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Title: Two Years in Oregon
Author: Wallis Nash
Release Date: February 15, 2011 [eBook #35288]
Language: English
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[Illustration: Anchorage in Yaquina Bay.]
TWO YEARS IN OREGON.
by
WALLIS NASH,
Author of "Oregon, There and Back in 1877."
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
While the landscape round it measures,
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The lab'ring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
L'Allegro.
Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown;
With that wild wheel we go not up or down;
Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great;
Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands;
Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands;
For man is man and master of his fate.
Tennyson.
New York:
D. Appleton and Company
1, 3, and 5 Bond Street.
1882.
Copyright by
D. Appleton and Company
1881.
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO
MY FATHER,
WHO, THOUGH SEVERED FROM US BY LAND AND OCEAN,
YET LIVES WITH US IN SPIRIT.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
It is my grateful task to recognize the marked kindness with which my
modest volume has been received by the public and the press. It is rare
that a second edition of a work of the kind should be called for within
three months of the first issue, and still more rare that, out of a
vast number of reviews by the leading journals all over the country,
but one newspaper, and that the one I deemed it my duty to the State of
Oregon to denounce (on page 216), has found aught but words of
commendation.
I desire also to tender my apologies to the esteemed Roman Catholic
Archbishop, and to the Sisters of Charity of Portland, for the error on
my part in ascribing to Bishop Morris, of the Episcopal Church, the
credit of St. Vincent's Hospital.
I ought not to have forgotten to notice the Good Samaritan Hospital and
Orphanage founded by Bishop Morris.
A single remark should be added about the price or value given, on page
70, for seed-wheat as an element of the cost of the crop raised from
it.
The wheat reserved by the farmer for this purpose, being exempt from
the charges and waste incident to hauling, storage, insurance, and
sacking, necessary in marketing, is fairly estimated at seventy cents,
though the marketed portion of the crop averages eighty-five to ninety
cents; the difference being composed, in part, of profit.
W. N.
PREFACE.
I send forth this book, as sequel to the sketch published three years
ago, with many misgivings--rather as if one who, as a lover, had
written poems in praise of his mistress, should, as a two years'
husband, give to the world his experience of the fireside charms and
household excellences of his wife. Perhaps the latter might more
faithfully picture her than when she was seen through the glamour of a
first love.
Be that as it may, it is true that the questions put from many lands,
as to how we fare in this Western country, demand fuller answers than
mere letter-writing can convey. I trust that those correspondents who
are yet unanswered personally will find herein the knowledge they are
seeking, and will accept the assurance that they are themselves to
blame for some of the more solid and tedious chapters; as, if I had not
known that such information were needed, I would not have ventured to
put in print again that which previous and better authors have given to
the world.
While I have striven to write what is really a guide-book to Oregon
for the intending emigrant, others may be interested in the picture of
a young community shaping the details of their common life, and
claiming and taking possession of a heritage in the wilderness.
No one can go farther West than we have done: it is fair, then, to
suppose that the purposes of the Western movement will be seen here in
their fullest operation.
Since 1877 a vast change has taken place in this, that Oregon now
shares with older States the benefits of becoming the theatre for large
railroad operations.
No apology to American readers is needed for the endeavor to show
things in a fairer light and different color from those chosen by
persons interested in causing all men to see with their eyes.
Transatlantic readers may not have the same concern; but even from them
I bespeak a hearing in matters which may indirectly, if not directly,
touch their interests.
But I do not wish to suggest that I write as having only a general
feeling that certain things would be the better for a more open
discussion than they have hitherto received. My own affairs, and those
of many friends, both in Oregon and elsewhere, and, indeed, the
successful development of this great Willamette Valley, largely depend
on our convincing an unprejudiced public that Nature is on our side in
the effort we are making to secure a direct and near outlet to the
great world.
I only claim in these particulars to be an advocate, but I add to this
a full and honest conviction of the justice of the views for which I
contend.
To turn again to more general matters, I have the pleasant duty of
thanking several friends who have contributed to the information here
collected.
To our shame be it said that there was not, among our English
immigrants, one naturalist who could rightly name the birds, beasts,
fishes, and insects in our Western home. But I was fortunate in finding
an American friend, Mr. O. B. Johnson, of Salem, whose complete and
accurate knowledge of these subjects only rendered more easy his kindly
endeavors to give me the benefit of all his stores.
I wish to acknowledge also the care with which, ever since our visit in
1877, the professors at the Corvallis Agricultural College have kept
the records of climate and rainfall, the results of which are now
published.
I trust that, if any sketches in these pages are recognized as
portraits, not one grain of offense will be taken by those who have
unwittingly served as models in the life-studio.
Or that, if any effect is produced, it may be as good and lasting as
that which followed on a fancy picture in the former book, in which
many stray touches were collected. Whether the cap fitted, or was
pressed on his head by too officious neighbors, I know not; but this I
know, that cleared fields, neat fences, new barn, clean house, and
fitting furniture, rendered it impossible for me to recognize a
tumbledown place which then served to point a warning. These
improvements, I am told, the owner lays at my unconscious door.
WALLIS NASH.
CORVALLIS, OREGON, _April_ 14, 1881.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Personal reasons for coming to Oregon--Plans of colonizing--Who
came--Who have returned--Who remain--Bowie-knives and revolvers--A
sheriff in danger--No tragedy--Our landing at Corvallis--Frail
houses--Pleasant welcome--The barber's shop--Its customers--Given
names--New acquaintances--Bright dresses--Religious denominations. 17
CHAPTER II.
Where we live--Snow-peaks and distant prospects--Forest-fires--The
Coast Mountains and Mary's Peak--Sunset in Oregon--Farmhouses: the
log-cabin, the box-house, the frame-house--Dinner at the farm--Slay
and eat--A rash chicken--Bread-making by amateurs--Thrift and
unthrift--Butter and cheese--Products of the "range," farm, and
garden--Wheat-growing. 26
CHAPTER III.
The land-office; its object and functionaries--How to find your
land--Section 33--The great conflagration--The survivors of the
fire--The burnt timber and the brush--The clearing-party--Chopping
by beginners--Cooking, amateur and professional--The wild-cat--Deer
and hunting--Piling brush--Dear and cheap clearing--The skillful
axeman--Clearing by Chinamen--Dragging out stumps--What profits the
farmer may expect on a valley farm--On a foot-hills farm. 36
CHAPTER IV.
A spring ride in Oregon--The start--The equipment--Horses and
saddlery--Packs--The roadside--Bird fellow-travelers--Snakes--The
nearest farm--Bees--The great pasture--The poisonous larkspur--
Market-gardening--The Cardwell Hill--The hill-top--The water-shed
--Mary River--Crain's--The Yaquina Valley--Brush, grass, and fern
--The young Englishmen's new home--A rustic bridge--"Chuck-holes"--
The road supervisor--Trapp's--The mill-dam--Salmon-pass law--Minnows
and crawfish--The Pacific at rest--Yaquina--Newport. 48
CHAPTER V.
Hay-harvest--Timothy-grass--Permanent pasture--Hay-making by
express--The mower and reaper--Hay-stacks as novelties--
Wheat-harvest--Thrashing--The "thrashing crowd"--"Headers"
and "self-binders"--Twine-binders and home-grown flax--Green food
for cows--Indian corn, vetches--Wild-oats in wheat--Tar-weed the
new enemy--Cost of harvesting--By hired machines--By purchased
machines--Cost of wheat-growing in the Willamette Valley. 62
CHAPTER VI.
The farmer's sports and pastimes--Deer-hunting tales--A roadside
yarn--Still-hunting--Hunting with hounds--An early morning's
sport--Elk--The pursuit--The kill--Camp on Beaver Creek--
Flounder-spearing by torchlight--Flounder-fishing by day--In the
bay--Rock oysters--The evening view--The general store--Skins--
Sea-otters--Their habits--The sea-otter hunters--Common otter--The
mink and his prey. 72
CHAPTER VII.
Birds in Oregon--Lark--Quail--Grouse--Ruffed grouse--Wild-geese--
Manoeuvres in the air--Wild-ducks--Mallard--Teal--Pintail--
Wheat-duck--Black-duck--Wood-duck--Snipe--Flight-shooting--
Stewart's Slough--Bitterns--Eagles--Hawks--Horned owls--Woodpeckers
--Blue-jays--Canaries--The canary that had seen the world--Blue-birds
--Bullfinches--Snow-bunting--Humming-birds at home. 91
CHAPTER VIII.
Up to the Cascades--Farming by happy-go-lucky--The foot-hills--Sweet
Home Valley--Its name, and how deserved and proved--The road by the
Santiam--Eastward and upward--Timber--Lower Soda Springs--Different
vegetation--Upper Soda Springs--Mr. Keith--Our reception--His home and
surroundings--Emigrants on the road--The emigrant's dog--Off to the
Spokane--Whence they came--Where they were bound--Still eastward--
Fish Lake--Clear Lake--Fly-fishing in still water--The down slope
east--Lava-beds--Bunch-grass--The valleys in Eastern Oregon--Their
products--Wheat-growing there--Cattle-ranchers--Their home--Their
life--In the saddle and away--Branding-time--Hay for the winter--The
Malheur reservation--The Indians' outbreak--The building of the
road--When, how, and by whom built--The opening of the pass--The
history of the road--Squatters--The special agent from Washington--A
sham survey. 100
CHAPTER IX.
Indian fair at Brownsville--Ponies--The lasso--Breaking-in--The
purchase--"Bucking" extraordinary--Sheep-farming in Eastern Oregon--
Merinos--The sheep-herder--Muttons for company--A good offer
refused--Exports of wool from Oregon-Price and value of Oregon
wool--Grading wool--Price of sheep--Their food--Coyotes--The
wolf-hunt--Shearing--Increase of flocks--"Corraling" the sheep--
Sheep as brush-clearers. 118
CHAPTER X.
The trail to the Siletz Reserve--Rock Creek--Isolation--Getting a
road--The surveying-party--Entrance at last--Road-making--Hut-building
in the wilds--What will he do with it?--Choice of homestead--Fencing
wild land--Its method and cost--Splitting cedar boards and shingles--
House-building--The China boy and the mules--Picnicking in
earnest--Log-burning--Berrying-parties--Salting cattle--An active
cow--A year's work--Mesquit-grass on the hills. 127
CHAPTER XI.
The Indians at home--The reservation--The Upper Farm--Log-cabins--
Women must work while men will play--The agency--The boarding-house
--Sunday on the reservation--Indian Sun day-school--Galeese Creek
Jem--The store-Indian farmers--As to the settlement of the Indians
--Suggestions--A crime--Its origin--Its history--The criminals--
What became of them--Indian teamsters--Numbers on the reservation
--The powers and duties of the agent--Special application. 136
CHAPTER XII.
The Legislative Assembly--The Governor--His duties--Payment of the
members--Aspect of the city; the Legislature in session--The
lobbyist--How bills pass--How bills do not pass--Questions of the
day--Common carriers--Woman's suffrage--Some of the acts of
1878--Judicial system of the State--Taxes--Assessments--County
officers--The justice of the peace--Quick work. 145
CHAPTER XIII.
Land laws--Homesteads and preëmption--How to choose and obtain
Government land--University land--School land--Swamp land--Railroad
and wagon-road grants--Lieu lands--Acreages owned by the various
companies. 157
CHAPTER XIV.
The "Web-foot State"--Average rainfall in various parts--The rainy
days in 1879 and 1880--Temperature--Seasons--Accounts and figures
from three points--Afternoon sea-breezes--A "cold snap"--Winter--
Floods--Damage to the river-side country--Rare thunder--Rarer
wind-storms--The storm of January, 1880. 164
CHAPTER XV.
The State Fair of 1880--Salem--The ladies' pavilion--Knock-em-downs
_à l'Américaine_--Self-binders--Thrashing-machines--Rates of
speed--Cost--Workmanship--Prize sheep--Fleeces--Pure _versus_
graded sheep--California short-horns--Horses--American breed or
Percheron--Comparative measurements--The races--Runners--Trotters--
Cricket in public--Unruly spectators. 174
CHAPTER XVI.
History of Oregon--First discoverers--Changes of government--
Recognition as a Territory--Entrance as a State--Individual
histories--"Jottings"--"Sitting around"--A pioneer in Benton
County--How to serve Indian thieves--The white squaw and the
chief--Immigration in company--Rafting on the Columbia--The first
winter--Early settlement--Indian friends--Indian houses and
customs--The Presbyterian colony--The start--Across the plains--
Arrival in Oregon--The "whaler" settler--A rough journey--"Ho for
the Umpqua!"--A backwoodsman--Compliments--School-teacher provided
for--Uncle Lazarus--Rogue River Cañon--Valley of Death--Pleasant
homes--Changed circumstances. 183
CHAPTER XVII.
State and county elections--The Chinese question--Chinese
house-servants--Washermen--Laborers--A large camp--Supper--Chinese
trading--The scissors--Cost of Chinese labor--Its results--Chinese
treaties--Household servants--Chee and his mistress--"Heap debble-y
in there"--The photo album--Temptation--A sin and its reward--Good
advice on whipping--Chung and the crockery--Chinese New Year--Gifts--
"Hoodlums"--Town police--Opium. 201
CHAPTER XVIII.
Life in the town--Sociables--Religious sects--Sabbath-schools--
Christmas festivities--Education, how far compulsory--Colleges--
Student-life and education--Common schools--Teachers' institutes--
Newspapers--Patent outsides-"The Oregonian"--Other journals--Charities
--Paupers--Secret societies. 209
CHAPTER XIX.
Industries other than farming--Iron-ores--Coal--Coos Bay mines--
Seattle mines--Other deposits--Lead and copper--Limestone--Marbles--
Gold, where found and worked--Silver, where found and worked--Gold
in sea-sand--Timber--Its area and distribution--Spars--Lumber--Size
of trees--Hard woods--Cost of production and sale of lumber--Tanneries
--Woolen-mills--Flax-works--Invitation to Irish--Salmon--Statistics
of the trade--Methods--Varieties of salmon--When and where caught--
Salmon-poisoning of dogs--Indians fishing--Traps--Salmon-smoking. 219
CHAPTER XX.
Eastern Oregon--Going "east of the mountains"--Its attractions--
Encroaching sheep--First experiments in agriculture and planting--
General description of Eastern Oregon--Boundaries--Alkaline plains--
Their productions--The valleys--Powder River Valley--Description--
The Snake River and its tributaries--The Malheur Valley--Harney Lake
Valley--Its size--Productions--Wild grasses--Hay-making--The winters
in Eastern Oregon--Wagon-roads--Prineville--Silver Creek--Grindstone
Creek Valley--Crooked River--Settlers' descriptions and experiences--
Ascent of the Cascades going west--Eastern Oregon towns--Baker
City--Prineville--Warnings to settlers--Growing wheat for the
railroads to carry. 231
CHAPTER XXI.
Southern Oregon--Its boundaries--The western counties--Population--
Ports--Rogue River--Coos Bay--Coal--Lumber--Practicable railroad
routes--The harbor--Shifting and blowing sands--A quoted description
--Cost of transportation--Harbor improvements--Their progress and
results--The Umpqua--Douglas County--Jackson County--The lake-country
--Linkville--Water-powers--Indian reservations--The great mountains--
Southeastern Oregon--General description--Industries. 243
CHAPTER XXII.
The towns--Approach to Oregon--The steamers--The Columbia entrance--
Astoria--Its situation, industries, development--Salmon--Shipping--
Loading and discharging cargo--Up the Columbia and Willamette to
Portland--Portland, West and East--Population--Public buildings--
United States District Court--The judge--Public Library--The Bishop
schools--Hospital--Churches--Stores--Chinese quarter--Banks--Industries
--The city's prosperity--Its causes--Its probable future--The Oregon
Railway and Navigation Company--Shipping abuses and exactions--
Railroad termini--Up the Columbia--The Dalles--Up the Willamette--
Oregon City, its history--The falls--Salem--Its position and
development--Capitol buildings--Flour-mills--Oil-mills--Buena Vista
potteries--Albany--Its water-power--Flour-mills--Values of land--
Corvallis--The line of the Oregon Pacific Railroad--Eugene, its
university and professors--Roseburg--The West-side Railroad to
Portland--Development of the country--Prosperity--Counties of Oregon
--Their population--Taxable property--Average possessions--In the
Willamette Valley--In Eastern Oregon--In Eastern Oregon tributary
to Columbia and Snake Rivers. 252
CHAPTER XXIII.
The transportation question--Its importance--Present legal position
--Oregon Railway and Navigation Committee's general report--That
company--Its ocean-going steamers--Their traffic and earnings--Its
river-boats--Their traffic and earnings--Its railroads in existence
--Their traffic and earnings--Its new railroads in construction
and in prospect--Their probable influence--The Northern Pacific--
Terminus on Puget Sound--Its prospects--The East and West Side
Railroads--"Bearing" traffic and earnings--How to get "control"--
Lands owned by the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company--Monopoly
--How threatened--The narrow-gauge railroads--Their terminus and
working--Efforts to consolidate monopoly--The "blind pool"--Resistance
--The Oregon Pacific--Its causes, possessions, and prospects--Land
grant and its enemies--The traffic of the valley--Yaquina Bay--Its
improvement--The farmers take it in hand--Contrast and comparisons
--The two presidents--Probable effects of competition--Tactics in
opposition--The Yaquina improvements--Description of works--The
prospects for competition and the farmers' gains. 271
CHAPTER XXIV.
Emigration to Oregon--Who should not come--Free advice and no
fees--English emigrants--Farmers--Haste to be rich--Quoted
experiences--Cost and ways of coming--Sea-routes--Railroads--
Baggage--What not to bring--What not to forget--Heavy property--
The Custom-house--San Francisco hotels--Conclusion. 293
Appendix. 305
TWO YEARS IN OREGON.
CHAPTER I.
Personal reasons for coming to Oregon--Plans of colonizing--Who
came--Who have returned--Who remain--Bowie-knives and revolvers--A
sheriff in danger--No tragedy--Our landing at Corvallis--Frail
houses--Pleasant welcome--The barber's shop--Its customers--Given
names--New acquaintances--Bright dresses--Religious denominations.
After visiting Oregon in the year 1877, and traveling with three or
four companions through its length and breadth, I ventured to publish
in England on my return a short account of our seeings and doings.
While the reception of this book by the reviews generally was only too
kind and flattering, one paper, the "Athenæum," distinguished me by a
long notice, the whole point of which lay in the observation that it
would be interesting to know if I, who had been recommending Oregon to
others, were prepared to take my own prescription, and emigrate there
myself.
Now, although it would not perhaps be fair to make all physicians
swallow their own medicines, regardless whether or not they were sick,
and although I certainly was not in any position rendering emigration
necessary, or in the opinion of any of my friends and acquaintances
even desirable, yet I did not like it to be possible to be accused
rightly of recommending a course so serious as a change of
dwelling-place and even of nationality, without being willing to prove
by my own acts the genuineness of the advice I had given.
And this, among other motives and inducements, had a strong influence
in overcoming the crowd of hesitations and difficulties which spring up
when so great a change begins to be contemplated as possible.
And it is no more than natural that now, having had two years'
experience in Oregon, I should desire to have it known if it be
necessary to recall the general advice given in the former book,
advocating, as undoubtedly I then did advocate, Oregon as a desirable
residence.
But, as this involves my putting into some kind of literary shape our
experiences for the past two years in this far Western land, it is
better to begin by some general relation of our plans.
When I undertook to come out with my wife and children and see to the
settlement and disposal of the tract of land we had purchased, as one
result of my visit in 1877, I was applied to by a good many fathers to
take some superintendence of their sons, who desired to emigrate to
Oregon. Next, one or two married couples expressed a wish to join us.
Then several acquaintances, who were practical mechanics, had heard a
good report of Oregon, and desired to accompany us. And I was busy in
answering letters about the place and people to the very moment of
sailing.
I was not at all willing to have the company indefinitely numerous, not
having graduated in Mr. Cook's school for tourists, and knowing
something of the embarrassments likely to attend a crowd of travelers.
We found our party of twenty-six fully large enough for comfort. We
were kindly and liberally treated by the Allan Steamship Company, the
Grand Trunk Railway of Canada, and the Chicago and Northwestern
Railway; but our lines did not fall to us in pleasant places when we
experienced the tender mercies of the Union and Central Pacific. Our
party was broken up into different cars, and our strongest portmanteaus
were shattered by the most atrocious handling.
[Sidenote: _PLANS OF COLONIZING._]
It was a serious question if we should try to found an English colony
here, in the usual sense of the word. That would have involved a
separate life from the American residents; it would have fostered
jealousy here, and we should have committed numberless mistakes and
absurdities. We should have had to buy all our experience, amid the
covert ridicule of our neighbors. And I was confident that many members
of our party would have played at emigrating, and treated the whole
business as picnicking on a large scale. Moreover, I was not sure that,
even if we succeeded in transplanting English manners, customs, and
institutions, they would take hold in this new soil. The fact was
always before my eyes that the country was only thirty years old, in a
civilized sense, and I doubted the wisdom of trying to transport
thither a little piece of the old country.
I believed the wiser course to be to plant ourselves quietly among the
Oregonians with as little parade and fuss as possible, and to let our
own experience dictate to others whether to join us or not.
It has been our practice throughout to answer freely, and as fully as
possible, the many letters of inquiry as to place and people that we
have had, but to offer no advice; leaving those who were thinking of
coming out to take the responsibility on themselves of deciding to come
or to stay away.
Under this system our numbers have grown to upward of a hundred, and
now rarely a month passes without additions. Of course, a process of
natural selection goes on all the time. Not every one who comes
remains; but we have every reason to be satisfied with the
representatives of the mother-country who are making Oregon their
permanent home, and the same feeling is shared, as I am confident, by
the original residents.
Shall I try to describe what sort of people we live among here, a
hundred miles from Portland, the chief city in the State?
[Illustration: Corvallis, 1880.]
What the notions of some of our party were you will understand when I
mention that all I could say could not prevent the young men of the
party from arming themselves, as for a campaign in the hostile Indian
country, so that each man stepped ashore from the boat that brought us
up the Willamette with a revolver in each pocket, and the hugest and
most uncompromising knives that either London, New York, or San
Francisco could furnish.
[Sidenote: _OUR LANDING AT CORVALLIS._]
As ill luck would have it, just as we arrived, the sheriff had returned
to town with an escaped prisoner, and had been set upon by the brother,
and a pistol had been actually presented at him. I should say in a
whisper that the sheriff, worthy man, had proposed to return the
assault in kind, but had failed to get his six-shooter out in time from
the depths of a capacious pocket, where the deadly weapon lay in
harmless neighborhood, with a long piece of string, a handful or so of
seed-wheat, a large chunk of tobacco, a leather strap and buckle, and a
big red pocket-handkerchief. So I fancy he had not much idea of
shooting when he started out.
But the incident was enough to give a blood-color to all our first
letters home, and I dare say caused a good many shiverings and shudders
at the thought of the wild men of the woods we had come to neighbor
with.
The worst of it was, that it was the only approach to a tragedy, and
that we have had no adventures worth speaking of. "Story, God bless
you! I have none to tell, sir." Still we did know ourselves to be in a
new world when we stepped ashore from the large, white-painted,
three-storied structure on the water that they called a stern-wheel
river-boat, and in which we had spent two days coming up the great
river from Portland. It was the 17th of May, just a month from leaving
Liverpool, that we landed. The white houses of the little city of
Corvallis were nestled cozily in the bright spring green of the alders
and willows and oaks that fringed the river, and the morning sun
flashed on the metal cupola of the court-house, and lighted up the
deep-blue clear-cut mountains that rose on the right of us but a few
miles off.
When we got into the main street the long, low, broken line of
booth-like, wooden, one-storied stores and houses, all looking as if
one strong man could push them down, and one strong team carry them
off, grated a little, I could see, on the feelings of some of the
party. The redeeming feature was the trees, lining the street at long
intervals, darkening the houses a little, but clothing the town, and
giving it an air of age and respectability that was lacking in many of
the bare rows of shanties, dignified with the title of town, that we
had passed in coming here across the continent.
The New England Hotel invited us in. A pretty plane-tree in front
overshadowed the door; and a bright, cheery hostess stood in the
doorway to welcome us, shaking hands, and greeting our large party of
twenty-six in a fashion of freedom to which we had not been used, but
which sounded pleasantly in our travel-worn ears. The house was
tumble-down and shabby, and needed the new coat of paint it received
soon after--but in the corner of the sitting-room stood a good
parlor-organ. The dining-room adjoining had red cloths on the tables,
and gave a full view into the kitchen; but the "beefsteak, mutton-chop,
pork-chop, and hash" were good and well cooked, and contrasted with,
rather than reminded us of, the fare described by Charles Dickens as
offered him in the Eastern States when he visited America thirty-nine
years ago.
The bedrooms, opening all on to the long passage upstairs, with meager
furniture and patchwork quilts, the whole wooden house shaking as we
trotted from room to room, were not so interesting, and tempted no long
delay in bed after the early breakfast-gong had been sounded soon after
six. Breakfast at half-past six, dinner at noon, and supper at
half-past five, only set the clock of our lives a couple of hours
faster than we had been used to; and bed at nine was soon no novelty to
us.
The street in front was a wide sea of slushy mud when we arrived, with
an occasional planked crossing, needing a sober head and a good
conscience to navigate safely after dark; for, when evening had closed
in, the only street-lighting came from the open doors, and through the
filled and dressed windows of the stores.
[Sidenote: _THE BARBER'S SHOP._]
Saloons were forbidden by solemn agreement to all of us, but the
barber's shop was the very pleasant substitute. Two or three big
easy-chairs in a row, with a stool in front of each. Generally filled
they were by the grave and reverend seigniors of the city--each man
reposing calmly, draped in white, while he enjoyed the luxury, under
the skillful hands of the barber or his man, of a clean shave. At the
far end of the shop stood the round iron stove, with a circle of wooden
chairs and an old sofa. And here we enjoyed the parliament of free
talk. The circle was a frequently changing one, but the types were
constant.
The door opened and in came a man from the country: such a hat on his
head! a brim wide enough for an umbrella, the color a dirty white; a
scarlet, collarless flannel shirt, the only bit of positive color about
him; a coat and trousers of well-worn brown, canvas overall (or, as
sometimes spelled, "overhaul"), the trousers tucked into knee-high
boots, worn six months and never blacked. His hands were always in his
pockets, except when used to feed his mouth with the constant
"chaw."--"Hello, Tom," he says slowly, as he makes his way to the back,
by the stove. "Hello, Jerry," is the instant response. "How's your
health?" "Well; and how do you make it?" "So-so." "Any news out with
you?" "Wall, no; things pretty quiet." And he finds a seat and sinks
into it as if he intended growing there till next harvest.
We all know each other by our "given" names. I asked one of our
politicians how he prepared himself for a canvass in a county where I
knew he was a stranger this last summer. "Well, I just learned up all
the boys' given names, so I could call them when I met them," was the
answer. "I guess knowing 'em was as good as a hundred votes to me in
the end." It was a little startling at first to see a rough Oregonian
ride up to our house, dismount, hitch his horse to the paling, and
stroll casually in, with "Where's Herbert?" as his first and only
greeting. But we soon got used to it.
But the barber's shop was, and is, useful to us, as well as amusing.
The values and productiveness of farms for sale, the worth and
characters of horses, the prices of cattle, the best and most likely
and accessible places for fishing, and deer-shooting, and
duck-hunting--all such matters, and a hundred other things useful for
us to know, we picked up here, or "sitting around" the stoves in one or
other of the stores in the town.
Another good gained was, that thus our new neighbors and we got
acquainted: they found we were not all the "lords" they set us down for
at first, with the exclusiveness and pride they attributed to that
maligned race in advance; while we on our side found a vast amount of
self-respect, of native and acquired shrewdness, of legitimate pride in
country, State, and county, and a fund of kindly wishes to see us
prosper, among our roughly dressed but really courteous neighbors.
There was a good deal of feminine curiosity displayed on either side,
by the natives and the new-comers. When we went to church the first
Sunday after our arrival, there were a good many curious worshipers,
more intent on the hats and bonnets of the strangers than on the
service in which we united. We heard afterward how disappointed they
were that the stranger ladies were so quietly and cheaply dressed. We
could not say the same when callers came, which they speedily did after
we were settled in our new home--such tight kid gloves, and bright
bonnets, and silk mantles! It was a constant wonder to our women-folk
how their friends managed to show as such gay butterflies, two thousand
miles on the western side of everywhere.
[Sidenote: _RELIGIOUS DENOMINATIONS._]
We found here, in a little town of eleven hundred inhabitants, all
kinds of religious denominations represented--Episcopalians,
Presbyterians, Roman Catholics, Methodists North, and Methodists South,
Evangelicals, and Baptists--but very little rivalry and no rancor. I
shall have something more to say about the religious life later on, but
I think I will reserve the description of our home, and of those of
some of our neighbors, for a fresh chapter.
CHAPTER II.
Where we live--Snow-peaks and distant prospects--Forest-fires--The
Coast Mountains and Mary's Peak--Sunset in Oregon--Farmhouses: the
log-cabin, the box-house, the frame-house--Dinner at the farm--Slay
and eat--A rash chicken--Bread-making by amateurs--Thrift and
unthrift--Butter and cheese--Products of the "range," farm, and
garden--Wheat-growing.
You might look the world over for a prettier spot than that on which
this house stands. Just a mile from Corvallis, on a gently rounded
knoll, we look eastward across the town, and the river, and the broad
valley beyond, to the Cascade Mountains.
Their lowest range is about thirty miles off, and the rich flat valley
between is hidden by the thick line of timber, generally fir, that
fringes the farther side of the Willamette. Against the dark line of
timber the spires of the churches and the cupola of the court-house
stand out clear, and the gray and red shingled roofs of the houses in
the town catch early rays of the rising sun.
The first to be lighted up are the great snow-peaks, ninety, seventy,
and fifty miles off--a ghostly, pearly gray in the dim morning, while
the lower ranges lie in shadow; but, as the sun rises in the heavens,
these same lower ranges grow distinct in their broken outlines. The air
is so clear that you see plainly the colors of the bare red rocks, and
the heavy dark, fir-timber clothing their rugged sides. Ere the sun
mounts high the valley often lies covered with a low-lying thin white
mist, beyond and over which the mountains stand out clear.
For some weeks in the late summer heavy smoke-clouds from the many
forest and clearing fires obscure all distant view. This last summer
fires burned for at least fifty miles in length at close intervals of
distance, and the dark gray pall overlay the mountains throughout.
Behind the house, and in easy view from the windows on either side, are
the Coast Mountains, or rather hills.
Mary's Peak rises over four thousand feet, and is snow-crowned for nine
months in the year. The outlines of this range are far more gently
rounded than the Cascades, and timber-covered to the top. Save for the
solid line of the heavy timber, the outlines of the Coast Range
constantly remind us of our own Dartmoor; and the illusion is
strengthened by the dark-red soil where the plow has invaded the hills,
yearly stealing nearer to their crowns. Mary's Peak itself is bare at
the top for about a thousand acres, but the firs clothe its sides, and
the air is so clear that, in spite of the seventeen miles' distance,
their serrated shapes are plainly and individually visible as the sun
sinks to rest behind the mountain.
[Sidenote: _SUNSET IN OREGON._]
Such sunsets as we have! Last night I was a mile or two on the other
side of the river as night fell. Mount Hood was the first to blush, and
then Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters in turn grew rosy red. From
the valley I could not see the lower Cascades, but these snowy pyramids
towered high into the sky. One little fleecy cloud here and there
overhead caught the tinge, but the whole air on the eastern side was
luminously pink. Turning westward, the pale-blue sky faded through the
rainbow-green into the rich orange surrounding the departing sun; and
the westward mountains stood solidly and clearly blue in massive lines.
One great peculiarity of the Oregon landscape, as distinguished from an
English rather than a New England scene, is in the number of white
farmhouses that catch the eye. We see many from our windows. I suppose
it is that the roads are so bad in winter that the farmers must live on
the farms, instead of in the English-village fashion. So it is that you
may travel by railroad up and down this valley for two hundred miles
between farmhouses every quarter or half mile all the way. Nearly every
farmhouse has its orchard close by; but one big barn is all the
out-buildings they boast, and farm-yard, in the English sense, one
never sees.
Our own house is not a fair specimen, because of our large family and
its corresponding habitation; but the regular farmhouse is by no means
an uncomfortable abode.
There are three kinds: log-cabin, box-house, frame-house.
[Sidenote: _FARMHOUSES._]
The first, by far the most picturesque type, is fast becoming obsolete,
and on most of the good farms, if not pulled down, is degraded into
woodhouse or piggery. But to my eye there is something rarely
comfortable in the low, solid, rugged walls of gray logs, with
overhanging shingled roof; the open hearth, too, with its great
smoldering back-log and wide chimney, invites you to sit down before it
and rest. By the side of the fireplace, from two deers' horns fastened
to the wall, hangs the owner's rifle--generally an old brown
veteran--with bullet-pouch and powder-horn. Over the high mantel-shelf
stands the ticking clock, suggesting "Sam Slick, the clock-maker."
Curtained off from the main room, with its earthen or roughly-boarded
floor, are the low bedsteads of the family, each covered with its
patchwork quilt. A corner cupboard or two hold the family stock of cups
and plates, and the smell of apples, from the adjoining apple-chamber,
pervades the house.
Round the house is the home-field, generally the orchard, sown with
timothy-grass, where range four or five young calves, and a sow or two,
with their hungry, rooting youngsters. The barn, log-built also, stands
near by, with two or three colts, or yearling cattle, grouped around.
The spring of cold, clear water runs freely through the orchard, but
ten yards from the house-door, hastening to the "creek," whose murmur
is never absent, save in the few driest weeks of summertime.
Snake-fences, seven logs high, with top-rail and crossed binders to
keep all steady, divide the farm from the road, and a litter of chips
from the axe-hewed pile of firewood strew the ground between wood-pile
and house. Here and there, even in the home-field, and nearly always in
the more distant land, a big black stump disfigures the surface, and
betrays the poverty or possibly the carelessness of the owner, who has
carved his homestead from the brush.
But as the farmer prospers, be it ever so little, he hastens to pull
down his log-cabin and to build his "box" or more expensive "frame"
house. In each case the material is "lumber." By this is signified, be
it known to the uninitiated, fir boards, one foot wide, sixteen feet
long, and one inch thick.
The "box" house is built of boards set upright, and the cracks covered
with strips of similar board, three inches wide.
The "frame" house is double throughout, the boards run lengthwise, and
there is a covering outside of an outer skin of planking.
With the box or frame house comes the inevitable stove. The cooking and
eating of the family go on in a lean-to room, and the living-room is
furnished with some pretensions, always with a sewing-machine, and
often with a parlor-organ or piano. Muslin curtains drape the windows;
a bureau is generally present, and chromos, or very rough engravings,
hang on the walls. The political tendencies of the owner betray
themselves. General Grant, with tight-buttoned coat and close-cut
beard, or President Lincoln and his family, show the Republican.
Strangely enough, General Lee, with a genial smile on his attractive
face, is affected by the Democrats. The followers of the greenback
heresy delight in Brick Pomeroy, with clean-shaven, smug, and satisfied
look.
[Sidenote: _DINNER AT THE FARM._]
It is not the fashion to carry provisions with you on journeys in
Oregon. When meal-time draws near, and hotels are many miles away, you
ride boldly up to the nearest farm, dismount, throw your horse's rein
over the paling, and walk in. The lady of the house appears, from the
cooking department at the rear, and you say: "Good-morning, madam; can
I get dinner with you?" Unless there is grave reason to the contrary,
she considers a moment, and then answers, "I guess so," with a
hospitable smile. The next question is as to your horse, which one of
the children leads into the barn, and then fills out a goodly measure
of oats, and crams the rack with hay from the pile filling the middle
of the barn. While your hostess adds a little to the family meal, you
turn over the newspapers in the sitting-room, generally finding a
"Detroit Free Press," or a "Toledo Blade," or a New York "World" or
"Tribune," or a San Francisco "Bulletin" or "Chronicle," besides the
local weekly. If you want books, you must take to the "Pacific Coast
Reader," the last school-book, which you are sure to find on the shelf;
unless you chance on a "Universal History," or the "History of the
Civil War," or the "Life of General Jackson," or the "Life of General
Custer," or a collection of poetry in an expensive binding, all of
which signify that the book-peddler has been paying a recent visit.
Then your hostess returns, saying, "Will you come and eat?" If you go
into the back room--where, generally, the master of the house and you,
the visitor, and perhaps a grown-up son, or a farming hand, sit down
and dine, while the mistress and her daughter serve--you will not
starve.
In front of you is a smoking dish of meat, either pork or mutton,
salted, cut into square bits and fried; rarely beef, more often
venison, or deer-meat, as it is called here. By it is piled up a dish
of mashed potatoes, and a tureen of white, thick sauce. A glass dish of
stewed apples, or apple-sauce, and one of preserved pears or peaches,
and a smaller dish of blackberry or plum jam, complete the meal, with
the constant coffee, and generally a big jug of milk. The bread is
brought you in sets of hot, square rolls, fresh from the stove. It is
not always that you can get cold bread, and a look of surprise always
follows the request for it.
Generally, a good supply of white beans, boiled soft, and with a slice
or two of bacon, is an important item. Apples, and the best of them,
too, you can have for the asking--too common to be offered to you.
This _régime_ applies to breakfast, dinner, and supper, with but
slight variations. I forgot, though, the saucer of green, sharp,
vinegary gherkins, which the Oregonians seem not to know how to do
without, and also the honey, and trout, which are the frequent and
welcome additions to the meal among the hills.
My wife and I dropped in once to a dinner of this kind. We were
sitting, cooling ourselves on the veranda, watching some pretty, black
Spanish chickens scratching among the scanty rose-bushes in front. The
farmer's wife came quickly out and addressed me: "Have you got your
revolver?" I stared for a moment, thinking of tramps, and bears, and I
know not what. "I never carry one on horseback," I answered. "Oh," said
she, "I would have had you shoot the head off one of them chickens, for
I've got no fresh meat." Inwardly I congratulated ourselves that our
dinner did not altogether depend on my skill with that common, but, to
my mind, very unsatisfactory weapon.
One of my friends bought out an Oregonian farmer, and paid him for
stock and lot, including some fine fowls. Dropping in to dinner two
days afterward, he found a smoking chicken on the board. I suppose he
eyed it askance, for the farmer observed: "That's one of your chickens
I killed by accident. I saw some wild-geese feeding on the wheat, and
fetched the rifle, and that there foolish rooster got right in the way
of the bullet."
[Sidenote: _BREAD-MAKING BY AMATEURS._]
If any friends of yours think of coming out, send them to the school of
cookery, I implore you. It is the greatest possible quandary to be in,
to be set down with flour, water, and a tin of saleratus or
baking-powder, and to have to make the bread or go without. Then, to
convert chickens running about your house into food for man is not so
easy as it looks; nor is cooking beans or potatoes a matter of pure
instinct, I assure you. Shall I ever forget riding up at nearly three
in the afternoon, to one of our Englishmen's farms, to find the
proprietor standing, coat off and sleeves turned up, before a huge,
round tin of white slush? When he saw me come in, he lifted out his
hands and rubbed off the white dripping mess, saying: "I'll be hanged
if I'll try any longer; since eleven o'clock have I been after this
beastly bread! Can you make it? Is this stuff too thin or too thick, or
what?" It is true that he makes fine bread now; but if you could but
know the stages of slackness, heaviness, soddenness, flintiness, that
he and his friends passed through, you would see that I was giving a
useful hint, and one that applies to the feminine emigrant quite as
much as to the masculine. Another thing strikes us out here, namely,
the waste that pervades an average Oregon farmer's household. Does he
kill a deer? He leaves the fore half of the creature, and all the
internals, in the wood where he killed it, taking home only the
hind-quarters and the hide. If he kills a hog, the head is thrown out,
to be rolled round and gnawed at by the dogs; the same with a sheep or
a calf.
Half of them will not even take the trouble to have butter, letting the
calves get all the milk, but just a little for the meals. You rarely
see eggs on the table, though there may be scores of hens about.
You will hardly believe that large quantities of butter and cheese are
imported into this valley, both from California and from Washington
Territory, and cheese even from the East, though there can not be a
finer dairy country than this, if they would but look a little ahead
and provide some green food for the cows for the interval between the
hay-crop off the timothy-grass and the fresh growth of the same from
the autumn rains.
It is still more inexcusable among the hills, where the grass keeps
green all the year round. The exclusive devotion to wheat is what will
very shortly and most surely impoverish the country; and therefore it
is that, in the interests of Oregon, I am so anxious that many farmers
should come here who are familiar with mixed farming, and will apply it
to our deep, rich, stoneless soil, and will thus avert the inevitable
consequences of wheat, wheat, wheat, continuously for fifteen, twenty,
ay, and thirty years.
It is not that other crops and other pursuits do not answer here.
Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive and multiply. Oregon valley wool ranks
among the very best. The Angora goat takes to Western Oregon as if it
were his native home, and produces yearly from three to four pounds of
hair, worth from sixty to eighty cents a pound. Beans, peas, carrots,
parsnips grow as I have never seen them elsewhere. Swedish turnips have
succeeded well in this valley, and nearer the coast the white turnips I
have seen nearly as big as your head, and good all through. I saw a
large heap of potatoes the other day that averaged six inches long, and
perfectly clean and free from all taint. Carrots we grew ourselves that
weighed from one and a half to two pounds all round. Barley thrives
splendidly, with a full, round, clear-skinned berry. Oats I need hardly
mention, as the export of this cereal is very large, and the quality is
undeniable.
The common red clover grows in a half-acre patch in my neighbor's field
waist-high, and he cut it three times last year. We have the humble-bee
(or, at any rate, a big fellow just like the English humble-bee--for I
never handled one to examine it closely) to fertilize the clover. The
white Dutch clover spreads wherever it gets a chance.
[Sidenote: _WHEAT-GROWING._]
But the temptation to grow wheat is very strong. It is the staple
product of the State, and hardly ever fails in quality. The farmers
understand it; their system of life is organized with a view to it. A
thousand bushels of wheat in the warehouse is as good as money in the
bank, and is in reality a substitute for it. There is a clear
understanding of what it costs to plant, harvest, and warehouse, and it
involves the lowest amount of trouble and anxiety.
Therefore, Oregon grows wheat, and will grow it; and men will grow
nothing else until the consequences are brought home to them.
CHAPTER III.
The land-office; its object and functionaries--How to find your
land--Section 33--The great conflagration--The survivors of the
fire--The burnt timber and the brush--The clearing-party--Chopping by
beginners--Cooking, amateur and professional--The wild-cat--Deer
and hunting--Piling brush--Dear and cheap clearing--The skillful
axeman--Clearing by Chinamen--Dragging out stumps--What profits the
farmer may expect on a valley farm--On a foot-hills farm.
By the time we had been here about a month and had settled down a
little, we set about clearing a tract of wild land called section 33,
situated nearly twenty miles away. You will ask, What does section 33
mean? Oregon is divided into several districts. For the Willamette
Valley the land-office is at Oregon City, one of the most ancient towns
in the State, having a history of forty years, dating from the rule of
the Hudson's Bay Company. The chief officer is called the "register."
He is supplied with maps of the surveys from the central office at
Washington. Each map is of one township, consisting of a square block
of thirty-six sections of a square mile or six hundred and forty acres
each. Each township is numbered with reference to a baseline and a
meridian, fixed by the original survey of the State, thus giving a
position of latitude and longitude. From the land-office duplicates of
the maps for each county are furnished to the county-seat and are
deposited in the county clerk's office for general inspection. Each
year a certain sum is set aside for new surveys, and contracts are
given by the Surveyor-General of the State to local surveyors for the
work.
The corners of each square-mile section are denoted by posts or large
stones, and the neighboring trees are blazed or marked so as to direct
attention to the corner post or stone.
Thus for years after the surveying-party have passed through wild land,
there is but little difficulty in finding the corner-posts, and thence
by compass ascertaining the boundary-lines of any section or fraction
of a section in question. Surveys being officially made, boundary
disputes are avoided, or easily solved and set at rest by reference to
the county surveyor, who for a few dollars' fee comes out and "runs the
lines" afresh of any particular plot.
Section 33, then, is the section thus numbered in township 10, south of
range 7, west of the Willamette meridian. It lay just on the edge of
the burned woods country.
[Sidenote: _THE GREAT CONFLAGRATION._]
Although forest-fires in Oregon are still of yearly occurrence, since
settlement by the white men the range of the devastation has been by
degrees narrowed and confined. Formerly the Indians started fires every
year to burn the withered grass in the valleys and on the hillsides,
and thence fire spread into the woods and ravaged many miles of timber.
The "great fire" is said to have occurred about forty years ago, when
many Indians perished in the flames, and others had to take refuge in
the streams and rivers, till the destroying element had passed them in
its resistless fury.
Standing on the top of one of these Coast Mountains, the eye ranges for
many miles over hill and dale, dotted everywhere with the huge black
trunks, the relics of the great conflagration. Many standing yet, some
towering high into the sky, testify of their former gracefulness by the
symmetrical tapering of the tall trunk, and the regular positions of
the broken limbs and branches. But Nature is busily at work repairing
damages; each winter's rains penetrate more deeply into the fabric of
the trunk; each winter's gales loosen yet more the roots in which the
living sap was long ago destroyed; each spring the wind brings down
additions to the graveyard of trees, rotting away into mold; while a
few young successors to the former race of firs are showing themselves
clothed in living green, and a dense growth of copse-wood, hazel,
cherry, vine-maple, arrow-wood, and crab-apple is crowding the hollows
of the cañons on the hill-sides.
The brake-fern covers the hills, attaining a growth of five, six, or
eight feet, and sheltering an undergrowth of wild-pea and native grass.
Section 33 lies between the burned timber and the living forest, but
its chief value is in the valley of some three hundred acres of
alluvial land forming its center, through which winds here and there
the Mary River, at this distance from its mouth scarcely more than a
clear and rapid brook.
Eight of us started on the clearing-party with two light wagons, and a
good supply of food, blankets, and axes and saws. A squatter had
settled on one corner and built himself a hut and a little barn, and
had got four or five acres of land cleared and plowed. But he had
abandoned his improvements and gone some ten miles off, to clear
another homestead among the thick woods.
The first night we camped out in a grassy corner by the wood-side,
while the horses were tethered near.
[Sidenote: _CHOPPING BY BEGINNERS._]
The next day we began. Two or three of us had some little knowledge of
the virtue of an axe, but the rest were new to the art. It was amusing
to watch their eager efforts to hit straight and firm. One or two of
our Oregonian neighbors came and looked on with rather scoffing faces,
but advised us how to lay the brush we cut in windrows, with a view to
the future burning.
We cut young firs, up to a foot thick, cherry poles from fifteen to
thirty feet high, vine-maple as thick as the cherry but only half as
tall, and here and there a tough piece of crab-apple. The brush was so
thick that what was cut could only fall one way, so that the patch each
man had cut by dinner-time was ridiculously small. Of course, the whole
valley was not brush-covered--very far from it; there were great open
spaces of clear grass, with here and there a tuft of blue lupin and
rose-bushes. The firs once cut off were done with, and the stump would
rot out of the ground in a year or two. The cherry-brush was no bad
enemy, either; the young shoots would sprout from the root next year,
but sheep would bite them off and kill the cherry out in a couple of
seasons. But by all accounts the vine-maple was as tough in life as in
texture, and that it was tough in texture our poor arms testified when
night came.
For a few days we tried to be our own cooks, one of the party in turn
being detailed for the purpose; but much good victuals was spoiled. So
I sent into town for a Chinaman cook. That too much Chinaman is bad, I
am prepared to support my neighbors in believing; but enough Chinaman
to have one at call whenever you think fit to send for him is a comfort
indeed. So Jem, as he called himself, came out to us. He wore a smile
all day long on his broad face; and he was caught reading earnestly in
a poetry-book he must have found left out of one of our bags; so I
conclude he was a learned Chinaman. But he had strange fancies for his
own eating. He cooked a wild-cat that was shot, and we laughed; but he
proceeded next to skin and eat a skunk that had fallen a victim to its
curiosity to see how white men lived, and had trespassed inside the
hut; and that was too much. We tasted, or thought we tasted, skunk in
the bread for a day or two, so we sent Jem back.
Turn out at five, breakfast over by soon after six, work till noon;
then from one till six; then supper, and camp-fire, and pipes and talk
till nine, and then to bed. Such was our regular life, certainly a
healthy and not an unpleasant one.
