We always picked berries in the spring and summer. There was not much tame fruit—a few seedling apples. The only way we travelled was on horseback. The first printing press that was brought to Oregon was stored in Mr. Griffin's house. We used to go to the old press and try to sort out the type. Mrs. Griffin had a sister, Rachel Smith; the Griffins arranged a match between her and the Rev. Henry Spalding and she came out from Boston to marry him. We were invited to the wedding, which occurred in a schoolhouse used for a church, and the "infare" was arranged to be held at Mrs. Griffin's the next day. I had never been to a wedding and I had a great desire to go; so I went to the wedding in preference to going to the infare, since I had my choice. Mr. Griffin performed the ceremony. Mr. Spalding preached the sermon and Mr. Griffin played the organ and sang. The bride was attired in a white dress and a long, thin scarf with purple stripes in the ends and fringe and shehad on a rough straw bonnet. Mrs. Griffin called it "Rachel's Dunstable bonnet." When they were ready for the ceremony, Mr. Spalding stepped forward and Mrs. Griffin placed her sister by his side, putting Miss Smith's hand in his; they stood there a little while and Mr. Griffin said the words that made them man and wife. That was my first wedding.
My next experience at a wedding was when I was chosen to be the bridesmaid. I was to wear a thin blue dress and I went to the place where the wedding was to occur, carrying my dress. Our dressing room was to stand on the bed with curtains around it. The bride was dressed first and then I dressed myself. We knew of another bride who was coming and we waited to get the white ribbon bows for the bride to wear in her hair and the white ribbons to wear around her wrists. The men were all standing outside the house, as the table was set for dinner—the cooking was done at the fireplace—and there was not room in the small house for them. Finally when the bride was ready the best man came in. His name was John Kane. I discovered he had about half of his coat sleeve ripped out, but in spite of torn coat, the ceremony proceeded and then we sat down and had the wedding dinner. The Rev. Walker performed the ceremony. Among other goodies which we had on the table were glasses of syrup. There was something a little bit white in it and I found that it was pie-dough cut out with a thimble and baked and dropped in it for an ornament. The next day the bride and groom and myself were to take a trip. The best man's sweetheart got very jealous of me because I acted as bridesmaid with her intended husband as best man. Engaged couples at that time were supposed to look only at each other. There were two couples besides the bride and groom, who took a horseback trip to Scroggin's valley; we went about fifteen miles, I should judge, and ate dinner with a brother of the groom. They had not been married very long and were starting in housekeeping. We went on to Mr. Tanner's and spent the night, leaving the bride and groom at his brother's. Our trip covered about fifty miles.
The next thing that came into my life, of any importance, was meeting my first husband. In the fall of '52 Mr. Gieger had two brothers come from Michigan and they spent the winter with him and in the spring went to the mines in Southern Oregon, then on the northern California, where they mined a while and then started a store. There were the two Grieger boys and associated with them were the two Hazlett brothers and Mat Fultz. Someone was always coming down with pack animals to get supplies, as they had to be packed out from Portland or Scotsburg. This summer Everett Gieger[**PP Grieger, Geiger?] came and one of the Hazletts came with him and spent the summer, returning in thefall with supplies. One morning I was sweeping the floor and was around with the children. About ten or eleven o'clock a man came to the door. He had long hair down over his shoulders; he wanted know if this was where Mr. Gieger lived. I was barefooted and not in trim to see visitors, but the stranger said "Everett Gieger would be along the next day; that he had stopped to visit someone and he had come on ahead." They spent the summer there. During the summer, they made up a party—Mr. Gieger and his wife, her sister and myself, and a man by the name of Mr. Blank, made a trip over to Tillamook Bay. We went up to the head of the Yamhill valley, that is now the Siletz Reserve. We crossed the mountains on just a thread of a heavily timbered trail and were the second party of women that had crossed the mountains. We were two days going over the mountain to come down into the valley of Tillamook and on down to what is known as Traskville. A man by the name of Trask lived there and made butter and took it to Portland to sell.
