in the morning and another in the afternoon, the first of consequence since we crossed the Platte.
    (Pyramid Circle is the registration book of the transcontinental travel going to Southern Oregon and Northern California. Its walls and monuments are covered with thousands of names and dates, as well as messages to oncoming friends and acquaintances, dating from the earliest explorers passing through its portals. The road from the Missouri River westward has numerous tablets of stone and bone to record the rmoving caravans. Buffalo and cattle skulls, set upon the horns and jaw bones by the roadside, were covered with penciled messages or names and dates of passage. Every smooth-faced cliff or bluff was also utilized for these unique records and messages. But Pyramid Circle is the volume deluxe, both in quantity and quality of its records. Some of the more ambitious registrants must have had themselves suspended by ropes from the tops of some of the cliffs to enable them to record their names at a higher point than other less ambitious persons. Though exposed to the elements, it is possible that most of these records will outlast their authors.--O.A.S.)
    August 19--Traveled five miles over a mountainous, rough road, to Goose Creek. The company with whom we traveled last are camped near, having traveled 25 miles.
    August 20--Passed Record Bluff, which is a sandstone, upon which is written the names of many travelers. Camped on Good Creek, having traveled 15 miles. Anabel's company are camped with us again tonight.
    August 21--Two miles from our camp entered a canyon and passed through it five miles to Stony Hill, the entrance to Thousand Spring Valley, where we made our camp. A.'s company still with us.
    August 22--Traveled 13 miles to a small creek, but the grass here being mostly eaten off, drove four miles to the right into a small valley, where we found excellent grass and water; both companies together.
    August 23--Remained in camp, washing and baking.
    August 24--Traveled 19 miles; camped on a small stream; poor water, but grass tolerable good.
    August 25--A reunion of companies took place this morning, having been separated in reality but four days. All quite pleased, as their society was very agreeable. From what we hear of grass ahead, hope there will be no necessity of a second separation. Passed Hope Springs, then through a canyon to Canyon Creek, some nine miles, making near 22 miles. Excellent grass and water. Passed hot springs and creek.
    August 26--Traveled about seven miles, mostly through a canyon and a very rough one. One of Anabel's company broke the axletree of his wagon. Having passed two broken wagons about one mile back, they returned and obtained one that was made to answer a very good purpose. Saw a number of warm springs boiling out from under the mountain. The water clear and pure, its temperature rather more than blood heat. There were also a number of mineral springs in the canyon. Half a mile from its mouth quite a creek is formed of tepid water having a very peculiar taste and when any quantity of soap is added it thickens like starch. Iss. is quite unwell.
    August 27--One of the oxen missing from the drove; two of the men gone back; not yet returned. Issacher very sick. Camp on a fork of the Humboldt. Traveled 16 or 18 miles.
    August 28--Iss. very sick all night; a litle easier this morning. Resumed our journey as usual. I. has suffered much all day, though nothing near as much as last night. Quite a shower at noon and another this afternoon. Crossed the Humboldt about 11 A.M. Camped on its bank; roads good.
    August 29--Crossed the west branch of Humboldt and again made our camp on its bank. Mrs. Duden, of A.'s company, very sick. Iss. quite smart.
    August 30--Mrs. Duden very sick all night; myself doctor and nurse. Up most of the night. Mrs. D. much better. Remained in camp till noon, when we again resumed our journey. Traveled about 12 miles. The sick quite smart.
    August 31--About 2 o'clock this morning one of the guard discovered Indians lurking around the camp and fired at one. The cattle took fright, either at the report of the gun or at some noise made by the Indians, and all rushed simultaneously from the corral and ran with great violence in opposite directions, followed by the guard and by others as quick as they could dress and equip themselves (though some did not take that precaution), some on horse (which were fortunately tied nearby with ropes sufficiently strong to prevent their escape) and others on foot, a few remaining to guard the camp. But it was soon evident that the Indians were also in pursuit. The cattle continued to run, notwithstanding the efforts made to stop them; five only were headed and returned to camp by daylight. Much excitement prevailed. Between 8 and 9, 65 more were returned. Two companies volunteered to assist in the search. About 10 another company returned with 18 more and about 11 the remaining 50 (to our joy) were driven into camp. Two of the footmen were fired upon by the Indians, but were unharmed. Another's horse was seized by the bridle and told to give up the horse; there were five of the Indians; he drew his revolver, when they released their hold, and he hastened on to rejoin others of the company a short distance beyond. When we consider the goodness of God in the restoration of our stock, unharmed, and the preservation of our lives from the lurking foe, we feel that we have abundant reason to bless and adore His holy name. The cattle too much jaded to travel.
    (As a prelude to the above stampede, an incident occurred soon after we encamped that my aunt either was ignorant of or thought too trivial to mention, was that three nearly naked Indians came into camp soon after we stopped and a large dog belonging to the train attacked and bit one of them on the leg, when the Indians left in anger. Probably they were simply spying on the camp preparatory to stampeding the stock. Some of the men who followed the cattle said they jumped off a bank 12 feet or more high into the Humboldt River at one place and swam across. Some of the cattle were 10 miles or more away before overtaken.--O.A.S.)
