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CHAPTER IX
AN OLYMPIA WOMAN’S TRIP ACROSS THE PLAINS IN 1851

Mrs. C. J. Crosby of Olympia, Washington, contributes this narrative of her personal experience, to the literature of the Northwest:

“It was in the early spring of ’51 that my father took the emigrant fever to come West, to what was then termed Oregon Territory, and get some of Uncle Sam’s land which was donated to any one who had the perseverance and courage to travel six long weary months, through a wild, savage country with storms and floods as well as the terrible heat and dust of summer to contend against. Our home was in Covington, Indiana, and my father, Jacob Smith, with his wife and five children, myself being the eldest, started from there the 24th day of March for a town called Council Bluffs on the Missouri River, where all the emigrants bought their supplies for their long journey in the old time prairie schooner. Our train was composed of twenty-four wagons and a good number of people. A captain was selected, whose duty it was to ride ahead of the train and find good camping place for the day or night, where there was plenty of wood, water and grass.

“The first part of our journey we encountered terrible floods, little streams would suddenly become raging torrents and we were obliged to cross them in hasilty-constructed boats; two incidents I distinctly remember.

“We had traveled all day and in the evening came to a stream called the Elk Horn, where we had some trouble and only part of the train crossed that night – we were among the number; well, we got something to eat as best we could, and being very tired all went to bed as early as possible; the river was a half mile from where we camped, but in the night it overflowed and the morning found our wagons up to the hubs in water, our cooking utensils floating off on the water, except those that had gone to the bottom, and all the cattle had gone off to find dry ground, and for a while things in general looked very discouraging. However, the men started out at daylight in search of the stray cattle, soon found them and hitched them to the wagons and started for another camping place, and to wait until we were joined by those who were left behind the night before. We all rejoiced to leave that river as soon as possible, but not many days expired before we came to another river which was worse than the first one – it was exceedingly high and very swift, but by hard work and perseverance they got all the wagons across the river without any accident, with the exception of my father’s, which was the last to cross. They got about half way over when the provision wagon slid off the boat and down the river it went. Well, I can hardly imagine how any one could understand our feelings unless they had experienced such a calamity; to see all the provisions we had in the world floating away before our eyes and not any habitation within many hundred miles of us; for a while we did indeed feel as though the end had come this time sure. We could not retrace our footsteps, or go forward without provisions; each one in the train had only enough for their own consumption and dare not divide with their best friend; however, while they were debating what was best to do, our wagon had landed on a sandbar and the men waded out and pulled it ashore. It is needless for me to say there was great rejoicing in the camp that day; of course, nearly everything in the wagon was wet, but while in camp they were dried out. Fortunately the flour was sealed up in tin cans; the corn meal became sour before it got dry, but it had to be used just the same. In a few days we were in our usual spirits, but wondering what new trials awaited us, and it came all too soon; the poor cattle all got poisoned from drinking alkali water; at first they did not know what to do for them, but finally someone suggested giving them fat bacon, which brought them out all right in a day or two. Then their feet became very sore from constant traveling and thorns from the cactus points, and we would be obliged to remain in camp several days for them to recruit.

“As we proceeded farther on our way we began to fear the Indians, and occasionally met strolling bands of them all decked out with bows and arrows, their faces hideous with paint and long feathers sticking in their top-knots, they looked very fierce and savage; they made us understand we could not travel through their country unless we paid them. So the men gave them some tobacco, beads and other trinkets, but would not give them any ammunition; they went away angry and acted as though they would give us trouble.

“Some of the men stood guard every night to protect the camp as well as the horses and cattle, as they would drive them off in the night and frequently kill them.

“Thus we traveled from day to day, ever anxious and on the lookout for a surprise from some ambush by the wayside, they were so treacherous, but kind Providence protected us and we escaped the fate of the unfortunate emigrants who preceded us.

“Fortunately there was but little sickness in our train and only one death, that of my little brother; he was ill about two weeks and we never knew the cause of his death. At first it seemed an impossibility to go away and leave him alone by the wayside, and what could we do without a coffin and not any boards to make one? A trunk was thought of and the little darling was laid away in that. The grave had to be very deep so the wild animals could not dig up the body, and the Indians would plunder the graves, too, so it was made level with the ground. We felt it a terrible affliction; it seemed indeed the climax of all we had endured. It was with sad hearts we once again resumed our toilsome journey.