Mr. Grieger[**Geiger?] and Mr. Trask were acquainted. We spent a night and a couple of days there; then went on down and camped on Tillamook Bay and hired a boat to go down the bay to the mouth of the river and I had my first glimpse of the Pacific ocean. That was the first time I ever saw any clams. The gnats were terrible. We spent a few days near the shore and then came back to Yamhill and Mrs. Gieger's father's home. We staid there a few days and then returned to our own home. In the meantime Mr. Everett Gieger had fallen in love with Narcissa Cornwall, Mrs. Gieger's sister. I was promised to marry Mr. Hazlett. The two men went away in October, back to the mines. In February they were to return and we were to be married and go back to Illinois to live. But meantime they changed their minds and concluded they would go into the stock business in the Little Shasta valley. They took up a farm there and didn't come down until May. They bought a lot of stock to drive down, two yokes of oxen and a wagon; the oxen had worked or been driven across the plains.
Even in these early times, the subject of clothes claimed some attention of the feminine mind. When I was about thirteen years old I was very anxious to have a white dress. I had never had one. Mrs. Smith had kept Joe Gale's four children during the winter, while the parents went to California to the mines. He had sent up some white goods, scarfs, shawls and so on, but I wanted a white dress. Mrs. Smith told me if I would come down and do four washings she would let me have everything to make me a dress, so I went to the river to wash and I got the goods for my dress and when I went to board with Mrs. Eells, she made the dress with flowing sleeves and three tucks in the skirt. She made undersleeves, too. The first pairof gloves I ever had I bought from a peddler, paying twenty-five cents for them. I earned most of the money that bought my wedding outfit. The wedding dress was a white one and I trimmed my own wedding bonnet. Mr. Gieger bought my shoes, which were poor leather slippers, with no heels, such as the men wore. I was very much disappointed in my shoes, for they were just like old bedroom slippers. I had my hair braided and wore a big horse-shoe comb. I had white ribbon around my wrists like a cuff. Abigail Walker, my girl chum, came over and helped me dress. The wedding day was the fifth of June and the Rev. Walker performed the ceremony. His family, Mrs. Eells and family and other friends were there. Mr. Walker was a very nervous man and when he preached he would shake like a person with a mild nervous chill. Mrs. Eells said that she could hardly keep from laughing during the ceremony, Mr. Walker's clothing shook so. I had the usual congratulations from the guests and the single men's congratulations was the privilege of kissing the bride. We had the wedding feast. Mrs. Walker came over to make the cake. She was the best cake maker in the neighborhood. She couldn't manage the cake on our stove as well as on her own, so she carried the batter in a bucket, four miles on horseback, baked it in her own stove, and brought back a fine wedding cake with green cedar laid on the plate and the cake set on that. The trimmings were cedar boughs, wild roses and honeysuckle.
The next day my husband had to go to Portland on business and we went as far as Hillsboro, where I visited Mrs. Eells until he returned. Then we began to get ready to go to my future home in Shasta valley, traveling with the stock and ox team. Part of the time I rode horseback and part of the time I helped drive the cattle. We went on until we got into the Umpqua valley and it was very warm and the grasshoppers were eating up the whole country; they had eaten all the foliage on the trees. We came to the Cow Creek canyon, but the military road had not been built and we had to travel the old road in the bed of the creek for miles. It was very rough and rugged and the hills were steep. We had traveled one day to put up camp. Next day we started, but in going up a steep hill one of the oxen stopped and trembled and we thought he had got poisoned. We cut up some sliced bacon and he didn't object to eating it and licked his tongue out for more. We gave him some more bacon and still he wouldn't go. Finally we hired another team which got us through the canyon, but we concluded it was only a trick of the old ox, as he had been raised on bacon and that was all he wanted. We came to the Grave Creek hills which were very steep. We camped just as we got to the summit of them and after a rest traveled on; in just two weeksfrom that time two men were killed in that place by the Indians. We just missed being killed. We traveled on in the Rogue River valley which was not very much settled, save in the lower part. It showed evidence of the conflict between the white men and the Indians by the lonely graves that were scattered along the roadside. We came onto Wagner Creek where Mrs. Harris and other settlers were killed by the Indians in '55. They were harvesting some fine fields of grain as we came through the valley. The towns were all small—they could hardly be seen. There was Waitsburg, where Mr. Wait had a flouring mill, and a large log house; and at the time of the Indian trouble, the people flocked there for safety. In going through the Rogue River valley the Indians came to our wagon and were very inquisitive and even got into the wagon and frightened me; and when the men had to be away I would become very much frightened. One evening when in camp on the bank of the Rogue River, we saw across the stream some soldiers who had some Indians with them. The Indians finally took up their belongings and started across the mountains. The soldiers crossed the river and the buglar rode down to our camp and told us it would be better for us to go up to a nearby farm house; that while he did not apprehend any trouble, we would be safer there. We went up there and found seven men, including a fifteen year old boy. They had a log cabin and very kindly made all the preparation that they could for our safety. The boy was very anxious to kill an Indian, so he put seven bullets down in his muzzle-loader gun and said: "One of those bullets would surely hit an Indian."