    September 1--The cattle are so badly frightened that the least noise startles them. Ran some distance this morning and again at noon. Traveled about 12 miles; crossed the Humboldt and camped in a canyon near the river.
    September 2--During the first watch two of the horses got to kicking, which alarmed the cattle so that they rushed from the corral. By the efforts of the guard they were checked and driven back, when one of them leaped over the chains, rattling them against the wagon tongue, which gave them an additional fright, and most of them ran off again in an opposite direction. The greater part of them were checked about half a mile from the camp; the rest rushed over the river, followed by part of the guard and other members as quickly as they could prepare themselves; but they were lost sight of in the darkness and among the mountains, ravines and canyons which line the opposite bank. They were fortunately all recovered, and by 10 o'clock A.M. we were again on the march. Passed through a canyon, crossed the river twice and again camped on the north bank. Traveled about 14 miles.
    September 3--Left the river; traveled over a rough, mountainous road for near 25 miles. Camped on the river.
    September 4--Traveled 16 or 18 miles, mostly on the bottom. Camped on river.
    September 5--Left our encampment early; traveled along the river till near noon, when we reachd Stony Point. At this point the hills approach to the river and the road winds around the foot for a quarter of a mile; is very rough and sideling. The mountains here are evidently volcanic. The roads since noon have been very dusty; the ground is covered with alkali; the dust smells like lime. Traveled about 15 miles.
    September 6--Traveled through an alkali region all day. The soil resembles ashes that have been leached. Another wagon joined us today. Two of the oxen sick. Traveled eight or nine miles.
    September 7--An ox belonging to ------- company died last night; sick; both better. A great deal of alkali still; the ground in places white with it. Traveled near the river all day.
    September 8--D. lost a cow last night; still traveling on the Humboldt; hope to reach the junction sometime Sunday. The roads very dusty. Traveled 16 miles.
    September 9--The roads heavy; grass scarce; quite dark when we found enough to justify camping.
    September 10--Traveled all day through heavy sand and are still 30 miles from the junction. Feel almost discouraged.
    September 11--Traveled till about 2 P.M.; camped about 17 miles from the meadows. Learn that the Indians are at open war with the settlers in Rogue River and Shasta valleys. Have driven in the pioneers, and emigrants must be prepared to defend themselves to the utmost, but there is no retreat; we must onward and meet the worst.
    September 12--Reached the meadows about 4 o'clock and pitched our tents for the last time on the banks of the Humboldt River. The grass here is on the south side of the river and grows in abundance. Emigrants prepare themselves for the desert between here and the next meadows, some 60 miles beyond.
    (One incident of our Humboldt journey was indelibly impressed on my mind which though not momentous, was exceedingly humorous to all who saw it. Just where on the river it occurred does not matter, but think it was but a short distance beyond our leaving the river for good, as the river itself had dwindled to a very small flowing stream. The bottom was some one-fourth of a mile or more in width, with numerous sloughs or channels, willow-bordered, through which the spring overflow found its way. The train had been crossing this bottom quite frequently, as the volcanic hills bordering it rendered it necessary. While crossing one of these places, just as the hindmost wagon had emerged from one of these dry sloughs, an Indian (the first one seen since the attempt to stampede the cattle a week or more before) suddenly rose from one of the depressions in the bottom, about 60 or 70 yards away, and stood upon the bank holding by the tail a snake of the harmless garter or water snake species. This he extended towards the members of the company who were walking near fhe hindmost wagon and, with a very ingratiating smile, was evidently seeking to open up negotiations for a trade. The peculiar feature of the occurrence was that the Indian, doubtless wishing to create a favorable impression upon the emigrants, had dressed himself for the occasion. And what do you suppose his toilet consisted of? One of the old-fashioned silk stove-pipe hats, his native modesty and a broad smile. Nothing else! No breechclout marred his manly beauty or detracted from his Adam-like appearance. Of course, the women looked the other way, while we youngsters yelled with delight. As the train moved on. and no one responded to his advances, the smile gradually faded from poor Lo's countenance and was replaced by one of sad disappointment. We never saw him more!--O.A.S.)
    September 13--Remained in camp, making hay and cooking, preparatory to crossing the desert. Mr. Donegan and Mrs. Duden left us today, as they go the Carson River route.
    September 14--Left the Humboldt; took the Lassen cut-off for Rogue River Valley, intending to stop at Antelope Springs, 12 miles from the river, but there were so many there that there was no chance for water. Concluded to go on to the Rabbit Hole Springs, 16 miles farther. Reached there about 10:30 A.M. (Should be P.M., I think.--O.A.S.) Gave them (doubtless she intended to put in cattle here or stock) all the hay they had made and all laid their weary limbs to rest. A sandy desert the whole distance.
