CHAPTER VII. Pioneer Days, Chapter VII

oxen, the water being very cold. Our ferriage was very expensive, as the Indians saw they had us at their mercy, and, acting as some of our white brothers will act, made the best of it.

All safely across, we proceeded wearily ahead until we approached the Calapooia Mountains which had to be crossed - a task to be dreaded, but which had to be done. Some time previous to this out distress had become known to friends in the settlement, but unfortunately for out little party we had no such good luck. In the meantime a wagon load of provisions had been brought to the opposite side of the mountain. A man having a brother and sarge family in our party left our party at the river to cross the mountain for the purpose of bringing a packload of provisions. I loaned him my overcoat (I happened to have one with me), and he agreed to let me have a share of the load, provided I would pay the cost art the wagon across the mountain. I readily accepted the proposition, as we had nothing to eat but the poor venison previously described, or a poor animal that had been driven across the plains that some one would kill. This beef was no improvement over the venison. In the meantime our long and anxiously waited for man returned with out much - needed provisions. Our share consisted of a small portion of flour, nor exceeding 20 pounds, and about half that amount of peas. When the meal was being prepared from this precious package, I told the lady to give one mess of bread to us. As she placed the sough in the pan I could carcely refrain from eating the raw dough. But sometimes in our surest and sanguine hopes we are doomed to disappointment. This was my fate in this instance. When the bread and poor meat appeared at the festive broad, of course all eyes were turned and all stomachs craved the bread. The wheat from which the flour was made had been tramped by oxen in order to thresh it, and, or course, it was dark, and wild weed grew among the wheat called anise, that bore a seed fragrant but sickening to the taste. It being ground with the wheat, the bread had the peculiarities of both. I ate a small portion of one biscuit, the stomach revolted at the taste of the anise, so I had to retire and relieve the stomach to the long-covered bread, anise, dirt and all.

In relating this narrative I have aimed at the strict truth as I personally know it, but I will now report a circumstance given by another. About this time three men left us, all on foot, with blankets on their backs, to press on to the settlements, as they could travel on foot so much faster than the wagons could proceed through the soft, muddy road. These men left us without taking with them a scrap of provisions of any kind. One of the party had a shotgun, and they supposed they could kill enough game to subsist on till they could have a chance to procure food. But their hopes were painfully disappointed, as mo chance occurred to kill anything, and they met no provisions tifi the third day. On that day they met on the summit of the mountain a man named Durbin, with some provisions of pack horses. At the place of meeting there was an abundance of wild berries that grow in the mountains there, called by the Indians salal berries. They are pleasant, nutritious berry, but our hungry companions, not knowing but they might be poisonous, were afraid to eat them, so they made their distress known to Mr. Durbin.

CHAPTER VII

Mr. Durbin asked them why they did not eat of those berries, as the Indians live on them in their season. The hero of this little party was a man by the name of Toot, of Missouri, a large, portiy young man and a very agreeable gentleman, and, by the way, a Methodist, Dan Tool devoured a quarter of an acre, vines, berries and all. I give this story as it was reported to me. I personally know it is true, with the exception of the quantity that Mr. Tool ate.

We then arrived at the base of the Calipooia Mountains, and laid over one day to recruit out exhausted teams before surmounting this dreaded mountain, the summit of which was covered with snow. Then up we started, creeping along until we reached the suninilt and passed the belt of snow; then we camped and chained out oxen to trees and bivouaced for the night. Of course, we got but little sleep, as our beds were arranged on the cold, wet ground. In this high altitude, so near the snow, not much comfort could be expected. We were glad when day appeared and all hands prepared to make the down grade. As for cooking, that was small task, owing to a limited quantity on hand to cook. In crossing the snow belt we met a few Indians going south. These aborigines were scantily dressed and barefooted, but appeared comfortable. On meeting them greeted us in the jargon dialect, "Cia-hi-urn," which meant, "How do you do." We afterwards learned the dialect so that we could converse fluently with the natives of the country, and I still retain a knowledge of it.

It required most of the day to make the descent. We bad no trouble in getting down as the ground was so soft and the wagon cut in so that no trouble occurred in preventing the wagon crowding the teams down the mountain.