[Sidenote: _DEER AND HUNTING._]
We had an excitement one night. The hut stood at the corner of the
clearing, with a couple of good-sized firs in front of the door. A
wood-covered hill came close to it on the right and rear. We were going
to bed, when there was a howl outside, followed by a chorus from our
three hounds. Out rushed a couple of us into the starlight with rifles
in hand. The dogs had sent whatever creature it was up into one of the
fir-trees and bayed fiercely round. Nothing could be seen among the
thick branches. One of the party, an enthusiast, though a novice in
woodland sport, got right close to the tree-trunk and managed to make
out a form against the sky some twenty feet above his head. At once he
fired, and down came the creature almost on his head; fortunately for
him, the hounds attacked it at once, and a royal fight and scrimmage
went on in the dark. Presently the intruder fought its way through the
dogs to the rail-fence, but mounting it showed for an instant against
the sky, and a second rifle-shot brought it down. Dragged to the light,
some called it a catamount, but others more correctly a wild-cat
(_Lynx fasciatus_). A right handsome beast it was, with short tail, and
tufted ears, and spotted skin. It was and remains the only one that has
been seen. It was attracted, no doubt, by some mutton we had hung up in
the fir to be out of the way of the dogs. Fortunate, indeed, was our
friend to escape its claws and teeth, as it has the reputation of being
the fiercest and hardest to kill of all the cats found in Oregon.
The woods in front of the hut across the valley were a sure find for
deer, and we could kill one almost any day by planting a gun or two at
points in the valley which the deer would make for, and then turning
the hounds into the woods above. It is a poor kind of hunting at the
best, this hiding behind a bush and watching, it may be for hours, for
the deer. You hear the cry of the hound far away, gradually growing
nearer, and presently the deer breaks cover, and either swims or runs
and wades down the river toward your stand; occupied solely with the
trailing hound, and ignorant of the ambushed danger in front, the shot
is generally a sure and easy one at a few paces' distance, often within
buck-shot range from an ordinary gun.
[Sidenote: _THE SKILLFUL AXEMAN._]
Before the summer had passed, enough brush had been cut to clear some
fifty acres of the valley, and we left the cut stuff piled in long rows
to dry till next summer, that the burning might be a complete one when
we did put fire to it. The fires would need tending for a day or two,
and feeding with the butt-ends of the long poles, to finish the work;
grass-seed sown on the ashes with the first autumn rains would speedily
make excellent pasture in that deep and fertile soil. The fencing of
the cleared acreage, and the plowing up and sowing with oats and wheat
of some eight or ten acres of land from which the roots and stumps had
been carefully grubbed out, would complete a "ranch," according to the
Oregon fashion, and section 33 would lose that name and assume that of
its first owner. The transformation from wild land to tame would be
complete, and my work in connection with it would be done. So much for
one way, and that the simplest, of making a home in Oregon. Longer
experience taught us cheaper methods. For the large clearing-party with
its attendant expense and need of oversight may be substituted clearing
by contract; when some one or two of the poorer and more industrious
homesteaders will contract to cut and clear at so much the acre or the
piece, boarding themselves, and taking their own time and methods of
doing the work. Some of the Indians are masters of the axe, and will
both make a clearing bargain and stick to it, provided you are careful
to keep always a good percentage of their pay in hand till the work is
finished: fail to do this, and some rainy day you will find no ringing
of the axe amid the trees, and their rough camp will be deserted, its
inhabitants gone for good. I like to watch a skillful axeman. Set him
to one of the big black trunks, six feet through. Watch how he strolls
round it, axe on shoulder, determining which way it shall fall. He
fetches or cuts out a plank, six or eight inches wide, and four feet
long, and you wonder what he will do with it. A few quick blows of his
keen weapon, and a deep notch is cut into the tree four feet from the
ground; the plank is driven into it, and he climbs lightly on it.
Standing there, another notch is cut four feet still higher from the
ground, and a second plank inserted. Then watch him. Standing there on
the elastic plank, which seems to give more life and vigor to his
blows, it springs to the swing of the axe and the chips fly fast. As
you look, he seems to be inspired with eager hurry, and the chips fly
in a constant shower. Soon a deep, wedge-like cut is seen eating its
way into the heart of the trunk. In an hour or so he has finished on
that side, and leaves it. Taking the opposite side of the tree, he is
at it again, and a big wound speedily appears. Long before the heart is
reached, a loud cracking and rending is heard. The axeman redoubles his
efforts. The tree shakes and quivers through all its mass, and then the
top moves, slowly at first, then faster, and down it comes, with a
crash that wakes the echoes in the hills for miles and shakes the
ground. Then send him into the thick brush, where the stems are so
crowded that they have shot high up into the sky. Two cuts on one side,
and one on the other, an inch or two from the earth, and he drops his
axe, and leans all his weight against the stem. It cracks and snaps; he
shakes it, and gently it sways, bending its elastic top till it touches
the ground before the stem has left its hold on Mother Earth. Before it
has had time to fall its neighbor is attacked, and a broad strip of
sunlight is soon let into the wood. Hard work? Of course it is: a day's
chopping will earn you sore wrists and aching arms, but a fine appetite
and the soundest of sleep. Unless a new-comer has had experience in the
art and practice of wood-cutting, he will find it too slow work to
undertake with his own hands the clearing of wild land to make his
homestead. Let him buy a place where some of the rough early work has
been already done, and there are plenty to be had, and by all means let
him by degrees, and as time serves, enlarge his clearing and extend his
fields. Or, let him contract for the clearing at so much the acre. Some
of the very best wheat-land in this valley is covered with oak-grubs
which have sprung up within the last twenty years to a height of from
ten to twenty feet. Chinamen are generally used to clear this land,
being engaged at the rate of from eighty to ninety cents a day; that
is, from three shillings fourpence to three shillings tenpence English.
They want looking after closely to get full value from their work. They
come in gangs of any size wanted, and have to be provided with a rough
hut to sleep in; they furnish their own food and cooking. The oak-wood
is not only cut, but the roots are grubbed out, and the land left ready
for the plow. The wood is cut into four-feet lengths and stacked ready
for carting away. It is worth almost anywhere in the valley not less
than three dollars a cord; that is, a pile eight feet long, four feet
wide, and four feet high. Thus the farmer who has a little capital and
so can afford the first outlay, need not hesitate to clear this
oak-grub land, as the value of the cord-wood and the first year's crop
should more than defray the expense of the grubbing.
In England it is usual to bring into farming course gradually woodland
that has been cleared, sowing oats first. Here, on the contrary, the
farmer may expect a good wheat crop from his cleared woodland the first
year.
Yet another method of clearing is very effective and economical,
especially at a distance from the haunts of Chinamen. A strong wooden
windlass is made and fitted with a long lever for one horse. The
windlass is anchored down near the oak-grub or cherry-brush to be got
rid of. A strong iron chain is caught round the bush and attached to
the windlass. The horse marches round and round, and winds up the
windlass-rope; the roots soon crack and tear. The farmer stands by, axe
in hand, and one or two strokes sever the toughest roots, and the bush
is torn up by main force, root and branch. One man and a horse can thus
do the work of six men, and do it effectually too.
[Sidenote: _PROFITS ON A VALLEY FARM._]
Before we turn to other subjects let me give some idea of what a newly
arrived farmer may expect to get, if he settles on a valley farm.
Suppose the farm to consist of 400 acres, of which 150 acres are plowed
land, the remainder being rough pasture, and 30 acres brush. Of the 150
acres, 90 acres would be in wheat and 60 in oats and timothy-grass. The
wheat-land would produce 26 bushels to the acre, or 2,340 bushels in
all. The value may be taken to be 90 cents the bushel, on an average of
years, or $2,106 in all. The farmer would have a flock of 250 sheep,
the produce from which in wool and lambs would not be less than $300 a
year. He would breed and sell two colts a year, yielding him certainly
$125, probably half as much more. He would have ten tons of timothy-hay
to sell, producing $75. He should fat not less than a dozen hogs, worth
$10 each, or $120. We will say nothing of milk, butter, eggs, fruit,
and garden produce; but, from the sources of profit we have enumerated,
you will find the return to be $2,726.
The necessary expenses would be the wages of one hired hand, say $300 a
year; harvesting, $150, and other expenses, such as repairs to
implements, horse-shoeing, and wheat-bags for the grain, $276, leaving
a net return of $2,000. Supposing that the cost of the farm was $25 an
acre, or $10,000 in all, I think the return is a pretty good one on
such a figure, even if another $1,000 or $1,500 has to be added for
implements, farm-horses, and sheep, to start with.
The figures I have given are from the actual working of a thoroughly
reliable man, but relate to a year slightly above the general average
of profit. You will see a large possibility of improvement in bringing
more of the unbroken land into cultivation, either in grain or in tame
grasses, and better sheep and cattle feed. So much for a valley farm at
present prices. Naturally, the figures will alter as time goes on, as I
do not imagine that the present prices of land will continue
stationary, in the face of new railroads, improved communications, and
growing population.
Let us look at the opportunities of an emigrant with less capital and
greater willingness to dispense with some of the valley advantages.
[Sidenote: _PROFITS ON A FOOT-HILLS FARM._]
His 400 acres would probably give him only 50 acres of farming, cleared
land; but adjoining, or at any rate near by, he would find land
belonging still to the Government, or untilled and unfenced, for his
cattle to range over. He would have, say, 20 acres of wheat, giving him
500 bushels, and 30 acres of oats and timothy-hay, yielding 600 bushels
of oats, of which 200 would be for sale, and the rest for use and seed,
and 30 tons of hay. He would have, say, 40 cattle, of which 15 would
come into market each year. The average value of these would be $18, or
$270 in all. Add 20 hogs at $10, or $200 in all. He must also raise and
sell three colts a year, giving him $150. Looking to smaller items of
profit, the farmer's wife should have ten pounds of butter a week to
sell, at any rate, through the summer months, which at 20 cents a pound
would give her $2 a week for 25 weeks, or $50 in all. Eggs should yield
also not less than $40 in the year. This all totals to $1,240, against
an original outlay of $10 an acre, or $4,000 in all for the farm, and
$1,500 for implements and stock.
If the farmer is a sportsman, he may add a good many deer in the course
of the year to the family larder, and also pheasants and partridges and
quail, from August to November. I use the local names, the ruffed
grouse and the common grouse being in question.
CHAPTER IV.
A spring ride in Oregon--The start--The equipment--Horses and
saddlery--Packs--The roadside--Bird fellow-travelers--Snakes--The
nearest farm--Bees--The great pasture--The poisonous larkspur--
Market-gardening--The Cardwell Hill--The hill-top--The water-shed--Mary
River--Crain's--The Yaquina Valley--Brush, grass, and fern--The young
Englishmen's new home--A rustic bridge--"Chuck-holes"--The road
supervisor--Trapp's--The mill-dam--Salmon-pass law--Minnows and
crawfish--The Pacific at rest--Yaquina--Newport.
Some months ago I noticed an observation in the "Spectator," in a
critique of a book of the Duke of Argyll's on Canadian homes, to the
effect that what was wanted was such a description of roadside, farm,
and woodland as should cause far-away readers to see them in their
ordinary, every-day guise.
I have often felt the same need in books of travels, when I little
thought it would ever fall to my lot to try to bring a land thousands
of miles away before untraveled eyes.
So, take a ride with me, in May, from our town to Yaquina Bay, just
sixty-six miles off.
I have already said enough of the valley lying here, in the early
morning, calm and quiet, with the light mist tracing out the course of
the great river for miles into the soft distance, and the Cascade Range
standing out clear above. But we turn our backs on the town and face
toward the west.
[Sidenote: _HORSES AND SADDLERY._]
One word on mount and equipment. The horse is a light chestnut--sorrel
we call it here--about fifteen hands high, compact and active, with
flowing mane and tail. He cost a hundred dollars six months back; in
England, for a park hack, he would be worth three fourths as many
pounds. He has four paces--a walk of about four miles an hour, a
jog-trot of five, a lope or canter of six or seven, and a regular
gallop. He passes from one pace to another by a mere pressure of the
leg against his sides, and the gentlest movement of the reins. To turn
him, be it ever so short, carry the bridle-hand toward the side you
want to go, but put away all notion of pulling one rein or the other.
He will walk unconcernedly through the deepest mud or the quickest
flowing brook, and climb a steep hill with hardly quickened breath; if
he meets a big log in the trail, he will just lift his fore-legs over
it and follow with his hind-legs without touching it, and hardly moving
you in the saddle. And he will carry a twelve-stone man, with a saddle
weighing nearly twenty pounds, and a pack of fifteen pounds behind the
saddle, from eight in the morning till six in the evening, with an
hour's rest in the middle of the day, and be ready to do it again
to-morrow, and the next day, and the day after that.
The saddle is in the Mexican shape, with a high pommel in front, handy
for a rope or gun-sling, and a high cantle behind; it has a deep,
smooth seat, and a leather flap behind and attached to the cantle on
which the pack rests; huge wooden stirrups, broad enough to give full
support to the foot, and wide enough for the foot to slip easily in and
out. A horse-hair belt, six inches wide, with an iron ring at each end,
through which runs a buckskin strap to attach it to the saddle, and by
which it is drawn tight, forms a "sinch," the substitute for girths.
The word "sinch" is a good one, and has passed into slang. If your
enemy has injured you and you propose to return the compliment in the
reverse of Christian fashion, "I'll sinch him," say you. If a poor
player has won the first trick by accident, "I guess he'll get sinched
soon," says the looker-on.
I advise no Englishman to bring saddlery to Oregon. He will save no
money by doing so, and will not be fitted out so well for the
hours-long rides he will have. I have only heard one Englishman out of
fifty say that he prefers the English saddle, after getting used to the
Mexican, and he had brought one out with him and used it out of pride.
Behind the saddle is the pack. Just a clean flannel shirt and a pair of
socks, a hair-brush, a comb and tooth-brush, fit us out for a week or
two; baggage becomes truly "impedimenta" when you have to carry it on
your horse. You need not carry blankets now, for there are good
stopping-houses at fit distances apart. But you may, if you wish, bring
your Martini carbine, or Winchester rifle, for we may meet a deer by
the way. So we start.
The first mile or two is along the open road. A brown, rather dusty
track in the center, beaten hard by the travel; on either side a broad
band of short grass; and snake-fences, built of logs ten feet long,
piled seven high, and interlaced at the ends. In the angles of nearly
every panel of the fence grows a rose-bush, now covered with young
buds, just showing crimson tips. As we canter by, a meadow-lark gives
us a stave of half-finished song from the top of the fence, and flits
off to pitch some fifty yards away, in the young green wheat, and try
again at his song. The bird is nearly as large as an English thrush,
with speckled breast, and a bright-yellow patch under the tail. Just in
front of us, on the fence, sits a little hawk, so tame that he moves
not till we pass him, and then by turns follows and precedes us along
the road, settling again and again upon the tallest rails. He is gayly
dressed indeed, with a russet-brown back and head, and a yellow and
brown barred and speckled chest, and all the keenness of eye one looks
for in his tribe.
[Sidenote: _SNAKES._]
Early as it is, here and there in the road is one of the little brown
snakes that abound in the valley; seduced from his hole by the warm
sun, he is enjoying himself in the dust, and only just has time to
glide hastily away as the horse-hoofs threaten his life. Their
harmlessness and use in waging war on beetles, worms, and frogs, ought
to save their lives; but they are snakes, and that suffices to cause
every passer-by to strike at them with his staff.
The face of the country is vivid green, the autumn-sown wheat nearly
knee-high, and the oats running the wheat a race in height and
thickness. The orchard-trees close to the farmhouse we are approaching
stand clothed from head to foot in flower; the pear-trees, whose
branches are not now curved and bent with fruit, tower as white
pyramids above the heads of the blushing apples.
Close by the orchard-fence the ewes and lambs feed, the little ones
leaping high and throwing themselves away with the mere joy of warm sun
and young life.
The farmer sees us coming, and scolds back the rough sheep-dog noisily
barking at the strangers as he comes to his gate to shake hands. "Won't
you hitch your horse and come in?" he says; "I want you to look at
these bees--I have got six swarms already." And under the garden-fence
stands a long, low-boarded roof, and under it a whole row of boxes and
barrels, of all ages and sizes, with a noisy multitude coming and
going. Straw hives are unknown, and any old tea-chest is used. Not much
refinement about bee-keeping in Oregon; but honey fetches from thirty
to fifty cents a pound.
We mount again, and, passing through a couple of loosely made and
carelessly hung gates, we enter the big pasture. Not very much grass in
it; it is wet, low-lying, undrained land. The wild-rose bushes are
scattered here, there, and everywhere in clumps, and the face of the
field is strewed with the dull, light-green, thick and hairy leaves of
a wild sunflower, whose bright-yellow flowers with a brown center, all
hanging as if too heavy for the stalk, have not yet matured. The cattle
are very fond of this plant, and do well on it. An enemy of theirs is
the lupin, here called the larkspur, one of the earliest of spring
plants. Its handsome, dark-blue flowers do not redeem it, for the
cattle are deceived by it, eat, and are seized with staggers, and will
sink down and die if not seen to and treated. One of our friends tells
us that he cures his larkspur-poisoned cattle with fat pork, lumps of
which he stuffs down their throats. This information we submit to an
unprejudiced public, but we do not guarantee that this remedy will
cure. It is generally two-year-old cattle which partake and
sicken--perhaps the calves have not enterprise enough, and the older
cattle too much sense.
The plant is not so very common, but it has to be watched for and
extirpated when found. Between the pasture and the wheat-fields stands
another snake-fence and a gate. Alas! by the gate, and to be crossed
before we reach it, is the Slough of Despond--a big, deep,
uncompromising pool of black, sticky mud. The horses eye it doubtfully,
and put down their noses to try if it smells better than it looks, and
then step gravely in, girth-high almost, till we open and force back
the heavy gate.
Skirting the wheat-field, between it and the creek, hardly seen for the
undergrowth of rose-bushes and hazel, with here and there a big
oak-tree, the road brings us out into a patch of garden-ground, filled
with vegetables for the town housekeepers. Just now there is little to
be seen but some rows of early peas and spring cabbage. Later on, the
long beds of onions, French beans, cauliflowers, and all the rest, with
the melons, squashes, or vegetable marrows, pumpkins, cucumbers, and
tomatoes (which were the glory of the gardener), showed the full
advantages of the irrigating ditches, fed by the higher spring, which
are led here, there, and everywhere through the patch. For, remember,
we had almost continuous fine weather, with hot sun and few showers,
from the middle of May till the middle of October.
[Sidenote: _THE CARDWELL HILL._]
But here is the main road again, which we left to turn across the
fields, and we are at the foot of the Cardwell Hill. The wood lies on
both sides of us, and we mount rapidly upward. The wild-strawberry
creeps everywhere along the ground, its white flower and yellow eye
hiding modestly under the leaves. The catkins on the hazel-bushes
dangle from each little bough. The purple iris grows thickly in the
frequent mossy spots, and the scarlet columbine peers over the heads of
the bunches of white flowers we knew not whether to call
lilies-of-the-valley or Solomon's seal, for they bear the features of
both. The purple crocuses have not yet all gone out of bloom, though
their April glory has departed, and the tall spear-grass gives elegance
all round to Dame Nature's bouquets.
We have ample time to take in all these homely beauties, for the road
is too thickly shaded by the wood for the sun to dry the mud, and our
horses painfully plod upward, with a noisy "suck, suck," as each foot
in turn is dragged from the sticky mass.
But the undergrowth is thinner as we mount; first oak-scrub and then
oak-trees growing here and there, with grass all round, take the place
of the copse, and the mountain air blows fresh in our faces as we near
the summit. Halting for a moment to let the horses regain their breath,
we turn and see the whole broad valley lying bright in sunshine far
below. So clear is the air that the firs on the Cascades, forty miles
away, are hardly blended into a mass of dark, greenish gray; and the
glorious snow-peaks shining away there twenty miles behind those firs,
look to be on speaking terms with the Coast Range on which we stand.
But we pursue our westward course along a narrow track following the
hill-side near the top, leaving the road to take its way down below, to
round the base of the hill which we strike across. This hill is bare of
trees, and is covered now with bright, young, green grass, soon to be
dried and shriveled into a dusty brown by the summer sun. We wind round
the heads of rocky clefts or cañons, down each of which hastens a
murmuring stream. There the oaks and alders grow tall, but we look over
their heads, so rapid is the descent to the vale below.
The mountains on the distant left of us are Mary's Peak and the Alsea
Mountain; the former with smooth white crown of snow above the dark fir
timber; and away to the right, among lower, wooded hills, we catch one
glimpse of the burned timber, the thick black stems standing out clear
on the horizon-line.
Passing down the hill and by the farmhouse at the foot, with its great
barn and blooming orchard, we strike the road once more, passing for a
mile or two between wheat-fields, with the Mary River on the left
closed from our sight by the screen of firs that follow it all the way
along; then by a bridge and by other farms, and between fir-woods of
thickly standing trees, and up and down hill, with here and there a
level valley in between, we strike the Mary River again for the last
time, and climb the Summit Hill.
We are twenty-two miles from our starting-point, and claim a meal and
rest. We are among old friends as we ride up to Crain's to dine, and
the noonday sun is hot enough for us to enjoy the cool breeze among the
young firs behind the house, as we stand to wash hands and face by the
bench on the side of the dairy built over the stream close by. The
horses know their way to the barn, to stand with slackened sinches, and
nuzzle into the sweet timothy-hay with which the racks are filled.
[Sidenote: _THE YAQUINA VALLEY._]
On our way once more, in half an hour we stand on the edge of the
water-shed, and look down far into the Yaquina Valley, lying deep
between rugged and broken hills below. As we dip below the crest, the
character of the vegetation changes at once.
We have left the thick woods behind. The last of the tall green firs
clothes the crest we have passed, and the black burned timber is dotted
along the hill-sides.
Last year's brake-fern clothes the hills in dull yellow and brown,
except where patches of thimble-berry and salmon-berry bushes have
usurped its place. The wild-strawberry has been almost entirely left
behind, and instead there is the blackberry-vine trailing everywhere
along the rough ground, and casting its purple-tinged tracery over the
fallen logs. There is plenty of grass among the fern, and the wild-pea
grows erect as yet, not having length enough to bend and creep. The
river Yaquina comes down from a wild, rough valley to the right, to be
crossed by a wooden bridge close to a farmhouse on rising ground. Two
of our recently arrived Englishmen have bought this place, and are well
satisfied with their position. About eight hundred acres of their own
land, of which quite three hundred are cultivable in grain, though not
nearly all now in crop, and really unlimited free range on the hills
all round for stock; some valley-land which produces everything it is
asked; a garden-patch where potatoes grew this year, one of which was
six pounds in weight; a comfortable house and substantial barn; a
trout-stream by their doors; a railroad in near prospect to bring them
within two hours of a market at either end; and, meanwhile, a demand at
home for all the oats and hay they can raise for sale--it would be
strange, indeed, I think, if they who had supposed they were coming
into a wilderness with everything to make, were not well pleased.
The only things they complain of are the scarcity of neighbors and bad
roads--both, we hope, in a fair way to be overcome. They look contented
enough, as they stand by their house-door to bid us good-day as we ride
by. The valley widens out and narrows again in turn. In each open space
stands a farmhouse, or else the site demands one.
As we get nearer to the coast, the river forces its way through quite a
narrow gorge, following round the point of a projecting fern-covered
slope, and under the shadow of the high hill on the northern side. The
great blechnum ferns, with fronds three or four feet long, are
interspersed with the thimble-berry bushes, and border the road.
Syringa and deutzia plants and two varieties of elder, which bear black
and red berries, but are now bright with abundant flowers, clothe the
steep bank overhanging the river, which here widens out into calm
pools, divided by ripples, and runs over rocks. And see, here is a
natural bridge; a huge fir has fallen right across, and the farmer has
leveled the ground up to the top of the trunk, some six feet high, and
has set up a slender rail on each side of his bridge, and over it he
drives his sheep into the less matted and tangled ground on the far
side.
[Sidenote: "_CHUCK-HOLES._"]
The road, cut into the steep hill-side, never gets the sunshine; the
mud clogs the horse's feet and fills the "chuck-holes"--traps for the
unwary driver. Be it known that oftentimes a great log comes shooting
down the hill in winter, and brings up in its downward course on the
ledge formed by the road. Notice is sent to the road supervisor by the
first passer-by, and this functionary, generally one of the better
class of farmers, who has charge of the road district, calls out his
neighbors to assist in the clearing of the road. He has legal power to
enforce his summons, but it is never disregarded, and the "crowd" fall
on with saws, axes, and levers. They soon cut a big "chunk" out of the
log, some ten feet long, wide enough to clear the center of the road,
and roll it unceremoniously away down the hill, or lodge it lengthwise
by the roadside. There they leave matters, deeming spade-and-shovel
work beneath them. Next winter's rain lodges and stands in the dint
made by the trunk when it fell, and in the depression left by the men
who rolled the middle of the log away. Never filled up, or any channel
cut to run the water off, a "chuck-hole" is formed, which each wagon
enlarges as it is driven round the edge to escape the center. Woe
betide the stranger who does not altogether avoid, or boldly
"straddle," the "chuck-hole" with his wheels! The side of the wagon
whose fore and hind wheels have sunk into the hole dips rapidly down,
and he is fortunate who escapes without an upset, and with only showers
of liquid mud covering horses, driver, and load, as the team struggles
to drag the wagon through. But, pressing through the gorge, we emerge
into a more open stretch. On the right of us rises a smooth, round
hill, fern-covered to the top; and on the opposite side, next the
river, planted on a pretty knoll just where the valley turns sharply to
the north, thereby getting a double view, is Mr. Trapp's farmhouse, our
resting-place for the night. We have made our forty-four miles in spite
of the muddy road and steep grades, and there is yet time before supper
to borrow our host's rod and slip down to the river for a salmon-trout.
Excellent fare and comfortable beds prepare us for the eighteen miles
we have yet before us on the morrow, and we get an early start. Two
miles below Trapp's is Eddy's grist-mill, with its rough mill-dam, made
on the model of a beaver-dam, and of the same sticks and stones, but
not so neatly; the ends of the sticks project over the mill-pool below,
and prove the death of numberless salmon, which strike madly against
them in their upward leaps, and fall back bruised and beaten into the
pool again.
An effort was made to pass a law, this last session of the Legislature,
compelling the construction of fish-passes through the mill-dams; but
it was too useful and simple a measure to provoke a party fight, and
therefore was quietly shelved. Better luck next time.
[Sidenote: _MINNOWS AND CRAWFISH._]
Presently we leave the Yaquina River, which, for over twenty miles, we
have followed down its course; for never a mile without taking in some
little brook, where the minnows are playing in busy schools over the
clean gravel, and the crawfish are edging along, and staggering back,
as if walking were an unknown art practiced for the first time. The
river has grown from the burn we first crossed to a tidal watercourse,
with a channel fifteen feet in depth, and, having left its youthful
vivacity behind, flows gravely on, bearing now a timber-raft, then a
wide-floored scow, and here the steam-launch carrying the mail. But we
climb the highest hill we have yet passed, where the aneroid shows us
eleven hundred feet above the sea-level, and from its narrow crest
catch our first sight of the bay, glittering between the fir-woods in
the morning sun.
We leave the copse-woods behind, and canter for miles along a gently
sloping, sandy road; the hills are thick in fern and thimble-berry
bush, with the polished leaves and waxy-white flowers of the sallal
frequently pushing through. We have got used by this time to the black,
burned trunks, and somehow they seem appropriate to the view. But the
sound of the Pacific waves beating on the rocky coast has been growing
louder, and as we get to the top of a long ascent the whole scene lies
before us.
That dim blue haze in the distance is the morning fog, which has
retreated from the coast and left its outlines clear.
On the right is the rounded massive cape, on the lowest ledge of which
stands Foulweather Lighthouse. The bare slopes and steep sea-face tell
of its basaltic formation, which gives perpendicular outlines to the
jutting rocks against which, some six miles off, the waves are dashing
heavily.
Between that distant cape and the Yaquina Lighthouse Point the
coast-line is invisible from the height on which we stand, but the
ceaseless roar tells of rocky headlands and pebble-strewed beach.
Below us lies the bay, a calm haven, with its narrow entrance right
before us, and away off, a mile at sea, a protecting line of reef, with
its whole course and its north and south ends distinctly marked by the
white breakers spouting up with each long swell of the Pacific waves.
Under the shelter of the lighthouse hill, on the northern side, stands
the little town of Newport, its twenty or thirty white houses and
boat-frequented beach giving the suggestion of human life and interest
to the scene.
Away across the entrance, the broad streak of blue water marking the
deep channel is veined with white, betraying the reef below--soon, we
trust, to be got rid of in part by the engineers whose scows and barges
are strewed along the south beach there in the sun.
[Illustration: Yaquina Bay, Newport, 1880.]
[Sidenote: _NEWPORT._]
On that south side a broad strip of cool, gray sand borders the harbor,
and there stand the ferry-house, and its flag-staff and boats.
Looking to the left, the fir-crowned and fern-covered hills slope down
to Ford's Point, jutting out into deep water, which flows up for miles
till the turn above the mill shuts in the view.
But we must not wait, if we mean to catch any flounders before the tide
turns, and so we hurry down to the beach and along the hard sand
bordering the bay under the broken cliffs, and are soon shaking hands
with the cheery landlord of the Sea-View Hotel, who has been watching
us from his veranda ever since we descended the hill from Diamond Point.
CHAPTER V.
Hay-harvest--Timothy-grass--Permanent pasture--Hay-making by express--
The mower and reaper--Hay-stacks as novelties--Wheat-harvest--Thrashing
--The "thrashing crowd"--"Headers" and "self-binders"--Twine-binders
and home-grown flax--Green food for cows--Indian corn, vetches--Wild-oats
in wheat--Tar-weed the new enemy--Cost of harvesting--By hired machines
--By purchased machines--Cost of wheat-growing in the Willamette Valley.
Neither the first nor the second year did hay-harvest begin with us
till after the first week in July. We did not shut the cattle off the
hay-fields till the end of February, so that there was a great growth
of grass to be made in four months and a half.
How different our hay-fields are from those in the old country! I
should dearly like to show to some of these farmers a good
old-fashioned Devonshire or Worcestershire field, with its thick, solid
undergrowth and waving heads. I should like them to see how much feed
there was after the crop was cut.
Here timothy-grass is everything to the farmer. Certainly, the
old-country man would open his eyes to see a crop waist-high, the heavy
heads four to seven inches long, and giving two tons to the acre. And
he would revel in laying aside for good and all that anxiety as to
weather which has burdened his life ever since he took scythe and
pitchfork in hand. We expect nothing else but dewy nights and brilliant
sunshine, so that the habit is to cut one day, pile the grass into huge
cocks the same day, and carry it to the barn the next. Hay-stacks are
unknown; the whole crop is stored away in the barn; and you may see
sixty, eighty, or a hundred tons under the one great roof, and no fear
of heating or burning before the farmer's eyes.
[Sidenote: _THE MOWER AND REAPER._]
The glory of the scythe has departed. Every little farmer has his
mower, or mower and reaper combined; or else, if he can not afford to
pay two hundred dollars or thereabout for his machine, he hires one
from his more fortunate neighbor, and pays him "six bits"--that is,
seventy-five cents--per acre for cutting his crop. Wood's, McCormick's,
or the Buckeye, are the favorites here.
Our own machine, with one pair of stout horses, cuts from nine to
twelve acres a day, according to the thickness of the crop and the
level or hilly nature of the ground. It looks easy--just riding up and
down the field all day--but try it, and you will find you have to give
close attention all the time, to be ready to lift your knives over a
lumpy bit of ground or round a stump, and to cut your turns and corners
clean; and there are no springs to your seat, and a mower is not the
easiest carriage in the world.
Nor is it light work to follow the horse hay-rake all day, lifting the
teeth at every swath. Pitching hay is about the same work all the world
over, I think; but at home one does not expect to make acquaintance
with quite so many snakes, which come slipping down and twisting and
writhing about as the hay is pitched into the wagon. It is true they
are harmless, but I don't like them, all the same.
We put up a big hay-stack each year, in spite of the most dismal
prophecies from our neighbors that the rain would mold the hay, that it
would not be fit to use, and that even a "town-cow" would despise it
(and they will eat anything from deal boards to sulphur-matches, I
declare). But the event justified us, and the whole stack of 1879 was
duly eaten to the last mouthful.
Wheat and oats follow close on the heels of the hay. We finished our
stack on the 17th of July, and began cutting wheat on the 27th.
There is one harvest, and only one, on record in Oregon, where rain
fell on the cut grain and injured it. The rule is to feel absolutely
secure of cutting your grain, thrashing it in the field as soon as cut,
and carrying it from the thrashing-machine straight to the warehouse.
There is lively competition to get the thrasher as soon as the grain is
cut. The "thrashing crowd," of some seven or eight hands, which
accompany the thrasher, have a busy time. They get good wages--from the
$2.50 for the experienced "feeder" of the machine, to the $1.50 for the
man who drives and loads the wagon, or pitches the sheaves. They travel
from farm to farm, setting up the thrasher in a central spot, and
"hauling" the sheaves to it. The quantity passed through the machine in
one long day varies from one thousand to fifteen hundred bushels with
horse-power; driven by steam, the quantity will run up to upward of two
thousand bushels. These quantities seem very large by the side of those
yielded by English machines, but they are too well authenticated to be
open to doubt.
[Sidenote: "_HEADERS" AND "SELF-BINDERS._"]
A great wheat-field of a hundred acres, with headers and thrasher going
at once, is a lively scene. The "header" is a huge construction ten
feet wide. Revolving frames in front bend the wheat to the knives,
where it is cut and delivered in an endless stream into a great
header-wagon, driven alongside the cutting-machine. Six horses propel
the header in front of them, and move calmly along unterrified by the
revolving frames and vibrating knives. As soon as the header-wagon is
filled, it is driven off to the thrasher, whirring away in the center
of the field, and an empty one takes its place.
Six horses to the header, two each to three header-wagons, eight to the
horse-power on the thrasher, and one to the straw-rake, are all going
at once. One man driving the header, one each to the three wagons, two
feeding and tending the thrasher, one fitting and tying up the
wheat-bags as the cleaned and finished grain comes pouring from the
machine, and one hand at the straw-rake, are all busily at work. Very
speedily the field is cleared, and the just now waving grain lies piled
in a stack of wheat-bags in the center, waiting the departure of the
"thrashing crowd," to be hauled by the farmer to the warehouse.
A little of the straw is taken to the farmhouse, for use as litter in
stable and pig-sty; the rest is set fire to as soon as the wheat is
gone, and a great, unsightly, black patch is the last record in the
field of the year's crop.
The worst features of the "header" are that the wheat has to be much
riper than for the reaper or self-binder, and consequently more is
strewed about the field and lost; the machine cuts the wheat higher up
also, and consequently leaves more weeds to ripen and leave their seed.
Its advantage is the greater breadth of its cut and more rapid rate of
work. In more general use is the reaper or self-binder.
Several of our farmers' wives and daughters can take their turns on
these machines, and give no despicable help to the hardly-worked men.
This year it is expected that twine will be substituted for wire, thus
removing one great objection. A twine-binder was exhibited at the State
Fair at Salem, in full operation, and worked well. Besides getting rid
of the damage and danger of the wire getting into the thrashing-machines,
an additional advantage will be the fostering the growth of flax in the
State, and its working up into the harvest-twine. Be it known that
these counties of the Willamette Valley produce the finest and best of
flax, samples of which secured the highest premium at the Centennial
Exhibition at Philadelphia in 1876.
The culture of flax and its manufacture afford, as far as I can judge,
one of the very best of the various openings at present attracting both
labor and capital to the State. As a mere experiment I had twenty-two
acres of flax sown on the 17th of June, on some land about three miles
from Corvallis which unexpectedly came under my control. In seven weeks
from that day I gathered a handful, indiscriminately, from an average
spot in the field; the fiber of this was seventeen inches long.
The flax that was grown in Linn County, ten miles from here, and used
in the twine-factory there, produced fiber from two feet and a half to
three feet in length. In January last we saw it hackled, and the
workman, a northern Irishman of long experience, told us, as he gave
the hank he held in his hand a dexterous and affectionate twist, that
he had never handled better in ould Ireland.
I should dearly like to see linen-works established here; not only are
linen goods unreasonably dear on the Pacific coast, but it goes against
the grain to see a splendid raw material produced and not turned to the
best account. Flax is not found here to be an exhausting crop. The
farmers who have grown it say, on the contrary, that their best
wheat-crop has followed flax; while to neither one crop nor the other
is any fertilizing agent used.
[Sidenote: _GREEN FOOD FOR COWS._]
One of the great difficulties the farmer finds here is to keep green
food going for his cows during the harvest months. One successful
expedient is to grow a patch of Indian corn or maize. Well cultivated,
and the ground kept stirred and free from weeds, the absence of rain
does not prevent its growth, and its succulent green leaves are eagerly
munched at milking-time by the sweet-breathed cows.
Another crop just introduced here is the vetch, better known as tares,
for the same purpose. Two friends of mine in Marion County, forty miles
north of this place, have found the experiment a very successful one;
the appearance of the two or three acres I put in this last winter goes
far to justify them. Sown in December, about two bushels to the acre,
the growth is very vigorous and the produce heavy.
Continuous cropping in wheat for many years has fostered the growth of
the wild-oats, now a great disfigurement and drawback to the wheat-crop
in this valley. Traveling north to Portland by train, this last
harvest, it was sometimes even hard to say whether wheat or wild-oats
were intended to be grown. Nothing but summer fallowing, thoroughly
applied and regularly followed, can remedy this. I have known a farmer
to send his wheat to the mill, and get back half the quantity in
wild-oats.
To the timothy-hay fields a noxious plant called "tar-weed" is the
great enemy on all damp or low-lying spots. The plant was new to us,
but, once seen, is never forgotten. Fortunately, it matures later than
the timothy, and so does not get its seeds transferred; but it is
almost disgusting to see the skins and noses of the horses and cattle
turned into the field when the hay is off, coated with a glutinous,
viscid gum, to which every speck of dust, every flying seed of weeds,
sticks all too tightly. Plowing up the field, and summer fallowing, are
the only remedies when the tar-weed gets too bad to endure. Tar-weed is
an annual which grows some eight or ten inches high, one stalk from
each seed; short, narrow, hairy leaves of a dingy green and a tiny
colorless flower offer no compensation in beauty for the annoyance it
occasions as you pass through the field, and find boots and trousers
coated with the sticky gum. It is a relief to know that it affects the
valley only, and does not mount even the lower hills of the Cascade and
Coast Ranges.
Before leaving the subject of harvesting I ought to give the cost.
It is not now the question of the capitalist who can afford to pay from
$750 to $1,200 for his thrashing-machine in addition to $320 for his
self-binding harvester to cut his grain; but of the struggling farmer,
who has to make both ends meet by economy and fore-thought.
We will suppose that he has seventy acres of wheat to harvest, and that
it will produce twenty bushels to the acre, a moderate suggestion.
[Sidenote: _COST OF HARVESTING._]
The cutting and binding in sheaves of the crop by a neighbor's
self-binder will cost him $1.25 per acre, the contractor supplying the
wire. The machine will cut and bind nearly ten acres a day; the cost,
therefore, for the seventy acres will be $87.50, or say $90, to be
safe.
The thrashing will cost him six cents a bushel for his wheat, or $84
for his fourteen hundred bushels; and the farmer has to supply food for
the men and horses whose services he hires. This expense will naturally
vary according to the liberality and good management of the farmer and
his wife. It falls heavily on the hostess to provide for seven or eight
hungry men, in addition to her own family; but plentiful food, well
cooked, is no bad investment, for it reacts strongly on both the
quantity and the quality of the work done.
A fair average cost is fifty cents a day for each man, and the same for
each horse. The expense of keep of the cutting and binding, man and
three-horse team for seven days, will, therefore, be $15. On a similar
basis the keep of the "thrashing crowd" and twelve horses, for a day
and a half and something over, will cost just $16.
The total outlay, therefore, on harvesting a wheat-crop of twenty
bushels per acre on seventy acres, _when all services and all machines
have to be hired_, will be $205. Or an average of just fourteen and
two-thirds cents per bushel.
A glance will show what a good investment the self-binding harvester
is, if only well cared for when harvest is over. The farmer who has a
machine of his own saves more than six cents a bushel, and, on a crop
of fourteen hundred bushels only, would pay for the machine in less
than four years.
Let us see, then, what wheat-growing in the Willamette Valley costs--a
matter of deep interest to the intending emigrant, and to farmers in
other parts of the world who have to compete with Oregon-grown wheat.
We will take the same seventy acres, as a reasonable extent for a small
valley farm. Once plowing, at the rate of two acres a day with a
three-horse team, or one and a half acre for a two-horse team--that is
thirty-five days' labor for man and three horses. Twice harrowing, at
the rate of fourteen acres a day--that is ten days' labor for a man and
two horses. Sowing, at the rate of twenty-one acres a day, or three and
a third days' labor for a man and four horses. The seed will cost $98,
at the rate of two bushels per acre and seventy cents a bushel.
The cost, therefore, of growing the crop will be $98 in money, and the
labor of one man for forty-eight days and a third, and of a pair of
horses for sixty-nine and a quarter days.
Putting the farmer's labor into money at the rate of a dollar a day,
and that of his team also at the rate of half a dollar a day for each
horse (and these are here the regular rates of wages), the result will
be $117.50; add the $98 for the seed, and you arrive at a total of
$215.50; or, on seventy acres, an average of three dollars and eight
cents an acre; or, on fourteen hundred bushels, of fifteen and
four-tenths cents per bushel. To this add the fourteen cents and
two-thirds for harvesting and thrashing, and add twelve days' labor for
man and one team of horses hauling the grain to the warehouse: this
represents an additional cost of one cent and seven tenths per bushel,
and the _total cost then is thirty-one cents and seven tenths per
bushel_.
[Sidenote: _COST OF WHEAT-GROWING._]
Remember that this wheat is grown on the farmer's own freehold, which
may have cost him twenty or twenty-five dollars per acre. Do not forget
also a taxation of about fifteen thousandths a year on the total value
of the farmer's estate, as arranged between him and the assessor--land,
stock, implements, and everything else he has beyond about three
hundred dollars' worth of excepted articles. But add no rent or tithe,
and recollect that in this calculation the farmer's own labor and that
of his team are charged at market price against the crop.
The charge for warehousing the wheat till it is sold is four cents a
bushel; and the wheat-sacks, holding two bushels each, will cost from
ten to twelve cents each.
Add, therefore, still nine and a half cents a bushel for subsequent
charges, and the farmer who kept accounts would find his wheat, in the
warehouse and ready for market, represented to him an outlay of
forty-one cents and a quarter a bushel.
If he sells at eighty-five cents a bushel, that gives him a profit of
$8.75 per acre on the portion of his farm in wheat.
CHAPTER VI.
The farmer's sports and pastimes--Deer-hunting tales--A roadside yarn--
Still-hunting--Hunting with hounds--An early morning's sport--Elk--The
pursuit--The kill--Camp on Beaver Creek--Flounder-spearing by torchlight
--Flounder-fishing by day--In the bay--Rock oysters--The evening view
--The general store--Skins--Sea-otters--Their habits--The sea-otter
hunters--Common otter--The mink and his prey.
The Oregon farmer has one great advantage over his Eastern or European
brother. Starting from the first of January, he has until July comes a
good many days wherein he can amuse himself without the detestable
feeling that he is wasting his time and robbing his family. The ground
may be either too hard or too soft for plowing; or he may have sown a
large proportion in the autumn and early winter, and so have little
ground to prepare and sow in spring; and he has little, if any,
stock-feeding to do as yet.
A good supply of hay is the only addition to the pasture-feed that he
need provide; so long, that is, as he is content to work his farm in
Oregon fashion.
Many a one is within reach of the hills where range the deer, and
shares in the feeling strongly expressed to me the other day, "I would
rather work all day for one shot at a deer, than shoot fifty wild-ducks
in the swamps."
As I was riding out to the hills not long since, I met an old friend of
mine returning from a week's hunt in the regions at the back of Mary's
Peak.
[Sidenote: _A ROADSIDE YARN._]
His long-bodied farm-wagon held some cooking-utensils, the remains of
his store of flour and bacon and coffee, his blankets, his rifle, and
the carcasses of his deer. With him were two noble hounds, Nero and
Queen--powerful, upstanding dogs; stag-hounds with a dash of bloodhound
in them; black and tan, with a fleck of white here and there. "Had a
good time, John?" we asked, as we stopped at the top of a long hill for
a chat. "Well, pretty good--ran four deer and killed three; got my
boots full of snow, and bring home a bad cold," he answered. "Where did
you camp?" "Away up above Stillson's, there"--pointing to the
mountain-side just where the heavy fir-timber grew scattering and thin,
and the clean sweep of the sloping crest came down to meet the wood.
"We was there inside of a week, hunting all the time." "See any bear?"
"Just lots of sign, but I guess my dogs haven't lost any bear; the old
dog got too close to one a bit ago, and came home with a bloody head
and a cut on his shoulder a foot long." "Find many deer?" "Had two on
foot at once one day: killed one, and hit the other, but he jumped a
log just as I shot, and I guess I only barked him; I ran after him to
try for another shot before he got clear off down the cañon, but I
tumbled over a log myself in the snow, and just got wet through, and my
boots all filled with it." "Pretty rough up there, isn't it?" "Well, it
wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the fallen timber; but you can't
get through them woods fast when you have to run round the end of one
big log one minute and then duck under another, and then scramble on to
the next for dear life, and half the time get only just in time to see
the last of the deer as he gets into the thick brush." "Better come out
with us after the ducks, John." "Blamed if I do!" came out with an
unction and energy that startled us. "Can't understand what you fellers
can see in that duck-hunting." And, with a cheery good-by, the old boy
spoke to his horses, and off they went down the hill, the brake hard
held, and the wagon pushing the team before it on the rough corduroy
road.
Still-hunting is the more sportsmanlike way; but the deadlier fashion
is this hunting with two or three hounds: the slower they run, the more
chance for the guns.
One day last summer, returning from the bay, we stopped for the night
at a farm by the roadside, among the burned timber. The fern had not
grown up yet, but the hillsides were green and thick with salmon-berry
and thimble-berry growth.
Two or three hounds--not of the very purest breed, but still
hounds--were lounging about the door, and greeted us with a noisy
welcome as we dismounted.
The sons of the house were telling, round the fire before we went to
bed, of the hundred and thirty deer they had already killed this
season. They urged us to have a hunt in the morning, promising to get
all done, so that we might be on the journey again by nine instead of
seven.
Breakfast was over by a quarter to six, and we started. Four in the
party--two farmers' sons and two travelers--and three hounds. The
huntsman carried a Henry rifle of the old model; his younger brother a
rifle of the old school--long, brown, heavy-barreled, throwing a small,
round bullet. Round the huntsman's neck hung an uncouth cow's horn, to
recall the hounds if they strayed too far away.
[Sidenote: _HUNTING WITH HOUNDS._]
The sun was just driving off the early mist as we tramped along the
road by the side of the river, toward the spot where they intended
throwing off. But before we reached the place a quick little hound
threw up her head, and, with a short, sharp cry, dashed into the brush
between us and the river; the other hounds followed, and we heard the
plunge and splash as the deer, so suddenly roused from his lair, took
to his heels.
The hounds took up in full cry along the opposite cañon, which led high
up the hill-side, and the huntsman followed, his jacket changing color
at once as he pushed through the dew-laden brush.
Under the guidance of the younger brother, we crossed the river also,
and, following the farther bank, soon came to an open, grassy spot,
from the upper side of which a view was got of the course of the river
as it wound round the lower side in a graceful sweep. The trees, willow
and alder, were thick on the bank, but here and there we caught more
than a glimpse of the brown water as it hurried along.
One of us being posted here, our guide took the other still higher up
the stream.
Sitting down under the lee of a big old log, its blackness hidden under
the trailing brambles and bright ferns, we waited and watched.
The cry of the hounds came faint on the air from the hill-side above
us, hounds and quarry alike invisible, and, as the sides of the cañon
caught the sounds, echo returned them to us from all points in
turn--fainter and still fainter, until we thought the chase had gone
clear over the mountain into the distant valley beyond; and we sat
watching the two little chipmunks, grown hardy by our stillness, which
were chasing each other in and out among the brambles, then stopping to
watch us with their bright-black, beady eyes.
No sounds at all, and then a far-off music, just audible and no more.
But it comes nearer, and we see our guide creeping toward us, rifle in
hand, his face white with excitement and suspense. He can not resist
the temptation of passing us to get command of the lower reach of the
stream, and we have sympathy with his nineteen years, and take no
notice. Presently a distant splash in the river, and then a scrambling
and splashing along the water's edge, and we catch a glimpse of a
bright-yellow body flitting rapidly between the trees. The young
hunter's rifle cracks, but the deer only gains in speed and dashes by.
There is a clear space of ten or fifteen yards between the tree-trunks
on our right, and, as the deer rushes past, we get a quick sight,
almost like a rabbit crossing a ride in cover at home, and the
Winchester rings out. Whether by luck or wit we will not say, but the
splash ceases suddenly, and, running to the bank, there lies the deer,
shot through the neck close to the head, drawing his last long breath.
He was soon dragged out on to the grassy bank, and a feeling of pity
was uppermost as we admired his graceful limbs, neat hoofs, and shapely
head. In about ten minutes' time came the hounds, their eager cry
ceasing as they caught sight of their quarry, lying motionless before
them. The last hunters' rites were speedily paid, and we went a mile
higher up the stream, to where a brook joined it, flowing quickly down
from the southern hill.