So we traveled on to the head of the valley and across the Siskiyou Mountains into California and we camped over night on the summit of the mountains. Three weeks afterward, three teamsters camped there and were killed by the Indians. We came on down into a rough looking country—a little mining camp we called Cottonwood, where my husband had been mining. We staid there a week, then took our way on south to Willow Creek in Shasta valley, where my husband had a home for us to live in and where he was to follow the stock business. We were there about two months and a half, when the Klamath Lake Indians began to make trouble. We lived close to their trail and we were afraid of being killed and so we put up our belonging and went back to the little mining camp. I never saw the home again. We lived in this Cottonwood district near the Oregon line and raised stock, and my husband put out fruit trees and started raising a garden. In the year '60 he had to be operated on for cancer. We had to go across the Trinity and Scott mountains to Red Bluff, where we took the boat down the Sacramento river. Friends thought he would not live to make the trip. The doctors said his disease was incurable and that hewould not live more than three years at best. They operated on him. I had left our ten-months old baby at home. In the June before we went down to San Francisco, our house and belongings were destroyed by fire and we went into a bachelor's house and lived there.
Many amusing incidents occurred during the long winter months in the mining districts of northern California, when the placer miners, waiting for the water to open up, found time hanging heavy on their hands. Isolated as we were, we welcomed anything that would break the monotony of life. One locality in which we lived had always given a Democratic majority and the Republican brethren of course did not take kindly to this. One year they determined to beat the Democrats in the coming election and set about it with considerable vim. As there were several men in town who did not care particularly which ticket they voted, they worked on them. I took in the situation and as all my men folks were Democrats, I decided to have a little fun and help our party at the same time. I, too, worked on those who could be influenced to vote either way. One of these persons was named Davey Crockett and he claimed to be a nephew of the famous Davey Crockett of "Alamo" fame. This Crockett was known as "Dirty Crockett," because it well described his personal appearance. He lived in a "tepee" out in the hills and hunted deer. He always wore a red cap that had the corners tied up to look like horns. He said he could always get the deer, because they would stop to look at his cap long enough for him to get a bead on them. Another of his accomplishments was his ability to catch live skunks. He offered to rid the neighborhood of them if he were paid fifty cents for each one he brought in alive. He was given the job and soon came carrying a live skunk by the tail. He said he caught them by the tail and held them so tight they could not scent him. He collected his fifty cents from two or three persons. He repeated this several times; in fact, so frequent became his appearance with a live skunk that some of the business men became suspicious and upon investigation it was found that he had caught just one skunk and whenever he wanted money he would reappear with the same skunk and collect the bounty. A Welchman, who was a staunch Republican, offered Crockett a fine rooster if he would agree to vote that ticket. To this he readily agreed. When I learned this, I went to him and offered him two dried mink skins that I had, if he would agree to vote the Democratic ticket. These looked better than the rooster, so he transferred his allegiance to the Democratic party. Four or five "floaters" seen with equally good results kept the balance of power on the Democratic side on election day.
The Welchman who had labored so hard to make a Republicanof Crockett, gave me a write-up in the paper after election, telling how the Democrats won the day by the aid of skunk-catchers and wood-choppers, but little did I care. We won the day by using his tactics and I had considerable fun with my experience in early day politics.
The winter of '60-61 being very cold, many cattle died and this same Crockett made considerable money skinning the dead animals and selling their hides. One cold and stormy evening, quite a distance from his home, he skinned a large steer that had just died and was still warm. As he could not reach home that night, he rolled himself up in the warm hide. During the night it froze so hard that it was with considerable difficulty that he was able to cut himself out in the morning.