“We saw the bones of many people by the wayside, bleaching in the sun, and it was ever a constant reminder of the dear little one that was left in the wilderness. However, I must not dwell too long over this dark side of the picture, as there was much to brighten and cheer us many times; there were many strange, beautiful things which were a great source of delight and wonder, especially the boiling springs, the water so hot it would cook anything, and within a short distance springs of ice water, and others that made a noise every few minutes like the puffing of a steamer. Then there were rocks that resembled unique old castles, as they came into view in the distance. All alone in the prairie was one great rock called Independence Rock; it was a mile around it, half a mile wide and quite high in some places; there were hundreds of emigrants’ names and dates carved on the side of the rock as high as they could reach. It reminded one of a huge monument. I wonder if old Father Time has effaced all the names yet?

“In the distance we saw great herds of buffalo and deer; the graceful, swift-footed antelope was indeed a sight to behold, and we never grew tired of the lovely strange flowers we found along the road.

The young folks, as well as the old, had their fun and jokes, and in the evening all would gather ’round the campfire, telling stories and relating the trials and experiences each one had encountered during the day, or meditating what the next day would bring forth of weal or woe. Thus the months and days passed by, and our long journey came to an end when we reached the Dalles on the Columbia River, where we embarked on the small steamer that traveled down the river and landed passengers and freight at a small place called the Cascades. At this place there was a portage of a half mile; then we traveled on another steamer and landed in Portland the last day of October, the year 1851, remained there during the winter and in the spring of 1852 came to Puget Sound with a number of others who were anxious for some of Uncle Sam’s land.

“Olympia, a very small village, was the only town on the Sound except Fort Steilacoom, where a few soldiers were stationed. We spent a short time in Olympia before going to Whidby Island, where my father settled on his claim, and we lived there five years, when we received a patent from the government, but before our home was completed he had the misfortune to break his arm, and, not being properly set, he was a cripple the remainder of his life.”

In 1852 there were a couple of log houses at Alki Point, occupied by Mr. Denny and others; they called the “town” New York. We went ashore from the schooner and visited them.

To the above properly may be added an account published in a Seattle paper:

“Mrs. C. J. Crosby, of Olympia, gives the following interesting sketch of her early days on Whidby Island:

“As I am an old settler and termed a moss-back by those who have come later, I feel urged to relate a few facts pertaining to my early life on Whidby Island in the days of 1852. My father, Jacob Smith, with his wife and five children, crossed the plains the year of 1851. We started from Covington, Indiana, on the 24th day of March and arrived in Portland, Oregon, the last day of October.

“We remained there during the winter, coming to Olympia the spring of 1852, where we spent a short time before going down to the island. My father settled on a claim near Pen’s Cove, and almost opposite what is now called Coupeville. We lived there five years, when he sold his claim to Capt. Swift for three thousand five hundred dollars and we returned to Olympia.

“The year ’52 we found several families living on the island; also many bachelors who had settled on claims. I have heard my mother say she never saw the face of a white woman for nine months. My third sister was the second white child born on the island. I remember once we did not have any flour or bread for six weeks or more. We lived on potatoes, salmon and clams. Finally a vessel came in the Sound bringing some, but the price per barrel was forty-five dollars and it was musty and sour. Mother mixed potatoes with the flour so that we could eat it at all, and also to make it last a long time.

“There is also another incident impressed on my memory that I never can forget. One morning an Indian came to the house with some fish oil to sell, that and tallow candles being the only kind of light we had in those days. She paid him all he asked for the oil, besides giving him a present, but he wanted more. He got very angry and said he would shoot her. She told him to shoot and took up the fire shovel to him. Meantime she told my brother to go to a neighbor’s house, about half a mile distant, but before the men arrived the Indian cleared out. However, had it not been for the kindness of the Indians we would have suffered more than we did.”

From other published accounts I have culled the following:

“Peter Smith crossed the plains in 1852 and settled near Portland. When it was known the Indians would make trouble, Mr. Smith, being warned by a friendly Indian, took his family to Fort Steilacoom and joined the ‘Home Guard,’ but shortly afterward joined a company of militia and saw real war for three months.

“Just before the hostilities in 1855, two Indians visited his house. One of them was a magnificent specimen of physical manhood and chief of his tribe. They wanted something to eat. Now several settlers had been killed by Indians after gaining access to their houses, but, nothing daunted, Mrs. Smith went to work and prepared a very fine dinner, and Mr. S. made them sandwiches for their game bag, putting on an extra allowance of sugar, and appeared to be as bold as a lion. He also accepted an invitation to visit their camp, which he did in their company, and formed a lasting friendship.