The hounds were again thrown into the brush, and before long were once
more in full cry. This time the shot fell to the young huntsman's
share, and we saw nothing of the chase till, hearing his rifle, and
noticing the ceasing of the voices of the hounds, we pushed our way to
the spot, to find the obsequies of a second deer already in progress.
Leaving one deer on a log by the roadside, with a note attached to it,
asking the stage-driver to pick it up and bring it for us into
Corvallis, when he passed, in a couple of hours' time, we retraced our
steps, mounted our horses, and were on our road, according to promise,
by very soon after nine o'clock.
[Sidenote: _STILL-HUNTING._]
Still-hunting is a more arduous business. The hunter has the work to do
of finding the deer; his rifle must slay it; if he wounds it, he must
follow it on foot; the only help he can get is that of one steady old
dog, which must never stray from his side.
Starting from his camp in the early dawn, he mounts the hill-side,
carefully examining each likely spot of brush as he passes it, taking
special note of each sheltered patch of fern. Very carefully he climbs
the logs, avoiding every dead branch that may crackle under his weight,
and parting the brush before he pushes through. When he reaches the
crest, he follows it along, scrutinizing every cañon closely, for his
prey lies very wisely hidden. At last, he sees a gentle movement in the
brush, and the deer rises from his lair, stretches his neck, arches his
back, and snuffs round at each point of the compass to try if there be
danger in the air. The hunter sees his chance, judges his distance as
cleverly as he can, remembering that in this clear mountain air he is
almost sure to underestimate the range; the shot rings out, and the
deer springs high into the air, to fall crashing down the steep
cañon-side.
The common deer of Western Oregon is the black-tailed _Cervus
Columbianus_. In the early spring many of them leave the mountains
and traverse the valley-land to the closely timbered sloughs and brush
bordering the Willamette River. But, as the valley has been more
closely cultivated and the farms spread in a nearly unbroken line, the
deer have but a poor chance. Some settler is almost sure to get a
glimpse of the visitor as he tops the snake-fence into the oat-field
for his morning feed, and the rifle, or worse, the long muzzle-loading
shot-gun which carries five buckshot at a charge, hangs by or over the
wide fireplace. If not killed outright, the poor beast carries with him
a lingering and dangerous wound. But, away in the hills, I do not hear
that the number is appreciably diminished; many of the hunters get a
deer almost every time they go out. So wasteful are they that they
carry off only the hind quarters, which they call the hams, and the
hide, leaving the fore quarters and head to taint the air.
The white-tailed deer (_Cervus leucurus_) is now very rare. He
frequents the more open spots; he chooses the bare slopes at the top of
Mary's Peak and the Bald Mountain; he is not so shy as his black-tailed
brother, and so falls an easier victim to the rifle. He abounds in the
Cascade Range on the eastern side of the Willamette Valley, where he is
found in the same haunts as the larger mule-deer. The noblest deer we
have in Oregon is the wapiti (_Cervus Canadensis_), invariably known in
this country as elk.
A day or two ago I saw a pair of fresh horns standing in front of one
of the stores in the town, which were quite four feet six inches long,
spread three feet six inches at the tips, and weighed forty pounds by
scale.
[Sidenote: _ELK._]
As we handled them, a dry-looking, bearded, long-booted fellow joined
the group. "Those horns are nothing much," said he; "I killed an elk
some time back in the Alseya country, back of Table Mountain, that when
we set the horns on the ground, tips downward, a feller could walk
upright through them." "Oh, yes," said we; "did you walk through them,
stranger?" "Wal, no, I guess not," said he, "but a feller might, you
know."
The elk go in bands of from seven to twenty in number, and their tracks
through the woods are trampled as though a drove of cows had passed
along. To kill an elk you can not go out before breakfast and return to
dine. You must secure a good guide, who knows the mountains well; you
must take a pack-horse, with food and blankets, as far into the wilds
as the last settlement reaches, and there leave him. Then slinging your
blankets round your shoulders, and packing some flour, bacon, and
coffee, a small frying-pan and coffee-pot, and tin cup, into the
smallest possible compass, and taking your rifle in your hand, not
forgetting the tobacco, you must strike into the woods.
When night comes on, build your fire, fry your bacon, make some damper
in the ashes, smoke the pipe of peace, and lie down under the most
sheltering bush. No snakes will harm you, nor will wolf or cougar
molest you, and the softness of your bed will not tempt you to delay
long between the blankets after the first streak of dawn.
Rise and breakfast, and then on again. All that day, perhaps, you will
have to tramp on and on, seeking one mountain-slope after another; here
skirting brush too thick to penetrate, there walking easily through the
low fern among the massive red and furrowed trunks of the gigantic
firs.
Your guide finds "sign," and reports that it is not fresh enough to
follow; so pursues his course till, looking back on the devious miles
of weary wandering, you can hardly credit it that you have been but
eight-and-forty hours on the trail. But your camp is pitched once more,
and dawn has again roused you from your ferny bed. Listen! the branches
are crackling and rustling close by. You and your guide race for the
spot, rifle in hand, too eager almost to duly remember woodland rules
of caution. Crouching and crawling as you get closer to the sounds,
peering through the fern, you see--what? Six, eight, ten, twelve,
seventeen great beasts; one with enormous head, two others with smaller
but still imposing antlers; the rest the mothers of the herd.
Unconscious of danger, they browse round; both rifles speak together,
and the monarch and one of the smaller stags lie prostrate. You stay
hidden; the deer group together in a confused crowd, too foolish and
excited to think of flight. Again your comrade fires, and another
falls, and yet another, till, in disgust at the needless slaughter, you
step from your shelter, and the survivors rush madly away, crashing
through the wood as if a herd of cattle were in flight.
I have known men, not usually cruel or excitable, get so maddened in a
scene like this, that seven great elk lay dead together before they
thought of stopping firing; and yet they knew that from the wilderness
they stood in it was impossible to carry off the meat of even one!
Many hunters prefer elk-meat to any deer; others think the fawn of the
white-tailed deer the best eating in the world.
[Sidenote: _CAMP ON BEAVER CREEK._]
One night last summer we camped out on Beaver Creek, nine miles south
of the Yaquina, along the beach. We had been trout-fishing all day from
a canoe, and were glad to stretch out before the fire limbs that had
been somewhat cramped from the need of balancing the rocking craft with
every cast of the fly. Before the fire stood roasting a row of trout,
held in place over the hot embers by a split willow wand. We heard
voices approaching through the wood, and presently a half-breed hunter
and two friends of ours came in sight. They had been out two days after
elk, but failed to find. On the way back they came across a doe and
well-grown fawn; the latter they had killed, and brought it in. It was
speedily skinned and cut up, and a loin, shoulder, and leg were
skewered on sticks and roasting in the blaze. No bad addition to our
fish supper, deer-meat and trout; the coffee was the only contribution
of civilization to the meal, and a merry evening, extended far into the
night, followed, as the logs were piled on, and the ruddy glow and
showers of sparks lighted up the wild but comfortable scene, dancing in
the lights and shadows of the overhanging trees.
Did you ever hear of flounder-spearing by torch-light? I have tried it,
and do not propose to try it again. Yaquina Bay abounds in flounders--a
flat fish resembling the turbot more than the flounder; red-spotted
like the plaice, and weighing from one pound up to five or six. After
nightfall, when the evening tide has just turned to come in, and the
sandy channels and banks are all but bare, away from the main
deep-water, channels of the bay, you may see tiny specks of distant
lights moving on the black water. These are the Indian canoes. Take a
skiff from the beach by the hotel at Newport, and row out to sea. Here
are two or three lights near together, under Heddon's Point, on the
south shore. Row on till the lights in the hotel are blended into one,
and the dark outlines against the sky of the overhanging cliffs are
lost to sight. No sound reaches you in the darkness, but the recurring
rattle of the sculls in the rowlocks, and the soft lapping of the tide.
The lights you are seeking grow brighter, and you distinguish the glare
of the fire and the moving, dim form of the fisherman. The canoe, some
sixteen feet long, is boarded roughly across amidships, and on a thin
layer of sand and wood-ashes burns a pine-knot fire. The Indian stands
in the bows, his back to the fire; as you look, he poles himself along
by driving the handle of his long spear into the sand underlying the
shallow channel. His fire burns dim for a moment, and he turns and with
the same spear-handle he trims it; then, stooping, throws on it a fresh
lump of the resinous pine. The fire dulls for an instant, then flares
with a bright light, and a thick puff of smoke rises into the air, on
which the glare falls strongly. The short, athletic form of the Indian,
and his swarthy, flattened features, glittering eyes, and bushy hair,
stand out for a moment in strong relief. He turns, and again looks
keenly into the black water. A moment, and he strikes, the spear making
the water flash as it dips swiftly in. Yes, he has it, and the frail
boat quivers as he balances it ere he lifts out his struggling prey,
and, with a deft, quick motion, throws the fish off, flapping and
bouncing on a heap of victims in the stern of the canoe. Without a
smile or word, or an instant's respite, he turns again and resumes his
keen watch, moving to the shallower waters as the tide makes.
[Sidenote: _FLOUNDER-SPEARING BY TORCHLIGHT._]
I had a friend who was an enthusiast in the sport, and he beguiled me
to join him. About eight we started, and about two in the morning we
returned. Warm as the weather was, I was chilled to the bone; and the
worst of it was, I had not succeeded in striking one single fish. My
friend armed me with a long spear and a lantern, and deposited me in
the stern of the boat; similarly provided, he knelt in the bow and
pushed the skiff along from bank to bank of sand and mud. My light did
not burn brightly enough to show more than the dimmest outlines of the
fish, just off the sandy bottom of the bay. Here scuttled an old crab,
scared by the novel light, and hurrying for shelter, crab-fashion, to
the nearest bunch of weeds. There was a school of tiny fish, their
silver sides glancing as the ray reached them; and there, again, a
quick, white flash betrayed the sea-perch, not waiting to be spoken to.
Every now and then my friend darted his long spear at what he said were
the flounders, but I could see nothing with my untrained eyes but a
gray cloud and a gentle stirring of the sand. He did get one fish at
last; and I, being too proud to say how bored and tired I was, waited
sleepily for the rising tide to drive us home. How glad was I when he
announced that the water was now too deep to see distinctly, and how
thankfully I stumbled up the slimy steps by the little wharf and in to
bed!
[Sidenote: _FLOUNDER-FISHING BY DAY._]
Flounder-fishing in the daytime is good sport. Find out the nearest
camp of Indians there on the beach, crowded under a shelter of sea-worn
planks, a few fir-boughs, and a tattered blanket; the smell of tainted
fish pollutes the air, and a heap of flounders, each with the
triangular spear-mark, attests the skill of last night's fishermen.
"Any fish, muck-a-muck?" say you, blandly. Without turning her head, or
raising herself from her crouching posture by the old black kettle,
stewing on a tiny fire of sticks in the center of the hut, the old
crone grunts out, "Halo" (none). "Want two bit?" you say, nowise
discouraged. Money has magic power nowadays, and she rises slowly and
shuffles past you to where a rag or two are drying in the sun on a
stranded log. From under the clothes she brings out a dirty basket of
home make, and in it is a heap of greenish, struggling prawns. She
turns out two or three handfuls into the meat-tin you have providently
brought, holds out her skinny hand for the little silver pieces, and
buries herself in her shanty without another word.
Fit out your fishing-lines and come aboard; the tide has turned, and
the wind blows freshly across the bay. The surf keeps up its continuous
roar on the rocky reefs outside. On the sand-bank in front of you sits
a row of white and gray gulls preening themselves in the morning sun; a
couple of ospreys are sailing overhead in long, graceful, hardly-moving
sweeps, and away out by the north head hangs an eagle in the air,
watching the ospreys, that he may cheat them of the fish he looks to
see them catch.
Set the sail and let her go free, and away rushes the little boat,
tired of bobbing at her moorings by the pier--away across the bay, to
where the south beach sinks in gentle, sandy slope. Take care of that
waving weed, or we shall be on the edge of the bank! Here we are, and
down goes the kedge in six feet of water, close to but just clear of
that same edge.
Now for the bait; tie it on tightly with that white cotton, or the
flounders will suck it off so fast that you will have nothing else to
do but keep replacing it. Keep your sinkers just off the bottom, and a
light hand on the line. A gentle wriggle, a twitch, and you have him;
haul him in steadily. Up he comes, a four-pounder, tossing and flopping
in the bottom of the boat. Here comes a great crab, holding on to the
bait grimly, and suffering you to catch him by one of his lower legs
and toss him in. Now for a sea-perch; what a splendid color!--bands of
bright scarlet scales, interlaced with silver. But what is this? A
stream of water flows from the fish's mouth, and in it come out five or
six little ones, the image of their parent. I wonder if it is true (and
I think it is) that the little ones take refuge inside their parent in
any time of need? The fishermen on this coast call this the
"squaw-fish," from this sheltering, maternal instinct.
But we have been here long enough; the water is too deep, the fish have
gone off the feed, and we shall have to beat back, lucky if we do in
two hours the distance we ran in half an hour on our way.
The tide has run nearly out this evening: a good chance for some
rock-oysters. Get your axe and come along. Where? Along the coast
toward Foulweather; we shall find those long reefs almost bare. We
climb over the big reef on the north head of the harbor, under the
lighthouse hill, and wind in and out on the hard sand among the rough
rocks, all crusted over their sides with tiny barnacles. There is
little kelp or seaweed here. The surf beats too powerfully in this
recess, away from the shelter of the great outer reef.
See that group of Indian women and children away out there, barelegged,
digging with their axes in the rock. They are after the rock-oysters
too.
Now is our chance. Jump on to that rock before the next wave comes in,
and climb on to the reef beyond it and get out to low-water mark. Here
we are. Do you see that crevice? Chip in and wrench the piece off; the
rock is soft enough sandstone to cut with that blunt old axe. Here is
the spoil--soft mollusks, are they not, and not pretty to look at? But
wait for the soup at dinner to-morrow before you pronounce on them. And
we dig, and then venture farther out and farther, till the turn of the
water warns us to get back.
The evening is closing in; the sun has set, leaving a hot, red glow,
where his copper disk has just sunk beyond the Pacific horizon; and the
eye wanders out from the infant waves, at foot just tinged with red,
and reflecting the light as they move up in turn to catch it, to the
blue and still darker blue water beyond, out to the sharp indigo line
where sky and water meet.
No land between us and the Eastern world; the mind can hardly grasp the
idea of the vast stretch of sea across which this new world reaches
forth to join hands with old China and Japan.
[Sidenote: _SEA-OTTERS._]
Before we go to bed, step for a moment into the quaint general store
all but adjoining the hotel. What a medley! Flour and axes; bacon and
needles and thread; fishing-lines and bullock-hides; writing-paper and
beaver-traps; milk-pails and castor-oil; tobacco in plenty, and skins;
and a smell compounded of all these and more, but chiefly the product
of that batch of skins hanging from that big nail in front of you, and
lying piled on the bench by your side. Take them down, and turn them
over; Bush won't mind. And we shake hands with the proprietor, coming
from the darkness at the back. He has borne an honorable limp ever
since the war, and has never yet quite recovered from illness and
wounds. He swears by Newport as the best, and healthiest, and most
promising place in the world. "Say," he whispers in our ear, "got a
sea-otter skin to-day!" "Where did you get it, Bush, and who from, and
how much did you have to pay for it?" "Got it from the Indians," he
says; "they shot it away up by Salmon River, beyond Foulweather, and
had to give more dollars for it than I care to say." "Where did they
get it?" "Where they always do, away out in the kelp among the surf."
"Don't they ever come to land?" "No," he answers, "they live, and
sleep, and breed out in the kelp. But if you want to know all about
them, why don't you ask Charlie here? He has been trading this summer,
and last winter and spring, up by Gray's Inlet in Washington Territory,
where they are plenty." So saying, he calls up the captain of the
steam-schooner lying at her moorings by the quay.
From this man, and from hunters and Indians all along the coast, I have
gathered many a tale of the habits of the sea-otter, and of the fate of
those that have been killed; for the rarity of the beast, and the
beauty and value of its skin, interest these men, both from their
hunters' instinct and from the mere money business of it. I know also
that scientific naturalists desire all the facts they can get, that
such facts may be placed on record before this connecting link between
the seals and the otters perishes from the earth. I believe that the
sea-otter (_Enhydra marina_) is only met with on this north Pacific
coast, along which it is gradually being driven northward by constant
hunting. Thirty years ago they were common along the Oregon sea-line;
now the killing of a single specimen is noted in the newspapers; and
hardly more than one a year is generally met along the coast. They
inhabit the belt of tangle and kelp, which is found a few hundred yards
from the beach, beyond the shore-line of sand or rock. They are never
seen ashore, or even on isolated rocks; when the sea is warm and still,
they live much on the surface, playing in the weed; sometimes,
supporting their fore-feet on the thickest part of the wavy mass, they
raise their head and shoulders above the weed, and gaze around. Parents
and children live together in the weed; I have not heard of more than
two young ones being seen in the family group. The skeleton is about
four feet long: the fore-paws are short, strong, and webbed; almost in
the same proportions as a mole's; the hinder extremities are flappers,
like the seal's. The hide is twice the size of the common otter's; the
fur the most beautiful, soft, thick, and glossy in the world--dark-brown
outside, and almost yellow beneath, like the seal's. They are sometimes
shot from a steam-schooner, like my friend's, lying-to at a safe
distance, but much more commonly from the shore. Along the coast of
Gray's Inlet several hunters make a regular business of it. Quite high
watch-towers of timber are built just above high-water mark, and on
these the hunter climbs with his long-range rifle, and watches. He
provides a man on horseback to follow any otter he may be fortunate
enough to kill, up or down the coast, and take possession of it when
thrown up on the beach by the tide. These men seem to prefer the Sharp
rifle for accuracy of long-range fire. That they are no mean proficients
may be judged when I mention that one hunter killed upward of sixty last
year; the skins, or most of them, my friend the captain bought, at
prices, varying with size and condition, of from fifty to one hundred
dollars each. I am told that about August the young ones are seen in
company with their parents; but that the otters may be met with at
almost any time in the year when the sea is calm enough for them to be
marked among the tangle.
[Sidenote: _COMMON OTTER. MINK._]
The common otter (_Lutra Californica_) abounds in the tidal
portions of the rivers along this coast. Two Indians, whom I know, shot
six in an hour or two among the rocks bordering a little cove some
eight miles north of the Yaquina, into which a little river empties
itself. The skins are not quite so large as those of the English otter,
but the fur is valuable. The mink (_Putorius vison_) resembles the
polecat, but is nearly twice as large, with nearly black fur; it
frequents the borders of the streams, and takes to the water with the
greatest readiness. We have rabbits in Oregon (_Lepus Washingtonii_)
not much more than half the size of the common rabbit of Europe, but
similar in habits and place of residence. It is on these that the mink
chiefly preys. I was walking my horse along a quiet stretch of sandy
road, between thick bushes, returning from the Yaquina one day in
summer, when a rabbit darted out before my horse and down the road for
a hundred yards as hard as he could go; then into the bushes, then back
into the road, and up the other side, close to me, evidently in the
greatest fear. I stopped to see. Presently, a mink came out where poor
Bunny first appeared--nose to the ground, and hunting like a ferret. He
followed the rabbit's track step by step down the road, into the
bushes, back again close to me, then into the brush; and then out came
poor rabbit again, the heart gone out of him. Stopping an instant, then
going on a few steps, stopping again, and at last, trembling, he
bunched himself into his smallest compass in the middle of the road,
and there awaited his fate. Not losing one twist or turn, patient,
fierce, inexorable, the enemy followed, not raising his nose from the
trail till he was almost on his prey. Then a quick bound; the rabbit
was seized by the head, almost without a struggle, and dragged nearly
unresisting into the bushes down toward the river's edge, while I
passed on, musing on the points of resemblance between cousins on
opposite sides of the world. Fortunately, these rabbits are very
scarce. They are hardly seen in the valley; they live solely in the
woods, never in or about the cultivated ground.
CHAPTER VII.
Birds in Oregon--Lark--Quail--Grouse--Ruffed grouse--Wild-geese--
Manoeuvres in the air--Wild-ducks--Mallard--Teal--Pintail--Wheat-duck
--Black duck--Wood-duck--Snipe--Flight-shooting--Stewart's Slough--
Bitterns--Eagles--Hawks--Horned owls--Woodpeckers--Blue-jays--Canaries
--The canary that had seen the world--Blue-birds--Bullfinches--
Snow-bunting--Humming-birds at home.
I have read comments on the scarcity of birds in America. This may be
true in some parts; here, in Oregon, we have abundance, except of
singing-birds. Of these last the meadow-lark is almost the sole
example; and his song, in its fragmentary notes and minor key, does not
even remind one distantly of his English cousin, who always seems to
express by his gush of complete and perfect melody the joy that fills
his being:
"... In a half sleep we dream,
And dreaming hear thee still, O singing lark!
That singest like an angel in the clouds."
The quail (_Oreortyx pictus_) has one long, sweet whistle, with the
peculiarity that it is almost impossible to follow up and find the bird
by his note; it sounds so close that you expect the bird is standing on
the nearest log, but you look in vain; then it calls you from a hundred
yards off, among the brush; again from the other side, and you try to
drive him out of the left-hand thicket; but all the while your dog is
working in the wood twenty yards ahead. You turn your head just in time
to see a dark-brown bird flit like a flash across the road and
disappear.
In the shooting-season the quail is one of the hardest birds to kill.
They run in front of the dog in the brushwood with the greatest speed,
then rise and fly for fifty or a hundred yards like lightning, and then
take to their heels again.
In harvest-time the grouse (_Tetrao obscurus_), here called the
partridge, come down from the fir-woods to the grain-fields and give
good sport. They frequent the corners of the fields, nearest to the
brush, and as the brood rise, ten or a dozen in number, and wing
quickly across to shelter in the wood, it reminds one of old times and
of partridge-shooting in Norfolk or Suffolk ten years ago.
When the grain is cleared off, the grouse keep to the slips and corners
of brush nearest to the field for some weeks. As the season advances,
they take to the fir-woods again, and lose their interest to the
sportsmen by becoming in the first place almost impossible to find, and
next worthless for the table from their turpentine taste. After the
grouse have left the harvest-fields and got back into the woods, the
shot-gun sportsman must be quick indeed to shoot as the bird rises and
makes for the nearest tall fir. There he perches and defies you. The
rifle-shot waits till the bird has taken up its place on the bough and
peers over to look after the dog; then he shoots and often kills,
though the head and neck of a grouse thirty or forty yards off is not a
very big mark.
The ruffed grouse (_Bonassa Sabinensis_), here called the pheasant, is
a fourth larger than the common grouse, with beautiful bright-brown
plumage, dashed with yellow, and a spreading tail. He frequents the
oak-grubs and scattering brush of the foot-hills, and is found all
through the less dense portions of the woods of the Coast Range. He
gives good sport, rising to the dog and giving a longer flight, and
offering the sportsman a fairer chance.
[Sidenote: _WILD GEESE._]
As soon as the first half of October has passed by, the cry of the
wild-geese is heard far away in the sky, and their V-shaped companies
are seen winging their southward course. These first advance-guards do
not stay, and scarcely ever descend low enough to tempt even the most
sanguine shot. But in a week or so the main army arrives. Following up
the general course of the Willamette River, they betake themselves to
the sand- and gravel-bars of the river to spend the night, leaving in
the early morning for the bare harvest-fields, where, after a vast
amount of debate and consideration, and many long, circling flights,
they descend to feed. Now every kind of firearms sees the light, and
the gun-maker of the town begins to reap his harvest.
As you ride along the country roads in the valley, you see a lurking
form behind almost every fence. It is a kind of sport exactly suiting
the average Oregonian, who likes his game to come to him, and is great
at watching for it.
Following with your eye the line of timber that betokens the river's
course, you see six or seven great flocks of geese (_Bernicla
Canadensis_) on the wing at once; some in the far distance, mere
specks in the air, others near enough for you to overhear their
conversation, which goes on continually. However confused the crowd
that rises from the river, it is but a few seconds until order is
taken. One flies to the head to guide the band, others take places on
either side behind him; regular distances are kept, leaving just enough
room for free motion, but no more. Inside the head of the V, and
generally on its left side, fly two or three geese in a little
independent group. I think it is from these that the officer appears in
turn to lead the van.
How many times have I watched their evolutions with delight!--all the
keener that the band was coming my way; that the quick, regular beats
of the wings had nearly stopped, and the spread pinions showed they
were about alighting in the very field under the snake-fence of which I
crouched, double-barrel in hand.
The voices grow louder; the conversation and debate is perfectly
confusing; they are near enough for you to note the outstretched necks
and quick eyes glancing from side to side; the blue-gray colors on the
wings, with the black bars, are plain. Waiting till they have passed
over, some thirty yards to the right--for it is of no avail to shoot at
them coming to you (the thick feathers turn the shot)--here go two
barrels at the nearest birds. What a commotion! There is a perfect
uproar of voices all declaiming at once, and away they scatter as hard
as they can, resuming regular order in a hundred yards, but leaving one
poor bird flapping on the ground. My dog runs to pick him up, but can't
make out the big bird, and comes inquiringly back to know what on earth
I mean by shooting at birds he surely has seen--"Yes, about the
home-pond, master--what _are_ you about?"
The geese are sorely destructive to the autumn-sown wheat; the farmer
welcomes the sportsman from selfish motives, as well as from his usual
hospitality, when he sees him, gun in hand.
The wild-geese are nearly all of one variety (_Bernicla Canadensis_); a
few white ones (_Anser hyperboreus_) appear now and then, prominent
among their gray brethren by their snowy plumage. Wild-ducks come next,
and by the end of the first week of November the sportsman's carnival
is in full swing. First come the mallard and his mate (_Anas boschus_),
in small bands; next follow the whistling and the common teal
(_Querquedula cyanoptera_ and _Nettion Carolinensis_); then the pintail
(_Dafila acuta_) in great bands; following these, the wheat-duck, or
gadwall (_Chaulelasmus streperus_), in multitudes; then, at a short
interval, the redhead (_Fuligula Athya Americana_) and the black duck
(_Fulix affinis_). These stay with us all the winter, as do also the
wood-duck (_Dix sponsor_), and until the crocuses cover the wild ground
once again. We have the snipe (_Gallinago Wilsonii_) in our
marsh-lands, but not in large numbers, and one specimen of the great
solitary snipe has been killed.
The snipe have a curious instinct for knowing exactly how many one
piece of marsh will support. Near this house is a wet corner, fed by
springs and also by ditches. The extent is about an acre; it is covered
with rose-bushes and alder-shoots, and with rushes. In this are usually
three snipe, never more. Several times each winter we have cleared the
three out, but in a week or so successors fill their places.
[Sidenote: _FLIGHT-SHOOTING._]
Our favorite sport in winter is "flight-shooting"--killing the geese
and ducks as they fly round the swamps at evening, preparing to settle
for their night's feed. This comes in after the day's work is pretty
nearly done. Mounting our ponies about four o'clock, we canter off to a
big swamp about three miles off. Through this flows a little stream,
whose water swells with the winter rains into two little lakes. Long
grass and sedges cover the ground, and a good many patches of reeds
give shelter.
Arriving just as the sun is setting behind the mountain south of Mary's
Peak, his departing rays strike in brilliant red and yellow light along
the surface of the pools, filling the valley with quivering, purple
haze. We post ourselves at long intervals along the marsh, crouching
while the light lasts, among the reeds. Just as the red light fades
away, a group of black specks is seen against the sky, rising from the
fir-timber that bounds the distant river. They grow quickly larger, and
presently the rapid beat of wings is heard, as they whistle through the
air overhead. The first flight round is high up in the sky, as they
take a general view. Circling at the far end of the swamp, back they
come, this time nearer to the ground. Just as you are debating if you
dare risk the shot, whish! whish! comes the big band of teal close
behind you, dashing by with a swoop worthy of the swiftest swallow, and
defying all but a chance shot into the thick of them. By this time the
big ducks are past, your chance at them is gone, and you hear in a
second or two the bang! bang! from lower down the swamp, telling of one
of your comrades' luck. Here come some more--right, left, overhead,
behind--till an unlucky cartridge sticks in your gun, and the scene
falls on an unhappy wretch cursing his luck, and devoting himself, his
gun, his powder, the ducks, the swamp, and all Oregon to the infernal
deities!
Night has fallen; the pale gold-and-green light has faded from the sky;
the dark purple line of mountains has turned into a solid mass of the
darkest neutral tint; one star after another has shown out overhead, to
be reflected in the still, shallow water in which you stand.
A low voice calls out of the darkness, "Time to go home, I suppose."
And a quick canter along the muddy road, possible only because the
horses know every step of the way, soon brings us home to a late meal,
where all our battles are fought over again, and the spoils, in their
various beauty, are proudly shown. Among the game-birds may be included
the blue crane, which flies in bands of from ten to twenty, high in the
air. But it does not remain here, and is only killed by chance.
The other day a bittern (_Ardeidæ minor_) was shot--a bird somewhat
larger than the European bittern, but exactly resembling it in all
essentials.
[Sidenote: _EAGLES, HAWKS, HORNED OWLS._]
Eagles and hawks we have in abundance, and of all sizes. The former are
destructive to the young lambs even in the valley. How bold they are,
too! One flew into a bush the other day as I rode across a wide
pasture, and watched me as I came close by him, never taking to flight,
though I passed within twenty yards of him--near enough to note the
defiant, proud expression of his great black eye. Last summer we lost
chicken after chicken. I could not make out the robber, having taken
precautions against rats, _et id genus omne_. One night, about ten
o'clock, our English servant burst into the sitting-room with--"Sir,
sir, bring your gun; here's a heagle come down on to the roof of the
barn!" One of us ran out with a gun, and made out a big bird against
the starlit sky. A shot, and down it came on the roof of the stable,
making the horses jump and rattle their halter-blocks. It turned out to
be a splendid specimen of the great horned owl. After his death the
depredations among the chickens ceased for the time. Very often a pair
of owls, just like the English barn-owl, are seen beating the swampy
ground, I suppose after rats; quartering the ground, and examining
every sedgy patch like a setter-dog.
Two kinds of woodpeckers are common; the smaller sort abounds in the
burned timber, and again and again in the course of the day's ride you
hear the tap, tap, and see the little fellow propping himself against
the black trunk with his strong tail. The larger woodpecker is a
beautiful bird, with a bright brown-and-gray speckled and barred chest,
and a scarlet head and top-knot. These birds are eagerly sought by the
Indians, who adorn themselves with the red feathers, and use them also
as currency among themselves in various small transactions.
The blue-jays are as noisy in our woods as in other parts of the world,
and as inquisitive and impertinent.
In summer we have flights of little yellow-birds just like canaries.
One of my boys brought his pet canary from England in a little cage. He
cared for and tended it all the long journey, and until we were on
board the steamer coming up the Willamette. In the course of the
morning he thought he would clean out his bird's cage. The open door
was too strong a temptation. Out slipped the captive, and, after a
short flight or two in the cabin, away he went into the outer air and
perched on the upper rail of the pilot-house. After a moment he caught
sight of a flock of little yellow-birds flitting round a big tree by a
farmhouse on the bank. Off flew the little traveler to join them, and
the last we saw of him was that he was joyfully joining the new
company, while his master stood disconsolately watching the escape of
his favorite.
Flocks of little bluebirds (_Sialia Mexicana_) frequent the town, the
whole of their plumage a bright metallic blue. Among them is sometimes
seen the golden oriole (_Icterus Bullockii_), making, with his orange
jacket and black cap, a brilliant contrast with his blue companions.
Along the fences, and in the clumps of bushes filling their angles, is
the favorite haunt of a pretty bird (_Pipilo Oregonus_), in plumage
almost exactly resembling the European bullfinch; like him too in
habit, as he accompanies you along the road in little, jerky flights.
[Sidenote: _HUMMING-BIRDS AT HOME._]
When the winter day has closed in, and the lamps are lighted, several
times the little snow-bunting (_Iunco Oregonus_) has come tapping at
the window, attracted by the light, and seeking refuge in the warmth
within from the rough wind and driving rain without. In the
honeysuckle, which covers the veranda and climbs over the face of the
house, two sets of humming-birds (_Selasphorus rufus_) made their home.
It was pretty to watch them as they poised themselves to suck the
honey, and then darted off to one flower after another among the beds,
returning every instant to their nests, close to our heads, as we sat
out in the cool evening air. We were taken in several times by the
humming-bird moths, which imitated exactly the motions of the birds.
CHAPTER VIII.
Up to the Cascades--Farming by happy-go-lucky--The foot-hills--Sweet
Home Valley--Its name, and how deserved and proved--The road by the
Santiam--Eastward and upward--Timber--Lower Soda Springs--Different
vegetation--Upper Soda Springs--Mr. Keith--Our reception--His home and
surroundings--Emigrants on the road--The emigrant's dog--Off to the
Spokane--Whence they came--Where they were bound--Still eastward--Fish
Lake--Clear Lake--Fly-fishing in still water--The down slope east--
Lava-beds--Bunch-grass--The valleys in Eastern Oregon--Their products
--Wheat-growing there--Cattle-ranchers--Their home--Their life--In
the saddle and away--Branding-time--Hay for the winter--The Malheur
reservation--The Indians' outbreak--The building of the road--When,
how, and by whom built--The opening of the pass--The history of the
road--Squatters--The special agent from Washington--A sham survey.
After recovering from a sharp attack of illness last fall, I was sent
away for change of air. I fancied the mountain air would revive me
speedily; so we resolved to travel up to the Upper Soda Springs, in the
Cascades. It was two days' journey from the valley. The first twenty
miles led us across the rich valley portion of Linn County. We had to
pass through the little town of Lebanon.
Near here we saw an illustration of farming carelessness that I must
mention. The harvest of 1879 was marked by the first recorded instance
of rust attacking the spring-sown wheat. The spring was unusually late,
and when the rains ceased, about the 25th of May, the summer sun broke
forth at once with unclouded warmth and splendor. The lately sown grain
sprang up in marvelous vigor, and the crop promised abundantly for the
farmer, when, just before the wheat hardened in the ear, the rust
seized it, the leaf took a yellow tinge, and the grain shriveled up.
The valley portions of Linn, Lane, Marion, and Benton Counties
suffered, the first-named the most severely.
In our ride across the valley we passed several fields which were
standing abandoned and unreaped; the preparations for next year's crop
were in active progress; in one great wheat-field we saw the farmer,
with his broad-cast grain-distributor fixed in his wagon, sowing his
seed among the untouched, shriveled crop! And the wonder is that the
crop of this year, all through this stricken district, was unusually
fine for both quality and quantity of wheat.
I do not know that a stronger fact could be adduced in proof of the
still wonderful fertility of this Willamette Valley than that it should
be possible this year to reap a good crop, grown on ground that was
neither reaped, plowed, nor rolled--nothing done but to cast abroad the
seed and harrow it lightly in.
Soon after passing Lebanon, eighteen miles from here, we reached the
foot-hills of the Cascades; round, swelling, sandy buttes; sometimes
covered with short pasture-grass; generally bearing a growth of
oak-brush, sprinkled with firs of a moderate size.
[Sidenote: _SWEET HOME VALLEY._]
We slept at the first toll-gate, at the other side of Sweet Home
Valley. This pretty vale deserved its name. Some five or six miles long
by about two in width, there was a good expanse of fertile bottom-land,
plowed and cultivated; all round the hills rose, lightly timbered in
part, affording pasture for the cattle. We were told that the first
five settlers were bachelors, and called the Valley "Sweet Home" to
induce their lady-loves to follow them so far into what was then a
wilderness. That their invitation succeeded, I judge from the fact that
the valley has now three hundred inhabitants; that the settlement was a
permanent one, I judge from the fact that a neat schoolhouse, well
filled with scholars, is now the chief ornament of the valley.
The road followed on along the course of the Santiam River, now
becoming a rapid mountain-stream, with many a rock and ripple. By the
side of every farmhouse stood one or two "fish-poles," betokening that
the river was of use as well as ornament to the dwellers by its banks.
The road now led us straight eastward to the mountains, whose
fir-crowned summits frowned on us from every side. Here and there a
little valley nestling among the hills had been reclaimed to the use of
man; and many a neat little farm and well-grown orchard, with fenced
grain-fields and hay-fields, witnessing to the successful labor of the
owner, smiled on us as we passed.
On nearly all appeared the magic words: "Hay and oats sold here. Good
accommodation for campers"; betokening that we were on the main road of
travel, and that the farmers found a ready market for their produce at
their very door.
At one farm stood a set of Fairbanks's scales, for weighing and
apportioning the wagon-loads before undertaking the passage of the
mountains. The ascent was soon commenced; indeed, we had mounted
several hundred feet before we were well aware of it, so good was the
engineering of the road.
[Sidenote: _LOWER SODA SPRINGS._]
The timber grew larger on either side and ahead; no burned timber here,
but massive, heavy growths, extending mile after mile, of spruce,
hemlock, and pine, interspersed with many a cedar, tall, straight, and
strong. Very little undergrowth of brush; a good deal of brake-fern and
of grass; and by the sides and along the edges of the little gullies
and cañons that we crossed, the large maidenhair-fern grew in beautiful
profusion. We were never far from the Santiam, and now and again the
roar and rush of water told us of little falls and rapids in the
stream. Always ascending, here with a long, straight stretch of grading
cut into the hill-side, there with a winding course to cheat the hill
that rose to bar our road; down a short distance, then along the little
valley with its farm, then up again, till we gained the brow
overlooking the settlement at the Lower Soda Springs. The little wooden
houses, with galleries overhanging the rocky stream; the heavy
fir-woods clothing the hill-sides; the abundant ferns and creeping
plants growing down to the water's edge; the abrupt outlines of the
rocks in places too steep for vegetation--all reminded us of Norway,
and of happy tours in bygone years. And the welcome we received from
the hospitable innkeepers served to strengthen the remembrance.
We went down to drink at the soda-springs. Long, inclined ledges of
white and gray rocks lead down to the river's edge; there, within a few
feet of the sweet, running water, so near that the rise of one foot in
actual level of the stream would overrun the spring, we found the
alkaline spring, welling out from a hole six inches across in one of
the wide ledges of gray rock. I never yet tasted a mineral water that
was nice, and it seems as if the medical value of a spring varied
exactly with its nastiness; so judged, I should say that the Lower Soda
Springs were very valuable. A few hours more, over broken country,
which grew wilder as we advanced, brought us in twelve miles' travel to
our destination. The last few miles entered a burned timber-patch,
where the black trunks either towered high into the air or lay supine,
rotting by degrees into yellow mold. The vegetation had a different
aspect from the Coast Range; a great feature in the brush was the
abundance of elder-bushes, then covered with blue-gray berries, and the
flourishing dogwood-trees, whose branches bore a quantity of large,
white flowers and also of scarlet fruit. We had crossed the Santiam
several times, here by timber bridges, there by fords.
The excellence of the road, its freedom from rocks and "chuck-holes,"
alike surprised and pleased us, and my poor bones would have told a sad
tale if all the stories of "mere wagon-track" had been founded in even
the semblance of fact.
[Sidenote: _MR. KEITH._]
We mounted the little rise which brought us in sight of Upper Soda
Springs. On the left of the road stood a barn; on the right, three
little detached wooden huts, from one of which the thin, blue smoke was
rising and betokened the habitation of the owner. A thin, bent, elderly
man issued from the barn with a big bundle of hay in his arms, as we
drove up, and came across to meet us. "Mr. Keith?" I asked. "I have a
letter of introduction from a friend of yours, and we wish to stay with
you for a week or ten days." "You read it to me," was the answer; "I
haven't got my spectacles." So I read it. "Well, sir, can we stay?" "I
don't mind men, but I can't abear women," was the somewhat forbidding
response, as my wife smiled across from the back of the carriage. "I
don't think you need mind my wife, Mr. Keith; she won't give you any
extra trouble." "I don't mind cooking for men--they don't know any
better; but, as for the women, they are always thinking how much better
they could do it." However, we settled it amicably, and took possession
of the third little hut, where the bundle of hay was soon shaken out on
to the two standing bed-places on either side. We made great friends
with the old gentleman, whose roughness was all on the outside, and who
slew his chickens, and cooked his cabbages, and stewed his dried plums
and apples for us without stint, and in a manner that no woman could
object to.
The situation was most romantic--just under the shadow of a huge body
of rugged rocks on one side, while on the other Mr. Keith's little
fields, from which all the dogwood and elderberry bushes had not been
grubbed out, led to the edge of the bank overhanging the Santiam. The
river here is a beautiful stream, rocky and broken, deep and shallow,
by turns, with a trout under every stone.
Mr. Keith's garden was a few steps from the house, in a little bottom;
although so high up above sea-level (about twenty-five hundred feet, I
believe), the vegetables were as fine as I ever saw, and the
grape-vines, trained over a trellis in front of the house, were loaded
with fruit.
Here, among the hills, trout-rod for me and sketch-book and
water-colors for my wife, we spent ten happy days. There was no lack of
company, for, besides our old host, all the passers-by stopped at the
house. Hardly a day went, even at that late period of the season,
without from six to ten wagons passing, on their way from Western and
Southern Oregon to the wide plains and fertile valleys of Eastern
Oregon and Washington Territory.
The self-reliance, the absolute trusting to the future, of all these
good people was impressive. The whole family were together: beds,
chairs, stove, blankets, clock, saucepans, and household stores were
all packed or piled into the wagon; underneath hung a box or basket
with a couple of little pigs or a dozen cocks and hens. A couple of
cows were driven along or took their parts as a yoke of oxen in
draught; a colt or two and a few young cattle ran by the side, and the
family dog, presiding over the cavalcade, seemed to have more of a
burden on his mind than the human heads of the expedition. Many stopped
to camp for the night, almost all for at least one meal, and all
without exception to get a drink from the effervescing soda-spring.
[Sidenote: _OFF TO THE SPOKANE._]
One wagon was driven by a pleasant-spoken man; with him were his wife
and a sick baby of a year old. They had nothing for the baby but
potatoes and flour. Their stores were but scanty. "Where are you
going?" said I. "To the Spokane, I guess," was the reply. "Where do you
come from?" "Well, I had a valley-farm, and we were doing pretty well,
but I hadn't my health good, and I thought we'd try the Spokane." "Do
you know where it is you are going?" "No, but they told us to take this
road and we'd find our way." "Have you any idea how far it is?" "Not
much; a hundred miles or two, isn't it?" "Put five hundred or so on,
and you'll get there." "You don't say so! Well, I dare say we shall get
through all right." "What do you mean to do?" "Well, I haven't money
enough to buy a farm, so I shall just take up a place." "You mean to
homestead, then?" "I guess so." "How many miles can you make in a day?"
"Not more than ten or fifteen with this old scrub team." "Have you
thought that this is the first week in October, and that you can't
expect to get there much before January?" "I guess not; but I dare say
we shall get on very well." "You told me just now you had not much
money; have you thought how long it will last you, spending two dollars
a day on the road?" "No, I haven't rightly figured it. I knew we
shouldn't have much left when we got there." "What makes you want to go
to the Spokane?" "Well, I've heard it's good land up there." "Isn't
Oregon good enough for you?" "I don't know but what it is. I didn't
know the place was so far off." I fetched him a large scale map, and
left him to think it over after supper. They were off in the morning
before we were out, and I have no idea whether they reached the
Spokane; my only consolation was, that the baby was the better for the
care and food it got that night, and for the additional stores they
carried away for it.
This conversation was, perhaps, an extreme one; but it is absolutely
true to facts. All that we talked to were equally hopeful, and few much
better instructed as to their course. Certainly no people in the world
could be better qualified to make a little go far, to take cheerily all
the inevitable discomforts of both the long journey and the new home,
and to make the best use of every advantage they found or made. Only a
few were going to this Spokane country, away north in Washington
Territory; the rest were bound for Eastern Oregon, which is being
settled up marvelously fast, when the difficulties of getting there,
and of getting their produce out from there, are taken into account.
The stretch of burned timber country ended about the Upper Soda. All
round it, and on from there eastward, grew miles upon miles of
magnificent fir, hemlock, spruce, and cedar-trees, averaging three feet
through, and, I judged, a hundred and fifty feet in height. I measured
several of the dead trees on the ground, which ran from two hundred and
twenty to two hundred and fifty feet in length, and the tops of all of
them were gone.
A few miles farther on eastward are Fish Lake and Clear Lake. The
former merits its name from the abundance of trout from one to three
and four pounds in weight. In summer the water shrinks away to little
more than a stream in the middle of the depression which forms the
lake, and a growth of rich, succulent grass follows the subsidence of
the waters. Clear Lake, some four miles off, is vastly different. It
evidently occupies the place of a great and sudden depression of
timber-covered country, for, looking down into the deep, clear water,
the great firs are seen still standing erect on the bottom, far, far
below. Fly-fishing on this lake is wonderfully good. Throw the flies on
to the still water, oh! so quietly, and there let them lie motionless;
in a moment or two a dim form shines deep down, rising with a quick,
vibrating motion, and up comes your friend: with a greedy snatch he
takes the fly, and bolts downward with it, to be speedily checked and
brought to book.
Soon begins the descent, much more gradual than the ascent, and not so
prolonged, since all Eastern Oregon is a kind of plateau, elevated from
one to two thousand feet above sea-level.
[Sidenote: _VALLEYS IN EASTERN OREGON._]
A stretch of lava-bed is soon reached, the acme of desolation, where
the road has been painfully worked by crushing down the rugged blocks,
or laboriously moving them with levers from the path. Two or three
miles carry us across, and then the bunch-grass country begins. Great
tussocks of succulent feed for spring and early summer, dried by the
hot sun into natural hay for autumn and winter use, afford pasture for
countless herds of cattle. Even here there are watercourses and springs
a few miles apart. The valleys--namely, Des Chutes, Crooked River
Valley, Ochoco, Beaver Creek, Grindstone Creek, Silver Creek, Harney
Lake, and Malheur--stretch in a practically unbroken line across the
whole of the remainder of Oregon to the eastern boundary of Snake
River.
Take Crooked River Valley as a specimen. It varies from one to three
miles in width, but is bounded, not by the steep and rugged hills we
are used to in the Coast Range, but by gently swelling bluffs, covered
with bunch-grass to and over their tops. The valley-land is rich and
fertile, and wherever cultivated yields abundantly in potatoes,
cereals, vegetables, and small fruits of all kinds. Sixty and eighty
bushels of oats to the acre is not an unusual crop. And tame grasses
take firm hold of the country wherever opportunity is given them. The
bunch-grass slopes, with occasional sagebrush scattered among the
grass, are not to be always set apart for such common use as at
present.
Precisely the same character of land has been plowed up and put into
wheat during the last few years round Walla Walla, just north of the
northeast corner of Oregon, and produces forty bushels of wheat to the
acre. Indeed, it is from country like this that the great crops of
Northeastern Oregon and Washington Territory are produced; crops
yielding a magnificent return, if not to the farmer whose enterprise
and industry have served to raise them, yet to the recently formed
transportation company called the Oregon Railway and Navigation
Company, by whose boats plying on the Columbia the wheat is carried to
Portland to be shipped.
At present these vast stretches of rolling hill and dale are the home
of the cattle-rancher--a strange and wild life. A suitable site is
fixed on, commanding ample water privilege, with some valley-land near
by to grow sufficient hay, and to raise the desired quantity of oats
and vegetables; here the house is built, the lumber being hauled by
wagons perhaps fifty or a hundred miles from the mill. The rancher's
family consists of his wife and children, and possibly five or six
herdsmen. While looking after cattle, these men almost live in the
saddle. Horses abound, and form as good a source of revenue as cattle,
in proportion to the capital engaged. The Eastern Oregon horse is
taller and bigger-boned than the valley horse, but naturally his
education is not so well attended to, and he is apt to be "mean" and to
buck. Little recks his rider, and after a bout of bucking, in which the
horse has not dislodged the man, but has shaken up every bone in his
body till he is sore all over with the constant jar, as the horse comes
to the ground all four feet at once after a mighty jump, then it is the
man's turn. Driving in the heavy Mexican spurs, with their rowels two
or three inches across, the rider starts wildly out, and mile after
mile the open country is crossed at a hard-gallop. The herd is soon
seen and ridden round, and a close lookout is kept to see if any
stragglers have joined the band, and if the calves and yearlings are
all right. Branding-time comes twice a year, in spring and autumn, when
the cattle of a whole "stretch" of country are driven together,
separated according to the various ownerships determined by marks and
brands.
In spring come in the Eastern buyers, who travel through the country,
collecting a huge drove of perhaps from ten to twenty thousand head.
The three-year-old steers fetch about fifteen or seventeen dollars a
head; no wonder the ranchers prosper, considering that the cost from
calfhood was only that of herding.