An Irishman named Pat O'Halloran was a prospector and miner, and like most of the early day miners, was fond of a drink now and then. He would frequently sit around the saloons watching the card games until a very late hour, or rather, early morning hour. One dark night he started for home, loaded a little beyond his capacity. Not being able to keep the road, he fell into a prospect hole. The hole was about forty feet deep and Pat went to the bottom. The next morning the ditch-tender going his rounds, heard someone calling and finally located old Pat in the bottom of the prospect hole. He went for help. The men got a windless and bucket and after some effort drew him near the surface. Now Pat was an uncompromising Democrat, and as he approached the top he noticed that a preacher, who was the leading Republican in the neighborhood, was one of his rescuers. He commanded them to lower him again and "go and get some Democrats to haul me out," saying "I don't want that black abolitionist to help me out." So they had to lower him until they could find Democrats enough to pull him out. We were eating breakfast when a man came to get my husband to assist in pulling the Irishman to the surface and he came back laughing heartily at Pat's political stubbornness. The editor of the Democratic paper gave him a life subscription to his paper and Pat lived fifteen years to read it; he then decided he had enjoyed it long enough and suicided.
We had many interesting neighbors, men and women of considerable force of character. In the early days of the gold excitement in southern Oregon and northern California a man and his wife, by the name of Redfield, located a homestead on Cow Creek. They built a house and ran a station where travelers were accommodated with lodging and food. Attacks by Indians were frequent, but they stayed and fought it out with them. In one of these attacks, Mrs. Redfield was severely wounded in the hip, but even this did not dismay them and theystaid with their home and continued to fight it out. During the civil war she was a Union sympathizer and he was equally strong on the rebel side. Whenever they would get news of a Union victory, she would give a banquet and invite all their friends to celebrate; when news of a Rebel victory came, he, in turn, would give a banquet and call all the friends together. After the close of the war, he was told that he would not be allowed to vote and that if he attempted to do so, his vote would be challenged. He said, "All right"; but on election day he was at the polls. He had a long muzzle-loading gun and was known to be a sure shot. He folded his ballot and stuck it in the muzzle of "old Betsy" and handed it to the clerk, who took it without protest and no one else challenged his vote.
There was a German citizen named Haserich who was known as "Slam Bang" among the miners, because of his frequent use of those words in describing any thing or event. He was the proprietor of a billiard hall and lodging house. Being Republican committeeman one year, he called the boys in and told them that a Mr. Van Dueser, who was the Republican candidate for the Legislature, was coming to make a speech. Knowing that the boys were always playing pranks, he implored them to be "nice" and to listen attentively to what he had to say. They promised to behave, but when the old man escorted the speaker into the hall the night of the meeting, there were about two hundred men there, each with his face blackened and wearing a high paper collar. The meeting proceeded without disturbance, but the speaker was not to get away in peace. The horse he had hired was one that had been trained to stop in front of every saloon and sit on his haunches. This he did as usual and the boys had their fun in assuring the dignified speaker of the evening that his horse wanted a drink before he would pass the saloon.
In early days, dishes were not very plentiful. Most people had only tin dishes and these were hard to get. One man, to avoid the risk of loss, nailed his dishes to the table. When he wanted to wash them he would turn the table on it's side, take the broom and some hot water and scrub them well; after rinsing them, he would turn the table back with the dishes thoroughly cleansed.
The Rev. Childs (the abolitionist preacher) took a claim with two young men who were both in their teens and full of pranks. The Reverend often used to tell them of the fine eels he used to have in the East, what good eating they were and how he longed for one again. The boys concluded they would treat him to one for his dinner some day. One day they caught a rattle snake and skinned it. As one of them always prepared the dinner, the snake was cooked and sizzling hot when time fordinner arrived. The frying pan was put on the table, containing what the boys said was a nice fat eel. The minister stuck his fork into a portion and put it on his plate, saying, "This is the toughest eel I ever saw." The boys were a little dubious about allowing him to eat it, for fear it might poison him; so one of them said, "If you had seen the string of rattles on it, you would have thought it was tough." The preacher took the frying pan and snake and threw them into the Klamath River.
Ministers were frequently the victims of the rude wit of the times. One day one drove into town with a team and buggy, saying he was the Reverend Bullock and that he had been told there was no church nor anything of a religious nature in the place; so he had come to try to convert the people and build up a church. He made an appointment to come and conduct services in two weeks. He was there, true to his promise, and most of the people attended the service. When the collection was taken up, they responded liberally.