“The mince, fruit and doughnuts did their good work.

“During the war Mr. Smith had his neck merely bruised by a bullet. On his return home he found the Indians had been there before him and stolen his hogs and horses and destroyed his grain, a loss of eleven hundred dollars, for which he has never received any pay.”

CHAPTER X.
CAPT. HENRY ROEDER ON THE TRAIL

Capt. Roeder came by steamer to Portland and thence made his way to Olympia overland from the mouth of the Cowlitz River. This was in the winter of 1852. The story of this journey is best told in the words of the veteran pioneer himself, who has narrated his first experiences in the then Territory of Oregon as follows:

“In company with R. V. Peabody, I traveled overland from the mouth of the Cowlitz, through the mud to Olympia. We started early in December from Portland. It took us four days to walk from the Cowlitz River to Olympia, and it was as hard traveling as I have ever seen. Old residents will remember what was known as Sanders’ Bottom. It was mud almost to your waist. We stopped one night with an old settler, whose name I cannot now recall, but whom we all called in those days ‘Old Hardbread.’ On the Skookumchuck we found lodging with Judge Ford, and on arriving at Olympia we put up with Mr. Sylvester, whose name is well known to all the old residents on the Sound. I remember that at Olympia we got our first taste of the Puget Sound clam, and mighty glad we were, too, to get a chance to eat some of them.

“From Olympia to Seattle we traveled by Indian canoe. I remember distinctly rounding Alki Point and entering the harbor of Elliott Bay. I saw what was, perhaps, the first house that was built, where now stands the magnificent city of Seattle. This was a cabin that was being erected on a narrow strip of land jutting out into the bay, which is now right in the heart of Seattle. Dr. Maynard was the builder. It was situated adjoining the lot at Commercial and Main Streets, occupied by the old Arlington just before the fire of 1889. The waters of the Sound lapped the shores of the narrow peninsula upon which it was built, but since then the waters have been driven back by the filling of earth, sawdust and rock, which was put on both sides of the little neck of land.

“After a few days’ stay here, Peabody and I journeyed by Indian canoe to Whatcom. We carried our canoe overland to Hood Canal. On the second day out we encountered a terrible storm and put into shelter with a settler on the shore of the canal. His name was O’Haver, and he lived with an Indian wife. We had white turnips and dried salmon for breakfast and dried salmon and white turnips for dinner. This bill of fare was repeated in this fashion for three days, and I want to tell you that we were glad when the weather moderated and we were enabled to proceed.

“We were told that we could procure something in the edible line at Port Townsend, but were disappointed. The best we could obtain at the stores was some hard bread, in which the worms had propagated in luxuriant fashion. This food was not so particularly appetizing, as you may imagine. A settler kindly took pity on us and shared his slender stock of food. Thence we journeyed to Whatcom, where I have resided nearly ever since.”

Capt. Roeder told also before he had finished his recital of an acquaintance he had formed in California with the noted Spanish murderer and bandit, Joaquin, and his tribe of cutthroats and robbers. Joaquin’s raids and his long career in crime among the mining camps of the early days of California are part of the history of that state. Capt. Roeder was traveling horseback on one occasion between Marysville and Rush Creek. This was in 1851. The night before he left Marysville the sheriff and a posse had attempted to capture Joaquin and his band. The authorities had offered a reward of $10,000 for Joaquin and $5,000 for his men, dead or alive. The sheriff went out from Marysville with a cigar in his mouth and his sombrero on the side of his head, as if he were attending a picnic. It was his own funeral, however, instead of a picnic, for his body was picked out of a fence corner, riddled with bullets.

“I was going at a leisurely gait over the mountain road or bridle path that led from Marysville to Rush Creek,” said Capt. Roeder. “Suddenly, after a bend in the road, I found myself in the midst of a band of men mounted on bronchos. They were dark-skinned and of Spanish blood. Immediately I recognized Joaquin and ‘Three-Fingered Jack,’ his first lieutenant. My heart thumped vigorously, and I thought that it was all up with me. I managed somehow to control myself and did not evince any of the excitement I felt or give the outlaws any sign that I knew or suspected who they were.