    September 15--About 2 A.M. the cattle began to ramble and our men found it necessary to yoke up and resume our toilsome way, having 24 miles to go before reaching water or grass. About 2 o'clock reached Black Rock spring, a very large spring of hot water with a sulphfur smell. After running a short distance, the water was sufficiently cool for the cattle to partially quench their thirst, when we drove on about two miles and camped near a large number of hot springs. A little grass. The wind has blown cold and hard most of the day, carrying the sand of the vast plain in clouds before it. The water boils up from a great depth. The mountains at the base of which these springs are found may truly be called burnt mountains, being bare of vegetation and ever and everywhere showing traces of volcanic fires. The whole region has been the theater of the raging fire.
    September 16--Resumed our journey; traveled 28 miles before reaching the meadows, our cattle nearly jaded down for want of food and water. Grass excellent. The day we crossed Rabbit Hole to Black Rock we crossed a desert of pure sand, free from all kinds of vegetation, the route plainly marked by the mummified remains of cattle and horses that had perished of thirst and wagons abandoned because there was no teams left to draw them. All kinds of household goods thrown away to lighten the loads; and, in one place, sitting not far from the road, was a melodeon abandoned from the same stern necessity.
    (I heard men who crossed that desert state it as their belief that there were enough chains left on that desert to reach, if linked together, from Black Rock to the Humboldt River. Years later, enterprising individuals went back there with large teams and wagons to gather up loads of wagon irons and chains, reaping rich returns from the enterprise.--O.A.S.)
    September 18--The company camped near had two horses and one mule run off by the Indians this morning, and a number of their men went in pursuit. Our company moved up the canyon and camped, in order to render assistance, if necessary; but those on pursuit have not yet returned.
    (One day lost, not accounted for.--O.A.S.)
    September 20--Traveled all day over rough roads and camped at the west end of a succession of canyons.
    September 21--Traveled 23 miles; passed quite a lake at the foot of a branch of the Nevada Mountains.
    September 22--Traveled over the branch of mountains and reached hot springs about 2 o'clock. Day hot and dusty. All weary. McLane and Condras camped near. Quite a large lake near.
    September 23--The men in pursuit of the horses ran off by the Indians returned about 12 o'clock, bringing their horses with them. About 2 A.M. the Indians ran off between 25 and 30 head of cattle, mostly belonging to our camp. The cattle being much scattered and the guard remiss in duty, the fact was not known in camp until daybreak, when our men went in pursuit. They were tracked until they came near the lake, where they were separated, a part driven on the east and a part on the west side of it. The men took the different trails. Those on the west side overtook seven head, eight or nine miles from camp. One man returned, bringing in the cattle and two horses that had given out in the chase. The other three still followed the trail. In the meantime it was thought advisable by the other camp and the men remaining in ours to move on to the next camping place, supposed to be about eight miles distant, as there was no good water here; consequently preparations were made and we moved on accordingly, though no intelligence from those in pursuit had reached us. Traveled 13 miles before reaching a convenient spot for camping. About one and one-half hours after camping all but the men who followed the trail on the east side of the lake returned, bringing 16 head of cattle with them. Those on the west side found three of the best oxen butchered; brought in some of the beef. The forepart of the day was warm and pleasant; in the after noon cold and showery. Tonight it is storming very hard.
    September 24--The three men returned about 2 o'clock A.M., having traveled, as they judged, about 50 miles. Brought three cattle as far as our last encampment, but here they became so wild that they could drive them no further and were obliged to leave them. Some of the men returned to look for these this morning and some went after more beef. The remainder prepared for the day's journey. We followed along the foot of the mountains until we reached the point of ascent; then after baiting [sic] the cattle we commenced the ascent, which was long and very steep, through free of stones. Reached the summit a little before sunset. The scene from this point was truly interesting. At the eastern base of the mountain a flat lake was seen, stretching some 15 or 20 miles along the valley. On the western side lay a beautiful valley, the sides of the mountain covered with stately pine and cedar, and at the extremity of the valley, 13 miles distant Goose Lake spread its waters over an extent of country 30 miles in length and from 10 to 20 miles wide. Descended the valley and camped near a small stream of water. The men who went for the cattle left at hot springs returned without them. Those who went for beef returned with a good supply. Saw no Indians. A total loss of 10 cattle.
    (Those who following the cattle and finding the freshly killed cattle, reported that they found the Indians in a canyon of the mountains, where they had commenced preparations to dry the meat. The Indians, hearing the men before being discovered, dispersed among the trees and rocks, only showing themselves when safely out of gunshot, and then only to jeer and make insulting gestures at them, never exposing themselves within rifle shot. Due to the lack of oxen, it was necessary to yoke up cows and double teams to draw the wagons up the mountains, and the men had to make several trips before all were at the top. The little valley where the encampment was made was known as Fandango Valley and the pass over the mountain was called by the same name. The side of the mountain east of the valley and nearly to the summit was covered with dwarf plum bushes, which were loaded with ripe fruit, and the women and children who walked up the mountain in advance of the wagons filled their aprons and bonnets with the plums, and after the arrival of the wagons utilized all the empty vessels for the luscious fruit. That night a double guard was put out, as it was feared another attempt would be made to stampede the stock, and it was well that it was done, as the encampment was apparently surrounded at a safe distance by Indians, who howled like wolves, hooted like owls and made other noises by which they communicated their presence to each other. The cattle, however, had been confined within the circle of wagons soon after dark, and a strong guard outside rendered it very unsafe for an Indian attack, and it was not made.--O.A.S.j
    September 25--Traveled over rough, rocky roads to Goose Lake; camped at the south end.