In time the people tired of his preaching, so a committee was appointed to call upon him and tell him that no one cared to listen to him longer; but he was not to be deterred and when the regular day for service came, he was on hand again to preach. The boys decided they would get rid of him for good. A man by the name of George Horner had collected five hundred pieces of Chinese money. He went to the store keeper who had the only safe in town and told him that he had five hundred dollars which he wanted to deposit in his safe. The old man took it and put it safely away. On the appointed day for church services, George had this money distributed among the boys and they all attended church, well prepared for the collection. The church was full and the minister's face beamed with delight to see so large an audience. There were a few men in the place who had been church members in their Eastern homes. Some had been exhorters in these churches and when the minister was fervently praying, outpourings of the spirit, "God grant it" and "Amens" came from all parts of the church and one could well imagine that they were in one of the old time Methodist revival meetings.
The minister seemed to sense that there was something unusual in the air and hurriedly brought his discourse to a close; but the boys were determined that the collection must not be overlooked, so two of them passed the hat among the congregation and the Chinese money soon filled the hats. The minister closed without the usual benediction and made for the door, where the collection was handed to him. When he saw what it was, he made a hasty retreat to the barn where his team was and ordered it ready. When he got into the buggy, he found that some one had not forgotten to put in a few decks of cardsand several bottles of whiskey. He drove away and was not seen again for a number of years.
The town was not to be abandoned by the clergy altogether, however, so another minister came. It always fell to me to entertain the traveling ministers and this one was sent to my house. He told me he saw the need of work in the community and he thought we should have a church. He asked me what I thought of the outlook. I told him about the other minister and his collection and he laughed heartily. He preached that evening and left the next morning. That ended the religious effort in our town for a long time.
The ministers did not have all the mishaps, however. A man named Thomas owned the Eagle grist mall in the Rogue River valley, Oregon. In 1856 he surveyed and built the toll road across the Siskiyou mountains. He also owned and operated a salt works down the Klamath river. On one of his trips he had in addition to his load of salt a barrel of whisky and a grindstone. It was late in the evening when he reached the Klamath ferry and the ferryman told him not to try to cross Cottonwood creek as it was high and dangerous. The tailings from the placers formed ridges and holes that were dangerous in high water. He cautioned him to stay in a house of his close to the crossing until morning, when it would be safe to cross. He replied, "I will cross so quick that my salt won't get wet." Fortunately, he had picked up a traveler on the road and was giving him a lift to his destination. They attempted the crossing of the creek and when they overturned in mid-creek this man succeeded in cutting the horses loose and they all managed to swim ashore. Then they went on to their camp, returning in the morning to see what they had left. The wagon and the grindstone were there buried in the clay, but the salt and whisky had vanished.
The winter of '62 was very severe and all the stock in the whole country perished. Mr. Hazlett owned five hundred head of cattle in the fall and in the spring had about five left. He had to go back in March to be operated on again for cancer. He was quite a while in recovering. I went down in June to see him and he returned with me, but lived only until the next spring. He left me with five children and I had to build a house to shelter them. I traded a cow for some lumber and some of my friends helped me. The house was not finished inside. I used to take in washing, which was the only thing to be done. Goods were very high during the Civil war. The orchard had begun to bear and quite a lot of gooseberries had set on. One year we had three hundred pounds of them. I managed to care for my children and in '67 I married Mr. Fultz, my first husband's partner. We lived there twenty-seven years. I had six daughters.We at last sold out and came up into Washington to live and settled in the town of Farmington, going into the hotel business. Some of my girls were grown and lived with me. We bought a livery business, then Mr. Fultz started a furniture business and finally took on undertaking. Mr. Fultz lived but a year after coming to Farmington and I was left with four businesses on my hands. All the responsibility rested on me. One daughter died. With the help of the girls, the house was enlarged to three stories. After three years one of the girls married, a year after another, and then another. I had one daughter in California; my youngest was with me. Six years after Mr. Fultz died I married Mr. Delaney. We still had the hotel. Then I became crippled with rheumatism and was given up to die, but finally recovered, though told I would never walk again. I laid helpless and drawn up for five months, with life dispared of; but my children came to me, one from California, one from Lewiston, Idaho, a son and daughter living in the house and another in town. They all did everything possible and cared for me continually. My doctor was faithful and the neighbors were kind to come and do everything they could for me. The Chinaman cook brewed good herbs and steamed my limbs and straightened them out and some of the Coeur d'Alene squaws said they prayed for me. Another friend furnished me a lot of Medical Lake salts, which he thought was good for all ailments. After five months I was carried out in a chair and placed in the sunshine; then came gradually returning strength and little by little, with the aid of crutches, I walked and with continual effort and perseverence I at last recovered the use of my limbs. With my sister, who came to visit me, I went to visit Perrin Whitman, our old friend.