“One of the riders, after saluting me in Spanish, asked me where I was from and whither I was traveling. I told them freely and frankly, as if the occurrence were an everyday transaction. Learning that I had just come from Marysville, the seat of their last outrage, they inquired the news. I told them the truth – that the camp was in a state of great excitement, due to the late visit of the outlaw, Joaquin, and his band; that the sheriff had been murdered and three or four miners and others in the vicinity had been murdered and robbed. It was Joaquin’s pleasant practice to lariat a man, rob him and cut his throat, leaving the body by the roadside. They asked me which way Joaquin had gone and I told them that he was seen last traveling towards Arizona. As a matter of fact, the outlaw and his band were then traveling in a direction exactly opposite from that which I had given.

“My replies apparently pleased them. ‘Three-Fingered Jack’ proposed a drink, after asking me which way I traveled. I said, ‘I would have proposed the compliment long ago had I any in my canteen,’ whereat Jack drew his own bottle and offered me a drink.

“You may imagine my feelings then. I knew that if they believed I had recognized them they would give me poison or kill me with a knife. I took the canteen and drank from it. You may imagine my joy when I saw Jack lift the bottle to his lips and drain it. Then I knew that I had deceived them. We exchanged adieus in Spanish, and that is the last I saw of Joaquin and his associate murderers.”

PART II.
MEN, WOMEN AND ADVENTURES

CHAPTER I.
SONG OF THE PIONEERS

 
With faith’s clear eye we saw afar
In western sky our empire’s star
And strong of heart and brave of soul,
We marched and marched to reach the goal.
Unrolled a scroll, the great gray plains,
And traced thereon our wagon trains,
Our blazing campfires marked the road
As each succeeding night they glowed.
 
 
Gaunt hunger, drouth, fierce heat and cold
Beset us as in days of old
Great dragons sought to swallow down
Adventurous heroes of renown.
There menaced us our tawny foes,
Where any bank or hillock rose;
A cloud of dust or shadows’ naught
Seemed ever with some danger fraught.
 
 
Weird mountain ranges crossed our path
And frowned on us in seeming wrath;
Their beetling crags and icy brows
Well might a hundred fears arouse.
Impetuous rivers swirled and boiled,
As though from mischief ever foiled.
At length in safety all were crossed,
Though roughly were our “schooners” tossed.
With joy we saw fair Puget Sound,
 
 
White, glistening peaks set all around.
At Alki Point our feet we stayed,
(The women wept, the children played).
On Chamber’s prairie, Whidby’s isle,
Duwamish river, mile on mile
Away from these, on lake or bay
The lonely settlers blazed the way
For civilization’s march and sway.
 
 
The mountains, forests, bays and streams,
Their grandeur wove into our dreams;
Our thoughts grew great and undismayed,
We toiled and sang or waiting, prayed.
As suns arose and then went down
We gazed on Rainier’s snowy crown.
God’s battle-tents gleamed in the west,
So pure they called our thoughts above
To heaven’s joy and peace and love.
 
 
We found a race tho’ rude and wild,
Still tender toward friend or child,
For dark eyes laughed or shone with tears
As joy or sorrow filled the years;
Their black-eyed babes the red men kissed
And captive brothers sorely missed.
With broken hearts, brown mothers wept
When babes away by death were swept.
 
 
Chief Sealth stood the white man’s friend,
With insight keen he saw the end
Of struggles vain against a foe
Whose coming forced their overthrow.
For pity oft he freed the slaves,
To reasoning cool he called his braves;
But bitter wrongs the pale-face wrought —
Revenge and hatred on us brought.
 
 
With life the woods and waters teemed,
A boundless store we never dreamed,
Of berries, deer and grouse and fish,
Sufficient for a gourmand’s wish.
Our dusky neighbors friendly-wise
Brought down the game before our eyes;
They wiled the glittering finny tribe,
Well pleased to trade with many a jibe.
 
 
We lit the forests far and wide
With pitchwood torches, true and tried,
We traveled far in frail canoes,
Cayuses rode, wore Indian shoes,
And clothes of skin, and ate clam stews,
Clam frys and chowder; baked or fried
The clam was then the settler’s pride;
“Clam-diggers” then, none dared deride.
 
 
A sound arose our hearts to thrill,
From whirring saws in Yesler’s mill;
The village crept upon the hill.
On many hills our city’s spread,
As fair a queen as one that wed
The Adriatic, so ’tis said.
Our tasks so hard are well nigh done —
Today our hearts will beat as one!
 
 
Each one may look now to the west
For end of days declared the best,
Since sunset here is sunrise there,
Our heavenly home is far more fair.
As up the slope of coming years
Time pushes on the pioneers,
With peace may e’er our feet be shod
And press at last the mount of God.
E. I. DENNY.
Seattle, June, 1893.