    September 26--The company separated, some of them being about out of flour and anxious to make all possible speed, left in advance of the main company. Passed along the southern extremity of the lake and camped on its western border.
    September 27--Followed the lake about three miles, then turned to the left and traveled 15 miles over rocky roads to Pit River Valley, which we reached about dark; very weary.
    (This is undoubtedly a mistake, as we never were anywhere near Pit River, except as we crossed the outlet of Goose Lake, which is the source of one branch of that stream. The valley we were in was simply a creek bottom on the plateau region extending from Pit River and Goose Lake in California to the headwaters of Sprague and Lost rivers, in Oregon. The valley was along a creek that appeared in pools at infrequent intervals, sinking into the volcanic rock with which this region is covered for most of its course. It was known as Sink Creek from this peculiarity, but later became known as Willow Creek and is one of the sources of Lost River and a feeder of Clear Lake.--O.A.S.)
    September 28--Traveled down the valley seven or eight miles. A little afternoon met a company of volunteers from Rogue River Valley, bringing the joyful intelligence that three days' journey ahead are supplies sent out by the government for the relief of emigrants. Also men to guard them safely into the valley. Joyfulness to us, who have been living on half a slice of bread and poor beef for three days. Camped with them about 2 o'clock.
    September 29--Traveled till near dark, mostly over rough roads. Camped on the margin of a small, marshy lake; no good water and too miry for the stock to drink.
    September 30--Started at day dawn; traveled about three miles; found very poor water, but stopped and got breakfast and baited the cattle. Passed Klamath Lake at the right and made our camp on Clear Lake at a point where the regular soldiers had made their headquarters.
    (The above is the last of the diary, and I am constrained to believe was written long after the journey's end, as also with a very false idea of the geography of the country. We were never in sight of Upper Klamath Lake and only passed around the southern border of Little Klamath Lake after crossing Lost River at the natural bridge. As the writer has been over the old emigrant road many times since and has had over 50 years' residence in the Klamath Lake region, he ought to be familiar with its geography as well as topography. I will append to this diary my recollection of the trip from Goose Lake to Rogue River Valley, as written some years ago, commencing at the time and place of meeting the Oregon Volunteers, which was about 10 A.M. on the 28th or 29th of September, 1853.
    The train my aunt refers to as the Anabel train largely consisted of people from Keokuk, Iowa. Captain Anabel, as he was called, had been to California, and returned for his family, but his family was all dead and he took in charge a Mrs. Duden and son of 16 and a daughter, the father being in California. Of the other members of the train were the Pearsons, the McLanes, the Condras and quite a number of others whose names I have forgotten.--O.A.S.)

    On a pleasant early October day in 1853 an emigrant train consisting of some 12 covered wagons, drawn by poor, weary cattle, some of them cows, with a few lighter wagons drawn by horses, followed by a small herd of cattle, might have been seen a few miles east of Clear Lake, on the old Southern Oregon trail.
    These wagons were occupied by women and children, who looked careworn, ill fed and weary; the teams were driven by men who also showed the marks of hardship and unrest, but also the grim, determined look of men bent on the accomplishment of a hazardous, though self-appointed, task.
    Having started early, they were already some seven or eight miles on their day's journey, traveling down the tortuous course of a partially dry watercourse that ran along a mountain plateau between the waters of Pit River and Sprague's River--overlooking Tule or Rhett Lake and the Lost River Valley, a rough, lava-covered region--where grew only a scrub growth of pine, juniper and mountain mahogany, with scanty bunchgrass among the boulders.
    The train had just passed through a narrow defile in the rock-bordered creek bed and were entering a wider stretch of open ground when a shout went up from the leading wagons that brought the entire train to a sudden halt, while the men, women and children rushed forward, as a group of some 20 armed horsemen with several pack animals came into view around a turn in the road. At first glimpse it was thought to be a war party of Modocs, whose deeds of ruthlessness had become known to nearly all incoming emigrants, but a hasty glance showed the advancing horsemen to be clad in civilized garb and to be carrying firearms.
    The horsemen halted on reaching the foremost wagon and were immediately surrounded by an eager, curious throng of excited men, women and children. In response to the numerous questions as to who they were, whence they came and their destination, the leader informed them that they were Oregon Volunteers from the Rogue River Valley sent out to meet and protect the belated emigrants through the Modoc country; that they were a portion of several companies, under command of Col. John F. Miller, then encamped near the mouth of Lost River; that, learning of several trains of belated emigrants, and fearing they might be in danger either from the Modocs or Piutes, they had been dispatched to meet and escort them safely through the hostile country. As many trains in times past had been massacred by these Indians and any late or numerically weak trains were almost sure to fall victims of these bloodthirsty savages, they had orders to follow along the route of the incoming settlers until the last train was accounted for and accompany them to the soldiers' station.