In the spring of 1843, when Dr. Whitman returned to his Mission, he brought with him his nephew, Perrin B. Whitman, a motherless boy of thirteen years. Perrin learned the different Indian languages very readily and at an early date helped the Rev. H. H. Spalding to translate the three gospels into the Nez Perce tongue. He also helped to print them on the first printing press brought to Oregon. In the month of September, 1847, he was sent by his uncle to The Dalles to learn the Wascopean Indian language, as Dr. Whitman had bargained for the Methodist Station at that place and intended to move his family and belongings there the following spring. The Doctor also hired a man named Hindman to go there with his family and take charge of the place, as he had left most of his supplies at that point. Four days after the massacre, an Indian came to the house and told them that another Indian had been at their camp and told them that Dr. Whitman's wife and all the men at the Mission had been killed and the other women and children taken captive. Mr. Hindman was so alarmed for the safety of hisfamily that he hired an Indian with his canoe to take him to Fort Vancouver for help. He had not been gone long when four Cayuse Indians came to the house and wanted Perrin to let them in. With Perrin was Mrs. Hindman, her fourteen-months-old baby and a young girl of sixteen years of age named Mary Warren.
At the approach of the Indians Mrs. Hindman sank into a chair with her babe in her arms. She was speechless and helpless. Perrin stood at the door and talked from the inside. He afterward said that if he ever talked Walla Walla, he did that day. Miss Warren stood at the other door with uplifted ax and vowed she would kill the first Indian who attempted to enter. They tried in every way to induce Perrin to come outside, but he refused to go. They finally left and Perrin said that Miss Warren was the bravest woman he ever knew. She never showed any sign of fear throughout the trying ordeal. He also said that he was satisfied that the Indians came with the intention of killing all of them. In a few days Mr. Hindman returned with help and they moved to Oregon City.
Perrin clerked in Allen McKinley's store during the winter and in the spring went as interpreter with a company of Volunteers to seek out and punish the perpetrators of the massacre. After the Volunteers returned, he married Priscilla Parker, a daughter of Sam Parker of Salem, Oregon, and took up a farm near Salem. He and his family lived there until the United States military authorities went to Fort Lapwai. As they wished to make a treaty with the Indians, they needed an interpreter. The Indians refused to talk until they had Whitman to interpret for them. They were told by the military authorities that they would write for him, but the Indians said, "No. Send a man for him." One day as he was ploughing in his fields a man came and gave him a note, ordering him to come at once to Lapwai to act as interpreter. (He afterwards told me that "this was the only time he was ever taken on a bench warrant.") He put his team in the barn and left at once for Lapwai.
He spent many years among the Nez Perce Indians as government interpreter, teacher and missionary and no one man ever exerted such an influence for good over them as Perrin Whitman. Their confidence in him was unbounded and his word always accepted as the gospel truth. They knew him and loved him and would never sign a treaty or take any important step without his advice.
After an interval of thirty-eight years, during which time I had not seen him, I journeyed to Lewiston by stage for the purpose of paying him and his family a visit. The stage driver was Felix Warren, an old friend of mine. On our way there,Mr. Warren said, "You must stay with my wife and me tonight, for I know as soon as Whitman knows you are in town, we will see no more of you." I said, "Very well." So we went to his house. We had been there only a short time when a lady came in. As we were introduced she said, "Why, you are father's old friend." She went to the door and called her son and told him to run to Grandpa's and "tell him his friend is here." He came over on a run and when he looked at me he said, "Matilda, where did you get your hair dyed?" (My hair had not yet turned grey.)
I replied, "What is the matter with you, that you don't dye yours?" His hair and whiskers were almost white. We went to his house at once. He would not even let me eat supper with my friends, the Warrens. We talked over old times until two o'clock in the morning. Next morning early we continued our reminiscenses. My visit will always be a pleasant memory.