Some of the provident ones collect one or two hundred tons of natural
hay against the severities of winter. It may be that for two or three
years the hay will stand unused; then comes the stress. Deep snow will
cover the face of the country and lie for weeks, too deep for the
cattle to live, as in ordinary winters, on the dry bunch-grass
protruding from the snow, or easily reached by scratching a slight
covering away. Even an abundant store will not save all, for many of
the herd will have taken refuge in distant valleys, or perhaps have
retreated far off the whole range in the face of the driving storm. And
even those that are found will move very unwillingly from any poor
shelter they may have secured toward the life-saving food.
[Sidenote: _THE MALHEUR RESERVATION._]
There is a large Indian reservation called the Malheur Reserve; the
road crosses its southwest corner. These Indians are quiet enough now,
but only three years ago there was an outbreak among them. One rancher
had built a fine stone house, just outside the reservation bounds, and
there lived in comfort, surrounded by all the necessaries and many of
the luxuries of life. He had six or eight thousand head of cattle and
some three hundred horses in his band. One morning a friendly Indian
rode up in haste, telling him to get away, as the hostiles were coming
to kill them all. Mounting their horses, the rancher and his wife took
to flight; they looked back from the hill-top to see the flames and
smoke rising from their comfortable home, telling how narrow had been
their escape. A hurried ride of fifty miles took them to safe refuge;
and the speedy repulse of the Indians, and their being driven once
again within their own boundaries, enabled the rancher to rebuild his
house, and restore once more his household goods.
This road was built by men who were sent out from Albany, and spent
years in the work, rifles by their side; for the country fourteen years
ago was not the safe domain it has now become. The first idea was to
use the pass through the Cascades (which is the lowest and safest in
Oregon, so far as I can learn), to build a road to open the plains of
Eastern Oregon to the Willamette Valley. After a good deal of the work
had been accomplished, a suggestion was made to the owners of the road
that if they would undertake to extend it clear across the State to the
Idaho boundary, a distance from Albany of some four hundred and fifty
miles by the necessary deviations from a straight line, a land grant
might probably be procured from Congress to aid the work. Whatever may
be said of the general policy of granting the national lands to
corporations to aid wagon-road and railroad enterprises, there may
surely be cases where the effect is not only to secure the execution of
the work, but also to encourage the settling up of a district, and the
consequent increase of the population and wealth of a State.
Here was the state of affairs in Eastern Oregon prior to 1866: A vast
country, adapted for the gradual settlement and ultimate habitation of
a prosperous race, was lying at the mercy of a few roving bands of
Indians, who made the lives and property of even casual travelers their
speculation and sport. What was the value then of all that country?
Could any purchaser for it have been then found, at even a few cents an
acre?
[Sidenote: _BUILDING OF THE ROAD._]
The projectors of the road took their lives in their hands when they
ventured forth to work. They risked themselves, their horses and
equipments. Every pound of food consumed had to be brought in wagons
from their starting-point. As they progressed, their danger and
difficulty increased with every mile they traversed; and the last
section of the road was built by men who had suffered themselves to be
snowed in and shut off from families and friends, and to give up every
chance of succor in distress, that the work might not stand still. And
it was no light work, even judged by us who travel the road at ease,
and have hardly a passing glance for the rocky grade, the deep cutting,
the ponderous lava-block, the huge black trunk. How appalling must the
undertaking have appeared to those who had first to face the dangers
and difficulties of a mountain-chain, to plan for and survey out the
most favorable route among heavy timber and rocky precipice, beside
rushing waters and through deep gorges; and then across those wide and
then silent plains, where the timid antelope ranged by day, and the
skulking wolf by night made solitude hideous with his melancholy howl!
No roadside farms to welcome them, no little towns to mark, as now, the
stages of their journey, but farther and farther into the wilderness,
till four hundred miles lay between the workers and the valley-homes
they had left months before.
And this was no wealthy corporation, which has but to announce its
readiness to receive, and dollars are poured into its lap by a public
hungry for dividends, until it has to cry, "Hold, enough!" Here were no
regiments of yellow workmen, trained to labor in many a ditch and
grade; but citizens of Oregon, who desired to build up their State; who
believed the records of their fellows as to the miles of country that
could be forced to contribute their quota of productions if but the way
were opened in and out; who, having themselves prospered in the sound
and moderate way in which Oregon encourages her children, were ready to
risk what they had gained in a cause they knew was good--these men
combined their energies to the common end. It was an enterprise which
roused and maintained the kindly interest of all. The working parties
in the Cascade Range were followed up by the teams of those who desired
the first choice of settlement in the promised land beyond.
By the time the last great log that barred the pass was reached, a long
string of wagons stood waiting its removal. While the long saws were
plied, and then the levers brought, all stood in expectation; willing
hands lent their eager aid: the great wooden mass rolled sullenly away,
and the tide of settlement poured through the gap. Between that day in
1867 and 1880 upward of five thousand wagons have made the journey,
and, to the honor of the original locators be it said, all without
accident arising from the road.
The first few years all went merry as a marriage-bell. The road
naturally followed the fertile valleys; and small blame to the
road-makers if, having the whole country before them, they chose the
smoothest and cheapest route. No man will climb a hill and cut his way
along its side if he can find good level ground at the bottom.
The road-makers were entitled under their congressional grant to
alternate mile-square sections in a wide belt on either side of their
road; the intervening sections were, of course, opened to settlement by
the construction of the road. The open-valley sections were soon seized
on, and a band of settlements justified, even so soon, the principle of
the road-grant.
[Sidenote: _SQUATTERS._]
But to many men in this world, and Oregon has her share, the
descriptive motto is not, "Labor is sweet, and we have toiled," but the
antithesis, "Other men have labored: let us enter into the fruits of
their labor." So squatters entered with the legitimate settler, or
close on his heels, and took possession of many a section of the road
company's land, "taking the chances," as they would express it, of
something happening to help them to hold. To aid matters, these men
fenced across the road near their houses, and carried the road round on
the hill-sides above their farms. The settlers were not slow to follow
so promising an example, and, to have the benefit of the bottom-land
through which the road ran, they also pushed the road away up the
hills.
On more than one occasion the road company sent and had these fences
removed and opened the original road afresh. But travelers did not aid
them; for here came in a trait of American character I have often
noticed, namely, unwillingness to insist on strict right against their
neighbors, and a readiness to make any shift, or agree to and use any
_détour_, when to keep the old, straight road would involve a question.
So the valley road got disused in places, and travel went round by the
hills.
Next, the squatters bethought them that they might in time upset the
road grant, and get good title to their neighbors' vineyard. So they
sent on a petition to Washington, alleging that the road had never been
made; that there was no road at all; that there had been a colossal
fraud. But the matter was investigated, and discovery made that the
United States authorities had ceased to have any jurisdiction so long
ago as 1866. Still, those who were agitating thought something might be
made of it. So, somehow or other, the Secretary of the Interior, Mr.
Carl Schurz, was induced to interfere, not deterred by the knowledge
that the land department had declined to act twelve months before; and
so, a year after the squatters' complaint had been refused, an agent
was sent out to report; he was well armed with the assailants' stories
in advance, and he need be a man of superexcellent straightforwardness
and hardihood unless he too could "see something in it."
In this case the phoenix was not discovered, and the eyes, ears, and
common-sense of hundreds of men who knew the road well were outraged by
a report that no road existed or had been made except for about sixty
miles at the western end; and that the road, if road it could be
called, was a mere wagon-track, capable of use only for a short time
and under exceptionally favorable circumstances!
It was of course assumed that, at so great a distance from
headquarters, a hostile report would end matters, and that all the
advantages hoped for by the squatters, and by any and all who had
espoused their cause, would be forthwith enjoyed.
We have yet to learn that the American Congress will consent to be made
parties to such an outrageous conspiracy; to cast an infamous slur on
the characters of American citizens who ventured much in an undertaking
for the public good; in violation of plain and acknowledged principles
of law, to hamper and delay an enterprise relying on the title gained
in 1871, and quietly enjoyed for ten years.
[Sidenote: _HARNEY LAKE VALLEY._]
The largest of the valleys through which this road passes is Harney
Lake Valley, only about eighty miles from the eastern boundary of the
State, which will receive fuller description farther on.
CHAPTER IX.
Indian fair at Brownsville--Ponies--The lasso--Breaking-in--The
purchase--"Bucking" extraordinary--Sheep-farming in Eastern Oregon--
Merinos--The sheep-herder--Muttons for company--A good offer refused
--Exports of wool from Oregon--Price and value of Oregon wool--Grading
wool--Price of sheep--Their food--Coyotes--The wolf-hunt--Shearing--
Increase of flocks--"Corraling" the sheep--Sheep as brush-clearers.
[Sidenote: _BREAKING-IN._]
Some of our people wanted to buy ponies this last fall, and heard that
the Indian pony fair at Brownsville, about twenty-five miles from here,
was the best place. They rode off one fine October morning, and
returned the next day but one, with a handsome four-year-old. The scene
as they described it was exciting and interesting. I should say that
the town of Brownsville is a lively little place, with seven or eight
hundred inhabitants, and some fine woolen-mills. It is the nearest
valley town to the mountains accessible by the wagon-road to those
crossing from Eastern Oregon. Near the town was the fair-ground, a
large, fenced inclosure, with from two to three hundred ponies
careering about it in a state of wild excitement. Nearly all the
Indians were Warm Springs, some few Nez-Percés. Both these tribes are
far finer-looking and better grown than our coast Indians. They wear
white men's clothes, but deerskin moccasins on their feet. Except for
the absolute straightness of the black hair, these men almost exactly
resemble the gypsies as seen in Europe; they are very like them too in
many habits of mind and life--equally fond of red and yellow
handkerchiefs for neck-wear for the men or head-gear for the women.
Several of the Indians were on foot, others on horseback in the
inclosure where the horses ran. On our friends telling one of the Warm
Springs chiefs who was standing there of their wish to buy a horse, he
questioned them as to the kind they wanted, and the price they were
willing to give. Then, on giving some directions to one of the Indians
on horseback, that worthy unslung his lasso from his saddle-horn and
rode into the crowd of horses. The whole wild band were kept on a rapid
gallop round and round. The Indian soon selected one, and flinging his
lasso over its head he turned and stopped his horse abruptly, and the
captive was brought to the ground with a shock enough to break every
bone in his body. He was quickly secured by another rope or two by
other Indians standing near, and was then carefully inspected. Not
being altogether approved, he was set free again, and quickly rejoined
the band. Another was caught, and another, and at last a trade was
arrived at, subject to the breaking-in of the horse in question. The
horse, carefully held by lasso-ropes, was quickly saddled, a hide
bridle with sharp and cruel curb-bit was slipped over his head, a young
Indian mounted, and all the ropes were let go. Away went the horse like
an arrow from a bow; then as suddenly he stopped; then buck-jumping
began, while the Indian sat firm and unmoved, seemingly immovable. This
play lasted till the horse tired of it, and then off he went at a
gallop again. Before he got too far away the rider managed to turn him,
and he was kept going for an hour and more till he was utterly
exhausted, and the white foam lay in ridges on his skin. By this time
all the bucking had gone out of him, and he suffered himself to be
brought quietly back to the corral, and he was handed over to the
purchaser as a broken horse. A long negotiation as to price had ended
in sixteen dollars being paid in silver half-dollar pieces (the Indian
declined a gold ten-dollar piece), and a red cotton handkerchief which
happened to peep from our friend's pocket, which clinched the bargain.
The average size of the ponies was just under fourteen hands; the shape
and make were exceedingly good. There was one splendid coal-black
stallion, a trifle larger than the rest, whose long mane and tail
adorned him; for this the Indians declined all moderate offers, and got
as high as fifty dollars, and would hardly have sold at that. There was
a considerable proportion of the spotted roan, which is the traditional
color for the Indian "cayuse."
[Sidenote: _THE SHEEP-HERDER._]
Sheep-farming in Eastern and Northern Oregon has become a very
important pursuit; it is also followed largely in the southeastern
portion of the State. As sheep advance cattle retire, and many a growl
have I listened to from the cattle-men, and most absurd threats as to
what they would do to keep back the woolly tide: even to the length of
breeding coyotes or prairie-wolves for the special benefit of the
mutton. The merinos, French. Spanish, and Australian, thrive better in
the drier climate east of the Cascades than in this Willamette Valley.
The vast expanse of open country covered thinly with grass involves the
herding system. One of our fellows undertook this business near Heppner
in Umatilla County. He had entire charge of a flock of 1,700 merinos.
There was an old tent for him to sleep in, but he preferred to roll
himself in his blankets on the open ground. No company but his dog, and
no voices but the eternal "baa, baa" of the sheep, which almost drove
him mad. His "boss" came out to him once in three weeks with a supply
of coffee, flour, beans, and bacon; and, if meat ran short, there was
abundance of live mutton handy. About once in three weeks, on the
average, a stray traveler would cross his path, and have a few minutes'
talk and smoke a pipe. He had not the relaxation of sport, for the
sheep have driven deer and antelope from the country. Early in the
morning his sheep were on the move; he had to follow them over the
range; about noon they lay down on the hill-side, and he stopped to eat
his scanty meal. All the afternoon they wandered on, till evening fell,
by which time they were back on the sheltered hill-side, which stood
for headquarters, and where the tent was pitched. Day in, day out, the
same deadly round of monotonous duty, until he hated the look, the
smell, the sound of a sheep, and I think has an incurable dislike to
mutton which will last him all his life. Don't you think that his forty
dollars a month was earned? When October came, and a few flakes of snow
heralded the coming winter, the "boss" came, and warned him that he
must now elect whether or not to spend the winter with the sheep, as
the way out would shortly close. If he would stay, he could have a
share in the flock to secure his interest, and could also take his pay
in sheep, which would thus start his own individual flock. The offer
was a tempting one; the path was the same that all the successful
self-made sheep-men had followed; cold and privation alone had not many
terrors to a hardy man; but--one look at the sheep decided him; he
could not stand their society for six months longer. So he left, and
returned to the valley, like a boy from school.
I know one or two men, who, forced to accept a situation of this sort,
have used the time for the study of a language, and, after a few months
with the sheep, have come out accomplished Spanish, Italian, or German
scholars. But it takes some resolution to overcome the temptation to
drift along, day by day, in idleness of mind and body more and more
complete.
The Portland Board of Trade reports that, for the year 1879, 766,200
pounds of wool were received at that city from Eastern Oregon, and
2,080,197 pounds from the Willamette Valley, showing in value an
increase of about thirty-five per cent. over the previous year. But
Messrs. Falkner, Bell & Co., of San Francisco, reported that the
receipts at that city of Oregon wool aggregated 7,183,825 pounds for
the clip of 1879. The figures for 1876 were only 3,150,000 pounds. It
should be noticed also that Oregon wool commands an excellent price in
the market, even six cents higher than California, possessing greater
strength and evenness, and being free from burs. The valley wool is
clearer from sand and grit than that from Eastern Oregon.
But much remains to be done in this valley. Far too many of the farmers
are absolutely careless about scab; and sheep, infested with this
noxious parasite, are suffered to run at large and poison the
neighbors' flocks. It is true that a law intended to extirpate this
curse now exists; but neither is legislation as sufficient nor its
enforcement so strict as in Australia, though the necessity for both is
full as great. There is but little encouragement either to the valley
farmer to expend labor and money in improving the quality of his flock,
when he sees his neighbors' inferior fleeces command just as high a
price, the wool from perhaps ten or twenty farms being "pooled" without
regard to quality. The remedy is of course found in grading the wool;
steps for this purpose are being talked over by many intelligent
farmers, and I expect soon to see them carried out.
The exhibit at Philadelphia of Oregon wool received medals and diplomas
from the Commissioners of the Centennial of 1876, with high and
deserved praise. And the show at the Paris Exhibition of 1878 was also
splendid; the Oregon fleeces equaling the Australian in length,
strength, evenness, and beauty of fiber.
[Sidenote: _PRICE OF SHEEP._]
I shall have a little more to say as to the breeds of sheep when the
State Fair at Salem is described, where the best specimens were
supposed to be, and I believe were collected. Sheep in this valley are
worth from $1.25 to $1.75 for store-sheep for the flock, and from $2 to
$3 for mutton-sheep in winter. The wool of a sheep may be taken to
fetch $1 on an average of seasons. The sheep eat grass all the year
round; they have never seen a turnip or cole-seed. I know many farmers
who have kept sheep successfully for twenty years on nothing whatever
but the natural wild grasses. The great enemy of the sheep in these
foot-hills, where the pasture is intermixed with brush, and borders on
the thicker brush and timber of the mountains behind, is the coyote.
Two or three of these little wolves will keep half a county on the
alert, destroying far more than they eat. This "varmint" is somewhat
larger than a Scottish sheep-dog, and of a tawny color; he has long
hair like a colley, and is much more cowardly than fierce. He lives in
the thick brush, whence he steals out at dusk on his murderous errand.
He hunts generally alone, though one of our friends saw three together
one evening this winter. His pace is a long, untiring gallop, and it
takes a very good hound to run him down.
The usual plan of the hunt is for several rifles to command the outlets
from a piece of woodland, and then to take into the brush a collection
of five or six of the best hounds that can be got together. When the
scoundrel breaks cover he may go fast, but the rifle-bullet or buckshot
goes the faster, and it would not do to miss.
The sheep killed by the coyote is identified by the two little holes on
either side of the throat, where the wolf has struck and held to drink
the fast-flowing life-blood. The carcass is rarely torn. But the worse
and more common coyote is the mongrel hound. Every now and again one of
these impostors takes to murdering, and, demure and quiet as he looks
by day, slouching around the barn, spends his nights killing the
neighbors' sheep. There is not much chance for him if he is but once
seen; his life is a very short if a merry one.
When shearing-time comes round there are plenty of applicants for the
job. The price is usually five cents a head, the farmer providing food,
but the shearer finding his own tools. Some of these fellows will clip
a hundred sheep a day, or even more: true, you must look after them to
prevent scamping, in the shape of cuts on your sheep, and wool left on
in thick ridges, instead of a clean, good shear. We expect an increase
of at least one hundred per cent. on the ewes at lambing-time, even
though so little cared for; those farmers who are good shepherds too,
improve greatly on this average. The lambs must be well looked after,
unless the wild-cat, eagle, and coyote are to take their toll. Not half
the sheep are kept in this valley that ought to be, and that will be,
when change or succession of crops are universally practiced.
[Sidenote: _"CORRALING" THE SHEEP._]
The amusing part of sheep-keeping in our coast-hills is "corraling," or
gathering them for the night. By day they roam freely over the
hill-sides, and you would be surprised to see how they thrive in
brushwood and among fern, where the new-comer could hardly detect a
blade of grass. These mountain-sheep, too, are more hardy and
independent than the valley flocks. But, when the lambs are about, I am
sure it is wise to undertake the labor of collecting them in the
"corral" for the night. Without your sheep-dog you would be lost, for
you would not have a chance on the hill-sides, and over and under the
occasional logs, with sheep that jump and run like antelopes. But the
dog cures all that, and you can stand in the road and watch Dandy or
Jack collect your flock just as well as if he were in the cairns and
corries of old Scotland, whence he or his grandfather came. I like to
see them march demurely in at the open gate, and then run to the log
where you have scattered a handful of salt for them, every grain and
taste of which is eagerly licked up. And they are excellent
brush-clearers; they love the young shoots of the cherry and
vine-maple, and keep them so close down that in one or two seasons at
most the stub dies, and can be plowed out and burned. Therefore every
settler who takes up land, or buys a partly cleared farm, will find
both pleasure and profit in his sheep, and that to him they are a
necessity, even more than to the valley farmer. He must expect a
percentage of loss from the wild animals, but his vigilance and love of
sport together will reduce that percentage to the lowest point.
CHAPTER X.
The trail to the Siletz Reserve--Rock Creek--Isolation--Getting a
road--The surveying-party--Entrance at last--Road-making--Hut-building
in the wilds--What will he do with it?--Choice of homestead--Fencing
wild land--Its method and cost--Splitting cedar boards and shingles--
House-building--The China boy and the mules--Picnicking in earnest
--Log-burning--Berrying-parties--Salting cattle--An active cow--A
year's work--Mesquit-grass on the hills.
When I traveled through Oregon in 1877, we visited the Siletz Indian
reservation. To get there from the district called King's Valley, where
we were, we had to take the mountain-trail first cut out by General
Sheridan, when, as a young lieutenant, twenty years ago, he was
stationed on this coast. The trail went up one mountain and down
another, and crossed this river and that creek, till, at the foot of
one long descent from a lofty ridge, which we thought then, and which I
know now is, the water-shed between two great divisions of this county,
we entered a valley entirely shut in. At the southeastern end, where we
entered it, it was a narrow gorge, down which a quick stream hurried,
with many a twist and turn, and over many a rocky ledge. The hill-sides
above were thick with fern and berry-bearing bushes, and the black
trunks of the burned timber stood as records of the great fire; but the
stream ran through a leafy wilderness, where maple, alder, and cherry
shut in the trail, and the maiden-hair and blechnum ferns grew thickly
along the banks. The valley widened out as we advanced, and we found it
in shape almost like an outspread hand, the palm representing the
central level bottom, and the fingers the narrow valleys and cañons
between the encompassing hills. The trail led us by turns along the
bottom and the lower steps of the hill-sides. We camped to dine, and
explored some distance up the side-valleys, coming on old Indian
camping-places, with the bones of deer and beaver scattered round.
The isolation of the place, hidden away there among the hills, the
fresh abundance of the vegetation, the mellowness of the thick, fat
soil shown where we crossed again and again the creek dividing the
valley down its entire length, all charmed me; the steep yet rounded
outlines of the hills often recurred to me when I was very far away.
When I came back to Oregon, in 1879, I took the first chance I had of
going over this old ground.
The question was, if it were possible to run in a road out of the main
Yaquina road, which I knew lay but some five or six miles off.
So I sent out a surveying-party to ascertain, and a rough time they
had. It rained almost incessantly; the brush was thick; they lost their
way; it got dark, and they went wandering on till they struck a trail
which led them to a river. "Now we're all right," said the leader;
"this is the Yaquina; the road is on the other side of the creek." So
they struck into the rushing water, then running in flood, and waded
across waist-deep. But no road on the other side; only a dark trail
leading into thick brush. Presently it was pitch-dark, and the surveyor
confessed he did not know where he was; that this was certainly not the
Yaquina, and apparently there was no road. The rain still fell heavily,
and saturated them and their packs. Then one of the horses, which they
were leading along, slipped from the bank into the flooded stream, and
nearly dragged his owner after him. At last they determined to camp.
Not a dry spot and no dry wood could they find. So they lay down under
the shelter of the biggest log, and ate a supper of raw bacon and an
odd lump of stale crust. Not even a match would light, and they staid
out the weary hours of darkness as best they could, wishing for dawn.
With the earliest light they were on foot once more, and, after
wandering a little farther, the leader identified the Rock Creek
Valley, and pointed out the Siletz trail. They had found a route, but
certainly not the route I wanted.
Next I went out myself and questioned the settlers down the road as to
the trails across. At last we struck on what looked from a distance the
lowest gap in the encircling mountains, and made up our minds to keep
on trying for a road through that till we got it, or were satisfied it
was impossible. Perseverance answered, and we struck a trail up the
course of the Yaquina River nearly to its source, and then through some
thick wood to the foot of the mountain, on the other side of which was
the Rock Creek Valley; then up the mountain to the low gap, and thence
the way was plain down into Rock Creek.
[Sidenote: _ROAD-MAKING._]
Road-making in Oregon is like road-making elsewhere. We had a party
of twelve or fourteen men at work, and had to build three huts at
intervals before the road got through. The huts only took a few hours
to construct. Cut down a dozen cherry poles, straight and long; saw off
a cedar log and split it up again and again, till you get planks out of
it four feet long and about an inch or so thick. Drive your cherry
poles into dug holes, and set up the frame of your hut; build a recess
five feet wide and two feet deep at one end for a chimney; board the
whole in, and double the boarding on the roof; line the inside of the
chimney with damp earth for about two feet up, and then carry that up
above the roof of your house also by boards; hang a door on a couple of
wooden hinges made by choosing strong forked pieces of crab-apple which
will not split; beat down the floor level and hard, and, if you are
very luxurious, set up standing bed-places, or bunks, of cherry-pole
legs and cedar boards for the beds, and your habitation is complete--as
soon, that is, as you have brought in a huge back-log and set a great
fire blazing. Cut off a few chunks of wood level for chairs, and fix
two or three boards against the walls for shelves, and you have no idea
of the comfort you can get out of your house.
We dug, and graded, and moved logs, and built bridges, and laid
corduroy crossings over wet places, and in about three months the way
into Rock Creek was clear. I confess to a little pride when the first
wagon went safely in, and down into the level bottom below. The next
question was the hard one, What will he do with it? The wilderness was
before us; how were we to civilize it? Gazing down into the valley,
with here a ferny slope, there a copse filling acres of bottom, then a
deep cañon with green trees, there a beaver-dam flooding the best piece
of land at every high water, and everywhere the great black trunks,
standing or lying prostrate, in some places heaped together in the
wildest confusion--it was a case that called for the "stout heart to
the stiff brae."
The first thing was to settle the place for a homestead, supplied with
water, but out of the reach of flood. And a rising ground, some hundred
yards from the river, along one side of which ran a clear little stream
at right angles to the creek, supplying a chain of three beaver-ponds,
overhung with trees and shrubs, was chosen.
[Sidenote: _FENCING WILD LAND._]
The next thing was to find out the most open spaces, free from logs and
brush, and which could be plowed for oats and hay. Three such were soon
set apart, lying far distant from each other, and therefore giving
three distinct centers from which clearing should spread. Then the plow
was set to work to tear up the ferny ground, and what few logs there
were had to be cut in pieces and split for burning. Next came the
fencing. It takes five thousand rails, ten feet long and five or six
inches thick, to make a mile of snake-fence. A man can split from one
to two hundred rails a day, according to the soundness and straightness
of grain of the timber; and good hands will contract to saw the logs,
split the rails, and keep themselves the while, for about a dollar and
a quarter the hundred rails. The difficulty was, that not one in forty
of the fallen logs was sound, and the rail-splitters had to wander all
up and down the valley and far up the hill-sides to get the right
material. However, eleven thousand rails were provided and gradually
hauled to their places, and the fields and the intervening spaces of
wild lands all fenced in.
Meanwhile, as we were too far from a mill to haul lumber to any
advantage, we had to rely on the cedar, which splits more evenly and
easily than the fir; and some five thousand boards, six inches wide and
from four to six feet long, were got ready; while the timbers for the
house and barn were split from straight-grained, tough fir. Then came
the shingles, and a contract at two and a half dollars a thousand set
two excellent workmen going, and first fifty thousand and then twenty
thousand more were made on the spot. Then the house-building and
barn-raising went on merrily, though with constant grumbling at the
expense of time in preparing the rough materials, instead of having
ready-sawed lumber from the mill. We sent to the saw- and planing-mill,
fifteen miles away, for doors and windows, and one wagon brought in all
that were needed for a nine-roomed house, at a cost of just eighty
dollars; the doors and door-frames ready, and the windows duly glazed.
At last the house was barely habitable, and we moved in in patriarchal
procession.
We treated ourselves to one China boy to cook and wash. For his benefit
a cooking-stove was sent out, and set up in a handy kitchen, close to
but detached from the house. These China boys are well off for sense.
The wagon was heavily laden with stores, and the mules were struggling
up a muddy hill. "Get out, John, and walk," said the Scotch driver, and
John had to obey. Long before the top was reached, John got in again at
the rear, and scrambled back into his place. "Get out, John, I tell
you!" "Never mind, Kenzie; horsee no see me get in; they know no
better."
But a good deal of the cooking went on over a bright fire of logs down
on the ground in front of the house, where the tripod of sticks stood,
with the black kettle depending. For the children it was a continuous
picnic; two or three times a day they were bathing in the river; and
whenever they were not tending the fires, which were burning up the
logs and brushwood all the time, they were off, fishing down the creek.
There was abundant employment for every hour of the day, and a
comfortable assurance that the work once done was done for good; that
is, that each patch of ground cleared and sown was so much actual
visible gain.
[Sidenote: _LOG-BURNING._]
At night the scene was most picturesque--bright stars overhead, and
great fires going in twenty places, lighting up the whole valley with a
crimson radiance. Some of the huge trunks, fifty or sixty feet high,
were lighted by boring two auger-holes so as to meet a couple of feet
deep inside the tree; the fire would lay hold of the entire mass, and
cataracts of sparks burst out in unexpected places high up the stem,
pouring out in a fiery torrent at the top. And then, when the tree had
been burning for a day or more, it would fall with a heavy crash, and a
great spout of fire would start forth.
And then there were the berrying-parties. All the women and children
would start for the hills, and come back, their baskets laden with ripe
blackberries, and the crimson thimble-berries, and yellow
salmon-berries, and scarlet huckleberries, and later on with the black,
sweet sal-lals. And they filled their nut-bags and pockets with the
wild hazels.
If it rained too hard, and it did once or twice, the pocket-knives were
all in use, and candlesticks, and salt-cellars, and other trifles, were
cut out of the ever-useful cherry and crab-apple.
And the cattle had to be salted. This went on near the house, and in
the great corral, to get them to recognize their headquarters, a most
necessary knowledge for them before the winter set in. They were quick
to learn, and, after a time or two, a short excursion down the valley,
with a pocketful of salt, and the long-drawn cry of "Suck, su-uck,
su-u-uck," would bring a speedy gathering from distant hills and tall
patches of valley-fern, and a long procession would follow the caller
back to the corral.
These cattle, most of them mountain-bred, do tricks that would make a
valley-cow's hair stand on end. We got one fine young heifer into the
narrow branding-corral, to milk her. This was shut off from the large
corral by a fallen log five feet thick, which looked high enough to
keep the idea of scaling it out of any cow's mind. But I saw her make a
standing high jump on to the top of the log, and over, as neatly as the
best-trained hunter could possibly have done it, even if his rider had
the hardihood to put him at it.
Even while getting their own livelihood on the wild feed on the
mountain-sides, where you and I could see nothing but fern and
thimble-berry bushes, the cows grew fat and yielded abundance of milk,
and that very rich. And even through the rainy months of winter the
cattle have kept themselves fat and flourishing.
[Sidenote: _MESQUIT-GRASS ON THE HILLS._]
The work has now been going on nearly eleven months, and this is the
position to-day: The road is made. The house is built, but not quite
finished inside. The big barn is finished, with stable attached. The
orchard is cleared, plowed, planted with trees, which have now nearly a
year's growth, and is in part seeded down into permanent pasture; as to
the other part, it is in potatoes and onions. Two fields--one of four,
the other of eight acres--are cleared and plowed, and will be in oats
this spring. Another field, across the river, is cleared, but not yet
plowed. The garden round the house is prepared. Another field, near the
house, of about three acres, is cleared, plowed, and now being sowed
down in clover. Another clearing, of about two acres, on old beaver-dam
land by the river, is planted in cabbages in part, and the rest will be
in carrots and beets. About two hundred acres are fenced in for sheep,
and about ninety head are on it, helping out the brush-cutting by
eating the shoots. About fifteen hundred acres of hill-land were burned
and sowed down in mesquit-grass, which is now, at one year old, about
three inches high. Some forty head of cattle, chiefly cows and calves,
and a few two-year-olds, are in the valley and all doing well; the
steers were sold fat to the butcher in December last. The building work
has been done by one carpenter and an assistant, and he has had
occasional help in preparing boards. The doors and windows came from
the mill; and the timbers and boards were got out of the rough logs by
separate contract. The outside work has been done by three men, and an
occasional fourth. The place will support itself this year, if all goes
well, and next year should yield a fair profit. No doubt a more
experienced deviser, and more constant supervision, might have shown a
speedier profit. But I have given these details by way of example in
bringing wild land in, and making a "ranch" of it.
CHAPTER XI.
The Indians at home--The reservation--The Upper Farm--Log-cabins--
Women must work while men will play--The agency--The boarding-house
--Sunday on the reservation--Indian Sunday-school--Galeese Creek
Jem--The store--Indian farmers--As to the settlement of the Indians
--Suggestions--A crime--Its origin--Its history--The criminals--
What became of them--Indian teamsters--Numbers on the reservation
--The powers and duties of the agent--Special application.
At Rock Creek we are only ten miles from the Siletz Indian agency, and
I have paid many visits there, and have seen a good deal of the working
of the agency, and also know a good many of the Indians pretty well.
[Sidenote: _THE RESERVATION._]
First, as to the place itself. There is no question that on the
reservation is some of the best land in the country, and the most
easily improved. At some not very distant geological date, the valley
must have consisted of a series of lakes, connected by rivers. On the
sides of the hills are two clearly defined terraces, and the flat
bottoms, are not covered with heavy timber, either alive or dead. There
must have been one convulsion which let the waters out and reduced the
level to the lower terrace, and then a subsequent one which abolished
the lakes altogether, leaving the Siletz River for the water-course of
the whole district. Entering the reservation from the Rock Creek trail,
there is about six miles of rough and tangled country to get through,
where the hills are broken, and the river foams and breaks every now
and again over rocky ledges. The brush is thick along the river-banks,
and the thimble-berries grow so high and strong that, as you ride by,
you can pluck the berries from the level of your face.
Mounting a hill, which closes the gorge ahead of you, the whole valley
known as the Upper Farm lies before you. At this point Rock Creek joins
the Siletz itself, which here is a wide and rushing stream, and divides
the valley along its entire length into two unequal parts. The hills
fall back on either side of you and lose their broken forms, becoming
long slopes, draped thickly with the heavy brake-fern. Here and there
stand the houses of the Indians, each with its grain- and hay-fields;
while of cattle of all ages, and little groups of ponies, there is no
lack.
Except in one or two instances, the houses are log-cabins, and you miss
the staring white paint so common in this country. The barns also are
log-built.
There is not much show of neatness about the houses, fences, or the
inhabitants. As you ride along, you pass an old crone or two, with bare
feet, and ragged, dirty petticoats, each with a large basket on her
back, supported by a broad band across the forehead, in which she is
carrying home the potatoes she has been digging in the field.
Round one or two of the doors you see a group of lazy ones, men and
children, lying or squatting on the grass or in the dust of the bare
patch in front--the women you see through the open door at work inside
the house. The voices cease as you come in sight, but your salutation,
either in Chinook or English, is civilly returned, and a quick glance
takes in at once your personal appearance and that of your horse, and
every detail of your equipment. You see a few men at work in the
fields, but only a few. The men are better dressed than the women; torn
or ragged clothes are very rare, and nearly every man has a red or red
and yellow handkerchief loosely knotted round his head. Here come two
cantering after you on their ponies; one carries a rifle, and you
recognize him as one of the reservation Indian police. He asks you your
destination and business, and, as you are bound straight for the
agency, he lets you go on without a pass. They are bound to be strict,
and to see that unauthorized visitors do not enter, and, above all,
that no whisky comes within the reservation boundaries.
Four miles more along the road, nearly all the way through farms, or by
open pasture-fields, where grass and fern dispute possession, but all
through fine bottom-land, varying in width from one to two or three
miles across, brings you to the agency on the Middle Farm. What timber
is left standing are huge firs, splendid specimens of trees. Here is
the agency, the central spot of the reservation-life. The prominent
building there, two stories high, with overhanging eaves, spick and
span in new white paint and red shingles, is the boarding-house. Here
some forty or fifty Indian children of all ages are collected from the
outlying portions of the reservation, and are clothed, fed, and
trained; their actual teaching goes on in the adjoining school-house.
The low, gray house in the orchard, behind the boarding-house, is where
the agent lives; those other two white houses, each in its garden, are
inhabited by the farmer and the builder or head-carpenter and
millwright. In front of the boarding-house is a pretty, open
grass-field of six or seven acres; and that neat, white structure at
the lower corner of it is the store. The Indians' houses are dotted
round; the fields are better kept and cultivated than the Upper Farm;
there is a notable absence of loafers and stragglers round, and more
farming going on; several teams of horses are in sight.
[Sidenote: _INDIAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL._]
The agent receives us kindly, and shows us round everywhere with
interest in his work and its results. One Sunday I was there, and,
hearing the church-bell calling to service, went in. The Sabbath-school
was just beginning in the school-room behind the boarding-house. It was
a mixed assembly of all ages, some ninety or a hundred in all. The
women were better dressed, and the little children had been treated to
all the comforts and care in the way of dress their parents could
muster. There was a great variety of type apparent, for the remnants of
thirteen tribes of the coast and Klamath and Rogue River Indians are
collected on this reservation. Nearly all could speak a little, and
understand more, English--and I think we could have got on quite as
well without the help of the Indian interpreter, who turned our English
into fluent Chinook. This man, named Adams, is an excellent fellow,
well instructed, capable, civil, and, I believe, an earnest Christian
man. The agent asked me to take the Bible-class at the far end of the
room, and soon I was the center of the observant eyes of a dozen Indian
men of all ages. Certain of them were friends of mine. Old Galeese
Creek Jem, a little fellow about five feet high, with a broad face and
a pair of twinkling, laughing eyes, had brought us some salmon in Rock
Creek a few days before, and was under promise to bring us some more on
Monday. Two or three of the others always stopped for a chat as they
passed through. All of them, I noticed, were curious to see how King
George's man would act in this new capacity. I am bound to say that
they showed considerable knowledge and some reflection in the answers
they gave. Perhaps this is not to be wondered at, considering the
resolute efforts made now for several years past to instruct and
Christianize the Indians here.
At the store I found an excellent stock of all things that the Indians
need, and marked at prices which enabled them to lay their money out so
as to get its fullest value. The assistant told me that they were all
keen traders, and alive to minute differences in quality and texture of
their purchases.
[Sidenote: _SUGGESTIONS._]
The great majority of the men now heads of families on this
reservation, engaged in farming a little, and sufficiently instructed
in methods of labor to add considerably to their resources by working
during a part of the year for the outside farmers, who are very ready
to employ them, do not, I consider, either wish or require to be
treated any longer as children or wards of the United States
Government. In my judgment, the time has come to apply a far different
rule. Many to whom I have talked, and others whose opinions I have
gathered from trustworthy sources, desire earnestly to be relieved from
the restrictions and to abandon the privileges of their present
condition. If the lands they now farm, the houses they now dwell in,
could become their private property, I believe that they would support
themselves and their families in respectability. It may be desirable,
it probably is, to prevent their having now the power of free sale and
disposal of such lands, so as to guard them at the outset from
designing purchasers; but I believe the larger part by far would prize
earnestly their separate estate. Why should not an independent officer
have power to establish such families on homesteads of their own, on
sufficient evidence of character and capacity--such men ceasing
thenceforth to have claims for support on the agency as a whole, but
still entitled to all the common benefits of the school, the church,
and the store? The open land of the reservation would be diminished, of
course, but how could it be put to better purpose? I am persuaded that
the sight of their neighbors established on homes of their own would
operate as a strong stimulus to those growing up and entering on life,
to decent and orderly behavior. And as one district of a reservation
became thus settled up, I think the boundaries of the open land devoted
to general Indian purposes might be proportionately removed and
contracted.
Naturally, this plan would be of slow operation, but I think it would
be sure. I am aware of the powers given to Indians by the homestead act
to obtain land, but the plan differs in important respects from that
set out above.
The Indians on the Siletz reservation, of which alone I know anything
from personal observation, are not all of the desirable class to whom I
have referred. Some mistiness on the moral law yet remains. For
instance, a murder was committed by three of them a month or two ago.
It took place on the northern and remote part of the reserve, far away
from the agency itself.
Here lived one who, being a quack-doctor, claimed the character of a
mighty medicine-man, having power to prescribe for both the bodies and
souls of his patients. To him resorted many of his neighbors, whose
faith in his charms and spells was boundless.
He undertook the cure of the wife of one Charlie, and the poor thing
endured his remedies patiently. But the woman grew worse and worse.
Charlie and his friends debated the case, and at last concluded that,
if the medicine-man could not cure the woman according to his contract,
and that she died, it would prove to them that the doctor was a humbug,
and deserved to die the death.
The catastrophe arrived, for the woman died. A council was held, and
due inquiry made. The decision was fatal to the doctor, and Charlie and
two friends undertook to secure that no one else should be misled and
defrauded by the quack.
Proceeding to his house, away up north by Salmon River, near the
sea-coast, the three fell on the medicine-man with clubs, and, despite
threats, prayers, and entreaties, they beat him to death. The news soon
spread, and was carried to the ears of the agent.
I can not help confessing to a half sympathy with the murderers, though
I am fully aware of the enormity of the crime. It would be a
satisfaction to feel justified in conscience in calling for a bodily
expiation of the false pretenses and ignorant mummeries that did one's
wife to death. And I hear that the Indians in question, while
acknowledging that they knew they were sinning against the laws that
governed life on the reservation, yet evidently had no consciousness of
intrinsic wrong.
However, they were arrested by the agent, and carried off to Fort
Vancouver for detention and trial. Hence they escaped, but were pursued
by the soldiers. One, being caught, refused to submit, and was shot by
the corporal in charge of the party in the act of flight; the others
were recaptured, and what their fate is or will be I do not yet know.
But, as one stands on the beach at Newport, and sees a long string of
wagons and teams coming down from the reservation for supplies, each in
charge of its owner, a respectable-looking Indian, it is impossible not
to wish for them the separate life and property they themselves desire.
The number of Indians on the Siletz reserve is most variously stated;
the estimates range between twenty-four hundred and four hundred. I
should fancy the truth to be nearer the smaller than the larger
figures. It is obvious that the conditions of life, the stage of
civilization, the state of education, the desire or readiness to
acquire or own separate and individual property, must vary in every
reservation. It is impossible to apply the same rules to each, and I do
not presume even to have an opinion regarding reservations other than
the one in our immediate neighborhood.
[Sidenote: _POWERS AND DUTIES OF THE AGENT._]
I had no idea till lately of the overwhelming power held by the agent.
No Indian can leave the reservation, however well established his good
character, and for however temporary a purpose, without the pass of the
agent. No one can enter the reservation, even to pass through it, or to
stay a night with one of the Indians at his house, without the same
leave. Work on the roads or in the fields of the reservation is at the
absolute order of the agent; no _corvée_ in ancient France could press
more crushingly on the peasant than could the order of a harsh or stern
agent on his charge. In the choice and erection of houses, in the
furnishing and distribution of stores, in matters of internal police of
all sorts, his word _is_ law. If any one desires to study the working
of an instructed despotism in a partly civilized community, he can see
it carried to its logical extreme on an agency.
So long as the Indians possess the attributes of children it may be
right so to treat them. But I presume it was intended by the framers of
the existing system that at some date the pupils should put away
childish things and emerge from the condition of tutelage. The question
is, whether that time has not come already in many instances.
My observations have all had reference to a reservation honestly
governed, as I believe, with the best intentions toward its
inhabitants. But how the system would lend itself to dishonest measures
and arbitrary, even cruel, treatment, it is not hard to imagine.
CHAPTER XII.
The Legislative Assembly--The Governor--His duties--Payment of the
members--Aspect of the city; the Legislature in session--The lobbyist
--How bills pass--How bills do not pass--Questions of the day--Common
carriers--Woman's suffrage--Some of the acts of 1878--Judicial system
of the State--Taxes--Assessments--County officers--The justice of the
peace--Quick work.
The Legislative Assembly of the State of Oregon meets for a session of
forty days once in every two years, at Salem, the capital of the State.
The Assembly consists of a Senate of thirty members and a House of
Representatives of sixty members. Senators are elected for four years
and Representatives for two years; but half the whole number of
Senators go out of office every two years, so that at every biennial
election the whole number of Representatives and half the whole number
of Senators are chosen.
The proportion of Senators and Representatives pertaining to any county
may be varied after each United States or State census, in accordance
with the results of that census, as showing the number of white
inhabitants in the county or district and their proportion to the total
white population of the State.
The executive power of the State rests in the Governor, who is chosen
by the white voters in the State every four years. His duties are
various and important. They are defined by the Constitution as follows:
He is commander-in-chief of the military and naval forces of the State,
which forces he may call out to suppress insurrection or to repel
invasion. He must take care that the laws be faithfully executed. He
must inform the Legislative Assembly as to the condition of the State,
and recommend such measures as he deems expedient. He may, on
extraordinary occasions, convene the Legislative Assembly by
proclamation, and must state to both Houses, when assembled, the
purpose for which they are convened. He must transact all necessary
business with the officers of government, and may require information
in writing from the officers of the administrative and military
departments upon any subject relating to the duties of their respective
offices. He has power to grant reprieves, commutations of sentences,
and pardons for all offenses except treason--this last offense being
under the direct control of the Legislative Assembly. He has power to
remit fines and forfeitures--subject in all these cases to his
reporting to the Legislative Assembly his exercise of such powers, and
his reasons therefor. He must sign all bills, and has the power of
veto. The Houses of the Legislative Assembly may, on recommittal, pass
bills over such veto by votes of two thirds of members present. He has
power to fill vacancies occurring in any State office during the recess
of the Legislative Assembly. He must issue writs of election to fill
vacancies occurring in the Legislative Assembly, and all commissions
must issue in the name of the State, signed by the Governor, sealed
with the seal of the State, and attested by the Secretary of State.
In case of vacancy in the office of Governor the Secretary of State has
to discharge his duties till the next election-time comes round.
Oregon manifests a good deal of pride in her various Governors; the
portraits of several of them adorn the Capitol building.
[Sidenote: _THE LEGISLATURE._]
Members of the Legislature receive pay at the rate of three dollars a
day during the session. The President of the Senate and the Speaker of
the House of Representatives receive five dollars a day. In addition,
they all get mileage for their journeys to and from Salem.
During the session of the Legislature the capital city is crowded and
busy; a strong and intelligent interest is shown in the meetings of
this miniature Congress, all of which are open to the public.
The preservation of order, of course, depends largely on the character
and influence of the presiding officers; but the members of both Houses
appeared to me remarkably amenable to discipline. The debates in the
Senate were generally decorous, even to dullness; the House presented a
more lively scene, a good many members being sometimes on their feet at
once.
The great faults appeared to an outsider to be the tendency to make
very unnecessary speeches, and the constant calling for divisions, by
name, on the most trivial points. Thus, much time was wasted.
The objectionable feature was the presence of a numerous "lobby." The
persons constituting this institution made themselves seen and heard in
season and out of season; no man or corporation having any bill to
promote could leave it to the uninfluenced consideration of the
members, but sent to Salem paid retainers, to attend the sittings, to
haunt the members, to study their proclivities and intentions, and to
get together and cement such alliances as should secure the passage of
the various bills.
Bills may be introduced in either House, but may be amended or rejected
in the other; save only that bills for raising revenue must be
introduced in the House of Representatives.
It becomes a matter for grave consideration in which House a bill
should be introduced, as the prestige of success in one House may help
to carry it through the other.
Oregon as a State voted Democratic for some years, and that party
commanded a majority in the Legislature. But, prior to the last
elections, namely, those held in 1880, various splits or dissensions in
the Republican party, or among its managers, were got rid of, and a
Republican majority in the Legislature, and the election of a
Republican Representative to Congress, followed.
The first struggle when the Legislature meets is over the choice of
presiding officers. The chief reason for this interest is that on the
President of the Senate and the Speaker of the House devolves the duty
of nominating the various committees to which bills shall be referred.
There are committees on finance, Federal relations, commerce,
railroads, and several others. The Houses pay some respect to the
report of a committee on a bill--especially if it be unanimous; but the
chief province of the committees appeared to me to be to obtain
possession of a bill, and then according to the private views of the
committee or of a majority of its members to expedite, or hinder, and
perhaps entirely prevent, its passage. And thus, again, the power or
rather the influence of the presiding officers was felt.
Every kind of parliamentary tactics was practiced; no device that I
ever heard of was unknown and unused by these far-Western politicians.
One thing was very noticeable, namely, that the great fights of the
session were over matters involving, or supposed to involve, private
interests.
[Sidenote: _THE LUNATIC ASYLUM._]
Thus, for many years it has been the custom in Oregon for the State to
let out to a physician the care of the insane, he receiving from the
State so many dollars for each patient, the cost to the State being
collected from the responsible relatives or from the estate of the
insane person. As the population of the State increased, of course, the
number of the insane grew also, till about three hundred patients were
in the doctor's care.
Not a whisper was heard against the management: there was good
supervision; the patients were well and wisely treated, and the
percentage of cures quite up to the average of the most successful
public asylums. But many persons thought the time had come to have a
State asylum, with its buildings, and committee of management, and its
staff. So a bill was introduced to this end; the physician who was then
contracting, and for many years had contracted, with the State for the
care of the insane, objected. Then rushed in the lobbyists, and every
stage in the struggle was watched, and wrangled over, and schemed for,
as if the whole future of the State depended on the result. In spite of
the efforts of the doctor and his following, the State-asylum advocates
won the day, and ultimately the bill passed.
Plans for the new asylum have since been prepared, and the building is
begun. Another vast question, which divided the Legislature into two
hostile camps, was whether or not the narrow-gauge railway company
should carry an act giving it the use of a piece of ground at Portland,
called the _levée_, which had been presented to that city a few years
ago, but now lay practically unused. The railroad company had marked
the ground for its terminal purposes; the city of Portland objected.