    The leader of this force was Lieutenant Abel George, and he informed them that they could, by traveling late into the night, reach the soldiers' camp, some 25 miles distant, where they could get needed supplies. As it was now after 10 o'clock and the people had been on half rations for a week or more, the breakfast being very early and scanty, it was decided to stop then and there and cook and eat a hearty meal, then drive on without halting until the soldiers' camp was reached. Accordingly the oxen were unhitched from the wagons and without being unyoked turned loose to eat grass, which here was pretty good; fires were built; pots, pans and kettles were soon on the fires, and, aided by some contributions from the soldiers' supplies, a good substantial dinner was soon served, the volunteers joining the emigrants in the feast.
    Soon after 12, the dishes having been emptied and put away, the teams hitched to the wagons, a hearty goodbye was given the volunteers, who galloped away towards Goose Lake, while the train took up its westward march. The look of weariness that overspread each countenance so short a time ago was now replaced by one of joyful relief, for now they saw the early and safe termination of their journey.
    They were soon passing along near the border of Clear Lake and saw on its shores a lumber boat or skiff that they afterwards learned had been used by the California volunteers under command of Ben Wright, when pursuing some fleeing Modocs after defeating them in a battle the previous year. These California troops had gone out to the Modoc country to recover some stolen stock and to punish the Indians for waylaying and murdering emigrants; had arranged to meet the Indians in council, where it was promised that a peace would be negotiated. The volunteers had killed a beef as a peace offering and the Indians had collected in force to enjoy the feast as well as the peace talk. But Wright had been warned by an Indian woman that the Indians had planned to treacherously murder the entire party of volunteers after the feast was ended and the whites had went to sleep; so in order to anticipate the red man's treachery, Wright had his men all ready and at a given signal, when the feast was ended, they fired upon the Indians, and then, before they recovered from their astonishment, they closed on them with revolvers and clubbed guns, killing large numbers and routing the others. Some of the escaping Indians took to their canoes and escaped to an island in Clear Lake, where Wright, after building some boats, followed them and completed their defeat.
    After crossing the outlet to Clear Lake, now almost dry, the emigrants passed over a broken, rolling country and just as the sun was sinking in the west came to the top of the bluff overlooking Tule or Rhett Lake and the Lost River Valley. Away across a stretch of sage plain clusters of willows marked the course of Lost River to where it ended in Tule Lake; and the smokes of numerous fires could be seen some distance along this willow-bordered stream, marking the site of the soldiers' encampment. It was dark before the descent of the bluffs was accomplished, and the smoke spirals in the distance were replaced by tiny specks of light where the camp fires were burning. Turning around the base of the bluffs where the road ran between them and the lake shore, they passed Bloody Point, so called from the numerous massacres of emigrants that had been perpetrated there in previous years. From this point the road followed in an almost straight line through heavy sand and sagebrush nearly 10 miles to the encampment of Colonel Miller.
    With the exception of the drivers of the teams and loose stock, all members of the train had long since been lulled to sleep by the crunching of the wagon wheels in the deep sand, when the train pulled up near the soldiers' encampment about 1 o'clock in the morning. In fact, most of the women and children awakened in the morning to their first realization that they were in the soldiers' immediate vicinity.
    The next day was passed in resting and recruiting the tired stock on the luxuriant pasturage bordering the river and lake, while the women employed the time and opportunity to perform the week's washing.
    The emigrants were served with some of the finest beef they had ever eaten, freshly killed from the herd brought by the troops from Rogue River Valley. B. F. Dowell, in charge of the quartermaster and commissary department, supplied the immediate needs of the emigrants out of the stores on hand, in the meanwhile exchanging jokes and compliments with the women and children in a jovial, squeaky voice that was irresistibly funny.
    The portly and jolly Dr. Thompson, in charge of the medical department, took some of the children on a fishing trip by canoe in the waters of Lost River, but the pleasure of the trip was marred by the fear of the canoe overturning at every cast of the line by the ponderous doctor. The results of the trip was a few chubs secured by the doctor and the feeling of relief experienced by his guests at having escaped drowning or at least a wetting by overturning the canoe.
    On the second morning after reaching the friendly soldier camp the train again took up its line of march, accompanied by a soldier who had been sick and was being sent home. Crossing Lost River a short distance above the encampment on a natural rock bridge that was covered by from one to two feet of water and some 16 feet or more in width, with deep water on either side, the road ascended the west bank of the river and turned nearly south until, crossing a low ridge, it came onto the valley of the Lower or Little Klamath Lake. Two members of the train had been left behind with the soldiers, under guard, for attempting to desert their train, to which they were under contract to remain until the end of the journey. These men were by name Poland and Swartout, who had been picked up on the plains nearly destitute and had agreed to drive teams through to the Rogue River Valley in consideration of their board, but hearing of the gold mines of Northern California, only a two or three days' journey away, decided to throw up their jobs and take the California trail to Yreka, that diverged here from the Oregon trail, and leave their contracts broken. Colonel Miller, upon being apprised of their intentions, placed them under arrest, and after being assured that their aid could be dispensed with by the emigrants, concluded he would restrain them of their liberty for awhile as a punishment for their treachery.