When the Northern Pacific railroad was building across the Nez Perce reservation the Indians refused to negotiate until their friend Perrin Whitman was sent for to explain things to them. Again when the Commissioners called for Volunteers to go among the different factions to get their consent to the building of the road, not an Indian offered his services until the Commissioners said, "Of course, you understand that Whitman goes along." Then there were plenty of volunteers. They said of him, "Whitman can ride all day and all night without sleep and he never talks with a crooked tongue." It was a severely hard trip in the storm and sleet that comes in the spring in that country; the roads were rough and the nights cold. Not long after this experience he was stricken with slow paralysis and was confined to his bed most of the time for six years before his death. When Perrin Whitman passed on to his reward, a civilizing influence that helped to make the great Northwest safe for the white man went out. He was all that an honest man should be. As I have said before, sister and I went to visit him after my long and severe illness. A short time after we reached there, a long distance message told me that the town had burned and I had lost everything. Since then I have never been able to do anything, but have been cared for by my children. They have looked after me and I have had a good home and the comforts of life. Once, only, I went back to visit the old California home. Found a few there whom I had known and received a hearty welcome; many had passed over the long trail to the better land. Once I went to Baltimore, Md., to visit my daughter, and on that trip I came to realize the changes that my lifetime had experienced. On the vast plains, where years before my childish eyes had seen vast herds of buffalo roaming at will and where all was Indian territory from the Missouri river to theRocky mountains, where the immigrant's wagon had toiled slowly and painfully along, with the menace of privation and death a constant attendant, railroads had thrust their slender bands of steel; large cities had been built and prosperous farms dotted the land. Surely a magician must travel with me, constantly waving a magic wand before my surprised eyes!
On the fiftieth anniversary of the Whitman massacre, through the courtesy of the O.-W. R. & N. R. R. Co., all the survivors were given transportation to go to the exercises attendant upon the erection of a monument to the memory of Dr. Whitman and his fellow martyrs. When the mound was leveled the workmen, to their surprise, found many bones. These bones were classified by Dr. Bingham and others. I went to the home of Dr. Penrose to assist in identifying them. A skeleton of a foot in a part of a leather boot, we felt sure belonged to Mr. Kimball, as he was the only man at the Mission who wore such boots.
The skull of a white woman was, of course, that of Mrs. Whitman. It showed large eye-sockets. Mrs. Whitman had large light blue eyes. Dr. Whitman had a strong face, his massive chin turning up a little. A man's skull showed two tomahawk cuts. I asked Dr. Penrose to hold the skull, which was in two parts, together; and as I went back in memory and imagined the skull clothed with flesh, I felt it was Dr. Whitman's. Both his and Mrs. Whitman's had been cut in two parts with a saw—an old trick of the Indians upon some victims. The teeth in the skull which I felt was that of Dr. Whitman, were intact and some of the lower back ones were filled with gold. Perrin Whitman had told me that when he had gone with the volunteers to the Mission the spring after the massacre, he had picked up a skull among others which he then claimed was that of his uncle. He said he recognized it by the gold fillings in the back teeth, as when coming West in 1843 he went with his uncle to a dentist in St. Louis, Mo., and that was the first time he ever saw gold-leaf, which was used in his uncle's teeth. It was the first dental work he had ever seen done and he was very much interested and it made a deep impression upon his mind. The skull with the unusually large nose orifice, we felt sure was that of Mr. Hoffman as he was the only man in the settlement having a very large nose. A very thick skull, we felt, resembled Mr. Gillam, the tailor. The skull of an old man, we decided, was that of the miller, Mr. Marsh. The thigh-bone of a boy about fifteen years of age, we were sure belonged to my brother, Frank, as he was the youngest killed. It was considered remarkable that the bones were so well preserved after the lapse of half a century.