We were then in the border of the Willamette Valley, our long-desired destination. There was nothing in sight to encourage us; the supplies we expected to find were all disposed of and the parties had gone home. So this much-lauded Willamette Valley presented nothing to us but broad, fertile prairies covered with a rich coat of luxuriant grass, very acceptable to teams, but the milk and honey that we were to find in this valley were not in sight; so we had to content ourselves with out poor beef or venison, with little dirty flour, strongly tinctured with both the smell and taste of the sickening anise seed. This was used to make a little soup and gruel for the children; as for myself I preferred the meat straight.

After resting a day or two we prepared to resume our journey. In starting we had to cross a swollen, narrow creek, the water being even with the top of the banks. A notch was dug on each side so the wagon could get in and out, and the father of Willard Linville, now of Corvallis, made the first attempt, having in his wagon his family and his mother. an aged lady. The driver, partly missed the notch, only two wheels entering it, and the wagon upset in the raging water. Before all could be gotten out, the aged grandmother had drowned. The whole family had a narrow escape. This accident caused a days's laying over, and is one among the many painful incidents that occurred during the long and eventful journey. This case was the more sorrowful on account of the great age of this father and mother, undergoing the fatigue and danger incident to the long journey, and now at the near approach of their longed destination to die by such a fearful accident, and to be buried without a casket or ceremony, was surely grievous to

the aged husband and son and to all concerned. There was in our party another man having a large family, by the name of Crowley. He was at the point of death with typhoid fever - the prevailing complaint of the journey. He was a son-in-law of the aged Linville.

In writing the history of this journey, so many years ago, I trust I will be pardoned for recapitulating some incidents that my memory recalls that i have failed to write in the previous articles. After we were through the canyon already described, in the exhausted condition of our party, coupled with the scarcity of provisions with some, and many entirely out, more complaining was heard for the want of tobacco than for the lack of provisions. After the company had divided into small parties, the one I was in, consisting of seven or eight wagons, and as I had three or four pounds of chewing tobacco, I concluded I would retrieve my lost generosity when I failed to divide the deer, by sharing my tobacco, as I never fancied the filthy habit. It was not much trouble to collect the hungry tobacco-chewers. The number was counted, and an equal division made, reserving for myself an equal share. For this act I was considered the greatest philanthropist in the entire outfit. After this, had circumstances been such that my services could have been offered for any official position, either county or state, and mu success depended on these men who shared in the tobacco division, I would have gained the position far easier than I did in later years. Another matter requires some change. While it is true that poor beef and venison was the principal diet, long-range marksmen, your scribe being one of them, had an occasional change. Wild geese were plentiful, and those large, white-breasted honkers were considered a delicacy, as they were invariably fat. I killed some geese and also a coon, which our dog cornered in a hollow log. He was a large, fat one. I put him in the wagon, hauled him till night, dressed him, and again divided. This gave the poor meat an additional relish that only those who have experienced such conditions can realize.

These incidents, called to mind since the former articles were written, beings us back to camp. We went travelling through this beautiful Willamette Valley. About the fourth day from our mountain camp, Thomas Crowley, the sick man above mentioned, died. He was a mon possessed of all the essential qualifications of an affectionate husband and father, and a thorough Christian gentleman, had a large family and was possessed of large amount of this world's goods. I visited him two days previous to his death, and he told me he was going to die. He said he would be better satisfied to have seen his family settled and made comfortable, but such could not be, and added that there was a better place beyond for him than Oregon. We buried him without coffin, and all turned sorrowfully from his grave. He was the fourth one of the Crowley family that died tin our train. It will be remembered the bones I assisted to bury on Grave Creek were the bones of his daughter.

The next place of note we came to was where the beautiful city of Eugene is located. A small plot cabin was built - the first sign of civilization we had seen in travelling 2,000 miles. The little cabin, without door or window, looked homelike, in deed. here several families, whose teams had become exhausted, were going to abandon their wagons and were making canoes to make the rest of the journey by water. Had I not been situated as I was, I would have joined that party. We went from this camp to