    The commanding officer gave the captain of our train an order to be presented to the subordinate of an incoming supply train, soon expected from Rogue River Valley, for such additional supplies as would last them to the end of their journey.
    On the afternoon of the second day after passing around the south end and along the west side of Little Klamath Lake, just after leaving the lowlands and about entering the timber that extended from the mountain on its western border, they met the pack train of supplies, presented their order, and several mules were partially unloaded to get the order filled.
    While getting the supplies unpacked the officer in charge remarked that while coming down the mountain one of the mules had run against a snag with his pack and torn a hole in a sack of beans, which had nearly all run out before they noticed the accident; that if they were desirous of getting a mess of beans he thought it would be an easy matter for the emigrants to pick up enough to get a good mess of them. Thereupon all the women and children went on ahead and for two or three miles were gathering up that stream of yellow beans. They were nice, large beans, known as Chile beans, having been grown in that South American country, and they formed a most appetizing addition to the scanty diet. Enough were secured so that each camp fire had its pot of beans cooking before the camp fires that evening.
    That night the camp was in a small mountain valley south of and overlooking much of the Klamath Valley. Tall pines and firs were on all sides, and excellent grass for the stock grew in the little valley. Quiet and beautiful the camp seemed after the long, weary journey across sage and alkali plains, and the growing nearness of the goal of their hopes lent an added charm to the encampment.
    There was no presentiment of coming trouble, nor anything visible to mar the peace and happiness then prevailing. Two or three more strenuous days of mountain climbing would end their long, tiresome journey, and the land of promise would dawn upon their vision. Guards were put out and the camp was soon in quiet repose.
    The following morning, while all were busy packing away the cooking utensils, gathering up the oxen and preparing for an early start, there was suddenly a commotion near John Holton's wagon. Angry words and a rush between Squire Pearson and Holton; the former with an unusually red face and bulging eyes, held a tent pole aloft in an attitude of striking, while the latter was lying on the ground on his back, with legs and arms up raised as though to defend his body and face from an impending blow. Holton was pleading and promising something, while the irate squire was berating him with a choice selection of cuss words in a voice like that of an enraged bull. Evidently there had been some trouble between the parties, and Holton had commenced throwing Pearson's luggage out of his wagon, when the squire made a rush at him with the tent pole, striking the latter with his protruding stomach and bowling him over like a tenpin, while Holton, fearing the righteous wrath of the squire might result in great bodily harm to him, was piteously begging the former not to strike him and promising to reload the former's goods and continue the journey as agreed at the start.
    Others persuaded the squire to refrain from further violence, with the result that the luggage was soon stowed away, the teams hitched up and the train in motion. The camp at Bear Valley seemed to be near the summit of the pass, and soon the wagons were going down another gulch towards the Klamath River, which was reached in a distance of five or six miles. The river here was about 100 yards wide and had quite a current. There was a bend in the river and a shallow or riffle where it made the turn with a large stone projecting above the water near the center of the stream marking the direction of the ford. After crossing the river the road followed up a little glade towards the northwest, thence leaving the glade, which here terminated in a deep gully leading up towards the timbered mountain that we were informed was a part of the Cascade Range, beyond which the Rogue River Valley lay. Following up the south bank of this gully, we soon entered the heavy timber and about five miles from the river came to a nice spring at the foot of the steep mountain. Here the cattle were loosened from the wagons and with their yokes on turned loose to graze awhile and the people in the train ate their noonday lunch.
    A convalescent volunteer from the camp on Lost River, by the name of Settin, accompanied the train, and as he had been recently over the road was able to direct the emigrants as to the distances between camping places, and they expected to reach a camp called Round Grove Prairie about sundown, from which place they could reach the head of the valley in another day.
    Dinner over, the cattle were again hitched to the wagons and the journey resumed. The mountain at this point being very steep and rocky, it was necessary to double teams to get up, as the cattle were all poor and footsore and unable to pull even the now nearly empty wagons over any very steep grades with out doubling.
    All the women and children old enough to walk went ahead of the wagons, though being very careful to not get too far away. Traveling through heavy timber, over steep, rocky ridges for several hours, they finally came to a more open, level country, where there was occasional open glades and the dry bed of a stream, which evidently ran towards the west. Following down this dry stream, sometimes along near its bed, again through the heavily timbered borders, night overtook them where the bed of the stream turned down a rocky canyon and the road climbed a spur of mountain to its left. After climbing this mountain and following along its summit for a mile or two the road suddenly seemed to drop down over its summit nearly perpendicularly into the dark depths below. The wagons were all stopped and the drivers instructed to unhitch all but the wheel oxen; they then cut down small trees and hitched them to the hind axle of each wagon, and after chaining the hind wheels, plunged into the darkness below. They had hard work to keep the wagons in the road, so steep it was that the sorely crowded oxen were with difficulty kept before the crowding wagons. At last, after a descent of what seemed to be a mile, the road came to the crossing of a creek, and following along near its course, over sharp, steep ridges for a mile or more, they crossed another creek in a deep canyon. Crossing this creek and up over the canyon's rim, they came out into an open prairie surrounded with groves of small pine trees. This they learned was Round Grove Prairie, and they made camp, turning the tired cattle loose in the prairie and putting out two guards, a custom that had been followed since crossing the Missouri River in the spring.