In 1916 I attended the reunion of the Oregon Pioneer Society and that of the Indian Volunteers at Portland. A gathering of 1600 persons gathered in the City Auditorium. It was a most interesting meeting to me and kept my mind constantly occupied with past experiences. Perhaps the thing that brought by-gone times most vividly to my mind was the trip for the pioneers up the Columbia Highway in autos furnished by the city. As I looked out across the broad river from the height of theVista House, dedicated to the pioneers of Oregon, the beautifully finished roadway, with its wonderful curves, solid masonry, gentle grades, faded from before my eyes and again I saw a little party of forlorn and homeless refugees rowing down that same river in the old-fashioned, flat-bottomed bateaux, thankful to be alive, but always hurrying to put more and more miles of water between them and the tragic place called Waiilatpu. The chill of those misty winter days again crept to my heart and I clearly recalled the childish awe that filled my soul as I noticed the girth and height of the forest trees on either side of the murky, greenish water that swept on past them with a strong current, leaving sand-bar after sand-bar a gleam of tawny color against their masses of dark green foliage; and I thought of a moment when we saw a little cluster of five log houses and knew that we could see Portland. Then as I looked toward the magnificent city of today, with its homes, churches, schools, its parks and business places, I felt that I must be waking from aRip Van Winklesleep and the magic of the moment almost overcame me. This thought I carried away with me. Surely if the way of the pioneer is hard and beset with dangers, at least the long years bring at last the realization that life, patiently and hopefully lived, brings its own sense of having been part and parcel of the onward move to better things—not for self alone, but for others.
Transcriber's note:The following corrections have been made:Foreword:"Coeurd 'Alene" changed to Coeur d'Alenep. 10"we would go picnicing in" picnicing changed to picnickingp. 18"children haven't had any dinner," 'and" single quotation mark before and removedp. 19"realized whatt it meant" whatt changed to whatp. 20"the woman watned" watned changed to wantedp. 25"repent the argreement" argreement changed to agreementp. 26"we got to Vancauver" Vancauver changed to Vancouverp. 30"it go so strong of sulphur" go changed to gotp. 33"rtip to Scroggin's valley" rtip changed to trip; "meeing my first husband" meeing changed to meetingp. 35"baked it her own stove" changed to baked it in her own stove; "rought and rugged" rought changed to rough; "Rev. Walker performer the ceremony" performer changed to performedp. 36"bugler rode down to our" buglar changed to buglerp. 38"wood-choppers,b ut little" moved space before b; "winter of '61-61" '61-61 changed to '60-61p. 39"stuck in it the muzzle" words in and it swappedp. 42"his Mission, be brought" be changed to he; "family and belingings" belingings changed to belongings; "steamed by limbs" by changed to my; "with life dispared of" dispared changed to dispaired; "and perseverance I at last" perseverence changed to perseverancep. 44"Whitman kiows you" kiows changed to knows; "old Colifornia home" Colifornia changed to California; "we continued our reminiscences" reminiscenses changed to reminiscencesp. 45"some of the lower black ones" black changed to backp. 46"with past exteriences" exteriences changed to experiencesEverything else has been retained as printed, i.e. inconsistent spelling like Geiger/Gieger/Grieger, Waiilatpu/Waillatpu, Eels/Eells.
Transcriber's note:
The following corrections have been made:Foreword:"Coeurd 'Alene" changed to Coeur d'Alenep. 10"we would go picnicing in" picnicing changed to picnickingp. 18"children haven't had any dinner," 'and" single quotation mark before and removedp. 19"realized whatt it meant" whatt changed to whatp. 20"the woman watned" watned changed to wantedp. 25"repent the argreement" argreement changed to agreementp. 26"we got to Vancauver" Vancauver changed to Vancouverp. 30"it go so strong of sulphur" go changed to gotp. 33"rtip to Scroggin's valley" rtip changed to trip; "meeing my first husband" meeing changed to meetingp. 35"baked it her own stove" changed to baked it in her own stove; "rought and rugged" rought changed to rough; "Rev. Walker performer the ceremony" performer changed to performedp. 36"bugler rode down to our" buglar changed to buglerp. 38"wood-choppers,b ut little" moved space before b; "winter of '61-61" '61-61 changed to '60-61p. 39"stuck in it the muzzle" words in and it swappedp. 42"his Mission, be brought" be changed to he; "family and belingings" belingings changed to belongings; "steamed by limbs" by changed to my; "with life dispared of" dispared changed to dispaired; "and perseverance I at last" perseverence changed to perseverancep. 44"Whitman kiows you" kiows changed to knows; "old Colifornia home" Colifornia changed to California; "we continued our reminiscences" reminiscenses changed to reminiscencesp. 45"some of the lower black ones" black changed to backp. 46"with past exteriences" exteriences changed to experiences
Everything else has been retained as printed, i.e. inconsistent spelling like Geiger/Gieger/Grieger, Waiilatpu/Waillatpu, Eels/Eells.