This fight was most bitter, but ended by the country members joining in
support of the bill, and carrying it over the heads of the Portland
members by swinging majorities--animated largely by a spirit of
resentment at the Portland members having been very active in striving
to defeat a bill for preventing unfair discrimination by railroad and
steamboat corporations throughout the State.
This was another of the burning questions. The transportation business
of the State is now largely controlled by one great corporation, called
"The Oregon Railway and Navigation Company," formed by amalgamating
divers ocean and river steamboat companies, and purchasing or
constructing detached lines of railroad.
The two lines of railroad running north and south up and down the
Willamette Valley not being as yet absorbed, a lively competition
existed so far as river and railroads ran parallel. Outside the limits
of competition the corporations took it out of the people by what they
thought were oppressive exactions.
Further, the headquarters of both companies being in the city of
Portland, and their course of transportation carrying all the traffic
of the State in and out through the Portland gate, the continuance of
this state of things, and the support of the Railway and Navigation
Company, became the great object of the Portland members of the
Legislature, as well as of those members who were for any reason
influenced by the corporations. Hence a deep-lying division of interest
between them and the country members.
[Sidenote: _COMMON CARRIERS._]
These last desired to pass the bill in question, not only to rectify
existing unfairness, and to prevent the repetition of former
oppressions, but as rendering more easy the task of whoever should
propose to create competing lines, which might connect with or
intersect those of the present companies. This end was to be gained by
providing that all transportation agencies, of whatever kind, should
convey, without preference in time, rates, or method of delivery, all
passengers and goods presented for transit over the whole or any
portion of their lines. It left the hands of all companies entirely
unfettered as to what rates they should charge on fares or freights,
but insisted that all traffic should be evenly and proportionately
charged.
The bill was introduced in the Senate, and passed its earlier stages
triumphantly. Then the corporations and the Portland merchants awoke to
the possibilities of competition; stimulated also by the knowledge that
the passage of the bill was desired by the promoters of the Oregon
Pacific Railroad, designed to bisect the State from east to west, and
to have its outport at Yaquina Bay. What an outcry arose! Every
argument that could be tortured by the lobbyists into a criticism of
the bill was openly and secretly brought to bear on the members. Its
enemies got it referred to a hostile committee, from which it was with
great difficulty recalled. Time was asked to understand a bill which
consisted of but twenty-four lines. Motions for adjournment were made,
and divided on again and again to waste time. But the most ridiculous
scene was reached when after the debate on the third reading had
virtually closed, and the final vote to determine the fate of the bill
under the "previous question" was just going to be put, the President
of the Senate, a stout Jewish gentleman from Portland, of German
extraction, descended to the floor of the Senate to deliver a panting,
incoherent tirade of abuse, not on the merits of the bill, but against
the Oregon Pacific Railroad and every one connected with it; denouncing
as a "lie, and a fraud of the first wather, ghentelmen," a statement
made by a body of traders and farmers in the valley, and submitted by
them to the United States Board of Engineers, that the grain which
would seek an outlet over the proposed road would amount to six million
bushels annually--which statement had been quoted by the Oregon Pacific
Railroad Company in their prospectus. Shall I ever forget the look of
blank amazement on the faces of the Senators while the President's five
minutes lasted, and he gesticulated and foamed! However, the bill was
lost by a vote of 16 to 14; one Senator having "ratted" at the last
moment, to the disgust of a large body of the members of the House, who
were waiting to seize the bill and carry it up-stairs into their
chamber.
[Sidenote: _SOME LEGISLATIVE ACTS._]
Among other resolutions carried was one in favor of woman suffrage--a
triumph celebrated immediately by a supper and reception given to the
members of the Legislature in the Opera-House at Salem by the ladies
who had been pressing forward the resolution, and advocating it in some
cases by a form of lobbying which, however legitimate, I should fancy
some of the members must have found it hard to resist. Heaven forbid
that it should ever fall to my lot to hold opposing views and bring
forward hostile argument to a group of ladies whose heads were as full
of logic and sense as their faces and forms of smiles and
attractiveness! To give some general idea of the scope of the State
legislation, let me quote the titles of a few of the acts of the
session of 1878:
"An act to amend an act entitled 'An Act to provide for the
Construction of the Willamette Valley and Coast Railroad.'
"An act to promote medical science.
"An act to protect the stock-growing interests of the State of Oregon.
"An act to regulate salmon-fisheries on the waters of the Columbia
River and its tributaries.
"An act to secure creditors a just division of the estates of debtors
who convey to assignees for the benefit of creditors.
"An act for the support of the State University.
"An act defining the rights and fixing the liabilities of married
women, and the relation between husband and wife.
"An act to authorize foreign corporations to do business and execute
their corporate powers within the State of Oregon.
"An act to provide for liens for laborers, common carriers, and other
persons on personal property.
"An act to prevent the spread of contagious and infectious diseases
among sheep."
Before finishing this chapter I wish to add a few words on the judicial
system of the State.
The judicial power of the State is vested in the Supreme Court, circuit
courts, and county courts. The Supreme Court sits at Salem, to hear
appeals from the circuit courts. It now consists of three judges,
elected in 1880 to serve six years, four years, and three years
respectively, their successors holding office for six years.
The State is divided, I believe, into five circuits, and for each a
judge is elected to serve for six years.
The circuit courts have all judicial power, authority, and jurisdiction
not specifically vested in any other court, and have appellate
jurisdiction over the county courts.
[Sidenote: _COUNTY OFFICERS._]
The county court consists of the county judge, who holds office for
four years, and two county commissioners. Together they transact county
business, and have a jurisdiction over civil cases where not more than
five hundred dollars is in issue, and over the smaller class of
criminal offenses where the punishment does not extend to death or to
imprisonment in the penitentiary.
The Supreme Court of the United States has a district judge presiding
over a court at Portland. That court is the arena for trying all cases
where one of the parties is not a citizen of the State, and also all
cases in which the Federal laws and Constitution, as distinguished from
the State system, are involved.
The police of the State is in the hands of the sheriffs and their
deputies, the sheriff being elected by popular vote every two years.
The city of Portland has a regular police force of its own. The other
towns in the State appoint marshals, who perform police duties within
the city limits.
The sheriffs are also tax-collectors. It should be added that the State
and county revenue, as distinct from Federal revenue, is collected in
one payment by an assessment of so many mills (or thousandths) in the
dollar on the total amount of property of every kind owned in the State
by the tax-payer. The amount on which each man has to pay is
ascertained by the county assessor, in consultation with the tax-payer.
No form of property is allowed to escape, but a reasonable valuation is
placed on possessions of a doubtful or fluctuating nature; and
exemptions are allowed for household furniture and clothes and small
possessions to the extent of three hundred dollars.
The county clerks have also to stand the racket of election every two
years. In Benton County we are fortunate enough to have the services of
a gentleman who has been reëlected eight times. His long experience in
the office makes him an absolute dictionary of information on the
history of every farm in the county. He is, to my mind, an illustration
of the absurdity of this election and reëlection. Every two years he
has to waste a month in going over the county, spouting on every stump,
to please the electors. He has had to endure several contests, evoked
by the sayings, "It's well to have a change now and then," "He's been
there long enough; let some one else have a show," etc. But any
new-comer into his office would have to spend a year or two in getting
up the very information about the county which the experienced official
has at his very finger-ends. And his long enjoyment of the office is
the only reason I have heard given for a change.
In the county clerk's office are kept the record-books for the county,
and also the maps of the various townships, received from the chief
office at Oregon City. In the record-books are copied all deeds
affecting the title to land in the county. The chief effect of thus
recording deeds is to give such public notice of the object of the deed
that no man subsequently dealing with a fraudulent vender can he
treated as an innocent purchaser without notice, to the injury of the
real purchaser. All deeds affecting land have to be executed in the
presence of two witnesses, and acknowledged before a county clerk or a
notary public. The interest of a wife in her husband's property is
carefully guarded; and, in order to give proper title, the wife has to
join in conveying land to a purchaser.
In addition to the various judicial officers above described, there are
the not-to-be-omitted justices of the peace. Their functions are
extensive: among others, they can perform marriages, and at short
notice, too. I have heard of one justice, known for his expeditious
ways, before whose house a runaway couple halted on their wagon. The
man shouted for the justice, who appeared. "Say, judge, can you marry
us right away?" "I guess so, my son." "Well, then, let's have it."
Whereupon the justice mounted the wagon-wheel, and there stood with his
foot on the hub. "What's your name?" "Jehoshaphat Smith." "Well, then,
wilt thou have this woman, so help you ----?" "Yes." "My fee's a
dollar; drive on." The justice in the city tries for assaults and
drunkenness, and administers for the latter seven days in the
calaboose--a hole of a place in a back alley--detention there no
trifle, especially if, like a tipsy little friend of mine, he finds, on
awaking with his customary headache, that his room-mate is a big
countryman, very drunk, who has the reputation of "smashing everything
up" when he has got what some here call "his dibs."
CHAPTER XIII.
Land laws--Homesteads and preëmption--How to choose and obtain
Government land--University land--School land--Swamp land--Railroad
and wagon-road grants--Lieu lands--Acreages owned by the various
companies.
To make this book useful, I must run the risk of making it tedious by
some account of the land system relating to the preëmption and
homestead laws applicable to the public lands of the State.
It is true that, long since, the prairie-lands of the Willamette Valley
have all been taken up and are in private ownership. But there are very
large tracts indeed of public lands in the hilly and wooded portions of
Western Oregon still open; there is also an abundance of open land in
the fine valleys of Eastern and Southern Oregon available. There are
still upward of thirty million acres unsurveyed out of the sixty
million nine hundred thousand which the State contains.
There are five United States land-offices in Oregon: namely, at Oregon
City, for the upper and central parts of the Willamette Valley,
including also Northwestern Oregon generally; at Roseburg, for
Southwestern Oregon; at Linkville, for the southeastern portion; at La
Grande, for Eastern Oregon, strictly so called; and at the Dalles, for
the great counties of Wasco and Umatilla--the northern part of the
State. At each of the land-offices a register and a receiver are
stationed; and the maps of the district are also deposited there for
general reference.
When the settler has ascertained that a piece of land is eligible--that
is, that it will suit him not only for clearing and farming, but also
to build his house on and live there--he goes to the neighbors to find
out the nearest corner posts or stones, and thence by compass he can
determine roughly the boundary-lines. The land must lie in a compact
form, not less than forty acres wide; thus he can take his one hundred
and sixty acres in the shape of a clean quarter of a section or of an
L, or in a strip across the section of forty acres wide; but he can not
pick out forty acres here, and a detached forty there, and so on.
[Sidenote: _HOMESTEADS AND PREËMPTION._]
He then goes to the county clerk's office, where duplicates of the
land-office maps are kept. He finds out there with sufficient
correctness if the piece he wants is open to settlement. The
land-office is the only source of quite certain information, because it
is possible that a claim may have been put on file at the land-office,
particulars of which have not yet reached the county clerk. Being
satisfied that the land is open, the intending settler must next
determine whether to preëmpt or homestead. If he desires to preëmpt,
and by payment to Government of $1.25 per acre for public land outside
the limits of railroad and wagon-road grants, or $2.50 per acre for
land within those limits, to obtain an immediate title, he must be sure
that he does not fall within the two exceptions; for no one can acquire
a right of preëmption who is the proprietor of three hundred and twenty
acres of land in any State or Territory, nor can any one who quits or
abandons his residence on his own land to reside on the public land in
the same State or Territory.
But, first of all, he or she must have one of the following personal
qualifications: the settler must be the head of a family, or a widow,
or a single person; must be over the age of twenty-one years, and a
citizen of the United States, or have filed a declaration of intention
to become such. Further, the settler must make a settlement on the
public land open to preëmption, must inhabit and improve the same, and
erect a dwelling thereon.
No person can claim a preëmption right more than once. But the settler
on land which has been surveyed, and which he desires to preëmpt, must
file his statement as to the fact of his settlement within three months
from the date of his settlement, and he must make his proof and pay for
his land within thirty-three months from the date of his settlement.
The fee of $1.50 is payable to the register, and a similar fee to the
receiver at the land-office on filing the declaratory statement above
mentioned. It should be added that, if the tract has been offered for
sale by the Government, payment must be made for the preëmpted land
within thirteen months from the date of settlement. If the settler
desires to obtain a homestead, he must come within the following
description: the head of a family, or who has arrived at the age of
twenty-one years, and is a citizen of the United States, or who has
duly filed his declaration of intention to become such.
The quantity of land thus obtainable is 160 acres, which is, at the
time his application is made, open to preëmption, whether at $1.25 an
acre or at $2.50 an acre. There was until recently a distinction
between land within the limits of railroad or wagon-road grants or
outside of such limits, only 80 acres of the former class being
obtainable, but the distinction is now done away. The applicant has to
make affidavit, on entering the desired land, that he possesses the
above qualifications, that the application is made for his exclusive
use and benefit, and that his entry is made for the purpose of actual
settlement and cultivation. He has also to pay fees of $22 for 160
acres when entry is made, and $12 when the certificate issues; and of
$11 for 80 acres when entry is made, and $6 when certificate issues.
Such fees apply to land of the $2.50 price. They are reduced to totals
of $22 for 160 acres and $11 for 80 acres, for land of the $1.25 price.
Before a certificate is given or a patent issued for a homestead, five
years must have elapsed from the date of entry. Affidavit has to be
made that the applicant has resided upon or cultivated the land for the
term of five years immediately succeeding the time of filing the
affidavit, and that no part of the land has been alienated. The patent
gives an absolute title. In case of the death of the settler before the
title to the preëmption or homestead is perfected, the grant will be
made to the widow, if she continues residence and complies with the
original conditions; if both father and mother die, leaving infant
children, they will be entitled to the right and fee in the land, and
the guardian or executor may at any time within two years after the
death of the surviving parent, and in accordance with the laws of the
State, sell the land for the benefit of the children; and the purchaser
may obtain the United States patent.
From what has been stated, it will be seen that no title to land can be
obtained from prëemptor or homesteader who has not perfected his title.
Nothing can be done to carry out such a transaction except for the
holder to formally abandon his right, which can be done by a simple
proceeding at the land-office, and for the successor to take the
chances of commencing an entirely fresh title for the land in question.
Another point to be noticed is that the homestead is not liable for the
debts of the holder contracted prior to the issuing of the patent. The
law allows but one homestead privilege: a settler relinquishing or
abandoning his claim can not thereafter make a second homestead entry.
If a settler has settled on land and filed his preëmption declaration
for the same, he may change his filing into a homestead, if he
continues in good faith to comply with the preëmption laws until the
change is effected; and the time during which he has been on the land
as a preëmptor will be credited to him toward the five years for a
homestead.
The above information is obtained from the statutes of the United
States, and is generally applicable. The rates of fees given are those
which apply to Oregon, and vary slightly in different States.
[Sidenote: _SCHOOL AND RAILROAD LAND._]
Besides the public lands open to homestead and preëmption, a settler
may purchase school lands, university lands, State lands, or railroad
or wagon-grant lands. In each township of thirty-six sections of 640
acres each, the two numbered 16 and 36 are devoted to school purposes,
and are sold by the Board of School Commissioners for the State to
settlers in quantities not exceeding 320 acres to any one applicant,
and at the best prices obtainable; such lands are valued by the county
school superintendents for the information of the commissioners, but
the minimum price is two dollars an acre. A further number of sections
has been granted by the United States to the State of Oregon for the
support of the University and of the Agricultural College. The greater
part of these lands has been sold; some still remains; the average
price of previous sales is somewhat under two dollars an acre. The
State also possesses some further lands donated by the United States
for various purposes, but the quantity is not extensive--except of
lands known as swamp lands. Where the greater portion of a section is
properly describable as wet and unfit for cultivation, it is called
swamp land. Such lands have been granted by the United States to the
State of Oregon, and are not open to preëmption or homesteading. A very
free interpretation is put on the words "wet and unfit for
cultivation," and a very large acreage is included. The State has given
rights of purchase over large bodies of these lands to different
parties, and at prices which I have heard bear but a small proportion
to their real value. At every session of the Legislature some fresh
bills are brought in for dealing with the swamp lands, and a vast
amount of "lobbying" goes on, which I suppose some people or other find
a profit in. The great bulk of these lands are situated in Southeastern
Oregon, in the vicinity of the lakes, such as Klamath Lake and Goose
Lake; but a good many acres are scattered throughout Eastern and
Southern Oregon.
[Sidenote: _ACREAGES OWNED BY COMPANIES._]
The largest land-owners in the State are the railroads and the military
wagon-road companies. The great grant to the Oregon and California
Railroad extends over the alternate sections within twenty miles on
either side of the road, to the extent of 12,800 acres for each mile of
railroad. The total estimated amount of this grant is 3,500,000 acres.
The West-side Railroad, called properly the Oregon Central, has a grant
estimated at 300,000 acres. The prices at which these companies sell
these lands do not exceed seven dollars per acre; and the amount may he
spread over ten years, carrying seven per cent. interest. The
wagon-roads have grants the amounts of which are stated as follows:
ACRES.
Oregon Central Military Road Company 720,000
The Dalles Military Road Company 556,800
Corvallis and Yaquina Bay Wagon-Road Company 76,800
Coos Bay Military Road Company 50,000
The Willamette Valley and Cascade Mountains
Military Wagon-Road Company 850,000
This last grant is attached to the road company described in a previous
chapter. The Willamette Valley and Coast Railroad Company also has a
grant of all the tide and overflowed lands in Benton County, the amount
being estimated at about 100,000 acres of alluvial land. In many cases
the companies were unable to obtain the full amount of acreage which
their grants give them out of the odd-numbered sections within the belt
covered by the grant. The alternative is for them to get what are
called "lieu-lands," outside of their declared limits.
So rapid is the tide of settlement, especially in Eastern Oregon, that
the land-offices are thronged with applicants. A young Englishman who
came out with me wrote from the Dalles to us last spring that on three
successive Fridays he had come in from his range to file his homestead
application, and after waiting the whole day he had been unable to get
the business done, and had to return to his quarters disappointed.
CHAPTER XIV.
The "Web-foot State"--Average rainfall in various parts--The rainy
days in 1879 and 1880--Temperature--Seasons--Accounts and figures
from three points--Afternoon sea-breezes--A "cold snap"--Winter--
Floods--Damage to the river-side country--Rare thunder--Rarer
wind-storms--The storm of January, 1880.
I should think that no State is so much scoffed at as Oregon on the
score of wet weather. Our neighbors in California call us "Web-feet,"
and the State is called "The Web-foot State." Emigrants are warned not
to come here unless they want to live like frogs, up to their necks in
water, and much more to the like effect. And this question as to the
quantity of rain is one always asked in the letters of inquiry we get
here from all parts of the world. It is impossible to give a general
answer, because the rainfall varies in the State from seventy-two
inches at Astoria, at the mouth of the Columbia River, to twelve inches
on some of the elevated plains of extreme Eastern Oregon. Western
Oregon also varies in its different parts; the rainfall of seventy-two
inches at Astoria sinking by pretty regular stages southward to
thirty-two inches at Jacksonville.
[Sidenote: _AVERAGE RAINFALL._]
The average rainfall for four years reported by the United States
Signal-Service Station at Portland is 52-82/100 inches. At Eola near
Salem the average of seven years is 371-98/100 inches. At Corvallis the
average of the last three years, taken at the Agricultural College by
Professor Hawthorne, is 31-62/100 inches; but this last low average is
produced by the fact of the months of October and November, 1880,
having been unusually dry. The average rainfall for October, in 1878
and 1879, was 2-86/100 inches, and for November 4-12/100 inches; while
in 1880 the rainfall for those months was only 80/100 and 50/100 of an
inch.
The result of the late setting in of the rains in the fall of 1880 was
that the grass was very late in resuming its growth, and consequently
feed for stock during the early part of the winter of 1880-'81 was very
scanty. But, perhaps, it is better to give the number of snowy and
rainy days annually occurring, as that is what at any rate the feminine
part of the families of intending emigrants desire to know. During
1879, from May to December, there were at Corvallis thirty-five rainy
days and five snowy. During 1880 there were sixty-nine rainy days and
nine snowy. In these figures are taken in several days which were only
showery at intervals, and there are omitted several days when a slight
shower or two fell, with bright sun in between, but which it would not
be fair to call rainy days. But the distribution of the rain is of more
consequence, both to the farmer and to the mere resident, than the
aggregate. So I will set out the rainy and snowy days for the several
months, at Corvallis:
1879.--From May 17th to 31st, 5; June, 1; July, 2; August, 3;
September, 4; October, 2; November, 7; December, 11, and 5 snowy.
1880.--January, 10, and 3 snowy; February, 5, and 2 snowy; March, 5,
and 3 snowy; April, 10; May, 8; June, 2; July, 1; August, 2; September,
4; October, 5; November, 5; December, 12, and 1 snowy.
1881.--January, 9 rainy, and 2 snowy; February, 16, 1 snowy; March, 5
showery, no steady rain.
At Eola, near Salem, about forty miles north of this, the figures
differ slightly, as will be seen from the following table. But this is
an average of the seven years, from 1871 to 1878:
MONTHS. Number of Snowy days. Rainfall,
rainy days. in inches.
January 14·6 1·8 5·1
February 14·4 ·6 5·7
March 17·4 ·6 6·1
April 11·5 ·28 3·1
May 9·5 0 2·0
June 5· 0 1·2
July 1·8 0 ·24
August 2·1 0 ·14
September 3·4 0 ·78
October 7·4 0 2·93
November 12·2 ·58 5·56
December 12·5 1 5·13
[Sidenote: _TEMPERATURE._]
The next question is as to temperature. The following figures speak for
themselves--the highest and lowest temperature in each month, and the
monthly range, reported by the United States Signal-Service Station,
Portland, Oregon:
Legend:
H = Highest
L = Lowest
R = Range
1874. 1875. 1876.
MONTHS. H L R H L R H L R
January 56° 26° 30° 53° 3° 50° 58° 20° 38°
February 60 31 29 54 24 30 59 32 27
March 65 33 32 55 34 21 59 33 26
April 77 37 40 83 28 55 67 33 34
May 83 43 40 75 40 35 82 36 46
June 82 45 37 82 39 43 99 45 54
July 88 49 39 95·5 46 49·5 90 49 41
August 84 46 38 88 46 42 84 43 51
September 88·5 42 46 86 44 42 90 44 46
October 77 32 45 78 36 42 79 42 37
November 63 27 36 63 28 35 63 34 29
December 57 31 26 63 33 30 56 24 32
For comparison's sake we give a similar table for 1878, 1879, and 1880,
kept at the Corvallis Agricultural College:
Legend:
H = Highest
L = Lowest
R = Range
1878. 1879. 1880.
MONTHS. H L R H L R H L R
January 55° 20° 35° 46° 20° 26° 50° 24° 26°
February 60 34 26 52 25 27 44 25 19
March 67 32 35 66 32 34 54 24 30
April 71 31 40 67 32 35 76 29 47
May 80 34 46 72 36 36 72 32 40
June 92 42 50 73 42 31 85 40 45
July 79 53 26 90 45 45 81 42 39
August 81 52 29 83 43 40 84 38 42
September 73 38 35 84 42 42 80 38 42
October 61 32 29 64 28 36 68 28 40
November 55 30 25 55 18 37 56 12 44
December 54 19 35 56 8 48 56 20 36
The averages of temperature for the four seasons at these three points,
Portland, Eola, and Corvallis, are as follows:
POINTS. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter.
Portland 51·9° 65·3° 52·8° 40·1°
Eola 48·3 63·7 51·2 38·2
Corvallis 52 67 53 41
The difference between the extremes is therefore for Portland, 25·2°;
for Eola, 25·5°; for Corvallis, 26°. Contrast this with similar figures
from Davenport, in the State of Iowa. The winter mean there is 19·9°,
the summer 75·2°; showing a difference of 55·3°.
At Corvallis, throughout the summer months and till late in the fall, a
daily sea-breeze springs up from the west about one o'clock in the
afternoon, and continues till night closes in, and then dies off
gradually. However pleasant this is to the settler heated in the
hay- or harvest-field, it brings its perils too. I give an earnest
caution not to be betrayed into sitting down in the shade to cool down,
with coat and vest off, while this sea-breeze fans a heated brow, or a
sore attack of rheumatism or its near relative, neuralgia, will very
likely make you rue the day. Rather put on your warm coat and button it
close, and let the cooling process be a very gradual one. But if, by
your own forgetfulness of simple precautions, you have taken cold, and
rheumatism has you in its grip, do not turn round and abuse a climate
which is one of the most delightful in the whole temperate zone, but
blame yourself, and yourself only.
In the winter of 1879-'80 we had a "cold snap." The day before
Christmas the west wind suddenly veered round northward. What a bitter
blast came straight from the icy north! The cattle set up their poor
backs, and crowded, sterns to the wind, into the warmest corners of the
open fields, and there stood with rough coats and drooping heads, the
pictures of passive endurance. In two days the ice bore, and everything
that could be called a skate was tied or screwed on to unaccustomed
feet; and a beautiful display of fancy skating followed, as all the
"hoodlums" of the town sought out the Crystal Lake or Fisher's Lake.
Then came the snow; and every one left off skating and took to
sleighing. The livery-stable keepers made fortunes by hiring out the
one or two real sleighs; but poor or economical people constructed
boxes of all shapes and fastened them on runners, making up in the
merriment of the passengers for the uncouthness of the vehicles.
But the snow, too, only lay a few days, and we were glad when our old
friend the rain fell and restored to us the familiar prospect. For
houses here are not constructed for extremes of temperature in either
direction; and hot, dry air in the sitting-room, where the close stove
crackles and grows red-hot, is a bad preparation for a bedroom with ten
degrees of frost in it, or the outside air with the icy wind bringing a
piece of Mount Hood and its glaciers into your very lungs.
The only good thing was, that it lasted so short a time. And during
this last winter of 1880-'81 we have had no such experience.
[Sidenote: _FLOODS._]
Instead, we have had trial of floods--the highest since 1860-'61, the
year of the great flood. After about twenty-four hours' snow, the wind
went round to the south, and a soft, warm rain followed for nearly
thirty-six hours more. This melted the snow, both on the Cascades and
on and round Mary's Peak. The Mackenzie, which is the southeast fork of
the Willamette, and comes straight from the Cascades, brought down a
raging torrent into the more peaceful Willamette. All the tributary
streams followed in their turn. Telegrams brought news from Eugene
City, forty miles up the river, every hour, "River rising, six inches
an hour." Soon the banks would not hold the water, which spread over
the surrounding country.
Corvallis stands high on the river's bank; but looking across over the
low-lying lands in Linn County, nothing but a sea of moving, brown
water appeared, in which the poor farmhouses and barns stood as islands
in the midst. The settlers who were warned in time cleared their
families out of their houses, and left their dwellings and furniture to
their fate. The horses and cattle that could be reached in time were
swum across the river to safety on this side, and an excited crowd
lined the river-bank, watching the swimming beasts and helping them to
land, while every skiff that could be pressed into the service was
engaged in bringing across the women and children and their most valued
possessions. One man lost fourteen horses which had been turned out on
some swampy land four miles below the city; others cattle, sheep, and
pigs; and none within reach of the inundation--that is, within a belt
of low land averaging two miles from the river in extent--but had their
fences moved or carried away and heaped in wild confusion. The worst
case I heard of was of a poor fellow from the East, who had just
invested his all in a farm of fat and fertile bottom-land a few miles
from Salem. He had repaired his house and furnished it, had stocked his
farm, and had written for wife and family to join him. The rain
descended, the flood came; higher and higher it rose, sweeping off
fences, drowning cattle; it entered the house and spoiled all of its
contents. The unlucky owner had to betake himself to a tree, whence he
was picked by a passing skiff the next morning, bewailing his fate, and
offering his farm as a free gift to any one who would give him enough
dollars to return to the Eastern State whence he had just come.
But nearly all the mischief to stock came from neglect of timely
warning. No one but could have driven all off to safety, for the
water-worn belt was a very narrow one. Some men gained largely by the
deposit left by the flood on their land, serving to renew for many
years the productive qualities; others were in a sad plight--the soil
being washed away, deep gullies plowed, and a thick coating of stones
and river-gravel left.
The river rose high enough to flood the lower floors of the wheat
warehouses from Rosebury to Portland, and in the river-side towns
caused a great deal of discomfort and some loss; but no loss of life
resulted. It carried away the new bridges over the Santiam River just
built by the narrow-gauge railroad, and washed away several miles of
their new track. It also broke through several viaducts on the
East-side Railroad, and stopped postal communication for a day or two.
[Sidenote: _THE "CHINOOK."_]
The winter of 1880-'81 has proved disastrous to stock in Eastern
Oregon. As a general rule, the sheep and cattle ranges are covered with
bunch-grass, which grows from ten to twenty-four inches high during the
summer months, and is dried by the sun into natural hay. When winter
comes it brings with it snow from six to eighteen inches deep, and this
lies light and powdery over the face of the country. The cattle and
sheep scratch the covering off, and feed on the hay beneath. The
prevailing winds in the winter there are north and south, and neither
melts the snow. But now and again comes the west or southwest
"Chinook." It breathes softly on the snow, and a quivering haze rises
from the melting mass. When the "Chinook" blows long enough to melt the
snow away, all goes well. But this last winter, after blowing for a day
or two and melting the surface, it gave place to a biting blast from
the north, which froze all hard again. The unfortunate sheep and cattle
tried in vain to scratch through the icy crust, and died from
starvation within but a few inches of their food.
In speaking of the rainfall of the State it is right to mention a
considerable stretch of land lying on the east side of, and directly
under the lee of, the Cascade Mountains. Here there falls but six or
eight inches of rain in the year. The residents have, therefore, to
depend on irrigation for fertility of soil. They have abundant
facilities for this, as many streams and creeks flow down from the
Cascades. With irrigation, very heavy crops of grain (as much as forty
bushels of wheat to the acre) are produced.
Western Oregon enjoys a remarkable immunity from thunder-storms. They
are of very rare occurrence, and when the thunder is heard it is
rumbling away in the mountains many miles off. We have seen some summer
lightning on a few evenings, gleaming away over the hills.
Wind-storms, too, very seldom visit us. In January, 1880, one curiously
local storm swept from the south through the valley. It bore most
severely on Portland. A friend there told me that he was looking across
the river to East Portland, where the Catholic church stood with its
spire, a prominent object. As he looked, the blast struck it, and, as
he expressed it, the building melted away before his eyes. Riding
through the green fir-timber in the hills a few days after the storm, I
saw several places where the limbs were torn off, and even great trees
blown down in a straight line, their neighbors within but a few feet of
them standing unhurt.
[Sidenote: _PLEASANT SPRING WEATHER._]
The Government records in twenty-five years only show three winds
blowing over the State with a velocity of forty-five miles an hour and
a force of ten pounds to the square foot. But what a spring we have had
this year--1881! While the papers have been full of snow-storms and
floods in other places, here we have had balmy sunshine and mild
nights, with occasional showers. The old residents call it real Oregon
weather, and say it always was like this till two or three years ago.
CHAPTER XV.
The State Fair of 1880--Salem--The ladies' pavilion--Knock-'em-downs
_à l'Américaine_--Self-binders--Thrashing-machines--Rates of speed--
Cost--Workmanship--Prize sheep--Fleeces--Pure _versus_ graded sheep
--California short-horns--Horses--American breed or Percheron--
Comparative measurements--The races--Runners--Trotters--Cricket in
public--Unruly spectators.
About two miles from the city of Salem, the capital of the State, are
the fair-grounds. Round a large inclosure of some fifteen acres of
grass-land there runs a belt of oak-wood. Here, inside the
boundary-fence, are camping-places without end. Until 1880 the State
Fair has been held in October, but it was then changed to July, in the
interval between the hay- and the grain-harvest, and so as to take in
the great national festival on the 4th of July. Every one goes to the
fair, which lasts a week, for every one's tastes are consulted. The
ladies have a pavilion with displays of fruit and flowers; of
needle-work and pictures; of sewing-machines and musical instruments of
all kinds; of household implements and "notions" various. The children
delight in an avenue of booths and caravans, where the juggler swallows
swords, and a genius in academic costume and mortar-board hat teaches
arithmetical puzzles and the art of memory in a stentorian voice. Here
is the wild-beast show, and there the American substitute for the Old
World knock-'em-downs. A canvas-sided court, five-and-twenty feet
across, contains the game. At the farther side, on a continuous ledge,
stands a row of hideous life-size heads and shoulders labeled with the
names and painted in the supposed likeness of the prominent political
characters of the time. A great soft-leather ball supplies the place of
the throwing-sticks; and for a quarter (of a dollar) you can have a
couple of dozen throws at the pet object of your aversion. As fast as
the doll is knocked over his proprietor sticks him up again; while an
admiring crowd applaud the hits, or groan, according to their political
colors.
Here is a great opening for skill, and also (say it in a whisper) for
trifling bets. A man I know was "dead broke" when he went to the
knock-'em-down, but by straight throws and cunning he gained a couple
of dollars in a quarter of an hour, and so got another day in the fair.
The real business of the fair appeals straight to the farmer and
mechanic.
The long rows of lumber-built sheds are filled with choice sheep,
cattle, horses, pigs, poultry. The race-track on the farther side of
the grounds is crowded also every afternoon, while many a rivalry
between the running or trotting horses of the various counties is
decided.
[Sidenote: _SELF-BINDERS._]
The implements, too, are a fine show. The "self-binders" display their
powers by catching up and tying over and over again the same sheaf of
grain before a curious crowd, far better instructed than you would
suppose in the intricacies of construction and neatness and rapidity of
performance of the various machines. Last year the great attraction was
the Osborne twine-binder, for every one was interested in getting rid
of the wire that has been injuring the thrashers and hurting the
digestion of the stock. It was voted a good worker, but complicated, as
far as we could judge; and the general verdict seemed to be that
greater simplicity of make and fewer parts to get out of order would
soon be brought to bear either by these or other makers.
There were two or three thrashing-machines displayed--the Buffalo
Pitts, the Minnesota Chief, and one or two others. The great
distinctions between these and the machines of English makers, such as
Clayton and Shuttleworth, lie in the American drum and cylinder being
armed with teeth and driven at a rate of speed from twice to three
times that used in the English machine. The straw is, of course, beaten
here into shreds between the revolving teeth, and its length and
consistency far more completely destroyed than in the Clayton and
Shuttleworth, and so loses much of its value for storing and feeding
purposes. On the other hand, the grain is better cleaned, and the
product per hour in clean grain is double that of the English machine.
The American makers authorize as much as fifteen hundred bushels per
day with horsepower, and up to three thousand with steam. There were
several horse-powers shown, for use with the thrashing-machines; these
left nothing to be desired for simplicity and economy of power. The
thrashing-machines are of various sizes and prices, ranging from $750
to $1,500 in value.
An idea prevails in some parts that the mowers and reapers of American
make are slighter and more fragile than those of English construction.
Such is not the result of our observation and experience here. On the
contrary, our "Champion" mower and reaper combined did work over rough
ground, baked hard with the summer's sun, which demonstrated both
strength and excellence of work beyond what we should have expected
from any English machine we know of.
There was a very poor show of chaff-cutters and root-pulpers, because
our farming friends here have not yet required these indispensable aids
to mixed farming and succession of crops. After spending a couple of
profitable hours among the machines, now come and inspect the stock.
[Sidenote: _PRIZE SHEEP._]
We turn first into the long alley of sheep-pens. The first attraction
is the prize lot of Spanish merinos. Huge, heavy sheep clothed with
wool almost to their ankles; ungainly to an English eye, from their
thick necks, and large heads, and deep folds of skin. The shearer was
at work, and fleeces weighing from seventeen to twenty pounds were
displayed. We examine eight or ten pens of these merinos, including
Spanish, French, and German, mostly in use in Eastern and Southern
Oregon, where the dry climate and wide range suit these sheep exactly.
There were one or two pens of graded sheep, merinos crossed with
Cotswold or Vermont bucks. The crosses maintained the weight in wool
and decidedly showed improved mutton, but the quality of the wool, of
course, betrayed the admixture of the coarser fiber. There were two or
three pens of improved Oxfordshires, the breed of which has been kept
pure by a well-known fancier in Marion County, on the uplands east of
Salem. The sheep were in many points very pretty, but seemed to us now
to require fresh blood, as the wool-bearing surfaces were evidently
reduced. Several pens of pure Cotswolds were exceedingly good, both in
shape, size, and wool. The Vermont crosses which had been tried in a
few instances did not seem to us to have been profitable. One thing
pleased us, namely, that the best sheep, as a rule, came from those
farmers who bred sheep in inclosed lands and fed them well, as part of
a general system of farming, rather than from the huge flocks of the
sheep-men who range the wilds.
The only cattle worth looking at were some Durhams brought up by one of
the successful California breeders for exhibition and sale. The prices
he got must have been very satisfactory to him, and proved that some
Oregon farmers at any rate have the pluck and foresight to give full
value for good stock.
Next came the horses. The stamp varied from nearly thoroughbred to
Clydesdale and Percheron stud-horses, with a fair number of mares and
foals. The parade of the horses each day, as they were led round the
ring each by its own attendant, was a very pretty sight. Nothing
special need be said of the well-bred stock--that is much the same the
world over; only the size proved how well adapted Oregon is for the
home of horses of a high class. What interested us most were very fine
specimens of what are called here heavy horses for farm-work. Standing
fully sixteen hands high, with long but compact bodies, good heads,
with large, full eyes, and hard, clean legs, fit to draw a light wagon
six or seven miles an hour over muddy roads, and to drag a sixteen-inch
plow through valley soil, they seemed to us the very models of the
horse the valley farmers should breed in any number. We regretted to
notice the large number of Clydesdales and Percherons; the latter type
of horse especially we deprecate--tall grays, with thick necks, heavy
heads, upright shoulders, slim, round bodies, hairy, clumsy legs, huge
flat feet covered with the mass of hair depending from the fetlock.
Just such you may see any day in the farm-carts in the north of
France--a team of four in a string, the shaft-horse overshadowed by the
huge cart with wheels six feet high; the carter plodding by the side,
in his blue blouse with his long whip. Just to settle a controversy
with some Percheron-mad Oregonian friends, we had several horses of the
two different types measured then and there. We found the Oregon mare
girthed nearly a foot more round the body behind the shoulders than the
Percheron horse. The girth of the forearm below the shoulder was
greater. The Percheron was the taller at the shoulder, the thicker
round the fetlock, and, I should think, carried two extra pounds of
horse-hair in mane, tail, and fetlock-tufts. The Oregon mare showed
just those points which every horse-lover seeks, to testify to
activity, strength, endurance, and intelligence; the Percheron was
lacking in such respects, but instead had a certain cart-horse
comeliness, looking more suitable for a brewer's van in a big city than
for our farms and roads.
[Sidenote: _THE RACES._]
Like the rest of the world, we answered to the call of the bell, and
crowded through into the grand stand to see the races. A circular track
of half a mile, the surface of which was already churned into black
mud, did not look promising for the comfort of either drivers or
riders. The benches of the grand stand were crowded with eager
spectators, ladies predominating--the men were lining the track below,
while the judges looked down from a high box opposite. The din of the
men selling pools on the impending race was deafening, and each of the
little auctioneers' boxes where the sales went on was surrounded by a
throng of bidders. The first race was for runners, that is gallopers,
ridden by boys thirteen or fourteen years old. It was not a grand
display to see three or four horses galloping away, dragging their
little riders almost on to their necks, and their finishes showed no
great art. Then came the trotting races, and these were worth seeing.
Three sulkies came on the track, the driver sitting on a little tray
just over his horse's tail, and between two tall, slender wheels.
Catching tight hold of his horse's head, and sticking his feet well in
front of him, each driver sent his horse at a sharp trot round the
track to open his lungs. Then the bell rang again, the course was
cleared, and the drivers turned their horses' heads the same way, and
tried to come up to the judges' box in line. Once, twice, they tried;
but the bell was silent, and back they had to come, the horses fretting
at the bit, and getting flecked with foam in anxiety to be off. The
third time the three sulkies were abreast as they passed the line, the
bell sounded once, and off they tore. The drivers sat still farther
back, and the horses laid themselves down to their grand, far-reaching
trot. Before two hundred yards was covered one broke into a gallop, and
had to be pulled back at once, his adversaries gaining a yard or two
before he could be steadied to a trot again. Here they come in the
straight run-in, the little black horse slightly in front, the big bay
next, but hardly a head between them; the crowd shouts wildly, and the
bay breaks trot just at the critical moment, and the black wins the
heat, his legs going with the regularity and drive of a steam-engine.
The horses are surrounded by admirers as they are taken out of the
sulkies, and led off to be rubbed down and comforted before the next
heat comes on. Then follows a running race, and then another heat of
the trotting race. This time the bay wins, hard held, and forbidden by
a grasp of iron to break into the longed-for gallop. Soon comes the
deciding heat, and the excitement grows intense; the pools are selling
actively, and speculation is very brisk.
Our sympathies are with the little black; half a hand shorter than his
antagonist, and more like a trotting-horse than the tall, thoroughbred
bay. But the fates are against him--size and breeding tell, and the bay
wins.
Then the band strikes up, and the crowd disperses. Most get back to the
city by one of the miscellaneous wagons, or hacks, or omnibuses pressed
into the service of the fair; the rest betake themselves to their
camping-places among the oak-grubs, after supplying themselves with
meat and bread from one or other of the temporary stores set up at one
side of the grounds.
[Sidenote: _CRICKET IN PUBLIC._]
This year the visitors had a new sensation in seeing cricket played on
the fair-ground, to most of them a new sight. Portland is blessed with
a cricket club, mostly supported by the emigrants from the old country.
Corvallis has a similar advantage. The Portlanders, in the pride of
their strength, and heralded by a paragraph in the "Oregonian"
newspaper, that the "team selected to beat the Corvallis athletes" had
gone up to Corvallis, had come for wool and gone home shorn. So, as a
return-match was under discussion, it was determined to accept the
invitation of the fair committee and play the return on the
fair-grounds for the amusement of the visitors. Accordingly, the game
was duly played out, and ended again in a one-innings defeat of proud
Portland, to the delight of the spectators from the valley, who are
generally a little jealous of the airs and graces of the hustling town
which calls herself the metropolis of the Northwest. There was some
difficulty in keeping the ground clear; the ladies particularly could
not comprehend the terrible solecism they were committing in tripping
bravely across, to speak, to "point," and chat with the wicket-keeper.
If you could but have seen the horror-stricken faces of one or two of
our eleven, accustomed to the rigor of the game at Cambridge, Rugby, or
Cheltenham!
CHAPTER XVI.
History of Oregon--First discoverers--Changes of government--Recognition
as a Territory--Entrance as a State--Individual histories--"Jottings"--
"Sitting around"--A pioneer in Benton County--How to serve Indian thieves
--The white squaw and the chief--Immigration in company--Rafting on the
Columbia--The first winter--Early settlement--Indian friends--Indian
houses and customs--The Presbyterian colony--The start--Across the
plains--Arrival in Oregon--The "whaler" settler--A rough journey--"Ho
for the Umpqua!"--A backwoodsman--Compliments--School-teacher provided
for--Uncle Lazarus--Rogue River Cañon--Valley of Death--Pleasant homes
--Changed circumstances.
Taking note of the civilized and settled condition of so large a part
of this State, it is hard to credit that it was only in 1831 that the
first attempts at farming in Oregon were made by some of the men in the
Hudson Bay Company's service, and that in 1838 the first printing-press
arrived. This valued relic is now preserved in a place of honor in the
State Capitol building at Salem--more accordant with the spirit of the
times than rusty armor or moth-eaten banners.
The early history is somewhat misty, but the following slight sketch
is, I believe, accurate:
The coast of Oregon was visited both by British and Spanish navigators
in the sixteenth century. In 1778 Captain Cook sailed along the coast.
In 1775 Heceta, and in 1792 Vancouver, both suspected the existence of
the Columbia River from the appearance of its estuary. But in 1792
Captain Gray, of Boston, and afterward, in the same year, Captain
Baker, an Englishman, entered the estuary itself. It was on Captain
Gray's discovery that the United States Government afterward rested its
claim to the whole country watered by the great river, the mouth of
which he had discovered. But Lieutenant Broughton, of the British Navy,
in 1792 or 1793, a very few months after Captain Gray's visit, actually
ascended the Columbia for one hundred miles, and laid claim to the
country in the name of King George III. In 1804 the American Government
expedition of Lewis and Clark crossed the Rocky Mountains, descended
the Columbia, and passed the winter of 1805-'6 at its mouth; and the
records of their discoveries first drew public attention to the
country. In 1810 Captain Winship, also from New England, built the
first house in Oregon. Astoria was founded in 1811 by John Jacob Astor,
of New York, as a trading-port. The British, while the war was raging
in 1813, took possession of the post and named it Fort George. Then
followed the Hudson Bay Company, who claimed the sovereignty of the
country under the terms of their wide charter. They established their
headquarters for the North Pacific coast at Vancouver, on the north
bank of the Columbia, about one hundred miles from its mouth. There the
fort was built, the settlement formed, farming began, and the Governor
of the Hudson Bay Territory had his Western home.
In 1832 the first school was opened. Between 1834 and 1837 missionaries
of various denominations arrived, bringing cattle with them; and in
1841 Commodore Wilkes visited Oregon on an exploring expedition by
order of the United States Government. From 1816 to 1846 the "joint
occupancy" of Oregon by the American and British Governments lasted
under treaty.
In 1843 the people were for the first time recognized, and united in
forming a provisional government, formally accepted at a general
election in 1845. By the year 1846 the white population numbered about
ten thousand souls, and in that year the Oregon Territory, including
both the present State of Oregon and also Washington Territory, was
ceded, under the Ashburton Treaty, by the British Government to the
United States.
Congress formally recognized the Territory of Oregon in 1848, and in
1849 General Joe Lane entered office as the first Territorial Governor.
His portrait now adorns the Capitol building. And the old general,
still erect and in full preservation, in spite of his years and
services, has been until this spring of 1881 yet seen and respectfully
greeted at many a public gathering.
[Sidenote: _ENTRANCE AS A STATE._]
In 1859 Oregon was admitted into the Union as a sovereign State; the
population was 52,465. In 1880 the census gave a total of 174,767
souls, showing an increase of 122,302 in twenty-one years, and an
increase of 74,767 over the State census in 1875. But, after all, the
history of a State is the history of its people.
Nowadays we enter Oregon within twenty days from Liverpool, having been
speeded on our journey by steamships and railroads in continuous
connections. Within two years the State expects to have two direct
lines of Eastern communication--one by the Northern Pacific, the other
by a line through the southeastern corner of the State to Reno, on the
Central Pacific--shortening the twenty to sixteen days. Within two
years more it is hoped that the Oregon Pacific will make communication
at Boisé City, Idaho, with independent Eastern lines, and open a still
more direct course out to the centers of population and enterprise. But
in the early days, from 1846 to 1851, when the tide of settlement ran
first this way, their experiences were widely different.
Listen to the tales some of these men tell--not old men yet by any
means; the vigor and power of life still burn in most of them, for the
dates are but thirty years back. But what a different life these
pioneers led then!
Let me sketch the scene and its surroundings where these "jottings
round the stove" are made. It is rather a dusty old room, and a rusty
old stove in the middle, and rather a dusty and rusty company are
gathered round it. Winter-time is upon us; the rain falls in a
ceaseless drizzle, and the drops from the eaves patter on the fallen
leaves of the plane-trees round the house. The time is after the noon
dinner-hour; no work presses, for the fall wheat is all in, and there
is a sense of warmth and comfort within, which contrasts with the dim
scene without, where the rain-mists obscure the hills and fill the
valley with their slowly driving masses.
Five or six of us "sit around"--mostly on two legs of the chairs, and
our boots are propped up on the ridge round the stove. We don't go much
on broadcloth and "biled" shirts, but we prefer stout flannel shirts
and brown overalls, with our trousers tucked inside our knee-high
boots. Tobacco in one form or the other occupies each one. Carpets we
have no use for, and it is good that the arm-chairs are of fir, as the
arms are so handy for whittling, there being no loose pieces of soft
wood by. But we are all good friends, and I, for one, do not wish for
better company for an hour or two "around the stove."
[Sidenote: _A PIONEER IN BENTON COUNTY._]
"So the old man came into Benton County in 1845, did he?"
"Yes, he and his wife and two young children, and took up a claim there
three or four miles from town."
"Was there a town then?"
"Not much--just three log-cabins and a hut or so; they called it
Marysville; it did not get the name of Corvallis till years after."
"How about the Indians?"
"Well, there were plenty in the valley, Klick-i-tats and
Calapooyas--these last were a mean set at that. The valley was all over
bunch-grass waist-high, and the hills were full of elk and deer."
"Had the old man any stock?"
"He had just brought a few with him from Missouri over the Plains, and
fine store he set by them. You see the Indians used to come and beg for
flour and sugar, and a beef now and then. Some of the neighbors would
give them a beef at times, but the old man used to say he hadn't
brought no cattle to give to them varmints."
"How did they manage to live at first?"