    It was too dark and. everyone too tired from the long, hard day's journey to expect much of a supper, but scarcely had the preparations for a scant supper commenced when suddenly the prairie was illuminated by blazing trees, rendering it plain to see the wagons, the stock and the entire surroundings.
    The guard had discovered an immense amount of moss depending from the young pine trees, and out of curiosity had put a match to one to see if it would burn, when, like a flash, the flame ran from branch to branch, until the entire tree was a blazing torch. The other guard seeing the success of the illumination, followed his example, and as there were hundreds of moss-covered pines surrounding the prairie, the illumination was kept up until after supper time and until every one was ready for bed.
    The following morning, after a rather late breakfast, giving the tired cattle ample time to get their fill of the luxuriant grass, they were again put to the wagons and the final day's climb commenced. It was some three or four miles through rocky, timbered benches, crossing one or two more small mountain streams, before the real climb commenced, and while it was rough enough, in no place was as steep a mountain encountered as the first climb of the day before. Quite a calvacade of the younger members of the several families, together with the convalescent volunteer, preceded the wagons, and he was constantly pointing out varieties of trees that had not been encountered before since leaving the States. He was frequently asked, "How much further is it to where we can see Rogue River Valley?" And he would laughingly reply, "Oh, just a few miles farther, over the next ridge."
    With untiring feet and unflagging zeal the youngsters pushed along until coming out on the top of a mountain they saw open timber ahead and way beyond that timber other mountains. Here the road seemed to drop down again steeply into a canyon, with a seemingly higher, but sparsely timbered mountain beyond. "There," says Settin, "when we climb up that other mountain you can see Rogue River Valley."
    Not waiting for the wagons, they ran down the steep road until reaching the foot, they came to a creek, where they were persuaded to remain until the wagons caught up, and where they stopped for noonday lunch.
    No sooner was lunch over than the foot brigade started up the mountain and soon stood overlooking the valley. "Hooray! Hooray!" they shouted, "we're in Oregon! Where's Rogue River Valley?" "That's Rogue River Valley," said Settin, "down yonder," pointing way down where the mountains on the opposite side of the intervening chasm seemed to fade away in the distance. "I don't see any valley, only a great, deep gulch with timber in it," replied his interlocutor. "That's the valley, all right; you'll see it when you get there; it's quite a bit of a ways down to it yet, though." Though the view was grand and the culmination of a long, tedious journey, a circumstance calculated to be gladly welcomed, the ideals that had been cherished of the appearance of the future home were rudely shattered, and every step down the mountain plunged the hearts of the youngsters into deeper gloom and disappointment. Their ideals were shattered. Coming from the fertile, settled plains of the Middle West to live in a cooped-up, narrow gorge, surrounded by high mountains, was something they were not prepared to expect. What feeling animated the breasts of the adult members of the train may never be known. Doubtless a feeling of strong relief that the dangers and trials of the trip were at last ended, and with a hope of finding health, happiness and a competence in the new home.
    That night a camp was made soon after reaching the foot of the mountain, on Emigrant Creek. The following morning, after a drive of some four miles and crossing over a divide to the west of the Emigrant Creek, they came in sight of the first settlement seen for over four months. One house, with fields to the south, they were told was the Mountain House. The one directly ahead where their road crossed a creek and intersected another road was that of a Mr. Hill, who, it seemed, was a former acquaintance of Myron Stearns, one of the emigrants, and here he and his family concluded to stop, leaving the others to proceed down the valley. Some three miles farther they stopped for noon, where a Mr. Condra lived. The latter had been a member of the train up to the time they reached Goose Lake when he, together with several other families who were going to Yreka, pulled out ahead, and he had reached home before we got into the valley. Some one of the men bought a watermelon here, and it was a grand treat for the few who helped eat it. Condra had a water wheel in Bear Creek, and attached to it was a contrivance for pounding up wheat and corn into a coarse meal. He called it a pounder, and it was similar to a rude arrastra such as the Mexicans use for crushing rock, only the levers that carried the stones for crushing were raised and dropped into wooden hoppers, instead of dragged around in a circle over the material.
    After the noonday lunch the train continued on its way until early evening they made camp by the side of a mountain stream just above where there was a fine, large garden.
    The next morning the camp was visited by several nearby settlers, among them John Beeson and son, who persuaded some of them to take up land near them. Several families, the McLanes, Pearsons and others, proceeded on down the valley, but the Stearns families remained and camped there, while the men of the family went with the visiting neighbors to look up places upon which to locate, returning at nightfall with the information that they had decided to locate about a mile above, which became the future Stearns donation land claim, and here we will leave them to make their homes in the new Eden.