"Well, the old man used to go off for a week at a time to Oregon City
to work on the boats there at his trade of a ship-carpenter. He had to
foot it there and back, and pack flour and bacon on his back for his
folks, and a tramp of sixty miles at that."
"Did the Indians bother any while he was gone?"
"One time a pack of them came round the cabin and got saucy, finding
only the old lady at home. They crowded into the house and began to
help themselves, but the old lady she took the axe and soon made them
clear out. When the old man came back she told him about it. 'Well,'
says he, 'I reckon I shall have to stop at home a day or two and fix
these varmints.' So three or four days afterward back they came.
"The old man he kept out of sight, and the buck they called the chief
came in and began to lay hold of anything he fancied.
"Then the old man showed himself in the doorway with his old rifle on
his arm. He looked the chief up and down, and then he says to his wife:
'Do you see that bunch of twigs over the fireplace? You take them down,
and go through that fellow while the twigs hold together!' And he says
to the Indian, 'You raise a finger against that woman, and I'll blow
the top of your head off!' So the old lady takes down the willow-twigs,
and goes for the Indian for all there was in it, and beats him round
and round the house till there wasn't a whole twig in the bunch. Lord!
You should have seen the whole crowd of twenty or thirty Indians
splitting with laughter to see the white squaw go for the chief. I tell
you, sir, that Indian made the quickest time on record back to the camp
as soon as she let him go, and that crowd never bothered that cabin any
more. Now, wasn't that much better than shooting and fighting, and
kicking up the worst kind of a muss?"
"Well, I guess so. Did he have any more bother with the Indians?"
"Not a great deal. You see they were a mean lot, and would lay hands on
anything they could steal; but there wasn't a great deal of fight in
them. One time they had been robbing one of the neighbors of some
cattle, and they went and told the old man. He went up all alone to the
Indian camp with his rifle, and picked out the man he wanted out of a
crowd of fifty of them; and he took him and tied him to a white-oak
tree, and laid on to him with a sapling till he thought he'd had
enough, and not one of the whole crowd dared raise a hand against him.
Now the old gentleman's got three thousand acres of land and all he
wants. How's that for an early settler?"
"Why, pretty good. But you came over the Plains yourself, didn't you?"
"Yes; I was but a little shaver then, in 1845. We came by way of the
Dalles."
"What sort of a crowd had you?"
[Sidenote: _RAFTING ON THE COLUMBIA._]
"Well, there was my father, Nahum his name was, and my four brothers,
all older than I was, and there was the Watsons and the Chambers and
their families in the company. We crossed the Plains all right and got
to the Dalles. There were thirteen wagons in the party, and we rafted
them and the cattle and all the rest of it down the Columbia."
"How on earth did you make a raft big enough?"
"Well, we just cut the logs in the woods on the edge of the river, and
rolled them in and pegged them together with lighter trees laid across.
It took us about all the morning to get out into the current, and all
the afternoon to get back again. But, after all, we got to the
Cascades."
"How did you get past them?"
"We had to just put the wagons together, and cut a road for ourselves,
six miles round the portage, till we could take to the river again.
Then we got boats and came all right down the Columbia and up the
Willamette past where Portland now stands."
"Where was Portland then?"
"There was no Portland, I tell you--just a few houses and cabins. I
forget what they called the place. Anyhow, we got pretty soon to the
Tualitin Plains, where Forest-grove Station is now, and there we passed
that first winter in Oregon."
"Was it rough on you?"
"Well, no--not particularly. All the lot of us crowded into one little
cabin; but we lived pretty well."
"What did you live on?"
"Well, there was a little grist-mill near by, and the folks had raised
a little wheat and some potatoes and peas. We got no meat at all that
winter. The next spring we came on into King's Valley and took up the
old place--you know where I showed it you--under the hill."
"Weren't there plenty of Indians there?"
"Indians! I should think so; about two or three hundred Klick-i-tats
were camped in that valley then. Good Indians they were, tall, and
straight as a dart."
"Who was the chief?"
"A man they called Quarterly. When we came in and camped, that Indian
came up to my father and said, 'What do you want here?' My father said,
'We have come here to settle down and farm and make homes for
ourselves.' 'Well,' says the Indian, 'you can; if you don't meddle with
us, we won't hurt you.' No more they did; we never had a cross word
from them."
"Was the country theirs?"
"Well, no; it belonged properly to the Calapooyas, and these
Klick-i-tats had rented it off them for some horses and cloths and
things for a hunting-ground."
"Plenty of game?"
"Just lots of it; elk and deer plenty, and the bunch-grass waist-high.
The Indian ponies were rolling fat; good ponies they were, too."
"What sort of houses had these Indians?"
[Sidenote: _INDIAN HOUSES AND CUSTOMS._]
"The Klick-i-tats had regular lodges: sticks set in the ground in a
circle and tied together at the top, and covered all over with the rush
mats they used to make. Good workers they were, too. They and the
Calapooyas fell out once. I mind very well one day the Klick-i-tats
came running in to our camp to say there was ever such a lot of
Calapooyas coming in to attack them. They sent off their women and
children to the hills, and then drove all their horses down to our
camp. Strange, wasn't it, they should think their stock safer with five
or six white men? There must have been several hundred of those
Calapooyas."
"Did the fight come off?"
"Not that time; they made it up with some presents of horses and beads
and things."
"What's become of those Klick-i-tats?"
"All that's left of them are gone to the reservation away north on the
Columbia. They had their big fight with the Calapooyas down there by
the Mary River bridge, out by Wrenn's school-house, just before we came
into the country. The Calapooyas were too many for them, for they were,
I should say, three to one. That was quite a battle, I should say.--But
here comes one of the early settlers. Why don't you ask him about it?"
Just then the door had been opened, and in came a slender, gray-haired
minister, with black coat and white collar and tie.
"So you were an early settler?"
"Yes, I had some experiences in early days. Did you ever hear of our
Presbyterian colony?"
"I think not."
"Well, I was born and raised in Pennsylvania. I had just finished my
theological course and got married. I had heard a good deal about
Oregon, and took the notion of getting some Presbyterians to go out
there. This was in 1851, when the law had been passed giving half a
section of land to every settler, and half another section for his
wife, if he had one."
"How did you set about getting Presbyterians together?"
"I just put an advertisement in the Pennsylvania papers that a
Presbyterian minister intended starting for Oregon in the spring of
1852, and would be glad for any Presbyterians to join him and found a
colony there."
"Did you get many answers?"
"About eighty agreed to go, but a good many weakened before the time
came, and only about forty of them started; some twenty came in
afterward, so that our party was sixty strong. When we left St. Joe, in
Missouri, we had twenty wagons. I had a nice carriage with four mules
for my wife, and a half-share in a wagon and ox-team. We left St. Joe
in May, 1852, and arrived in Oregon four months and a half afterward."
"Did you travel all the time?"
"We laid over for Sundays, and I preached every Sunday on the journey
but one, when we were crossing an alkali desert, and had to push on
through to water."
"Were there many emigrants on the road, minister?"
"There was the heaviest emigration to Oregon that year that there has
ever been. Many times I have climbed a hill just off the great emigrant
trail, and counted a hundred wagons and more ahead, and more than a
hundred behind us."
"Did you carry any feed for your stock?"
"Not any, and it was terribly hard on stock, as the bunch-grass on and
near the trail was eaten down so close. It was harder on the oxen than
on the mules. I brought all my mules safe into Oregon, but only one ox
out of our team."
"How did you do when the oxen gave out?"
"Oh, a man just cut his wagon in half and hitched what oxen he had left
on to the front half, and left the hinder end there in the desert."
"Did you have trouble with the Indians?"
"None at all; all quiet and peaceable. We came into Oregon by way of
Boisé City, Idaho, and Umatilla and the Dalles. The last sixty miles my
wife and I walked nearly all the way, for the mules gave out crossing
the Cascades, and we drove them before us into this valley. The first
milk and butter was at Foster's, near Oregon City; but one old lady in
the crowd would not eat the butter her son had bought for her: she said
it tasted too strong of silver."
[Sidenote: _THE PRESBYTERIAN COLONY._]
"Where did you settle down?"
"About three miles from Corvallis, or Marysville, as it was called
then. Just twelve houses in the place, and two of them stores."
"What did you do for a house?"
"Just set to and built one. I built it round my wife as she camped in
the middle. I cut me down a big fir-tree, and split it out into boards
and shingles."
"What was this valley like then?"
"All open prairie. A man could drive seventy miles without
stopping--from Salem to Eugene. All this oak-brush has grown up since."
"What became of your Presbyterians?"
"Well, we organized the church the next fall, in 1853, with just seven
of the sixty persons who had left the East with me the year before. So
you see we have grown a good deal in these seven-and-twenty years."
Here the minister got up and left the circle. So we turned to a
brown-coated, cheery fellow in the next arm-chair. "You came round the
Horn, didn't you, Bush?"
But the cake of tobacco had to be got out of a deep pocket, and a
pipeful slowly cut off and the fresh pipe started, before the answer
came; and then a great laugh had to expend its force over the merry
memories called up by the question.
"We had a pretty rough old time of it, hadn't we, boys?" and a low
murmur of assent ran round, and all eyes turned, meditatively, to the
stove. Presently the answer to the first question dropped casually out:
"Yes, I came round the Horn. I had been whaling in the Pacific, and
stopped at 'Frisco; we were all mad for the diggings. One day, as I was
strolling round, I saw a great, big placard on the wall, in letters two
feet long: 'Ho! for the Umpqua diggings! Lots of gold! Plenty of water!
Good grub! Fine country! The well-known schooner Reindeer, Captain
Bachelor, will sail for the Umpqua, October the 15th, 1850!' There were
four of us in my party, all young and active then, and we made up our
minds to go, and weren't long about deciding, either. We were up to
roughing it, too; you see, a few years in a whaler will fit you for
most anything."
"What was the voyage like?"
"Rough! There were about one hundred and thirty on board the schooner,
some for the Umpqua, the rest going on to Portland. After knocking
about at sea for a few days, we made the Umpqua and stood in. The old
man anchored just under the north beach. As I put my hand on the cable,
it was like a bar of iron, and I felt the anchor drag. I told the mate,
and he went and called the captain. Up came the old man, and wouldn't
believe it at first, but in another minute we should all have been in
the breakers, and nothing could have saved us. Just then a little boat
came past and they hollered out, 'You'll be on the beach inside of
three minutes!' I tell you it was touch and go."
"How did you get off, Bush?"
[Sidenote: _THE "WHALER" SETTLER._]
"The old man shouted to set all sail, and I ran to the helm. I could
see the channel pretty well, and I just steered her by the look of the
water. We just shaved a big rock by three feet or so, and ran up the
river. Presently we anchored again and landed. Then we got a little
Indian canoe and pulled on up the river."
"What was the country like?"
"Pretty rough."
"But the diggings, Bush?"
"Bless you, there weren't any! It was all a plant."
"Didn't you get back to the coast?"
"No, sir, we were in for it, and we calculated to see it out. The
country there, in Southern Oregon, pleased us mightily, it looked so
fresh and green in the valleys, but the mountains were no joke. Then we
heard of this Willamette Valley, and traveled on north to find it. Two
of my mates staid down there on Rogue River for the winter, but one
came on north with me."
"Any adventures, Bush?"
"Not particular. I mind me, though, when we got up to where Monroe City
is now, there was one log-house. Old Dr. Richardson lived there. As we
came to the house he came out and stood just outside. I tell you he was
a picture."
"What like, Bush?"
"Well, he was a great, big, stout fellow, about fifty, with a jolly red
face. He had on a buckskin hunting-shirt with long fringes, and long
buckskin leggins, and his old rifle lay ready in the hollow of his arm.
When we stepped up to him, 'Well, young men, and what do you want?'
says he. 'We should like to stop here and get some dinner,' says I.
'What a beautiful place you have got here, sir!' I went on, 'and, if
you'll allow me to say so, I just admire you for a perfect specimen of
a backwoodsman.' 'What!' says he, 'what on 'arth do you mean, you young
thief of a son-of-a-gun?' says he, stepping up to me, to lay hold of me
by the collar. I tell you, sir, I thought we were in for it, and he was
big enough to whip the two of us. As good luck would have it, the door
opened just then, and the old lady stepped out. She just looked and
then she spoke up. 'Old man,' says she, 'just let me speak to these
young men.' So, she came and asked us our names and where we came from,
and I explained to her that I had no notion of insulting the old
gentleman. 'Oh, well,' says she, 'don't mind him; and now what can I do
for you? You seem nice, quiet young men.' So she gave us some bread and
milk, and the end of it all was, they wanted us to stay all winter with
them."
"So the lady helped you out, as usual, Bush?"
[Sidenote: _UNCLE LAZARUS._]
"They didn't help me always. For the next place we came to was Starr's
settlement. There were a lot of ladies, quilting. We went into the
house to ask if there were any claims to be had. 'Are you married?'
says one of the ladies. 'No, ma'am,' says I. 'Oh, well, then, you can
just get on; we have got plenty of bachelors already. Say, are you a
school-teacher?' says she. I thought for a moment if an old whaleman
dared venture on school-teaching, but I thought, maybe, that was a
leetle too strong. 'No, ma'am,' says I, at last, 'I am not, but my
friend here is well qualified.' 'Oh, well,' says she, 'he can stay and
take up a claim; we have got one here of three hundred and twenty
acres, we have been saving up for the school-teacher; but as for you,
young man, you can jest go on right up the valley.' So I had to go on
to where Corvallis now stands. There were just four or five log-cabins,
and a little stock. I took up a claim and built me a house, and as I
was a pretty good carpenter I got all the work I wanted.--But here
comes Uncle Lazarus."
Just then the door opened, and a quaint figure entered. Let us sketch
him. A broad-brimmed, low-crowned, brown beaver hat (and when we say
broad-brimmed we mean it--not a trifling article of fifteen inches or
so across, but a real, sensible sun-and-rain shade, two feet or
thereabout from edge to edge); an old worn blue military great-coat
covered him; while a mass of snow-white hair and beard framed in a
ruddy face as fresh as a winter apple, and a pair of bright blue eyes
twinkled keenly, but with a hidden laugh in them, from under the broad
brim.
"Sit down, uncle," cried some one, and the old man came to an anchor
with the rest of us round the stove.
"Talking of old times, uncle," we said. "You came in pretty early,
didn't you?"
"Well, I guess it was in 1846," said he, in a plaintive, slow voice.
"We came over the Plains, the old lady and I, from Illinois. We had a
pretty good ox-team, and we got through safe."
"Did you have any fighting, uncle?"
"Well, no; there was too many in the company when we started, and they
did get to quarreling, so I jest left them with one or two more--any
day rather fight than have a fuss; so I thought we'd jest take our
chance with the Injuns, though they was pretty bad then. We were nigh
to six months on the road."
"Which way did you come into Oregon?"
"By Klamath Lake and Rogue River. The worst piece on the whole journey
was that Rogue River cañon; you know where that is?"
"Yes, uncle, came through it at a sharp run on the California stage a
month ago."
"Well, there warn't no stage then--no, nor road either. You know it is
about eight miles long, and I calc'late you might go a quarter of a
mile at a time on the bodies of the horses and oxen that had died
there. No man got through without leaving some of his cattle there.
Tell you, sir, when you once got into the place, seemed like there was
no end to it, and you jest got to face the music; for there warn't no
other way."
"How did this country strike you when you got through?"
"Well, the old lady and me jest thought lots of it. We took up our
claims in King's Valley--you know the place--jest the nicest kind of a
place, with lots of grass and a nice river. You had all the timber you
wanted on the mountains close by, and jest lots of deer and elk."
"Pretty lonely, though, wasn't it?"
"Well, it was kinder lonely, but we had lots to do, and the time passed
very quick. The country settled up quick, and we had all the neighbors
we wanted."
"Any trouble with Indians, uncle?"
"No; the Calapooyas would thieve a bit, but fifty of them cusses would
jest scare from five or six of us settlers with our rifles. And the
Klick-i-tats were good Injuns, and never troubled us any. Those were
good old times, boys." And the old man rose to go, with a sigh.
[Sidenote: _CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES._]
Think of the change the old gentleman has seen--for he lives there yet!
Now, his white farmhouse, with good barn and out-buildings, fronts on a
well-traveled road, leading past many a neighbor's house, and to the
church and village. The woods on the hill-sides have disappeared, and
the ruled furrows of the wheat-fields have replaced the native grass;
the elk and deer which found him food as well as sport have retired
shyly away into the far-off fastnesses round Mary's Peak and in the
"green timber," and the fleecy flocks have usurped their place. The
thievish Calapooyas and good Klick-i-tats have lost their tribal
connections, and their shrunken remnants have been shifted away north
to the Indian reserve. As you stand on the hill above his house, and
the vision ranges over the gentle outlines of King's Valley, dotted
with farms and lined with fences, it is but the noble forms of the
distant mountains that could identify the scene with that which he
scanned with wayworn eye as he halted his weary oxen after his six
months' journey from distant Illinois.
CHAPTER XVII.
State and county elections--The Chinese question--Chinese
house-servants--Washermen--Laborers--A large camp-Supper--
Chinese trading--The scissors--Cost of Chinese labor--Its
results--Chinese treaties--Household servants--Chee and his
mistress--"Heap debble-y in there"--The photo album--Temptation
--A sin and its reward--Good advice on whipping--Chung and the
crockery--Chinese New Year--Gifts--"Hoodlums"--Town police--Opium.
In the summer of 1880 there occurred an election of Senators and
Representatives to the State Legislature, and also to the county
offices of clerk, sheriff, assessor, coroner, surveyor, and
commissioners.
The whole apparatus of caucuses and canvasses was put in operation, and
the candidates nominated on both Republican and Democratic "tickets"
perambulated the county, and addressed audiences in every precinct from
the "stump."
The Greenbackers had the courage of their opinions and put candidates
in the field. Indeed, one of the precincts in the burned-woods country,
of which I have already discoursed, enjoyed the proud distinction of
casting more votes for the "Greenback" candidate than for either of the
two great parties.
I attended some of these meetings and listened to the stump-speeches
with much interest. That which caused the current of eloquence on all
hands to run fastest was the Chinese question. How vehemently have I
heard denounced the yellow-faced, pig-eyed, and tailed Mongolians who
were spreading like locusts over the face of the country, and ousting
the poor but honest and industrious white laborer from those
employments to which he is specially adapted--how they sucked the
life-blood of the people in order to carry their ill-gotten gains
across the seas; how their barbarous language and filthy social habits
"riz the dander" of these orators, while the audience loudly applauded
every strong stroke of the brush! At the torch-light processions which
closed some of the evening meetings, transparencies were carried about
by citizens staggering under their weight, which depicted Chinamen in
various conditions of terror flying from the boot-tips of energetic
Americans; or, on the opposite back, the poor but honest white man
prostrate on the ground, while a fat Chinaman sat heavily on his
breast.
Such an obvious current of popular opinion set an on-looker to rub his
eyes, and feel if he were dreaming.
For, go into nearly every house inhabited by a family, in or near any
town in the State, and you will find one or more Chinamen doing the
house-service. Walk through the streets, and you will meet a
blue-coated Asiatic with a big clothes-basket of clean linen on his
shoulders. Here and there in the streets hangs a sign: "Hop Kee," "Sam
Lin," "Lee Chung," "Ah Sin," "Washing," or "Chinese Laundry," and
"Labor provided," or "Intelligence-Office," and through the steamy
windows you catch a glimpse of white-shirted Chinamen, bending over
their ironing, and a mixed gabble of strange "Ahs" and "Yahs" strikes
the ear as you pass by.
[Sidenote: _CHINESE TRADING._]
I went up the Columbia River to the Dalles the other day. At the Dalles
was a camp for the night of about five hundred Chinamen, being
transferred by the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company from work
higher up the river to some of the heavy rock-cutting and tunneling
between the Dalles and the Lower Cascades. I stood and watched them at
their suppers. Divided into messes of twelve or fifteen each, they had
supplied themselves with beef in the town. Holes were dug in the
ground, sticks lighted in them, and large pans set on to boil, and,
with plenty of salt and pepper, a savory smell soon arose. Large pans
of rice were boiling by the side, and before long each man's portion
was ladled out into a real China basin, which he held in one hand close
to his mouth, while the chop-sticks moved at a terrible rate in the
fingers of the other hand. Such uncouth figures!--bronzed in tint,
short and heavy in form, clad in thick blanket-coats, with knee-boots;
turbans round most heads made of heavy scarlet woolen comforters, and a
few old hats among the crowd; and a constant gabble of voices, nearly
deafening in the aggregate. Their little tents were pitched on the
river-bank close at hand, and a huge pile of their unmistakable baggage
lay heaped, with their shovels and axes, on the deck of the great scow
hard by. The town was full of them, buying or bargaining in every
store. I marked a group of four who wanted a pair of strong scissors.
They were asked fifty cents in a store. They examined the scissors and
tried to cheapen them in vain, and then left. They tried four stores in
turn, but found no better article, and the same price; then returned to
their first love, and strove hard for a reduction in vain. Again they
went the round; again they came back: on the fourth visit the patience
of the Jewish gentleman behind the counter gave way, and he told them
to take it or leave it, they should not see the scissors again. Most
unwillingly, and after a vast amount of breathing on the blades to see
how quickly the vapor disappeared, the half-dollar came forth and the
scissors changed owners. They are the closest buyers in the world. The
next morning by seven o'clock the tents were struck, the Chinamen on
board the steamer, and in the afternoon we passed them hard at work,
spread in a long line on the face of a terrible rock, which looked as
if five thousand Chinamen might work at it in vain for a year to make a
fit passage for the train.
But without them how would these great works get done? Later on I
intend describing some of the undertakings in progress in the State.
Delay in them--still worse, the stoppage of them--would be a calamity
indeed. After all, the Chinamen work for about eighty or ninety cents a
day, and out of this sum the contractor has to find them food. The
food, save the rice, is purchased in the State; the material of the
clothes they wear is manufactured and sold in the United States; the
tools they work with also. So that it is only the profit on their
labor's price which goes to China; and some of that goes to pay their
passage in the ships which transport them to and fro. And their labor
remains--its results felt by every passenger and freighter on the
railroads, and every Oregonian directly or indirectly interested in
increasing the population of the State.
Naturally, it is easy to have too much Chinaman. I should grieve to see
them multiply so as to dominate the State. Excellent servants, but bad
masters.
And by all means let us have treaties with China to enable the influx
of these Mongolians to be regulated. Already we have laws forbidding
the employment of Chinamen on government or municipal public works. And
I do not see that there is any economy in the working or superiority in
the labors on such undertakings.
For household service on this coast they are simply indispensable. They
receive high wages: for a good Chinese cook you must pay from fifteen
to twenty-five dollars a month. A laundryman and house-servant can be
had for somewhat less. But our experience and observation lead us to
the knowledge that two Chinese servants will do well the work of four
English servants. Another thing is that, having learned to cook any
special dish, you may be sure of having it always thereafter equally
good.
If they are a bother sometimes by not comprehending orders, they make
up for it by quaint ways. An English neighbor of ours has one Chee, a
boy of sixteen, as house-servant, and a very good cook and general
servant she has made of him. Chee and his mistress are on the best of
terms usually; sometimes they fall out.
[Sidenote: "_HEAP DEBBLE-Y IN THERE!_"]
The mistress was staying with us for a few days once, while her husband
was out hunting in the hills, and she preferred sleeping in her own
house. This Chee strongly disapproved, as it involved his going up to
make the bed and clean the house, instead of having high-jinks in the
China house down in the town. When his mistress went into the house,
Chee pointed into her bedroom, and in a mysterious voice warned her
thus: "Heap debble-y in there. Some time I make bed, I see four, fi'
debble-y go under bed. Some time come catch you in night!"
Another time, his master and mistress being out, Chee amused himself
with their photograph-album. They found many of the pictures shifted,
and one charming young lady missing. Chee stoutly denied it all, and
swore he never saw the picture. So his "boss," Hop Kee, was appealed
to. In the afternoon of the same day Hop Kee appeared with a second
Chinaman. This man produced the missing photograph for identification,
and then Hop Kee disappeared into Chee's kitchen and administered a
hearty beating to the culprit. When Hop Kee reappeared, panting, his
companion explained and apologized thus: "Chee heap bad boy; but he no
steal um; he heap love um picture; he sew um up his bed."
Another time Chee was pottering about in the garden when his mistress
called him. He would not answer, so she called him again, and this was
the conversation:
"Chee, come here." "Heap tired in foot; can' walk." "Chee, come here
directly." Chee comes and gets his orders. "Wha' for you can' talk me
there?" "Chee, you must not answer me like that; you speak as if I were
a dog." "Well, you allee same likee one dog!" "Chee, how dare you? I
tell Hop Kee what you say." "I no care." But Hop Kee comes that
afternoon and hears the sad accusation, and this is his advice: "Mrs.
----, you heap takee some poker; you beat him. I heap much obliged.
Chee no good; you whip um."
Chee asks for his wages, and even for some in advance. "What for you
want money, Chee?" "I want fi'teen dollar." "What for, Chee?" "I want
buy one big watch." "How big, Chee?" "Heap big watch; he weigh ha'
pound." And I believe it does weigh half a pound.
One of our Chinamen, Chung, was a sad breaker of crockery. We bore it
patiently in spite of the loss, for stone-ware is terribly dear here.
But one day there was an awful smash, and we ran out to see Chung
wringing his hands over a tray on the ground, with broken cups and
plates all about. We said nothing; but the next day he went of his own
accord, and at his own cost replaced the greater part.
[Sidenote: _CHINESE NEW YEAR._]
All the house-servants expect a holiday for a day or two at the Chinese
new year, which occurs about the 20th of January. It is a mark of good
breeding and condition with them to give presents at that time to every
one in the house. A little cabinet of lacquer-work to the lady of the
house, a fan in sandal wood or ivory, one or two flowered silk
handkerchiefs, a pot of sweetmeats, and two or three boxes of the
inevitable Chinese crackers for the children, make up the list.
Each of the China houses in the town collects all the Chinamen that
make it their headquarters, and prepares a magnificent supper. They
spare no expense on this occasion; all the chickens in the neighborhood
are slaughtered, and the sweet Chinese wine flows freely. Even a
drunken Chinaman may be met in the street, staggering from one China
house to another, and he will very likely be mobbed by all the
"hoodlums" in the town, pelting and hustling him.
"Hoodlums"--a fine word this to describe the vagabond, rough
hobble-de-hoys that swarm in these Western towns; lads too big for
school, too lazy to work, an incumbrance to their families, a nuisance
to all their neighbors. I am told that the word originated in San
Francisco twenty years ago. There were there gangs of these rough lads
who hung about the wharves, ready for riot or plunder as occasion
offered. Against them the police of the city waged a constant war.
These Arabs had various haunts among the hovels and sheds, the piles of
lumber and rubbish, that deface the water-side of every growing and
unfinished city. When the police appeared, "Huddle-um!" was the
watchword that sent every skulker to cover. But the Irish element
pronounced the watchword with a rounder sound, and so "Hoodlum!" caught
the ear of the passer-by, and soon was adopted as the label of the
tribe.
The police of our town is represented by the city marshal and his
deputy, who act under the authority of the mayor and the city council.
The "calaboose" is the lock-up for offenders; and work on the streets
in irons is also a punishment which may be awarded by the recorder for
offenses against the city laws and regulations. Drunkenness and
opium-smoking are in this black list. Passers-by were edified, a few
days ago, by the spectacle of one white man, for drunkenness, and two
Chinamen, for opium-smoking, shoveling away at the mud, and ornamented
with iron ball and shackles. It is strange to find that opium-smoking
in these dens is not altogether confined to the Chinese, but some
degraded white men are occasionally captured by the marshal in a raid
on a China house. Such are not only punished, but scouted, and still
they repeat the offense, proving the hold the practice gains when once
yielded to.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Life in the town--Sociables--Religious sects--Sabbath-schools--
Christmas, festivities--Education, how far compulsory--Colleges--
Student-life and education--Common schools--Teachers' institutes
--Newspapers--Patent outsides--"The Oregonian"--Other journals--
Charities--Paupers--Secret societies.
Life in these country towns possesses some features strange to a
new-comer. Every family, almost without exception, is allied with some
church organization. The association of such families in religious
matters gives the connecting bond they need. Not contented with
worshiping together on Sundays, they often meet in church sociables and
in school entertainments and concerts, for which purposes the
church-building is very commonly used.
To get up a "sociable" is a pleasant task for the matrons of the
church. Having settled on the day, they meet and agree for how many it
is likely they must provide. Then each lady undertakes her share,
finding so much tea, coffee, and sugar, and so many sandwiches and
cakes. It is a delicate compliment for outsiders also to contribute a
cake to the common fund. Then, the evening having come, the company
begin to meet, generally about seven o'clock, and are received by the
ladies of the congregation. Every one is made welcome. The object of
the "sociable," so far as money-getting is concerned, is met either by
a small charge for refreshments as supplied, or by a charge for
admission, making the visitor free of the room.
When the tea or supper is finished, there is a fine flow of talk, as
all tongues are loosened. Then follows music, either as solos by such
as venture to make so public an appearance, or in duets, glees, or
choruses provided by the church choir. Interspersed with the music are
recitations, readings, or short lectures. The recitations are as
commonly given by young ladies as by the other sex; and the most awful
and tragic pieces are decidedly the favorites. A good deal of gesture
and action is approved.
Generally, a few words from the minister of the church close the
entertainment, and the audience separate about ten o'clock, all the
better for the "sociable."
The comparatively trifling differences which serve to keep one sect
separate from another, result in a number of small congregations and
weak "interests"--and also, I think, react injuriously on the education
and condition of the various ministers. And I do not see any progress
toward obliterating differences and combining scattered forces against
the common foes of indifference, irreligion, and vice; rather, I notice
in the meetings or conventions attended by representatives or delegates
from the various congregations of a special sect, and held annually in
some central place, a disposition to insist on differences, and enforce
the teaching of each special set of distinctive doctrines on the young.
Outside of the Episcopal Church, which, of course, possesses and uses
its own liturgy, the services of the other Christian sects are almost
exactly similar; I except also the Roman Catholics, who are present in
the State of Oregon in considerable numbers, and whose organization of
archbishop, bishops, priests, and sisters is as perfect as usual. But I
have reference to Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Methodists, North
and South, Baptists, Evangelicals--the order of their services is about
the same, and unless by chance you were present on some occasion for
enforcing the special doctrines of the sect, you could not determine to
which belonged the particular church in which you might be worshiping.
The institution of the Sabbath-school is not similar to that pursued in
England, at any rate. The church is opened at a special hour for
Sabbath-school, and the children attend in numbers; the minister of the
church holds a service for the special benefit of the young, but adults
are also present. There is not the division into classes, and the
enlisting of the efforts of teachers for those classes, which we have
seen elsewhere.
[Sidenote: _CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES._]
Christmas is chiefly marked by the Christmas-trees which are so
commonly provided; the religious significance of the day is hardly
enforced at all. But the great Christmas-trees arranged by a
congregation, lighted up in the church or school-room, and hung with
presents contributed by each family for its own individual members, and
only brought to the common tree that the joy of donor and receiver
might be alike shared in by friends, are a pretty and a happy sight.
And this is by no means confined to the towns. The various precincts of
the county have each their headquarters at the common school-house, and
in many of these Christmas-trees are provided; and, if the gifts are
less in money cost than those hung round the city Christmas-trees, they
are none the less worth if got by so many hours of country work, and
brought over many a weary mile of muddy road, and treasured in the old
trunk among the Sunday garments till the happy day came round, and the
Christmas frost hung the fir-trees with their sparkling load, and
glazed the old black logs and gray snake-fences with their glittering
covering of ice.
A common notion prevails that education here is compulsory. It is
compulsory in the sense that facilities by way of school-houses and
trained teachers, and superintendence by committees and clerks, are
provided by the State, and paid for by the counties from the county
tax. It is not compulsory in the sense that so many hours of school
attendance can be enforced against parents or children by the public
authority. Much is done; a strong and general interest is shown;
expense is not spared, even where expenditure is severely felt; but
still many children both in town and country escape the educational
net. There is a State Superintendent of Education; there are county
superintendents; there are many schools and teachers; and there are
universities and colleges, with good staffs of professors, and a very
high and wide course of studies in all. But very much remains to be
done.
There is far too much effort at variety rather than thoroughness in
study. However hard both professors and students may labor, it can not
be possible in a four-years' course to fill a lad, who has previously
had but a common-school education, with a satisfactory knowledge of
Latin, high mathematics, Euclid, history, English grammar and
composition, chemistry, organic and inorganic, geography, geology,
mechanics, electricity, polarization of light, and various other
studies usually required for the master of arts honors examination in a
British university. But this is attempted here.
And, moreover, this extensive course is carried on in the State
Agricultural College as well as in the universities of the State. It
can hardly be said that the name of "agricultural" is earned, since
there is nothing in the studies here engaged in to distinguish this
from any other high-class college in the State.
[Sidenote: _TEACHERS' INSTITUTES._]
The course followed in the common school is open to much the same
criticism--too much of the ornamental, too little of the thorough and
solid, being instilled. This is hardly to be wondered at when it is
considered that the teachers in the common schools are taken
principally from the students of the colleges or universities, whose
learning is of the class above described. There is a great need of a
normal school, where teachers can be specially trained for that work;
as it is now, a young fellow is ready to "teach school" for a year or
two for want of, or on his way to, his intended niche in life.
The scale of payments at the schools is moderate enough, but a large
item of expense is in the school-books: they are dear, their use is
compulsory, they have to be purchased by the scholars, and they are
frequently changed by the Board of Education.
One great means by which it is sought at once to instruct, amuse, and
infuse the school-teachers with common ideas and sympathies is by
"teachers' institutes." In each county a time is fixed by the State
Superintendent of Education, and for two or three days all, or as many
as can be got together of the teachers in the county, are gathered in
some central town, and for two or three days have constant meetings.
This occurs annually.
The most experienced teachers give illustrations of their favorite
methods of instruction in the various subjects, and free discussion on
these matters follows.
The days are devoted to this practical work, and in the evenings some
more general entertainment is provided in the shape of music, lectures,
or readings, and these are thrown open to the public. At one of these
the lecturer, who was one of the professors at the Monmouth College,
descanted on the high general standard of educational attainments in
this Willamette Valley. He pointed out, in proof, that whereas through
the United States the population supported one newspaper to each eight
hundred, in this valley the proportion was one to three hundred or
thereabout.
[Sidenote: _NEWSPAPERS._]
I found on inquiry that the figures were about correct. And the fact
is, that it is only in the newspapers that the country people find
nearly all their literature, and that barely a farmer can be found who
does not regularly take three or more papers, and this makes the
continued lives of these papers possible. A town of a thousand or
twelve hundred inhabitants will support two or even three papers. How
is it done? Examine one of these papers and you will find the outside
pages better printed than the inside, and filled with a special sort of
romantic stories, and short bits of general information; extracts from
magazines and from Eastern or English newspapers. The inside pages have
the true local color. Here you will see the leader, devoted to the
topics of the time and place; descanting on the railroad news of the
day; expressing the editor's opinions on the rates of freight or
passage, or on the advantages his town offers for establishing new
industries; or criticising the recent appointment of postmaster. Then
the correspondence from various outlying towns or villages, written
very often by the schoolmaster, and abounding in literary allusions and
quotations. And then comes the amazing feature of the paper--a column
or two are devoted to "locals." This is the style: "Beautiful weather.
New York sirup at Thompson's. The spring plowing is nearly done. Use
the celebrated XL flour, the best in the market. Mrs. ---- has been in
----, attending to the woman-suffrage question, the past week. Our
thanks are due to two fair ladies for bouquets of spring flowers, the
first of the season. Our young friend Pete M---- called on us
yesterday; good boy Pete. Judge Henry was at Salem the past week. Miss
Addie Bines is visiting friends in town. Did you see that bonnet at the
Presbyterian church on Sunday? The accidental pistol-shot the sheriff
got is pretty bad. The rates of board at the Cosmopolitan Hotel are
five dollars a week; three meals for a dollar. The Odd-Fellows will
give a ball on the 25th. Our vociferous friend Sam N---- is starting
for Puget Sound." And so on.
I observe and I hear that these locals are by far the best-read portion
of the paper. A variety of items of scraps from the neighborhood, and
advertisements, the longest of which relate to patent medicines of all
sorts, fill up these two inner pages of the paper. The secret of cheap
production lies in obtaining the paper, with the two outside pages
ready printed, from an office in Portland, which supplies in this way
twenty or thirty of these little newspapers. Thus the cost to the
editor is reduced to the getting-up of the two inner pages, and, as
will be seen, not a very high level of brain-power is needed.
"The Oregonian" is the only journal in the State giving the latest
telegrams. Naturally it is published in Portland, and devoted mainly to
the interests of that city. It is connected with the Associated Press,
and possesses the practical monopoly of the supply of news, properly so
called. Professing to be Republican in politics, it assumes the liberty
of advocating doctrines and supporting candidates for office in direct
violation of the acknowledged principles of the party and the wishes of
the party managers. With a parade of fairness, and willingness to admit
to its columns views and communications opposing the ideas it may be
advocating at the time, it takes care to color matters in such form as
to pervert or weaken all opposing or criticising matter. It is bitterly
hostile to every movement in the Willamette Valley tending toward
independence of Portland's money power and influence. While professing
to desire the development of the State, it reads that to mean solely
the aggrandizement of Portland. It enjoys a happy facility of
conversion, and will unblushingly advocate to-day the adoption of
measures it denounced last week. Unreliable in everything except its
telegraphic news, and oftentimes seeking to color them by suggestive
head-notes and capital announcements, it is a calamity to the State
that its chief journal should be at once the most unpopular at home and
the most misleading abroad.
Of course, "The Oregonian" is not the only journal professing to be of
and for the State at large. Several are published at Portland claiming
the character of general State interest. Such are the "Willamette
Farmer," a journal chiefly devoted to the farming interest, and with
which "The Oregonian" is very frequently at war; "The New Northwest,"
edited by Mrs. Duniway, a lady enthusiast in favor of woman's rights
and woman's suffrage, but making up with a good deal of ability a paper
containing much of general interest; the "Pacific Christian Advocate,"
a religious paper; and also a number of other papers, Democratic and
Republican, of no special note.
Salem, Albany, and Harrisburg possess newspapers above the average of
ability and circulation.
I thought there was a good deal of wisdom in the letter of a
correspondent of mine in one of the Eastern States, who concluded a
letter of general inquiry as to the State of Oregon with a request that
I would send him a bundle of local newspapers, "by which," said he, "I
can judge better of the present conditions of life in Oregon than by
the answers of any one special correspondent."
There are very few poor people in Oregon--so poor, that is, as to need
charitable help. Such are taken charge of by the county court, and from
the county funds such an allowance is made in the case of families as
shall keep them from absolute want. In the case of single persons they
are given into the care of such families as are willing to receive them
in return for a moderate sum, say three or four dollars a week.
[Sidenote: _SECRET SOCIETIES._]
The various societies and orders, namely, the Freemasons, the
Foresters, the Odd-Fellows, the Order of United Workmen, the Good
Templars, and others, have a large number of adherents in Oregon. I
believe the Freemasons number upward of seven thousand brethren; the
present Grand Master is the Secretary of State, and a very efficient
head he makes. The Freemasons and other orders take charge of the needy
brethren with their proverbial charity, and thus relieve to a great
extent the public funds.
CHAPTER XIX.
Industries other than farming--Iron-ores--Coal--Coos Bay mines--
Seattle mines--Other deposits--Lead and copper--Limestone--Marbles
--Gold, where found and worked--Silver, where found and worked--Gold
in sea-sand--Timber--Its area and distribution--Spars--Lumber--Size
of trees--Hard woods--Cost of production and sale of lumber--Tanneries
--Woolen-mills--Flax-works--Invitation to Irish--Salmon--Statistics
of the trade--Methods--Varieties of salmon--When and where caught--
Salmon-poisoning of dogs--Indians fishing--Traps--Salmon-smoking.
It must not be inferred, from the prominence given in these pages to
the farming and stock-raising interests of Oregon, that openings can
not be found in many directions for new and rising industries.
Oregon is as rich in minerals as in lands for wheat-growing and
cattle-raising. In the north of the State, about six miles from
Portland, at a place called Oswego, on the Willamette, very rich
deposits of brown hematite iron-ore have been discovered, and have for
a few years been worked. The pig-iron produced at these smelting-works
is now used in a foundry close at hand, to which a rolling-mill is just
added. The iron is of the very best Scotch-iron quality, and commands
equivalent prices at home and also in San Francisco.
At many other points large deposits of iron-ore are waiting for
development. It is reported from Columbia, Tillamook, Marion,
Clackamas, Linn, Polk, Jackson, and Coos Counties. In the Cascade
Mountains it has been found in many directions, but as yet has not been
properly prospected.
Coal abounds. The Coos Bay mines have been opened and worked for some
years, and they keep quite a fleet of schooners plying between the
mines and San Francisco. Other beds have been found on the Umpqua; and
coal is reported from many points in the Coast Range. So far as my own
knowledge goes, these mountain discoveries are of no very great value,
from the want of continuity and uniformity of level, though it is but
little more than the outcrop which has been tested in most places. A
different report is given of a recent discovery in Polk County, in this
valley, where a thick vein of stone-coal in the basin has been found.
The coal I have seen in the hills is anthracite, nearly allied to
lignite. The favorable feature is the outcrop at so many points in a
northeast and southwest line of what seems to be the same vein.
Recently there has been a very energetic effort made to develop the
coal-mines located in the Seattle district of Washington Territory. The
presiding genius is Mr. Henry Villard, now so widely known in
connection with the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company. The present
output of these mines is about one hundred thousand tons per annum; but
under the new arrangements it is expected that this will be raised to
seven hundred and fifty thousand tons, so as to supply not only the San
Francisco market, but also to deliver the coal at a moderate price at
the various points, both on the Columbia and Willamette Rivers, reached
by the steamboats of the above-mentioned company. Three large
steam-colliers are to be used for the ocean transport of the coal.
Although this enterprise belongs to Washington Territory, I have
thought it deserving of mention here, as being likely to have an
important bearing on the development of Oregon.
[Sidenote: _MINERALS._]
Lead and copper have been discovered in abundance in Jackson,
Josephine, and Douglas Counties, on Cow Creek, a tributary of the
Umpqua River, and also on the Santiam among the Cascades.
Limestone, sandstone--both brown and gray--and marble quarries have
been opened at various points in the State.
Gold is found in paying quantities at many points in Southern Oregon,
and also in the gold-bearing black sand of the sea-beach, all along the
southern and central portions of the State. The finely comminuted
condition in which the gold occurs in the black sand has been a serious
obstacle in the way of its profitable working; but the combined
chemical and mechanical processes recently adopted bid fair to prove
thoroughly successful. The Governor of the State estimated the product
of Oregon in gold and silver in the year 1876 at not less than two
million dollars.
The gold-mines of Baker County, and the gold and silver mines in Grant
County in Eastern Oregon, have also recently been more fully developed,
and with great success.
With the inflow of foreign capital, now begun in earnest, those best
qualified to judge predict for Oregon a very high place among the gold
and silver producing States of the Union.
The mineral district in Grant and Baker Counties will be shortly
rendered accessible and profitable by the expected completion, both of
the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company's line and of that of the
Oregon Pacific, having eastward connections at Boisé City in Idaho,
some fifty miles eastward of the eastern boundary of Oregon.
The timber of Oregon is of world-wide fame. It will take many years to
exhaust the districts even now accessible to river, railroad, or
harbor; and the opening up of the various portions of the State to be
traversed by the railroads either now or shortly to be put in hand will
bring to market the timber from hundreds of square miles of woodland
yet untouched.
The following general statement is chiefly extracted from the "Report
of the Government Commissioner of Agriculture" for the year 1875:
Baker County has a timber area of five hundred square miles,
principally pine and fir. Benton County has a belt of timber-land of
one eighth of a mile wide by forty-five miles in length, lying along
the Willamette River, and another belt in the Coast Mountains of
twenty-five by thirty miles.
This timber is principally pine and fir; there are also large
quantities of splendid spruce; alder and white-oak, laurel and maple
are also found. Alder grows from twenty-four to thirty inches in
diameter, and is worth for cabinet-making purposes from thirty to forty
dollars a thousand feet at the factory. There is a belt principally of
spruce timber, a mile wide and how many miles long I can not say,
heading northward from Depot Slough, a stream running into Yaquina Bay,
many of the trees being eight and nine feet in diameter, and two
hundred and fifty feet high.
I have seen a hundred and thirty pines cut for ships' spars on one
homestead near Yaquina Bay, not one of which snapped in the felling,
and which ran from eighty to one hundred and twenty feet in the clear,
without a branch, and about as straight and level as a ruler. And this
lot were cut from but a very few acres of the wood, and where it was
easy to convey them to the tidal stream which floated them to the
harbor. It was a pretty sight to watch the team of five or six yokes of
oxen hauling the long, white spars from the wooded knoll on which they
grew--the red and white colors of the oxen and the voices of the
teamsters and lumbermen lending life and cheerfulness to the somber
forest.
[Sidenote: _TIMBER._]
Clackamas is one of the best timbered counties in the Willamette
Valley, fully one half of its area being in heavy timber. Pine, fir,
spruce, white cedar, white oak, maple, and ash are found. About two
thirds of the area of Curry County is covered with forests of yellow,
red, and white fir, sugar-pine, white cedar, spruce, white and other
oaks, and madroño. The timber-lands of Douglas are principally covered
with the different varieties of evergreens and oaks. There are
thousands of acres which would yield from three to six hundred cords to
the acre not yet taken up. Not over one third of the area of Lane
County is woodland. This embraces the different varieties common to the
Pacific coast.
The timber-land of Linn, occupying half its area, is comprised in three
belts of dense forest, half of which is red fir. Within the last
twenty-four years thousands of acres of woodland have grown up from
seed, and are now covered with trees from forty to eighty feet high,
with a diameter of from ten inches to two feet. There have been made
from one acre of fir-timber six thousand rails ten feet long by at
least four inches thick.
Multnomah has a large area of timber-land, mostly yellow and red fir.
Three fourths of the area of Tillamook is in timber, and half of this
is fir and hemlock. The forests of Umatilla are confined to the
mountains, where they are very dense, and to the belts along the
streams. Wasco has immense forests in the mountains, many of them as
yet inaccessible. The general result is, that Oregon has in all
15,407,528 acres of woodlands out of a total area of 60,975,360 acres.
The timber on the average is worth now about four dollars per thousand
cubic feet at the saw-mill in the log, and costs when sawed into inch
lumber about eight dollars the thousand feet of such lumber. The price
of the lumber to the consumer varies from nine to fourteen dollars per
thousand feet, according to the demand. Much of the fir and spruce
timber will cut into six or seven logs of sixteen feet in length, the
tree being six feet in diameter two feet from the ground.
From one cut out of a fallen fir on my own land we split one hundred
and thirty-two rails of fully four inches diameter, and from several
trees over six hundred rails each have been split.
A good deal of unauthorized timber-cutting goes on upon the Government
land not yet taken up. When the logger is honest, he buys the right to
cut from the owner of the land, paying "stumpage" of about fifty cents
a tree. I have known many acres to provide over fifty of these big
trees, thus returning a good price for the timber, and leaving rich and
partly cleared land for pasturing purposes in the hands of the owner.
One of the industries that needs to be established in many parts of the
State is tanning. Hides are plentiful, and of excellent quality; bark,
both of oak and of hemlock, is easily procurable, and the water-power
is abundant almost everywhere. At present the leather used is chiefly
imported from California; it has been hastily tanned, and is of poor
quality. The drawback to this business is that it absorbs capital
before it begins to yield profit; but, the machine once having begun to
revolve, the returns are steady, the risks few, the results permanent,
and the profits very considerable.
[Sidenote: _WOOLEN-MILLS._]
The woolen manufacture in Oregon has already taken good hold. Oregon
goods are well known in California, and in Philadelphia and New York
also. They received well-deserved praise at the Centennial Exhibition
of 1876. There are three woolen-factories in the State: one at Oregon
City, one at Brownsville, and one at Ashland, in the south of the
State. Their blankets and tweeds are admirable for thickness, solidity,
and softness of texture. The Oregon City mills employ a good many
Chinamen; they work well and economically. There is every probability
of a fourth factory being at once established in or near Albany; and
the more the better, considering the ample water-power, and the
abundance and excellence of fleeces.
Taking into account the quality of the flax grown in the State and the
indefinite power of expansion of the product, seeing that the very edge
of the flax-land has hardly yet been touched, while many thousand acres
are specially fit for the crop, and considering, also, that linen in
its various forms is unnaturally dear on the Pacific coast, it seems a
pity that one or more linen-factories should not be established. The
present disturbed state of Ireland has, we know, prepared many of its
inhabitants for emigration, and among them are many trained in the
growth, the preparation, and the manufacture of flax. Any persons
familiar with this industry could not do better than transfer
themselves, their capital, their machinery, and their staff of workers,
to this free land; here they will find a hearty welcome, a fine
climate, the very best of raw material, a market at their doors,
unlimited opening for expansion of their business, and a habitation
free alike from turbulence, riot, and oppression.
No book attempting to deal, in however general terms, with the
industrial development of Oregon, can pass the business in canned
salmon without notice.
The growth of the business has been marvelous. The following table
shows the canning of the Columbia River salmon during the ten years
ending with 1880:
Year. Cases. Year. Cases.
1871 35,000 1876 429,000
1872 44,000 1877 393,000
1873 103,000 1878 412,924
1874 244,000 1879 440,000
1875 291,000 1880 540,000
Each case contains four dozen tins of one pound each, or two dozen of
two pounds.
The total output of the Pacific coast for 1880 is estimated at 680,000
cases.
[Sidenote: _SALMON._]
Besides the Columbia River, which is the main source of supply, other
Oregon rivers are laid under tribute. The Rogue River, the Alsea,
Umpqua, Coquille, Nehalem, Siletz, and Yaquina Rivers are all
salmon-yielding streams. The system followed is generally known. The
proprietor erects his cannery on the edge of the river, generally on
piles driven into the mud. The cannery consists of a large warehouse
for laying out the fresh salmon as soon as caught. Next comes a
building fitted with large knives for cutting up the salmon into the
proper length for canning, and boilers in which the cans or tins are
boiled. Then come the packing and storing houses. That the undertaking
need be on a large scale may be judged from the fact that they may have
to deal with three or four thousand salmon at a time, as the produce of
one night's take, and these salmon averaging twenty-five pounds in
weight.
The canneries make their own tins, one man, by the aid of ingenious
machinery, putting together fifteen hundred tins in a day.
The boats and nets belong to the cannery. The fishermen are paid by the
fish they bring in: one third belongs to the cannery in right of boat
and nets; the other two thirds are bought from the fishermen at fifty
cents a fish.
The importance to Oregon of the trade is shown by the proceeds for the
year ending August 1, 1879, from the 412,924 cases exported being
$1,863,069.
The tin for the salmon, and also for the canned beef which is prepared
in several of the canneries, is all imported. The imports for 1879
amounted to 54,520 boxes, costing from $8 to $9 a box.
The number of salmon ascending some of these streams to spawn is almost
incredible.
Both the Siletz and the Yaquina Rivers yield two kinds: one a heavy,
thick-shouldered, red-tinged, hooknosed fellow, which is never eaten by
white men when it has passed up out of tidal waters; the other a slim,
graceful, bright-scaled fish, known as the silver salmon. Of this last
there are two runs in the year: one in April and May, the other in
October and November.
The heavy, red salmon runs in the fall of the year, from August to
November, and the heads of all the streams, even to the little brooks
among the mountains, are filled with ugly, dark, yellow-and-white
spotted fish pushing their way upward, until I have seen five huge fish
in a tiny pool too shallow to cover their back-fins. Some get back to
the ocean with the autumn floods; the majority are left dying, or dead,
on the gravel or along the edges of the streams. Here they are deadly
poison to dogs, and to wolves also. It is almost impossible to keep
dogs of mature age in the coast district; sooner or later they are
almost sure to get "salmoned," and to die.
The only way is to allow the puppies free run at the salmon: two out of
three will die; the survivor, having passed the ordeal, will be
salmon-proof and live to his full age.
The symptoms of salmon-poisoning are refusal of food, staring coat,
running at the eyes, dry and feverish nose, absolute stoppage of
digestion, followed by death in about three days after the first
appearance of poisoning.
All sorts of remedies have been unsuccessfully tried. A young dog may
battle through, if dosed with Epsom salts as soon as his state is
observed; for an old dog, I can find nothing of avail. Castor-oil,
large doses of mustard, shot in quantities forced down the throat,
calomel, aloes, blackberry-tea--all of these I have heard of, but have
not the slightest faith in any one.
Therefore, any new-comers into the coast country bringing valuable dogs
with them will have to keep them tied up, or else may expect to lose
them, as I have unfortunately experienced.
[Sidenote: _INDIAN SALMON-TRAPS._]
The repugnance of the white man to the dark and spotted salmon is not
shared by the Indians. They had a salmon-camp on Big Elk, the chief
tributary of the Yaquina, last year, which I went to see. The river
runs between steep hills, covered with the usual brush, and with a
narrow trail cut through along the edge of the water. The tide runs up
for about four miles above the junction with the Yaquina, and there, in
a wide pool into which the little river fell over a ridge of rocks,
hardly to be called a fall, the Indians had their dam and traps. Just
below the fall they had planted a row of willow and hazel stakes in the
bed of the stream close together and tied with withes. In the center
was an opening--a little lane of stakes leading into a pocket some six
feet wide. The Indian women sat out on the rock by the side of the
pocket with dip-nets and ladled out the salmon, which had been beguiled
by their instinct of pushing always up the stream into entering the
fatal inclosure.
The Indian _tyhees_ or shelters were on the bank close by--miserable
hovels made of boughs, and some old boards they had carried up--and
hung round with torn and dirty blankets to keep in the smoke. Poles
were set across and across, and from these hung the sides and bellies
of the salmon, while a little fire of damp wood and grass was kept
constantly replenished in the middle of the floor, by a
wretched-looking crone who squatted close by.
[Illustration: Newport Pier, 1879.]
When we got there, a younger woman was opening and splitting the salmon
just caught, pressing the eggs into a great osier basket, where they
looked exactly like a pile of red currants. She gave us a handful of
eggs for trout-bait; as every one knows, the most deadly and poaching
lure for that fish. And we found the benefit of them that same evening
at Elk City, four miles below, where the salmon-trout crowd almost in
shoals to be caught.
CHAPTER XX.
Eastern Oregon--Going "east of the mountains"--Its attractions--
Encroaching sheep--First experiments in agriculture and planting
--General description of Eastern Oregon--Boundaries--Alkaline
plains--Their productions--The valleys--Powder River Valley--
Description--The Snake River and its tributaries--The Malheur
Valley--Harney Lake Valley--Its size--Productions--Wild grasses
--Hay-making--The winters in Eastern Oregon--Wagon-roads--Prineville
--Silver Creek--Grindstone Creek Valley--Crooked River--Settlers'
descriptions and experiences--Ascent of the Cascades going west--
Eastern Oregon towns--Baker City--Prineville--Warnings to settlers
--Growing wheat for the railroads to carry.
While Western Oregon and the Willamette Valley in particular have been
settled up, the valleys, plains, and hill-sides of Eastern Oregon are
only just now beginning to attract population.
But the reports of that country have spread far and wide through the
valley, and half the young men are burning to try their fortunes "east
of the mountains." When a youngster has been brought up in a wide
valley, the eastern sky-line of which has been marked out, from his
very infancy, by a line of rugged hills, over which the snow-peaks
tower; when he has been used to see the mountains stand out clear and
majestic, rosy in the glow of the setting sun, and then putting on
their winter garments of purity, and shining cold in the clear
moonlight of the winter nights; when he has watched them disappear as
the mists of the autumn rains filled the valley, to be hidden for weeks
from his gaze, and then suddenly revealed as the drying and vigorous
west wind dispelled the veil which the warm south wind had only served
to thicken--I can sympathize with the longing felt, even if
unexpressed, to climb this barrier and find if there be in verity a
Canaan beyond.
And then, until lately at all events, to the young and bold there was a
strong attraction in the life on horseback, in the gallop after the
straggling cattle over those rolling plains; in the bachelor life of
freedom, where home was just where night found him, and where his
comrades had made their fire and picketed their horses; and, though
last not least, where the wealthy stockmen had started from the exact
point where he stood, their capital good health, readiness to rough it,
and a determination to get on.
But a few years ago this was what life east of the mountains meant.
Then men found that sheep paid better than cattle; and the
sheep-herder, with his band of merinos, took possession of the rocky
hill-sides, on which the thick bunch-grass was already beginning to
fail to hold its first vigor and abundance, and his peaceful but not
unresisted invasion pushed the cattle-men farther into the wilderness.
The loathing and contempt of the stockmen for these encroaching sheep!
Some of them actually encouraged, and refused to permit the slaughter
of, the prairie-wolves, which did not molest the cattle, but waged war
on the flocks. But the tide would not be turned back, and mile after
mile the sheep pushed on.
The bunch-grass which the cattle lived on, and which only overstocking
injured, gave way before the sheep; for these eat out the hearts of the
young grass, and their range grew wider as the feed became more sparse.
And then the farmer followed the sheep-herder, and the eaten pastures
were turned up by the plow. True, the soil was alkaline in many places,
and rocky and stony to an extent strange to the eyes of the valley
farmer, who hardly ever sees a stone. But there were streams on many a
hill-side which only needed a little work to be turned on to and to
irrigate the soil below; and many a valley was explored, whose level
land gave promise of numberless farms.
Even if the land were bare and desolate-looking to a degree, and the
farmhouse stood naked and unattractive, yet it was found that apples
and pears would grow, and even that peaches would ripen well in a
hotter and drier summer climate than is found elsewhere in Oregon.
And when the results of the first experiments were disclosed, and it
was found that wheat yielded thirty, forty, and even fifty bushels to
the acre on these very lands, the tide turned.
[Sidenote: _EASTERN OREGON._]
Men who had decried Eastern Oregon as a desert, fit only to pasture a
few cattle and scattering bands of sheep, suddenly changed their tone,
and nothing was heard from them but advice to leave the worn-out lands
of the Willamette Valley, and go to this, which was the coming country.
And advantage was at once taken of this state of things to prepare the
public mind for, and then to take up vast sums of money to provide,
railroad and increased steamboat accommodation to bring the products of
these eastern plains within reach of Portland and the seaboard.
What is this country like? The Columbia bounds the north, the Snake
River the east of Oregon--the one running east and west, the other
north and south. Nearly midway between the Cascade Mountains and the
Snake River, the Blue Mountains run, roughly speaking, north and south.
This range is much less elevated than the Cascades, but very wide, and
rises gradually from far-reaching foot-hills about the center of the
State.
Between the Blue Mountains and the Cascades lies a great stretch of
open, rolling country--bare, rocky hills, not a tree and hardly a bush
to be seen; until lately covered with bunch-grass and some sage-brush.
This is some of the country to which the change of purpose applies
which I have just described.
The prevailing color of the country is a reddish-brown, except when in
spring a tinge of living green spreads with the growing grass.
Near the Cascade Mountains are wide tracts covered with fine volcanic
lava-dust. Where there is moisture to be found, this soil supports a
good growth of grass, and the pine timber stretches to its edge. But
joining it come the bare alkaline plains. Their natural vegetation is
the bunch-grass and the sage-brush (_Artemisia_).
The chief constituents in the alkaline formation are chlorides of
sodium and potassium--demanding irrigation as the remedy for the excess
of alkali, while beet-root is recommended as a first crop to absorb the
surplus salt. Excellent crops are raised in the Ochico Valley, on this
land; and there is no doubt that a very large portion of the tracts now
being abandoned by the cattle- and sheep-herder will prove of enormous
productiveness in wheat.
East of the Blue Mountains is found, among others, the Powder River
Valley. This is in the western part of Baker County and partly in Union
County. On the north and east a steep hill-side separates it from the
Grand Ronde Valley; on the south and west rises the spur of the Blue
Mountain range. The valley is about twenty-four miles long by twelve
wide, thus covering two hundred and ninety square miles.
The lands in this valley may be taken as a type of similar valleys in
Eastern Oregon. They may be divided into three classes. First, the
bottom-lands pure and simple. These consist of alluvial soil of
abundant depth and richness; the only question an intending settler
need ask is whether they are subject to inundation from the overflow of
the river, which invariably is found running through the whole length.
Above the bottom-lands, and far exceeding them in extent, are the
foothills, yielding in this instance fully one hundred and eighty
square miles of excellent grain-producing lands, and adapted in all
respects to farming purposes. And above these again rise the hills for
pasturage, and only useful for grain-growing where facilities for
irrigation can be found. The character of bareness does not apply to
these hill-sides; the alkaline soil does not extend to them, and a
richer vegetation, in which other native grasses and spreading plants
come to the aid of the predominating bunch-grass, affords food to sheep
and cattle all the summer through.
[Sidenote: _SNAKE RIVER AND ITS TRIBUTARIES._]
All the tributaries of the Snake River from the Oregon side run through
a country of a somewhat similar character, and each of these streams is
the source of life and vegetation. Among these other valleys may be
named the Lower Powder River, Eagle Creek, Pine Creek, Upper Burnt
River, Upper and Lower Willow Creek, and the Malheur. This last
requires separate mention. It runs through the boundaries of the
Malheur Indian reservation, now shortly to be thrown open to
settlement, and offering about three million acres of fertile and
desirable land.
The Malheur River runs from the Harney Lake Valley to the Snake. This
last-named valley is about sixty miles long by twenty wide; and this
area of twelve hundred square miles is mainly covered with a growth of
grass so tall that a man riding through it on horseback in August can
tie the heads of the wild-rye together over his head, or, to use
another illustration, sufficiently high and dense to hide completely a
horseman who diverges from the road or track. With the wild-rye are
mixed bunch-grass, blue-joint, and quantities of the wild-pea vine. And
the country north and south of it, though bare, is not barren and
mountainous; but in the spring and summer, before the grass is up to
its full height, a man can ride and even drive his wagon, day in and
day out, until he gets out of the boundaries of Oregon.
The preparations which the settlers make for the winter consist mainly
in cutting and storing for hay the natural grasses of the country. Fort
Harney, which has been until lately a post held by two companies, has
stabling for four hundred horses. Five years ago the troops got cut and
stacked from the surrounding country nine hundred tons of choice hay.
Neither in this valley are the winters very severe. Until railroad
communications are provided, the sparse settlers have to abandon
themselves to isolation from the outside world, because the snow lies
deep on the plateaus and ridges which extend between them and the
haunts of civilized man. But within the limits of the valleys the
inhabitants enjoy life in winter. The snow does not lie long or deep;
and from so many sources that I am forced to credit it comes the
information that no one accustomed to American winter in any of the
Middle States need have any apprehension in coming to live in any of
the valleys I have named.
Turning westward from the Snake River and traversing the Malheur Valley
and the Harney Lake Valley, the traveler may follow one of the military
wagon-roads--that one whose fortunes in the violent and scandalous
attempts on the title to its granted lands I have before referred to.
From Camp Harney to Prineville, the principal town in the southern
portion of Wasco County, the distance is about one hundred and
forty-five miles. For between thirty and forty miles the road runs
through Silver Creek Valley, or along land watered by its affluent
streams. The description I have given of valleys in Eastern Oregon
applies to this. The country on either side of the road consists of
rolling hills, covered with bunch-grass and sage-brush, and
occasionally sparse juniper. Settlement in this valley is very recent.
But thirteen families had taken up their residence there previous to
and during the fall of 1880, and several more are going in this spring.
[Sidenote: _GRINDSTONE CREEK VALLEY._]
Then Grindstone Creek Valley is reached. This is one of the head-waters
of Crooked River. A perfect network of creeks and streams is passed
before the main Crooked River is reached, and each stream and creek
brings fertility to the land on either side of it and through which it
runs.
A farmer named Moppin has the credit of growing the first grain on
Grindstone Creek; and there, in the harvest of 1880, he raised six
hundred bushels of fine oats on nine acres of land, and grew one
hundred and fifty bushels of potatoes on less than two thirds of an
acre; several of the potatoes weighed two pounds and upward.
Then, following down the course of the Crooked River Valley, we pass
through a country which is described in the following terms by a
settler of eleven years' experience:
"This Crooked River Valley is about seventy-five miles long, and
extends almost due east and west. It is a beautiful valley, with little
or no timber in it, with the exception of willows along the river. The
average width of the river is about one hundred feet. Now comes the
stock country on the south of this river, and along its entire length
is one line of hills and plateaus, thickly covered with bunch-grass of
the best quality. Every few miles comes in a creek from the highlands
back on either side. On these streams, from head to mouth, with but few
exceptions, are good farming-lands.
"At this time there are hundreds of thousands of acres of good land
lying idle, waiting for the industrious farmer to fence and plow and
raise grain on. But what is the use? There is no market for the grain
except in limited quantities, as we have no facilities for shipping to
the outside world. The consequence is, that if a man does not have
money enough to go into the stock-business, he won't come here at all.
The one great trouble is to get our supplies. Within a year after the
completion of a railroad to this locality the people over in your
section will be surprised at the vast amount of grain received from
here. As it is now, we have to drive our fat cattle from one to two
hundred miles in the winter to find a market, and by the time we get
them there they are poor. Give us a railroad, and we can ship our fat
stock five hundred miles to market, and afford to sell cheaper than
those who live in your (Willamette) valley. We do not have to feed at
all. We mark and brand a calf, turn him out on the range, and, when he
is four years old, sell him for twenty dollars cash--net profit about
seventeen dollars. Does that pay? Give us facilities for getting to a
better market, and it will pay better."
Passing still eastward after leaving Prineville along this Crooked
River Valley, and then to its junction with the Des Chutes River, the
country retains its fertile and promising character.
[Sidenote: _A FARMER'S OPINION._]
A farmer of twenty years' experience in Oregon, and who is a thoroughly
reliable man, writes thus: "I have known this country well for several
years. This fall (1880) I have taken a journey through it right along
east, traveling slowly and with a view to settling. What my opinion is
you may judge when I tell you that I have made up my mind to settle in
the Crooked River Valley, where I shall go with my family in the
spring.
"I know no part of Oregon that pleases me better. You have the best of
land for wheat, oats, and potatoes. You can get a good garden, and grow
all the vegetables you want. You have unlimited range for your stock,
where they will get fat on the natural grasses, and where you can put
up all the hay you want. Cattle, horses, and sheep do equally well out
there. You are going into a healthy climate, away from all fever and
ague or any other sickness of that nature; and you are going to a place
where the land is bound to be worth four times its present value when
the Oregon Pacific Railroad is opened."
Beginning the ascent of the Cascades, you pass through and over some
twenty miles of rough lava country, interspersed with strips of
scattering timber-land, and then come to Fish Lake and Clear Lake, the
paradise of the fisherman, the hunter, and the berry-gatherer and
botanist.
Before I leave the description of Eastern Oregon, let me quote from one
more letter from a settler of last year out in the Prineville country:
"I am located on a ranch on Camp Creek, and eight miles below the
famous 'soap-holes' (silver-mines). We can raise almost anything out
here, unless it is a mortgage. We have all the potatoes, turnips,
onions, carrots, and beets we want; all were raised on our ranch, and,
by-the-way, they were immense. I pulled one turnip that measured
thirty-four and a half inches in circumference, and quite a number ran
as high as thirty inches. Early-rose potatoes do remarkably well here.
I have in about five acres of rye, and will sow about twenty acres of
wheat and oats in the spring."
I should add that the towns in Eastern Oregon, away from the Columbia,
are beginning to assume considerable importance.
Baker City was described in December, 1880, as having about one
thousand inhabitants, while the amount of business transacted would
average fully $450,000. There were then six substantial fire-proof
business structures, and two large school-buildings, namely, "St.
Joseph's" and "The Sisters of the Holy Names." The former is said to be
a large four-story structure, in brick and stone, of the pure Gothic
style of the fourteenth century, with accommodations for about one
hundred and fifty boarding and day scholars; it is managed by a Roman
Catholic priest named De Roo.
Prineville is a very lively and bustling place, with about the same
number of inhabitants. It is growing fast, several fine buildings
having been recently erected, among them a convenient and substantial
church. There are three large general stores, supplied with heavy
stocks of goods; from this, as a distributing center, the stockmen and
ranchers for fifty miles and more in every direction fetch the
necessaries of life. In the summertime ten or a dozen heavily-loaded
wagons may be seen any day starting out along this road (which was
called no road!) for their distant homes.
[Sidenote: _WARNINGS TO SETTLERS._]
It must not be assumed that all Eastern Oregon could be divided off
into farms of the character of these choicer pieces which such men as I
have referred to have chosen and settled on. There is many a rough,
stony hill-side, where the sparse vegetation struggles for life in the
crannies of the rocks. There is many a stretch of sandy, alkaline
plain, where the dingy sage-brush grows, with here and there a tuft of
bunch-grass; there is many a gully where the thirsty steer would look
in vain for water, even in a dirt-hole, to quench his thirst.
But all this is fully consistent with the fertility and attractiveness
of the valleys and slopes I have described. For, remember, we are
dealing with fifty thousand square miles of country, on which, if the
existing farms were marked on a large scale-map, they would be hardly
noticeable in the vast expanse of land waiting for settlement and
population.
But he would be a short-sighted man who should think of farming in
Eastern Oregon, as it now is, save in a few accessible spots, where
proximity to a road will provide a market at his door for the produce
he has raised. In Northeastern Oregon, where the great crops of wheat
are beginning to be grown, the farmer is at the mercy of the
Transportation Company, which hitherto has sucked the oyster and left
the farmer the shell. For what profit can there be in growing wheat at
thirty and thirty-five cents a bushel, that same wheat being worth one
hundred cents in Portland, and the difference being absorbed in freight
and charges?
And yet, so great is the charm of novelty, so prone are a large number
of the emigrants to this State to try a new place, that land up there
fetches from five to fifteen dollars an acre, just about the same price
for which they could buy a farm in the valley foot-hills, where wheat
was worth seventy-five cents against the thirty-five, and where
churches, schools, post-offices, and telegraphs are already provided.
CHAPTER XXI.
Southern Oregon--Its boundaries--The western counties--Population--Ports
--Rogue River--Coos Bay--Coal--Lumber--Practicable railroad routes--The
harbor--Shifting and blowing sands--A quoted description--Cost of
transportation--Harbor improvements--Their progress and results--The
Umpqua--Douglas County--Jackson County--The lake-country--Linkville
--Water-powers--Indian reservations--The great mountains--Southeastern
Oregon--General description--Industries.
Southern Oregon is defined generally as bounded on the west by the
Pacific, and starting from its western boundary is bounded on the north
by the Calapooya Mountains, shutting in the Umpqua Valley, and then
running eastward, taking in the lake country. In this division are
included the western counties of Douglas, Coos, Curry, Josephine,
Jackson, Lake, and the southern half of Grant and Baker. A great
portion of the last-named counties is yet unsurveyed.
The western counties already possess, according to the census of 1880,
a population of 29,081 souls.
The portions of Grant and Baker Counties properly belonging to Southern
Oregon have only about two thousand people, the reason being that this
country is truly inaccessible, being so far distant from the seaboard,
and hardly traversed by a road.
Southern Oregon possesses several rivers and their attendant seaports.
The most southerly is the Rogue River, which has a course of about one
hundred miles, running through a very fertile but secluded valley. The
bar at the entrance is shifting, and the channel very variable; but it
is entered by both small steamers and by the coasting schooners which
ply along the coast, with San Francisco as their port of delivery.
Coos Bay, some sixty miles to the north of the Rogue River, needs a
fuller description, as it is the headquarters of the coal and lumber
business of Southern Oregon. Detailed reports of the coal-basin give
not less than seventy-five thousand acres of coal-bearing land,
estimated to produce from the one vein at present worked not less than
four hundred and fifty million tons of coal. As many as six workable
seams are, however, known to exist, including one which has been
prospected to eleven feet in thickness. Five coal-mines have been
opened, which are capable of producing about two thousand tons of coal
daily. The working of these mines is of an inexpensive character, much
of the mineral being accessible from adits or galleries delivering
their produce on the hill-sides.
The lumber shipped at Coos Bay is yielded by four large steam
saw-mills, with an aggregate capacity of about one hundred and fifteen
thousand feet per day.
There are also four ship-yards, from which between forty and fifty
vessels have been launched, even up to two thousand tons burden.
The value of coal and lumber exported from Coos Bay was upward of
$445,000 in the year 1877, according to the statistics collected by a
committee of residents, when application was about to be made to
Congress for an appropriation for the improvement of the harbor. It was
then reported that a railroad was found to be practicable from Coos Bay
along the Coquille Valley across the Coast Mountains. Such a line would
then pass through the Umpqua Valley to Roseburg, with a practicable
extension up the North Fork of the Umpqua River and through the Cascade
Mountains into Eastern Oregon.
[Sidenote: _SHIFTING AND BLOWING SANDS._]
It was ascertained that the chief difficulty in improving the entrance
to the port lay in the enormous quantity of movable and shifting sand,
driven along the coast southward by the prevalent summer northwest
winds, and then returned by the winter southwest gales.
So violent is this action that it is thus described: "Large tracts to
the north of Coos Bay and along the rock separating its lower part from
the sea, where once stood farms and pine-forests, are now buried to the
tops of the highest trees. Immense quantities of this wind-borne sand
are constantly going into the bay, and by its swift currents are
carried out to form the bar, or be deposited in the bight to the east
and north of the cape."
Let me quote a short description of this section of the country, on
which before many years the tide of immigration must roll in. The
writer is the Hon. B. Hermann, who is doing all in his power to draw
public attention to his district:
"Ten-mile and Camas Valleys, being respectively ten and fifteen to
twenty-five miles from the terminus of the Oregon and California
Railroad at Roseburg, are without any other outlet. The cost of teaming
to this point, added to the present exorbitant rates of railway
freights, discourages the farmers of those sections in the cultivation
of the soil. And yet some of the best and most extensive wheat-fields
of the country are within those circuits, while a vast area is left
annually to grow brush and weeds, and to remain of comparatively little
value, which should otherwise contribute to the harvest of thousands of
bushels of the finest grain.
"From Camas Valley, and along the Middle Fork of the Coquille River,
until its junction with the main stream is reached, a distance of
twenty-eight miles by survey, three fourths of the route is without
even a wagon-road communication, travel being by trail, with ox and
sled, saddle and pack horse. And yet there is found a goodly
population, having substantial improvements, some very good farms in
cultivation, with flouring-mills for the local accommodation.
"The land is very fertile, and capable of growing the usual cereals and
esculents to perfection, but, owing to the great difficulty of
transporting the productions to market, a very small portion only is
cultivated, and much remains vacant, subject to homestead and
preëmption....
"From the junction with the main river, and following the latter to
near Beaver Slough, or Coquille City, the point of diversion of the
route toward Coos Bay, an enterprising community is found, owning
bottom-lands of rich alluvial soil, a great portion of which is now
being cleared of timber, annually placed under cultivation, and large
crops of grain garnered. This same remark applies to all the remaining
portion of the main Coquille Valley, a distance of forty miles or more
to the sea, and also along the North and South Forks, as well as the
smaller tributaries. For a distance of seventy-five miles inland the
Coquille Valley is capable of extensive agricultural development.
Already this distance is closely peopled, all lands on the main stream
settled, and improvements slowly made. Much grain is now grown here, a
large proportion manufactured into flour by the various mills for home
consumption and shipment to Coos Bay, while a considerable quantity of
the grain is exported to San Francisco through the mouth of the river.
[Sidenote: _COST OF TRANSPORTATION._]
"Owing, however, to the condition of the Coquille entrance, only small
ships venture in, and even they are often delayed in the river for
months at a time, with the shippers' cargo on board....
"Thus the hopeful people of this extensive and unrivaled valley for its
soil, its productions, its coals, timber, and other abundant natural
resources, are virtually left without an exit to the markets of the
world....
"The cost on each bushel of wheat for transportation to Portland from
any point in the Umpqua Valley is twenty-three cents, to say nothing of
the added expense of one hundred and ten miles to Astoria, thence by
sea to San Francisco and elsewhere. From Roseburg to San Francisco by
way of Portland and Astoria is about eight hundred and seventy-five
miles, and from Roseburg to San Francisco by the way of Coos Bay is
only four hundred and sixty-five miles.
"Mr. James Dillard, as we are credibly informed, produced last year on
his farm in Douglas County about six thousand bushels of grain. To have
transported this only to Portland on its way to market would have cost
him $1,380. The saving in transportation to Coos Bay by eighty-five
miles of narrow-gauge road would be to this one farmer on one year's
crop $780."
No wonder that in this district, as in all others in the State, the
transportation question should be the burning one of the day.
The Coos Bay people succeeded in gaining the ear of Congress, and two
years ago an appropriation of $60,000 was made for the improvement of
the harbor.
The problem was a very difficult one for the engineers to solve, from
the conditions above stated of the driven and shifting sand. It would
not have been strange if the works first planned had needed alterations
as they progressed.
But the success of the breakwater constructed by the United States
engineers from cheap material, available on the spot, has been
sufficiently marked to encourage the requests for further
appropriations until the plans are executed in their entirety, and the
opening of the harbor carried still farther out to sea.
It is reported now (in the spring of 1881) that the north sand-spit is
being cut through by the current in the direction indicated by the
lines of the breakwater, and that deeper and more constant water is
found than heretofore--a good augury of success for similar works where
the obstructions are not so shifting as sand alone, and where they are
free from the influence of the sand tracts to the north, whence so much
of the obstruction to Coos Bay entrance came. And this is our happy
case at Yaquina.
The Umpqua River is the largest river that, rising in the Cascades, and
draining a large and fertile valley in its course, flows directly into
the Pacific, after cutting its channel through the Coast Range. There
is a wide and very shifting bar at its mouth, through which the usual
channel gives twelve or thirteen feet at low water. The river is
navigable for all vessels which can cross the bar as far as Gardner
City, five miles from the mouth, while smaller vessels can get as far
as Scottsburg, twenty-five miles up.
Douglas County, now possessing a population of 9,596, is capable of
sustaining a vastly increased number. It lies almost surrounded by
mountains, but with a good outlet to the north along the valley lands
through which the Oregon and California Railroad runs. It is well
watered throughout by the Umpqua and its tributaries, while the
northern portion of the county forms the head of the great Willamette,
the aggregate of many creeks and streams having here their rise.
The climate of Jackson County is a good deal warmer than its mere
geographical relations to the counties on the north and east of it
would account for. Indian corn is a staple crop, and peaches and vines
flourish exceedingly. The sun seems to have more power; and I have a
vivid remembrance of heat and dust along its roads.
[Sidenote: _THE LAKE COUNTRY._]
Lake County is well named. Huge depressions in the land are filled with
the Upper and Lower Klamath Lakes, the latter crossing the California
boundary-line.
North of the Upper Klamath Lake, again, some twenty miles, is the
Klamath Marsh, doubtless not long since another lake--now, in summer,
the feeding-ground for cattle, in winter the home of innumerable flocks
of migratory birds. Between the Upper and Lower Klamath Lakes runs a
rapid water-course. The town of Linkville stands on its banks. I am
told that there is water-power enough here to drive as many mills as
are found at Lowell, Massachusetts. At Linkville is the land-office for
Southern Oregon.
It has been proposed to run the California extension of the Oregon and
California Railroad through the gap between Upper and Lower Klamath
Lakes. Should that long-talked-of project ever be realized, the
manufacturing facilities of this splendid water-power will no longer be
suffered to lie dead.
Passing eastward, the great Klamath Indian reservation is reached--a
tract I only know by hearsay as a land of hills and streams, of gullies
and water-courses, of lava-beds and barrenness intermixed with quiet
vales and dells of wondrous beauty--a land where Indian superstitions
cluster thickly. The Indians are few and scattered, and this country,
no doubt, ere long will be thrown open to the white traveler and
hunter, to be quickly followed by the herdsman and the settler.
The great snowy pyramids of the Southern Cascades stand on guard. Mount
Scott (8,500 feet), Mount Pitt (9,250), and Mount Thielsen (9,250) are
placed there, thirty miles apart, forbidding passage between the warm
valleys of Jackson County and the open plains east of the mountains.
But here, too, the hardy pioneers have found their way. I have talked
with several men who are herding sheep and cattle on these plains. The
merino thrives here even better than in Northeastern Oregon, and many
thousand pounds of wool are raised. They describe the country as one of
open plain and rocky hillside, of scarce water and abundant sage-brush;
resembling in general features the tract fifty miles to the north, but,
alas! containing scarcely any of the creeks \and streams which give
life and fertility to Middle Oregon.
[Sidenote: _THE IDAHO BOUNDARY._]
Eastward again of Stein's Mountains you strike the head-waters of the
Owyhee, an important tributary of the Snake, and at once recur the
common features of fertility and consequent settlement. And thus the
Idaho boundary is reached.
CHAPTER XXII.
The towns--Approach to Oregon--The steamers--The Columbia entrance--
Astoria--Its situation, industries, development--Salmon--Shipping--
Loading and discharging cargo--Up the Columbia and Willamette to
Portland--Portland, West and East--Population--Public buildings--
United States District Court--The judge--Public Library--The Bishop
schools--Hospital--Churches--Stores--Chinese quarter--Banks--
Industries--The city's prosperity--Its causes--Its probable future
--The Oregon Railway and Navigation Company--Shipping abuses and
exactions--Railroad termini--Up the Columbia--The Dalles--Up
the Willamette--Oregon City, its history--The falls--Salem--Its
position and development--Capitol buildings--Flour-mills--Oil-mills
--Buena Vista potteries--Albany--Its water-power--Flour-mills--Values
of land--Corvallis--The line of the Oregon Pacific Railroad--Eugene,
its university and professors--Roseburg--The West-side Railroad to
Portland--Development of the country--Prosperity--Counties of Oregon
--Their population--Taxable property--Average possessions--In the
Willamette Valley--In Eastern Oregon--In Eastern Oregon tributary
to Columbia and Snake Rivers.
Having said so much about the country, something needs to be said about
the towns. All persons reaching Oregon, save those few who choose to
face the three nights and two days of staging that divide Redding (the
northern terminus of the California and Oregon Railroad) from Roseburg
(the southern terminus of the Oregon and California Railroad), enter
Oregon by ship from San Francisco. And here, in passing, a word of
praise for the really beautiful and commodious steamers which have now
replaced the Ajax and the other monsters which disgraced the traffic
they were furnished for, as well as their owners. No better boats ply
on any waters than the State of California, the Columbia, and the
Oregon. The first two are new ships, with electric lights, and all
other appliances to match. All are safe and speedy. The State of
California belongs to the Pacific Coast Steamship Company, the others
to the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company.
The approach to Oregon is forbidding and stern. There is nothing
attractive in the sandy coast, in the muddy water, in the broken but
not romantic scenery, where the water is encroaching on the land, and
shifting its position and attack from time to time. Here and there
along the edge are strewed, or stand in various attitudes of death, the
skeletons of the pine-trees, which look like the relics of battle, the
perishing remains of the beaten defenders of the coast; and, once over
the bar, that terror to sea-worn travelers, the approach to Astoria can
hardly be called beautiful.
[Sidenote: _ASTORIA._]
But the city of Astoria itself has claims to beauty of position. It
lies within the course of the Columbia; though here the estuary is so
wide as to give the idea of a lake. Jutting out into the bay above the
town rises a little promontory, crowned with firs; and between the eye
rests on the unfamiliar outlines of a large cannery, the buildings of
gray wood, based on piles sunk into the mud of the bay, and the long,
shingled roofs catching the rays of the departing sun.
The city consists of a mass of wooden structures low down by the
water's edge--wharves and docks and repairing-yards in front, and a
long line of stores and saloons and business-houses behind, broken by
the more imposing custom-house, post-office, and churches. On the
slopes of the high hills rising from near the water's edge are the
scattered white houses of the inhabitants, while the sky-line of the
hills is broken through by the cutting by which many tons of stone and
sand are being piled into the bay. The city proper mainly stands on
piles, the water gurgling and lapping round the barnacles, which
cluster thick; the enterprise of the people is fast filling in
underneath from the hills behind.
There are large and substantial docks of the Oregon Railway and
Navigation Company and others adjoining, where are generally lying two
or three large ships or barks, going out or returning from their long
and weary voyage.
The atmosphere of the place in the salmon-season is fishy, huge stacks
of boxed salmon filling the wharves. The principal street is fringed
with saloons, mainly looking for custom to the fishermen and seamen.
There is a large lumber-mill, which makes the air resonant with the
shriek of the great saws; and a boot-and-shoe factory has been recently
established. Other industries exist; but it is as a seaport that
Astoria justifies its existence and the foresight of its founders.
Clatsop County has 7,200 inhabitants, of which, I suppose, Astoria
claims a third. There is an air of business and life about the place,
and there will be, so far as I can see, even though means should be
found of ending the present practice of all large ships going to sea
from Portland being towed to Astoria, and followed by scows and barges,
there to complete their loading for their outward voyage. A similar
necessity exists for incoming ships to stay at Astoria to discharge a
large portion of their cargo before facing the shallows and mud-banks
of the Willamette on the way to Portland as their port of discharge.
[Sidenote: _PORTLAND._]
The voyage up the Columbia for a hundred miles, and up the Willamette
for twelve, to Portland, has many charms. First, the grand stream of
the mighty Columbia, telling in its size and volume of the three
thousand miles some of its waters have come from their far-off sources
among distant mountains; then the banks, rising generally sheer from
the water's edge, crowned with rich and varied vegetation, and here and
there the rugged rocks breaking through, to give clearness and strength
to outline; and then on either side the more distant hills, clothed
with the dark fir-timber to their summits, and behind the mountains
proper, with Mount Hood and Mount Saint Helen's showing their snowy
heads. Here and there in a niche or angle under the bank lie huddled
close the buildings of a cannery, the blue smoke rising from the
central chimney, and the white boats tied to the piling which juts out
into the deep water of the river.
You are hardly conscious of leaving the Columbia for the Willamette. It
looks as if it were an island in mid-stream behind and to the south of
which you are about to pass; but soon you find that the supposed island
is the opposite bank of the Willamette, and, passing beacons and marks,
set to define the channel with the accuracy that is absolutely needed
(since a sheer to the east or west of only a yard or two would leave
you fast in a mud-bank for hours), you come in sight of Portland.
I ought to have noticed that here and there along the banks coming up,
almost on the river's level and exposed to inundation at each high
water, you pass dairy-farms, consisting of a shanty, or tumble-down
house, and a few acres of rank and muddy pasture, where ague seems to
sit brooding on the branches of the trees, whose trunks and limbs yet
bear the traces of last season's flood.
But now for the juvenile but audacious Portland, who describes herself
as "the commercial metropolis of the Northwest." One considerable
suburb, called East Portland, stands on the east bank of the
Willamette; but the main part of the town is on the west bank, and now
nearly fills all the level land between the river and the hills behind,
which seem to be pushing at and resenting the intrusion of the streets
along their sides. Extensions are taking place along the northern end,
where a considerable stretch of low-lying land is yet available along
the banks of the river, and also to some extent at the farther or
southern end of the city. The building westward is mounting the
hill-sides, already dotted with the somewhat pretentious wooden houses
of the more prosperous towns-people.
To one who has seen real cities it is but a little place; but some of
its twenty-one or twenty-two thousand inhabitants raise claims to
greatness and even supremacy that make it difficult to suppress a
smile. In thirty-five years the place has grown from a collection of
log-huts, set down as if by chance, to its present dimensions, and, no
doubt, could go on growing as fast as Oregon developed, could the same
conditions last. The city consists of near a dozen streets running
parallel with the Willamette, and about twenty-three at right angles.
Front Street and First Street contain some brick buildings, remarkable
for so very young a place: the former backs on the Willamette, and on
it front the warehouses and wharves, against the backs of which the
ships are moored; the latter contains nearly all the city's stores and
shops of any consequence.
[Sidenote: _THE PUBLIC LIBRARY._]
The United States District and Circuit Courts sit at Portland. The
former is and has been for several years presided over by the Hon.
Matthew P. Deady. This gentleman's name will be long associated with
the jurisprudence of Oregon, having been one of the original compilers
of the Code, and reporter of the decisions of the Supreme Court of the
State, until, promoted to the bench of the United States Court, he has
taken a high place as a conscientious and able judge. To him also
Portland mainly owes that which I consider the chief ornament and pride
of the city, rather than the ambitious but faulty structures in wood,
stone, and iron on which most of the citizens glorify themselves--I
mean the Public Library. This institution has its headquarters in
spacious rooms over Messrs. Ladd & Tilton's Bank; the shelves are
filled with upward of ten thousand well-selected books, and the process
of addition is going on under the same careful oversight. Here every
evening are groups of readers, and it must be a source of constant
satisfaction to the judge to have been the means of organizing and
continuing the successful working of an institution which is effecting
silent but untold good.
Portland is also the residence of Bishop Morris, of the Episcopal
Church. He has resided there for twelve years past; and to him the city
is indebted for the St. Vincent's Hospital, where accidents are treated
at all times, and which is open for receiving besides a certain number
of sick persons. The bishop has also founded and kept going the Bishop
Scott Grammar-School. This is a high-school for boys. Last year it had
fifty-nine pupils and five teachers, and a sound and solid education is
there given. St. Helen's Hall, the best girls' school in the State, was
also founded by him. There were here one hundred and sixty pupils and
twelve teachers last year. Other churches exert themselves to occupy
and hold prominent positions in the city: notably the Roman Catholics,
whose archbishop, Seghers, resides in Portland, and who have erected a
large red-brick cathedral. It is as yet unfinished, but a further
effort by the Roman Catholics in the diocese is about to be made to
complete and furnish it.
There is a fair theatre in the city; it is occupied now and again by a
traveling troupe from San Francisco, generally consisting of a star,
and his or her supports of a more or less wooden consistency.
The building of the Mechanics' Fair, which is used for balls and
concerts, one or two Masonic and societies' halls, the rooms of the
several fire companies, and those of the Young Men's Christian
Association, complete the list. There are a good many expensive stores
of all kinds, and all seem prosperous.
The Chinese quarter is, of course, not so large and picturesque as in
San Francisco, but it is equally well marked: a complete range of
Chinese stores, with doctors' shops and theatre, the usual lanterns
hung out over the doors, and the common display of curious edibles.
There are several substantial Chinese firms and business-houses; one of
their chief sources of revenue is the bringing over and hiring out the
large numbers of Chinese laborers required for the railway works now in
progress. The census disclosed nineteen hundred Chinamen as residents
of Multnomah County; I suppose eighteen hundred of them were found in
Portland.
[Sidenote: _BANKS AND MANUFACTORIES._]
Four banks do a large general business, and there is also a
savings-bank. A mortgage company, having its headquarters in Scotland,
at Dundee, takes up cheap money in Scotland, and lends it out to great
advantage in Oregon, at the rates prevalent here, with results
satisfactory to its manager, Mr. William Reid, as well as to its
stockholders.
There are two iron-works, a large sash and door factory, a brewery, and
a twine and rope factory, but beyond these scarcely any manufacturing
industry.
The prosperity of the city, which has been very great during the last
few years, is solely attributable to its character of toll-gate.
Situated at the extreme northern boundary of the State, in a position
which was not unsuitable when Oregon and Washington Territory were
bound together, it is perfectly anomalous to suppose that the capital
city of Oregon should have been there placed by deliberate intention.
As matters now stand, it is the only port in Oregon, save Astoria, to
which the large grain-ships can come, and at which the deep-draught
ocean-going steamers can take in and discharge their cargoes; and, very
naturally, its business-men seek to perpetuate that state of affairs,
regardless of the growing interest of the great country which now pays
tribute to their little town. It is not easy to forget how more than
one of its leading citizens, when applied to to add their signatures to
a petition to Congress in aid of the removal of the reef partially
obstructing Yaquina Bay, replied, "Every dollar you get is so much
taken directly from our pockets."
A further adventitious help that Portland got was by being made the
headquarters of the Oregon Steam Navigation Company, which brought to
its wharves the produce of the Columbia River traffic as well as that
of the Willamette. It might be natural to bring to and to leave at
Portland wharves the wheat of Western Oregon, but there seems little
sense in bringing grain down the Columbia, and then up the Willamette,
to be deposited in Portland, thence to be transferred partly in ships,
partly in barges and river-steamers, to Astoria, where alone the
loading of the ships could be completed.
The present style of the Portland and Astoria newspapers is to make
very light of the Columbia bar. In fact, they boldly state that to
hardly any port is so good an approach vouchsafed as to Portland; they
instance London and Philadelphia, Glasgow and New Orleans, as parallel
instances in position; and "The Oregonian" is never weary of singing
the praises of their Tom Tiddler's ground of a city.
But it has not always been so with them. "The Astorian" stated, on the
30th of January, 1880, that there were thirty vessels off the bar,
unable to enter. The same paper, on the 23d of March, 1880, published
this item of news: "Pilots on the bar all agree that, unless some
measures are adopted for permanent improvement of the channel, it will
not be longer considered safe for vessels to enter or cross out with
more than eighteen feet draught of water." "The Astorian" in the same
issue also informed us that "Captain Flavel has been making personal
inspections of bar-soundings, ... and is himself fully satisfied that
it is only a question of very brief time, so rapid and broadcast is the
shoaling process, when it will be impossible for deep vessels to cross;
the North Channel, along Sand Island from the head, is filling up as
fast as does the South Channel"; while "The Oregonian" told us as
recently as December, 1880, that "the Gatherer, with railroad-iron for
the Northern Pacific Railroad Company, was compelled to lighter four
times between Baker's Bay and Kalama, at heavy expense. The Chandos,
sailing from this port within the past two weeks, lightered thirteen
hundred tons. The A. M. Simpson lightered eleven hundred tons; and the
last departure, the Edwin Reed, getting off on a winter rain-flood,
scraped over the shoals with all but two hundred and eighty tons of her
load, the lightest lighterage of a wooden vessel for many months. The
report has gone forth that to reach Portland a ship must be dragged up
a hundred miles or more of river over four bad bars, and at the
shipping season lighterage at enormous cost is necessary. Naturally
enough, we now have no large ships."
[Sidenote: _SHIPPING ABUSES AND EXACTIONS._]
The abuses of the present system of shipping are many and great, and
all on the principle of making hay while the sun shines. Hear a
shipmaster who published his experiences in October last:
"On the fourth day we got two tugs and crossed the outer bar and
anchored in Baker's Bay, where the ship had to be lightened to twenty
feet and six inches draught before she could cross the inner bar and
reach Astoria. This lighterage cost two dollars per ton, and had to be
paid by the ship. As four other ships arrived about that time which
required lightering also before they could proceed farther, we were
detained at Baker's Bay for nine days, having the expense of a full
crew on board all that time. The distance from outside of the outer bar
to Astoria is about fourteen miles, for which the towage is $500,
pilotage $192, and that was in the middle of a beautiful day, ship also
using her own canvas and hawser. I believe this charge is almost equal
to salvage. The pilots are hired by the owner of the tugs, who collects
the pilotage, paying the pilots $100 a month for their services.... As
the pilots have no boat of their own, they are obliged to go in the
tugs, which are all owned by one man. I was just fourteen days from the
time I anchored off the bar till I reached the dock where I was to
discharge cargo, and for towage and pilotage alone from the bar to the
dock, paid $1,009."
Portland is the Oregon headquarters of the Oregon Railway and
Navigation Company, a corporation formed by the fertile genius of Mr.
Henry Villard in June, 1879, by the amalgamation of the Oregon
Steamship Company, owning the ocean-going steamers between San
Francisco and Portland, and the Oregon Steam Navigation Company, owning
the river-boats plying on the Columbia and Willamette. Here are the
termini of the East and West Side Railroads (originally formed by Mr.
Ben Holladay, a name very familiar to Oregon ears), but until this
spring of 1881 owned and worked by the committee of European
bondholders, into whose hands the lines in question fell by virtue of
the securities they held. And in Portland also are the head offices in
Oregon of the Scotch system of narrow-gauge railroads, now being
constructed by means of Scotch capital attracted to the State by the
successful working of the land-mortgage company referred to above.
It will be seen, therefore, that there are abundant reasons for
predicting that a large portion of the business of Oregon will center
in Portland, for many years to come, at any rate. The more cause that
Portland men should welcome the development of the other portions of
the State, with which in the future profitable business is certain to
arise, as new industries are started, existing interests widen and
strengthen themselves, and new centers of population and business find
their places in the growing State. Time will show whether the sanguine
hopes of the Portland people that their city will hold the virtual
monopoly of the trade of the Northwest are well founded or not. There
can, in my mind, be little doubt that she will have a very formidable
rival in the city on Puget Sound which will spring up, as by magic,
when the Northern Pacific Railroad there receives and discharges
passengers and freight. It will be an evil day for Portland when the
wharves at Tacoma find the grain-ships alongside, and the cars pouring
in the grain of Eastern Oregon and Washington Territory. And some
little effect on her tolls will be produced when Yaquina Bay is opened,
and the cars of the Oregon Pacific are there delivering the freight of
Middle and Southern Oregon.
Portlanders rely on what they call the concentration of capital to pull
them through. They have yet to learn the sensitiveness of the movements
of their divinity--how prone she is to follow the current of trade to
its points of receipt and delivery. And should that day ever dawn, when
figures show her "supremacy" to have departed, not one single sigh will
escape these valley counties, which Portland has levied tribute on, and
done her best to keep in bondage till the end of time.
[Sidenote: _UP THE COLUMBIA RIVER._]
Passing eastward from Portland up the Columbia, in one of the large and
comfortable boats of the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company, a day's
journey brings you to the Dalles. I have already mentioned how rapidly
this town is growing, as the point of distribution for the greater
portion of Northeastern Oregon, and the point of reception for vast
quantities of grain, wool, hides, and other productions of that
pastoral and agricultural country.