    The garden near which our last camp was pitched was that of Jacob Wagner, on the creek known by that name, and near which the town of Talent is now located. Mr. Wagner was one among the earliest settlers in the Rogue River Valley, having taken up his donation land claim in 1851, two years previously. During the fall of 1852 he had gone down to the Willamette Valley and purchased quite a lot of potatoes, which were quite plentiful and cheap there. These he proceeded to divest of their eyes, which he gouged out and placed into sacks until he had two mule loads of them, which he packed to his home in the Rogue River Valley over the trail leading through the Umpqua and Cow Creek Canyons. These potato eyes he planted in the spring of 1853 on the rich bottom lands of the Bear and Wagner creeks at their junction, and here the miners and newly arrived emigrants secured their supplies of potatoes. This vegetable sold at that time for 25 cents per pound, which, though very high, was not more so than every other article of food.
    My father, David E. Stearns, traded a wagon valued at $200 for 100 hills of these potatoes and dug them himself. My uncle, Samuel E. Stearns, and myself dug potatoes on shares for the tenth bushel for several days, and my uncle estimated that I (a boy of 10 years) dig 10 bushels per day, which were worth, at prevailing prices, $15. Pretty good wages for a boy! Flour brought $33⅓ per hundred in 50-pound sacks, which, when emptied, would stand alone, so much of the flour had become wet in packing across the Coast Mountains from Scottsburg on the coast, where it had been landed by vessel from Chile, South America.
    All groceries and meats were scarce and high, except beef, which was from 30 to 35 cents per pound. No flouring mills were in the valley, as very little wheat had been raised, and that sold at $10 to $12 per bushel and could be had only for seed. Squashes, pumpkins and turnips, as well as potatoes, were mixed with the flour to make bread, and several varieties of vegetables, beans, peas and corn were used to make coffee.
    There was very little cloth of any kind to make clothes for the women and children, in consequence of which empty flour sacks and cast-away clothing and footwear were remade into garments and footwear for both women and children. As the town of Jacksonville, then an aggregation of tents, shacks and log houses, was the center of a rich gold-mining region, every other tent or shack was a saloon or gambling palace (?) and the newly rich miner or gambler always bought the best raiment to be found in the town, casting his old or somewhat seedy garments into the streets when changing his raiment. Hence it was frequently possible to retrieve fairly good suits as well as head- and footwear from the castaway clothes of the gamblers, who discarded their soiled clothing rather than take the trouble to have them laundered. The extravagance was a godsend to many a newly arrived emigrant, who would otherwise have suffered for clothing.
    In the early settlement of Rogue River Valley it was thought that the soil or climate or both were unsuited to the raising of fruits and vegetables, except in a few sheltered localities; therefore, few gardens or orchards were put out, and the few who did enter into the business received good returns for their labor. My father planted out some peach pits in 1854 and two years later some of the trees bloomed; one peach reached maturity and was an object of much curiosity, some people coming 12 miles or more to see it. My father was offered $5 in gold for it, but declined the offer, and the peach was divided up into seven portions and eaten by the members of the family. The next year, 1857, we had some 12 or 15 young trees in bearing and a neighbor, John Robison, also had some come into bearing, and we both sold peaches in Jacksonville and in the mines for 12½ cents each, or $1.50 per dozen.
    For many years past Jackson County has been one of the banner counties of the state for peaches, as well as nearly every other fruit and berry grown in the temperate zone, as also producing excellent corn and other grains, as well as vegetables, in profusion.
    Of the members of the Stearns family, one, Samuel E., took up a donation claim east of the Overbeck Grove, where now is West Medford. Myron N. took up a donation claim on Emigrant Creek, where now the Murphy ranch is. Issacher Williams took up a donation claim on the east of Bear Creek, adjoining the Merriman claim. Avery P. Stearns took up no land, but located in Jacksonville, and resumed the practice of law and was the first probate judge of Jackson County. He died in 1857.
    The donation claim of D. E. Stearns on Wagner Creek is the only claim now owned or occupied by a descendant of the pioneer families of that name, and they own less than one-third of the original 320 acres. This is true of nearly all the old donation claims, many of them being divided into small tracts of a few acres, while few of them contain as much as 80 acres in one tract. The descendants of the family all scattered all over the coast, many of them becoming pioneers in other portions of Oregon and Washington.
    The writer, who was a pioneer in the Klamath country, dating his settlement from 1867, when the first settlement was made, is now the oldest surviving member of the emigrant train of 1853, and is the oldest pioneer resident of the Klamath country.
    In looking back over the changes that time has wrought, no less in Oregon than elsewhere in the nation, he can but ask himself, "what is the future to develop or achieve which will be as great or as remarkable as the past?" Perhaps we are just entering upon an era of wonderful achievement for the betterment of mankind. Certainly the field of progress and achievement must in future be in a direction and development far different than in the past. May its success be equally as great in the development and progress of the race.
Transactions of the Forty-Seventh Annual Reunion of the Oregon Pioneer Association June 19, 1919, Portland 1922, pages 178-240

Last revised July 16, 2026