Taking a Willamette River boat, notice in passing the Oswego
Iron-Works, seven miles from Portland, and then the village of
Milwaukee, with large and well-appointed nurseries, whence many of the
orchards of the State have been supplied.
The steamer will then stop at the wharf of Oregon City, just below the
great falls of the Willamette. Notice the magnificent river throwing
itself over the rocky ridge which shows one or two black points of rock
amid the foam of the falls. See the lofty hills on either side, clad
with vegetation to their very tops, while the little town is crowded on
the narrow strip down by the river on the eastern side. What a
water-power is yet running to waste, though lumber-mills, flour-mills,
and woolen-mills take their tribute as it passes!
On the west side are the locks. Here the steamer crosses the river from
the city, and you get a pretty view of this, one of the earliest
settled towns in the State. It dates from the Hudson Bay Company's
rule, and the oldest inhabitant can tell you story after story of the
early days, when the meetings were held here which virtually determined
the allegiance of the infant State.
Iron-ore has been prospected in plenty in these hills above the town,
but waits for development.
[Illustration: The Columbia Point below the Dalles.]
[Sidenote: _SALEM._]
Passing up the river, the next important place we meet is Salem, the
capital of the State. The State Capitol stands on elevated ground about
a mile back from the river, with a large, green space in front, planted
with ornamental trees and shrubs. The scene from the great windows at
the back is really grand, Mount Jefferson being in full view, and the
line of the Cascades in ridge after ridge displayed in all their
beauty. Fronting the Capitol buildings at the other side of the Park
are the Court-House and offices of Marion County, also a substantial
and handsome pile. On the southern side of the Capitol stand the
buildings of the Willamette University.
The town of Salem is now growing. It has the advantage of a splendid
water-power, called Mill Creek, which is turned to good account before
it reaches the Willamette just below the city. On it are placed the
Pioneer Oil-Mills, where linseed-oil and linseed-cake are produced, of
excellent quality and moderate price; also a large building now used
both as an implement-factory and as a flour-mill; this has lately
changed hands, and it is too soon yet to speak of its success. Below
this are placed the "Salem Flour-Mills" of Kinney Brothers & Co. Their
brand is recognized and approved in all the markets of the world--as it
ought to be, if the best of wheat turned into the best of flour, and
its sale honestly and intelligently carried out, can command success.
The mills are fine buildings, fitted with the most modern and powerful
machinery, and stand just on the edge of the Willamette, with a dock
where the river-steamers can deliver wheat and receive flour. I believe
that this last fall of 1881 they converted 600,000 bushels of wheat
into flour. A switch from the Oregon and California Railroad runs from
the main line to the mills on the other side, and is proving an immense
convenience to the city generally as well as to the mills.
The steamboat pauses on its upward journey at Buena Vista, to take in
and deliver freight for the pottery there, already extensive, and which
by the excellence of its productions demonstrates that it only needs
further capital and enlarged business relations to do an important
share of the trade of the coast. The glaze on the ware is very good,
made from a mineral earth found in the bank of the Willamette at
Corvallis.
After passing the mouth of the Santiam, the most considerable tributary
of the Willamette, we stop at Albany. This is one of the best situated
and most progressive towns in the State. Although with a little less
than two thousand inhabitants at present, it has all the enterprise and
"go" of a town in Europe of five times that number. There are here also
three large flour-mills, the brands of some of which are known and
prized in Liverpool, to which port cargoes are frequently sent.
Albany has a lumber-mill, foundry, twine-mill, and scutching-mill,
fruit-drying works, sash and door factory, and soon will have
woolen-mills also. The making of the place is the water-power of the
Santiam River, brought in a canal for thirteen miles through the level
prairie-land, but rushing through the town and supplying the mills and
factories with a flow and force of water sufficient for double as many
works as at present use it. The town is supplied with water for
domestic purposes from the same source, of clearness and purity that it
is hard to equal.
Albany has three newspapers, six churches, a very good collegiate
school, and excellent common schools. It is a principal station on the
Oregon and California Railroad, and also an important station on the
Oregon Pacific, now so rapidly building, and its point of crossing the
Oregon and California, and a junction for the branch line to Lebanon,
away there under the slopes of the Cascades. Land in the neighborhood
of the town, and indeed throughout the level portions of Linn County,
ranging over an area of nearly twenty miles each way, is worth from
twenty-five to sixty dollars an acre--the last sale I heard of, of one
hundred and thirty-two acres, about five miles from the town, being at
thirty-nine dollars an acre.
[Sidenote: _CORVALLIS AND EUGENE CITY._]
The next town we come to is our own Corvallis, appropriately named as
the heart of the valley. It is indeed fitly placed as the valley
starting-point seaward of the Oregon Pacific Railroad, being on the
direct line east and west between Yaquina Bay, the Mount Jefferson Pass
through the Cascades, Prineville, in Eastern Oregon, Harney Lake and
Valley, the Malheur River and Valley, and Boisé City--the meeting-place
in the near future of divers transcontinental lines.
Corvallis has been too fully described in these pages to need further
reference here. The commencement of energetic construction of the
Oregon Pacific and the assurance of its early completion have given an
increased business-life to the place which impresses the visitor
strongly with the idea of rapid future growth.
Continuing in our steamboat to the head of the Willamette navigation,
we pass the little towns of Peoria and Harrisburg, and at last reach
Eugene City. This, which is the chief town of Lane County, is blessed
with a university, presided over by excellent professors, one of whom,
Professor Condon, has a name and fame as a geologist far beyond the
limits of his county and also of the State. I trust the time will soon
come when the liberality of the Legislature of Oregon will provide the
funds necessary to enable Professor Condon to complete and publish the
systematic geology and mineralogy of Oregon, the materials for which
are already to a large extent in his possession, the result of years of
careful study and journeyings over the State.
Eugene City is a lively, pleasant little town, but has not yet attained
any manufacturing or industrial development like some of the other
towns in Oregon. This is to come.
Leaving the river for the railroad, we journey up to Roseburg, the
capital of Douglas County, and the southern terminus of the Oregon and
California line. No town can be more prettily placed, really at the
head of the great valley country, with the vast mountain-forms behind
frowning on the traveler who dares attempt to thread their passes. As I
have said, the Douglas County people trust to get a railroad outlet
from Roseburg down to Coos. I hope they will succeed, and so open to
ocean-transit the productions of a vast and fertile country.
Turning north again as far as Corvallis, we may there take the
West-side Railroad and journey along the western side of the Willamette
Valley and River.
The towns of Independence, Dallas, Sheridan, Amity, Lafayette,
McMinnville, Forest Grove, and Hillsboro' lie in the district between
Corvallis and Portland. Each and all are thriving, but I can do no more
than mention them, though I fear so short a reference will be
considered scant courtesy to the active, pushing people who are
laboring with such success at the development of Polk, Yam Hill, and
Washington Counties. The land is almost uniformly good; large
quantities are being yearly grubbed and put under the plow, and several
of my recently arrived English friends prefer the undulating land and
gentle slopes of this side of the valley to any other part of Oregon,
and have proved their preference by their actions. Land in these
counties varies from ten to twenty-five dollars an acre in price.
[Sidenote: _COUNTIES: POPULATION, ETC._]
I think I will close this somewhat tedious chapter by setting out the
counties of Oregon, their population, and the statement of their
taxable property, furnished by the Secretary of State:
COUNTIES. Population. Taxable property
of 1880.
Baker 4,615 $931,139
Benton 6,403 1,766,282
Clackamas 9,260 1,886,916
Clatsop 7,222 1,136,099
Columbia 2,042 305,283
Coos 4,834 832,335
Curry 1,208 219,333
Douglas 9,596 2,248,985
Grant 4,303 1,088,097
Jackson 8,154 1,449,623
Josephine 2,485 253,594
Lake 2,804 708,517
Lane 9,411 3,078,756
Linn 12,675 4,334,479
Marion 14,576 3,983,170
Multnomah 25,204 11,511,058
Polk 6,601 1,751,211
Tillamook 970 92,912
Umatilla 9,607 2,094,723
Union 6,650 1,265,603
Wasco 11,120 2,870,645
Washington 7,082 2,137,630
Yam Hill 7,945 2,547,833
------ ---------
Total of the State 174,767 $48,494,223
Increase over 1879 2,071,406
The proportion of taxable property held by each man, woman, and child
in Oregon is therefore $277.47.
The population of the valley counties, properly so called, is
83,549--this leaves Portland and Multnomah County entirely out. The
taxable property of these valley counties is $23,735,262.
The population of the whole of Eastern Oregon east of the Cascades is
but 39,099. The value of its taxable property is only $8,958,724.
The population of that part of Eastern and Northeastern Oregon which is
in any sense tributary to the Columbia or Snake Rivers is 28,180. The
value of their taxable property is $6,256,547.
The average taxable property of the population of the valley counties
is $282.68; that of the population of Eastern Oregon, $228.96.
[Illustration: The Columbia Cascades Landing (Looking up stream).]
These figures will be seen to have an important hearing on the subject
of the next chapter.
CHAPTER XXIII.
The transportation question--Its importance--Present legal position--
Oregon Railway and Navigation Committee's general report--That company
--Its ocean-going steamers--Their traffic and earnings--Its river-boats
--Their traffic and earnings--Its railroads in existence--Their traffic
and earnings--Its new railroads in construction and in prospect--Their
probable influence--The Northern Pacific--Terminus on Puget Sound--Its
prospects--The East and West Side Railroads--"Bearing" traffic and
earnings--How to get "control"--Lands owned by the Oregon Railway and
Navigation Company--Monopoly--How threatened--The narrow-gauge railroads
--Their terminus and working--Efforts to consolidate monopoly--The
"blind pool"--Resistance--The Oregon Pacific--Its causes, possessions,
and prospects--Land grant and its enemies--The traffic of the valley--
Yaquina Bay--Its improvement--The farmers take it in hand--Contrast
and comparisons--The two presidents--Probable effects of competition
--Tactics in opposition--The Yaquina improvements--Description of
works--The prospects for competition and the farmers' gains.
From all that has gone before, the deduction is plain that on the
solution of the transportation question in the interests of the fixed
and industrious population of the State depends absolutely the growth
and prosperity of Oregon. Nature has done her part.
The words of Messrs. George M. Pullman, of Chicago, and William
Endicott, Jr., of Boston, in their report of August 1, 1880, to the
stockholders of the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company, will be
echoed by every man who is now or has been in Oregon with eyes to see.
They wrote as follows:
"Our observations afforded, in the first place, ample confirmation of
all we had previously heard and read of the propitious climate, great
attractions of scenery, and wonderful agricultural resources of Western
and Eastern Oregon, and Eastern Washington Territory. We believe that
in these respects those regions are not surpassed, if equaled, by any
other portion of the United States. It can, indeed, be safely said that
nowhere else in this country do rich soil and mild climate combine to
the same degree in insuring such extraordinary results of almost every
agricultural pursuit as regards quantity, quality, and regularity of
yield.... The striking evidence of past and present growth which we
found everywhere, forced at the same time the irresistible conclusion
upon us that we were beholding but the beginning of the sure and rapid
progress in population, productiveness, and prosperity which will be
witnessed in the immediate future within the vast stretch of country
watered by the great river Columbia and its numerous tributaries."
The reader of this book will, I think, admit that the facts herein
detailed go far to justify the conclusions summed up in these few but
carefully chosen words.
How does this transportation question now stand, and what (if any)
matters are in progress or contemplation to affect it?
In the first place, the companies are all free to manage their own
business in their own way; they charge what they like, favor what
persons and places they choose, and load on others burdens heavy to be
borne.
I have before indicated what was the purpose of the bill introduced in
the Legislature of 1880, to prevent discrimination by common carriers.
"The Oregonian" commented on the loss of the measure in these terms:
"We present to-day the report of the (hostile) Senate committee on this
bill. The report shows why the proposed measure was both an unjust and
an impracticable one. It should be apparent to every one that railways
never can be operated in this way. The confusion and disorder would be
endless; besides, every railroad which is undertaken and constructed as
an actual business enterprise is entitled to make fair earnings.
Instead of being annoyed by straw railroads got up for speculative
purposes, it ought to have protection from such annoyance."
[Sidenote: _OREGON RAILWAY AND NAVIGATION CO._]
In further illustration of the working of the present system, I would
instance the fact that from Corvallis to Portland for about a year the
freight on wheat by the river steamboats of the Oregon Railway and
Navigation Company has been one dollar a ton, and of this fifty cents
had to be paid for passing the locks at Oregon City; the rate
immediately previous to this was three dollars and a half. This
ridiculously low rate was put on in order to destroy the traffic of the
East and West Side Railroads, and is in strong contrast with the rate
from Corvallis to Junction City, some twenty miles up the river, where
no such reasons existed, and which stood through this period at about
tenfold the one-dollar rate.
No sooner did the President of the Oregon Railway and Navigation
Company think he had secured "control" of the two railroads, than steps
were prepared to quadruple the previous rate. The question of "control"
stood adjourned, and the one-dollar rate was confirmed. But, having
seen reason to think his acquisition secure, the rates from Portland to
Corvallis (ninety-seven miles by railroad), both by railroads and
steamboats, have just now (April, 1881) been raised to six dollars per
ton--a rate equal to that charged in the infancy of the business,
twenty years ago.
The lion's share of the carrying business of the State is in the hands
of the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company, and with them are closely
identified the hopes of the city of Portland. This company owns two of
the steamers plying between Portland and San Francisco--the Oregon and
the Columbia. With these two steamers, or with the George W. Elder as
the predecessor of the Columbia, they carried from the 1st of July,
1879, to the 30th of June, 1880, 17,333 passengers, and 101,661 tons of
freight. The gross receipts were $636,888; the net profits, $286,459.
As we know from the published circular of Mr. Villard, the president,
that the cost of the Columbia was $400,000, and the Oregon is a smaller
and decidedly less expensive ship, the proportion of net earnings of
the vessels in question to their total cost will be seen to be about
enough to pay ten per cent. per annum on their cost, and to buy the
vessels out and out in three years and a half. The fare from Portland
to San Francisco, even while these earnings were being made, stood at
twenty dollars the first-class passenger. News has just arrived that
these fares are to be raised to thirty dollars a head. If the same rate
of expense is maintained as during last year, the earnings at the
higher figure now put on will be increased by about $100,000, and
enough will be realized to pay for the fleet in about two years and a
half.
With twenty-five steamboats (stern-wheelers) navigating the Columbia
and Willamette Rivers, and twelve barges and two scows (several of the
boats being old, and laid up in ordinary much of the time, reducing
thus materially the fleet in real service), the company earned
$1,992,836 gross, and $1,101,766 net profit. If $50,000 is deducted for
the earnings of the barges, it will be seen that the average net
earnings of the twenty-five river-steamers are positively $44,070 each.
The fleet could be replaced for less than the sum of the net profit of
one year. Like Oliver, "asking for more," they are positively raising
these freights also!
[Sidenote: _RAILROAD ALONG THE COLUMBIA._]
The railroad possessions of the company for the year in question
consisted of but forty-eight miles, and of these the line from Walla
Walla to Wallula on the upper Columbia, a distance of about thirty
miles, was the longest; the other two being short strips of portage
railroad round the Cascades or rapids on the Columbia. The passengers
carried were 12,588; the tons of freight, 72,149; and the net profits,
$269,004, or $5,604 a mile.
The company is engaged in constructing a line of railroad along the
south bank of the Columbia; the portion from Celilo (the upper end of
the rapids, at the lower end of which the town of the Dalles is
situated) to Wallula, just over the Washington Territory border, a
distance of one hundred and fifteen miles, is just completed. The line
is being extended to the city of Portland, the works between the Dalles
and the western end of the pass through the Cascade Mountains being of
the most severe and expensive character. At least two tunnels and mile
after mile of blasting and cutting through solid rock, where the
mountains tower perpendicular above, would inspire dismay in the soul
of any ordinary railroad-man.
But the word has gone forth that the road has to follow what is
facetiously called the pass of the Columbia through the Cascades, and
doubtless it will be done. Several thousand Chinamen are at work;
steam-drills are busy perforating the rocks; scows have to be moored
alongside in the river (there not being even room for the track between
mountain and water), while the perpendicular faces of the cliffs are
being tormented and torn. And thus about seventy miles of construction
of this nature have to be got through. When completed, of course, the
result will be at once to transfer nearly all of as many of the 117,000
passengers as traveled in the company's boats on the Columbia, to the
cars; and a vast quantity of the freight must follow the same route.
[Illustration: Columbia, above the Lower Cascade.]
But another factor is intended shortly to come into play. The Northern
Pacific Railroad is vigorously at work, and in a year or two will
compete with the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company for the
Washington Territory and extreme Eastern Oregon trade. The passengers
and freight intrusted to the Northern Pacific line will be carried from
Wallula, the Columbia River point above referred to, to Tacoma, on
Puget Sound. By this route a saving of one hundred and fifty-one miles
in actual distance will be effected, and the traffic will reach the
deep and still waters of Puget Sound, far away from the troubles and
stickings of the Willamette and Columbia mouths, and the delays,
dangers, and expenses of the Columbia bar. It is true that before this
result is gained the line must cross the Cascade Mountains, but it is
well known that a pass at less than thirty-four hundred feet exists,
and the engineers have no doubt whatever that this piece of road will
keep pace with the rest to the port.
[Sidenote: _HOW TO GET "CONTROL."_]
Mark now another feature in the case. The East and West Side Railroads
on either side of the Willamette River compete with the boats of the
Oregon Railway and Navigation Company for the trade of the Willamette
Valley. The railroads naturally divert the passenger traffic almost
entirely, and carry a large quantity of freight. They would carry more
and earn a fair profit for their owners, the German and English
bondholders, but, instead of a fair competition, the Oregon Railway and
Navigation Company, as I have said, put down the freights from
Corvallis downward to Portland on grain to one dollar per ton--of
course, an impossible rate for either river or railroad to profit by.
Why is this? Because what Mr. Villard calls the "control" of these
railroads is vitally necessary to the future continuance of the Oregon
Railway and Navigation Company's stocks in their exalted dividends and
consequent enormous market value. Therefore, it is sought now to
destroy the earning powers of these railroads, to force the owners into
succumbing to the "policy of control."
One more step. The Oregon Railway and Navigation Company owns
practically no land--that is to say, it is interested speculatively in
the rise of value in property in Portland by having invested a large
sum (I believe $199,000) in the purchase of 484 acres of land in and
near the city. But, outside this and its railroad-track, the company
owns altogether about 3,055 acres of land in scattered pieces, only
about 850 acres of which lie in Oregon; the rest in Washington
Territory, and a bit or two in Idaho. We will not omit to mention its
wharves at the various stopping-places of the boats, as they represent
the expenditure of a considerable sum. Once again: if anything at all
is clear, it is that the inflated value of this company's securities
depends solely on the continuance of their monopoly. I have shown that
on the Columbia River this is threatened by the Northern Pacific, and
also by themselves in effect, by the substitution of the costly
railroad line for the inexpensive boats, and the consequent devotion of
both investments, namely, that in the boats and that in the railroad,
to the same traffic, which the competition of the Northern Pacific is
certain to reduce in gross volume.
Now turn to the Willamette Valley traffic, and scrutinize the position
there. Not only is there the existing competition of the railroads,
which is fatal, so long as it is genuine, to the earning of large
profits from the north and south traffic of the valley, both in
passengers and goods, but here come in two competitors more.
The Scotch narrow-gauge system also centers everything in Portland, and
has succeeded, after a hard fight with the city authorities, in
securing a large tract of land for depot or terminal purposes. It had
the audacity to claim a right of way right through the tract purchased
by the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company, and, under the law of
eminent domain as it exists in Oregon, it would have got it, ay, and
used it, too, with but scant regard for the feelings of the high and
mighty corporation which had marked it for their own. But a working
arrangement was with much difficulty made, by which the Scotch line
runs, free of charge, alongside the other, right through its land, to
the terminus of the narrow-gauge.
This Scotch line has put boats on the Willamette also. They ply between
Ray's Landing, about seventeen miles up the Willamette, and Portland.
The narrow-gauge also has an East-side and a West-side line through the
Willamette Valley. The East-side line runs north and south a short
distance from the foothills of the Cascades, and has now got as far as
Brownsville, about one hundred and twenty miles from Portland. Their
West-side line runs through the rich farming country in Polk County by
Dallas to Sheridan, and a junction with the Western Oregon broad-gauge
near by. This is also an ambitious company, who are pushing surveys
across the Cascade Range.
The narrow-gauge system is yet by no means complete, but, when it is,
it will become at once a very dangerous rival both to the East and West
Side roads, and also to the boats of the Oregon Railway and Navigation
Company on the Willamette.
So seriously did Mr. Villard feel the impending danger that it is no
secret in Oregon that a confidential agent was dispatched by him to
Scotland, to endeavor to put the Scotch investors out of conceit with
their property, and, failing that, he attempted to secure some of their
stock, so as to gain a footing inside their camp. But there also he
failed.
[Sidenote: _THE "BLIND POOL."_]
Shortly before these pages were written, occurred the episode of what
is known in financial circles in America as "the blind pool." Mr.
Villard caused it to be known among his circle of followers that he
desired the use of eight million dollars. According to statements made
on his authority, he not only secured it, but in all fifteen millions
were offered him. Quietly and secretly he used the eight millions in
buying up stock of the Northern Pacific Railroad in the New York
market, nor did he show his hand until he had thus secured twenty-seven
millions par value of the stock of that road. When his great gun was
thus loaded, he discharged it full at the head of Mr. Billings, the
president of the Northern Pacific, and those directors who had loyally
coöperated with him in the reorganization of the company and the
redemption of its securities from the chaos into which they had fallen
following the Jay Cooke failure. And the invader boldly claimed that he
had secured the "control" of that company too, and proposed to oust the
president, to install a representative of the "blind pool."
But an unexpected check was met. It seems that part of the
reconstituted stock of the company, amounting to eighteen million
dollars, was as yet in the treasury of the company, but was the
property of divers persons who had coöperated in or assented to the
reconstruction. This being issued, as Mr. Billings and his friends
claim, in fulfillment of engagements long since entered into, displaced
the center of gravity, and caused it to incline heavily toward the
Billings section. A vociferous outcry was of course heard; the courts
were appealed to; and the result of what promises to be a long and
costly litigation remains to be seen.
Even without the entrance on the field of the new forces I am about to
describe, the position of the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company
appears to be a very perilous one.
Under the chieftainship of Mr. Villard, who was no novice at the art of
playing with railroad companies as counters in the game of
"beggar-my-neighbor," a vast amount of Eastern capital was taken up by
the aid of the enormous profits earned by the previously existing
Oregon Steamship and Oregon Steam Navigation Company. Then followed
naturally an era of really delusive prosperity, while the expenditure
of this capital in substituting the new lamps of costly railroads for
the magical old lamps of stern-wheel steamboats was going on.
But, in order to secure this capital, it was necessary to publish to
the world the enormous profits the earlier companies were making. The
effects were twofold and immediate. One was to open the eyes of the
farmers of Oregon to the fact that they were paying for the transport
to market of their crops sums utterly disproportionate to the cost and
risk of the services rendered. And thus it was certain that ere long
measures would be taken in the Legislature of Oregon, similar in
purport to those adopted in other States, to check and curb the power
of discrimination, which was the engine used to force the traffic on to
the boats and trains of the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company. The
measure to that end introduced in the session of the Legislature of
1880 was, it is true, defeated by the strenuous efforts of the company,
aided by their Portland friends. But that success was dearly bought,
and the process was so patent as to awaken the farmers, with whom the
real power dwells, in a fashion that will soon be felt.
[Sidenote: _YAQUINA BAY._]
The other result, equally inevitable, was to call into active life
plans, long in preparation, for constructing an east and west line
across the State, relying on Yaquina Bay as the outport, and on the
trade of the Willamette Valley as the mainstay of the road.
But the enterprise had other features to recommend it. The Willamette
Valley and Coast Railroad Company had been originated four or five
years back by the farmers of the valley to construct a railroad between
Corvallis and Yaquina Bay. It had obtained a charter from the
Legislature giving it authority to extend its line across the State to
the eastern boundary, at a point directly _en route_ to Boisé City,
Idaho.
This had been long ago marked out as the probable limit where
connection either with a branch from the Union Pacific Railroad, or
with some other road pushing westward to the ocean, might be made.
The Willamette Valley and Coast Railroad received in its charter from
the State immunity from taxation for twenty years, and also a grant of
all the rich tide and overflowed lands in Benton County, amounting to
probably upward of one hundred thousand acres.
Not content with this, the framer of this scheme had obtained the right
of purchase, on the basis of value of land in Eastern Oregon ten years
ago, of the grant of lands in aid of the construction of the Willamette
Valley and Cascade Mountains Military Wagon-road, amounting to eight
hundred and fifty thousand acres. A sketch of the history of this road
has been given before in these pages, and of the character of the
country through which it runs.
The vital force of the Oregon Pacific Company, which was formed and
brought before the world in the autumn of 1880 to complete and operate
the Willamette Valley and Coast Railroad, lay in the advantage of
position in its central line, cutting Oregon in half, and thereby
attracting traffic to it from both sides, and also in the solid backing
of about nine hundred and fifty thousand acres of land, stretching
across the State from east to west, and which was certain to rise
four-fold at least in value by the construction of the railroad through
it.
The first hundred and thirty miles of the road pass through Benton and
Linn Counties, which together produce about one half, and, with the
adjoining counties of Polk and Marion on the north and the county of
Lane on the south, fully three quarters of the wheat-crop of Oregon.
It was estimated by a committee formed in these counties, who
investigated the subject thoroughly, that not less than one hundred and
eighty thousand tons of grain, and other freight to the amount of fifty
thousand tons or more, would seek an outlet over this road, from these
valley counties, on the basis of the crop of 1878. The subsequent
increase in acreage under crops would give not less than three hundred
thousand acres instead of two hundred and fifty thousand, at a very
moderate estimate. The inward freight may be taken at one half of the
outward bound, thus giving four hundred and fourteen thousand tons
which the new road would be called on to transport.
These figures raised the ire of the Oregon Railway and Navigation
Company and of some of its Portland friends, and their abuse called
forth a reinvestigation of the whole subject, which resulted in
thorough confirmation of the estimates.
[Sidenote: _OREGON PACIFIC RAILROAD._]
The Oregon Pacific proposed, as soon as open for business, to lower the
seven dollars a ton, the previous average charge of the other company
on valley freight to San Francisco, to three dollars and a half, and
the twenty-four dollars for first-class passengers and fourteen dollars
for emigrant passengers to one half of those figures. And it showed a
very large probable dividend on its capital, on those reduced figures.
The reasonableness of this will be seen by reference to the enormous
earnings of the other company.
The whole question turned, of course, on the practicability of so
improving the entrance to Yaquina Bay that heavy-laden ships of deep
draught could enter to deliver and receive cargo.
The valley farmers and traders, to the number of thirty-four hundred,
petitioned Congress to appropriate $240,000 for these works. Strenuous
efforts in support of this petition at Washington, in the session of
1880, sufficed to overcome the opposition of the Oregon Railway and
Navigation Company, and the prayer was granted in principle, but only
in extent to $40,000, after the fashion in such cases.
But the careful surveys and investigations of the United States
engineers, which were at once undertaken, justified the hopes of the
people and of those interested in the railroad, and very early in 1881
the works for the improvement were begun.
Application was made to Congress in the winter session of 1880-'81 to
appropriate $200,000 more for the works; but only $10,000 were granted,
although the Legislature of Oregon had, in their session of 1880, by
formal resolution, unanimously supported the application for $200,000.
But the farmers of the valley counties were at last roused to vigorous
action, and, under the presidency of the Linn County Grange and its
officers, are raising a large fund by subscription, to continue without
interruption the harbor-works until additional appropriations are made
by Congress. The subscription will not only serve to keep the
harbor-works in vigorous progress, but demonstrates the subscribers'
conviction of the success of the efforts made for the completion of the
Oregon Pacific Railroad, and their active and personal interest in such
success.
[Sidenote: _PROBABLE EFFECTS OF COMPETITION._]
And now the full force of the figures given in the last chapter is
seen. So far as the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company depends on
Oregon for its support, it must come from counties the population of
which is but 28,180, and the value of their taxable property, in 1880,
only $6,256,547; the proportion of property for each inhabitant being
$228.96, or nearly twenty per cent. below the average for the State.
The Oregon Pacific will draw its present support from the valley
counties, with a population of 83,549, and taxable property of
$23,735,262, each about four-fold greater. Their average property is
$282.68 per head, or about two per cent. above the rate for the whole
State.
If it be argued that the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company bases
its hopes for maintaining its high dividends on its enlarged capital;
on the development of Eastern Oregon in population and productions,
which is in rapid progress--I reply that the same considerations apply
with vastly increased force to the district served by the Oregon
Pacific. The latter relies not only on the fertile lands on the western
side of the Cascades, unequaled in the whole United States for
attractiveness to immigrants of the better class, but it also asserts
its undoubted claim to profit from the settlement of the broad stretch
of country, also in Eastern Oregon, through which its line runs in its
eastward course.
If stress is laid on the advantage of the established position of
Portland for the headquarters of the one road, the scale kicks the beam
when the one hundred and ten miles of towage and pilotage, the probable
delays in the rivers, the certain dangers and difficulties of the
Columbia bar, are weighed against the saving of two hundred and
twenty-one miles in actual distance, and the short course of but three
miles from the ocean to the wharves at Yaquina.
[Sidenote: _TACTICS IN OPPOSITION._]
If Mr. Villard has displayed his cleverness in laying hold of
established profits and turning them to the enormous gain of himself
and of those friends of his who have followed his lead, I can here do
but partial justice to the foresight and energy of Colonel T. Egenton
Hogg, whose clear judgment realized the necessity and the many
advantages of the Yaquina route ten years ago, who has fought through
unnumbered difficulties and a bitter and envenomed opposition toward
its attainment, and who has secured in so doing the hearty support of
the backbone and sinew of Oregon life, which trust to the Oregon
Pacific to set free the commerce of the State.
Let it not be supposed that the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company
is foredoomed to failure, or to immediately explode and go out like a
rocket. According to my ideas, it may have a moderately prosperous
future, bringing down to Portland a certain quantity of freight and
passengers from the upper country, and an increasing quantity as that
country develops. But to suppose that on its enlarged capital it will
be allowed to go on earning dividends at the same preposterous rate as
heretofore its boats have made for it, is to insult the common-sense
alike of the Oregon farmer and of the capitalist looking now more
eagerly than ever for profitable and safe investment.
One other point deserves attention. The Oregon Railway and Navigation
Company owns practically no land (except its building-land speculation
in Portland); therefore, when these competing lines come into play, and
traffic rates are consequently reduced over all the State, its
dividend-producing power is gone.
The other lines can follow it down and down in any war of rates so far
as the Oregon Railway and Navigation lines see fit to venture. Such
tactics would be absolute madness in California, as by its new
Constitution rates once lowered can not be raised again. But suppose
the war of rates is begun in Oregon. The Northern Pacific, when
completed according to law, will save one hundred and fifty-one miles
in distance, and deliver freight and passengers at deep water on Puget
Sound. The narrow-gauge roads and boats together can carry more cheaply
than the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company. The valley standard-gauge
railroads and the Oregon Pacific share with the Northern Pacific this
tremendous advantage, that every dollar they lose on transportation
is only invested at enormous profit in the rise and value of their
lands. It is the cost of transportation that keeps down value on
their lands; lower this, and land rises at once.
Nor is it to be supposed for an instant that the same tactics by which
it has been attempted to prevent, hamper, or delay the building of the
Oregon Pacific Railroad will long succeed.
Shortly after the prospectus of that railroad was issued, there
appeared in "The Oregonian," of Portland, three columns of abuse over
the signature of "Examiner." The writer described himself as a citizen
of Oregon, anxious to avoid delusion and disaster to the Eastern
public.
The whole was telegraphed or mailed long in advance back to New York,
and appeared in a garbled and still more contemptible form as a
circular, professing to be reprinted from "The Oregonian," as if from
the editor's chair of that paper. New York was flooded with the copies.
Fortunately, it was easy enough to repel the attack, since the chief
points were that the Eastern Oregon lands were worthless, and the
statements of the Willamette Valley trade exaggerated. And on both
points ample, even overwhelming, evidence was at hand.
[Sidenote: _THE CASCADE MOUNTAINS ROAD._]
Then, by what hidden influences it is of course impossible to say, the
Secretary of the Interior, Mr. Schurz, was set in motion on the
allegation that the Cascade Mountains road had never been made, and
that consequently the United States had been imposed upon fourteen
years ago when Congress granted the lands to the State of Oregon, and
that State defrauded in turn ten years ago when, on certificates of due
completion satisfactory to the then officials of the State, the lands
were duly confirmed to the wagon-road company.
Thereupon, without inquiry as to the facts from the State officials of
Oregon, or from the road company or their representatives, who had all
the evidence in their possession--without one word of notice to any of
the parties concerned--a man named Prosser, then residing at Seattle,
and occupied in repressing unwarranted timber-cutting on Government
lands in that neighborhood, was dispatched to professedly examine into
the condition of things. His journey; the narrative of his duplicity;
of his inducing the president of the road company, in the innocence of
his heart, to fit him out and to lend him all the money for his
expenses; of his return and interviews with the citizens of Albany; of
his subsequent report that no road existed where upward of five
thousand wagons and innumerable droves of cattle and of passengers on
foot and horseback had passed without accident for ten years; of his
allegations of the trivial cost of the works, met by the evidence of
the outlay of about $100,000 on the construction and repairs of the
road; of the storm of indignation which swept through Linn County, and
found expression wherever the facts were known--all these things form
an amusing chapter in the history of this transaction.
The Congressional committee, to whom the matter was referred, reported,
as might be expected, that Congress had no jurisdiction; that, so far
as they could see, the present owners, being innocent purchasers, had
good title to the lands; and that, if there were to be any attempt made
to disturb them, it must be a judicial and not a legislative matter.
Meanwhile an action of ejectment had been brought by the purchasers
from the road company of the land grant, in the United States District
Court at Portland, against a squatter on the land, whose letters of old
date to the Commissioner of the Land-Office had been made the pretext
for the course taken by the Secretary of the Interior. Every
opportunity was given for raising in court the question of no road; but
the defendant dared not accept the challenge, and Judge Deady rendered
judgment for the owners of the land grant, and so settled the question
for good and all, so far as I can see. His judgment was masterly and
exhaustive, and I should think would convince any candid mind.
Thus ends this act in the drama, with the position of the Oregon
Pacific confirmed at every point, and the Oregon Railway and Navigation
Company with a very pretty quarrel on their hands with the Northern
Pacific, and an impending competition, at which the farmers of the
State rejoice.
And so the transportation question in Oregon is in a fair way to be
settled in a manner consonant with justice and honesty, so that produce
will be charged only what is commensurate in fair measure with the cost
and risk of the service rendered, and not in the opposite direction of
what the producer can bear.
[Sidenote: _THE YAQUINA IMPROVEMENTS._]
Before I close this subject, let me describe very shortly the principle
and method of the harbor improvement at Yaquina.
The problem is this: In the harbor is a sheet of tidal water running up
more than twenty miles inland, and in the bay or harbor proper
expanding into a width of about three miles. To the tidal water has to
be added that brought down by the Yaquina River and its tributaries in
a course of fifty miles or thereabout. The deep-water channel to the
ocean through which this inflow and outflow are repeated twice every
twenty-four hours is deep and narrow, and the current very swift. Thus,
this channel of a quarter of a mile wide between the headlands on
either side of the mouth does not vary appreciably in width or depth,
and requires no attention.
Just where the mouth opens to the ocean is the reef, of soft sandstone
rock, rising in intervals of separate rocks to within ten or eleven
feet of low-water mark--that is to say, each of the three channels
through the reef, north, middle, and south, gives this depth of water.
But here the water, which has kept clear and deep the channel of a
quarter of a mile wide or thereabout, expands to a width of about two
miles. Consequently, the current is not sufficiently strong in any one
of the three channels to prevent the piling of the sand against the
rock outside and in, in a gentle rise from the forty-feet depth outside
to the height of the rocky reef, and similarly from the thirty feet
inside the reef.
The engineers propose, by a jetty from the south beach to a group of
rocks forming the south side of the middle channel, to extend the
narrow deep channel inside, and the consequent force of concentrated
tidal and river water, up to the rocky reef itself. They judge that the
tidal force is ample to scour away clean all the sand deposited both in
and outside the reef. They propose, then, to blast away the rock itself
from the middle channel, which, as the obstruction is both soft and
narrow, will be neither a difficult nor costly operation, and they
intend thus to open to the commerce of the world the calm and deep
waters of the harbor, which will suffice to receive all the fleet of
vessels trading to this coast.
The construction of the jetty is proceeding rapidly by means of large
mattresses of brushwood sunk in the destined position, loaded with rock
and attracting and retaining the sand, and covered in, when the needed
breadth and height are gained, with larger rocks brought down from a
quarry of hard stone about eight miles up the harbor.
No one who, like the present writer, has often tried to stem the tidal
current sweeping out to sea, can doubt the force and velocity it will
bring to bear; and no one familiar with Yaquina doubts the anticipated
success of the improvement. Once gained, it will be permanent, and then
half an hour will suffice to tug the arriving vessel from the deep
waters of the Pacific to her station alongside her wharf, and the same
time will dispatch her, fully loaded, on her voyage.
To sum up this matter: At present a very large portion of the profits
of farming and of other industries in Oregon goes into the pockets of
the transportation company. The rates of freight bear no proportion to
the benefits obtained, but are fixed simply on the principle of sitting
down to pencil out a list to see how much the farmers can possibly pay.
If this state of things were to be indefinitely perpetuated, the
outlook would be dreary. That a radical change is impending is to me
clear. The country is too rich in productive powers, the citizens are
too fully awake to the needs of their position, the knowledge of what
Oregon is and what she wants is too widely spread, and the president of
the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company has trumpeted forth the
enormous profits of his corporation too loudly, for the failure of the
efforts now in progress to introduce competition in the carrying-trade.
So that I, for one, am at rest as to the result. Oregon will take her
own part in the general movement, now current throughout the United
States, to regulate, if not to curtail, the powers of the corporations.
But I have confidence in the steady and peaceful character of her
population not to carry this matter here to extremes, which might
unduly burden associated capital, and check the flow of its full
current to our State.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Emigration to Oregon--Who should not come--Free advice and no fees--
English emigrants--Farmers--Haste to be rich--Quoted experiences--Cost
and ways of coming--Sea-routes--Railroads--Baggage--What not to bring
--What not to forget--Heavy property--The Custom-house--San Francisco
hotels--Conclusion.
The question most often asked and most difficult to answer is, "Do you
advise me to come out to Oregon?" It is easy to say who should not
come. We want no waifs and strays of civilization, enervated with
excesses, or depressed with failure; men who can find no niche for
themselves, who have neither the habit, the disposition, nor the
education for work. We want none of those youngsters who have tried
this, have failed in that, until their friends say in disgust, "Oh,
ship them to Oregon, and let them take their chances!" We desire no
younger sons of English or Eastern parents without energy or capital to
start them. High birth, aristocratic connections, we value not at all,
unless they carry with them the sense of responsibility to honored
forefathers--the determination that the stigma of failure shall not
stain a proud name. Nor do we desire those young men whose first
thought is, "How shall we amuse ourselves?" and whose first aim is the
cricket, or base-ball, or lawn-tennis ground, and whose chief luggage
is bat, fishing-rod, and shot-gun.
And, on the other hand, we do not want those who, having qualified
themselves, as they suppose, for life in Oregon by six months or a year
with some scientific farmer, consider that they know everything,
despise instruction, neglect advice, are wiser than their elders, and
then throw up in disgust as soon as they find that they have sunk their
money, that their theories will not work, and that they must here as
elsewhere begin at the beginning.
Nor do we propose (and we are certain it is in no way necessary) to
charge new-comers an initiation fee of two hundred and fifty dollars,
or any other sum, for the privilege of joining our society in Oregon,
and profiting by our experience.
And, as I began by saying, the English who have come here have
established no colony, in the usual sense, set up no separate society,
and claim no common corporate life.
[Sidenote: _WHO SHOULD COME._]
Society we have, association we have, common amusements and pursuits we
have, but in all these we invite our American neighbors to take their
part, and see no reason to regret our course.
True it is that the costume of knickerbockers and gaiters and
heather-suit and pot-hat is a very common object in our town, and that
we meet in considerable force at the Episcopal church on Sunday to join
in the familiar service. But we adhere to our original plan that the
newcomer shall settle where he pleases in these counties, shall have
the best advice we can bestow in the choice of land, the purchase of
stock and implements, and of the other necessaries for a farmer's start
in life; and shall have this free of charge. We offer the right hand of
friendship; we will do our part to keep up association and kindly
relations of all kinds.
But we are more anxious that Oregon should be built up by the gradual
incoming of men of serious purpose, possessed of moderate capital, who
shall disperse over the face of the country as they would at home, and
strengthen the State by the force of attraction each will exercise over
the friends and acquaintances he has left behind, than we are to create
here a bit of interjected foreign life.
Therefore let the farmer, above all, tried and worried at home by
fickle seasons, heavy rent, burdensome tithe and taxes, labor-troubles,
low prices, and gradually fading capital--let him bring his wife and
children and come. His few hundred pounds will make a good many
dollars, and he will be amazed to find himself _owning_ productive
land for about the sum he would have paid for two years' rent at home.
If his means do not permit him to pay down the whole purchase price, he
is one of the very few who can be safely advised to begin to some
extent in debt; for, remember, land in Oregon is expected to pay for
itself from its own productions in five years' time.
Even if the new-comer has had no previous practical experience, that
need not of itself deter him. One of our best farmers told me the other
day that when he began he did not know which end of a plow went first!
But in such case the wisest thing is either to hire himself out to work
for an Oregonian farmer for, at any rate, a few months, or, if he takes
an opportunity of buying land for himself, let him reverse the
operation and hire an Oregonian to work for him for a time.
I read a short article in the "Portland Evening Telegram," the other
day, which seemed to me very much in point; so I shall quote it:
"Seven years ago two men, dissatisfied with the sluggishness with which
their fortunes grew in Portland, determined to better their condition.
"The wonderful resources of the Willamette Valley as an agricultural
country attracted one of them to Washington County, where he purchased
a farm, and stocked it with teams and farming implements, and started
on his road to independence and wealth.
"He told his neighbors, who had been in the farming business for years,
that he proposed to show them how to succeed.
"He was industrious; he studied the books on farming, and pursued his
occupation on scientific principles, joined the Grangers, became an
active member of farmers' clubs, was bitter in his denunciation of
monopolies.
"Disliking the looks of the old-fashioned worm-fence, he divided his
fields by building nice plank partitions, and even asked permission of
an old fogy neighbor to build the whole of a partition fence of plank,
that the old one might not offend his fastidious taste. Here was
mistake number one. The rail-fence answered the purpose well enough,
and he ought to have avoided the expense of the costlier one at least
until a new one was necessary. He was from Indiana, and thought corn a
good crop to grow; so he prepared ten acres of his best land and
planted them to corn: the squirrels came and took it all up; he
replanted, and again the squirrels took the seed before it sprouted; he
planted it once more, and succeeded in getting a small crop of poor
corn which did not mature, and it profited him nothing.
[Sidenote: _QUOTED EXPERIENCES._]
"This was another blunder, as any man who had made any inquiry ought to
have known that the raising of corn in this valley was never a paying
business. A small patch for roasting-ears for family use is all any
wise farmer will ever attempt to raise.
"Again, our progressive farmer had been so impressed with the idea that
the climate of Oregon was an exceedingly mild one, that he thought his
apples and potatoes were in no danger of freezing; so he put his apples
upstairs, and left his potatoes uncovered. Consequently, they were all
frozen and lost.
"This was an inexcusable blunder, for any man who would look at a map
and see that he was located above the forty-fifth degree of latitude,
should have known that any winter was liable to be cold enough to
freeze unprotected fruits and vegetables.
"Our friend became discouraged, and gave more attention to wheat, but
found that he could not raise that commodity for less than seventy-five
cents a bushel, although other farmers have asserted that the cost did
not exceed fifty cents.
"With his experience of seven years' farming in Oregon, he is perfectly
satisfied that it will not pay, and hence he is back in Portland,
intending to stay. The corn, apple, and potato business fixed him as
far as farming is concerned, though he ought to have known that his
course in regard to them would have resulted just as it did.
"Our second young man did not like the slowness of farming as a means
of getting rich, so he put his money in sheep, and took up a ranch in
Wasco County.
"For a few years he was encouraged: as the grass grew, his stock
increased; the winters were mild, and wool brought a good price.
"He raised some feed, and for three years had no use for it, as the
sheep made their own living off the range.
"He thought when the cold snap set in last winter that he had enough
feed to last through any winter that could reasonably be expected. But
the cold winds continued to blow, the snow fell and froze, and
continued to fall and freeze.
"Two months passed; his feed was exhausted, and his sheep began to die.
Out of 4,300 head 3,000 died, and though a neighbor who started in with
about the same number had only six head left, our young friend thought
his own condition bad enough, and so concluded to quit the business and
come back to Portland. He says a man can take a thousand head of sheep,
build sheds, provide food, and have a sure thing to clear a few hundred
dollars every year, but he did not want that kind of a sure thing.
"He made the mistake of him who 'makes haste to be rich,' and hence he
retires from the contest on that line no better off than when he
started in.
"Both these men are now in Portland, and each is hopelessly disgusted
with the attempt he has made.
"One thinks that farming in Oregon will never pay, though there are
hundreds of farmers all over the State who started with less than he
did, and are now well situated and independent.
"The other thinks the whole of Eastern Oregon, so called, a failure,
though he virtually admits that his lack of providence, and his desire
to make a large sum of money in a short time, were the causes of his
losses."
Since we have been in Oregon we have seen several cases like these
examples. Let the intending emigrant weigh this well--that farming in
the Willamette Valley is not the road to large fortune, though it is to
comfort and prosperity.
[Sidenote: _COST AND WAYS OF COMING._]
Let no young man, brought up in a comfortable Eastern home, come to
Oregon to farm, unless he can be assured that at the end of a year or
two's probation and apprenticeship he can have provided for him some
small sum of money, enough for a start on his own land. The life of the
agricultural laborer in almost every farmer's family here is a very
hard and uncomfortable one; the lodging is rough, the living, though
plentiful, is often coarse, the hours of labor very long, and the
employments on the farm miscellaneous indeed.
The better thing is for two friends or relatives to come together; they
may separate for their apprenticeship, but their purchase may easily be
made together; and, indeed, out here two are better than one.
And now for some hints as to the ways of coming, and what should and
should not be brought.
For the English emigrant there is a large choice. He may come by any of
the New York lines, and thence across the continent to San Francisco,
and on by steamer to Portland. If he comes first class throughout, he
will find the expense nearly £60 sterling, or about $300. By choosing
the cheaper cabin on the steamer, and reconciling himself to doing
without the comforts of the Pullman car, and economizing in meals on
the journey across by providing himself with a provision-basket, to be
replenished at intervals, he may save about £15, or $75. The time is
short; three weeks will bring him from Liverpool to Oregon, unless he
delays needlessly in New York, Chicago, or San Francisco.
In New York let him beware of cabs or carriages. He is likely to be
charged five dollars for a ride he will get in London for one shilling.
The proper course is for him, after his baggage has passed the
custom-house, to intrust it to a transfer agent, who will have it
conveyed to the hotel, and the emigrant can take the elevated railway
or get a tram-car ride for a few cents. The same course should be
followed on leaving the hotel for the railway terminus to come West.
So far as I know, he can make no mistake in following his fancy in
choosing his route.
The Erie or the New York Central will carry him to Chicago, by way of
Buffalo and Niagara; and, if any pause on the journey at all is made,
let the opportunity be seized of seeing the most glorious of
waterfalls, the remembrance of which will never die.
The Baltimore and Ohio passes through Maryland and West Virginia, and
the Pennsylvania Railroad through New Jersey and Pennsylvania, and each
shows him some of the finest scenery on the Atlantic slope.
From Chicago he will have a choice again. There is no difference in
cost, time, or comfort between the Chicago and Northwestern, the
Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy, and the Chicago and Rock Island. I
have traveled by all three; perhaps the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy
runs through the most interesting scenery.
Up to Omaha the first-class traveler is allowed one hundred and fifty
pounds of baggage free, and so far it will be properly handled and
cared for by the baggage-men.
[Sidenote: _BAGGAGE-SMASHING._]
At Omaha things change for the worse. Only one hundred pounds of
baggage is allowed by the Union Pacific and Central Pacific roads; and
on all excess the rate to San Francisco is fifteen cents a pound. And,
if the traveler has any regard for his possessions, let him see to it
that they are closely packed in the very strongest and roughest trunks
that he can procure. Oh, those baggage-smashers at Omaha! When we
crossed last I stood by to see a baggage-car brought up alongside the
stone platform, piled with trunks and other baggage to the roof, the
doors thrown open, and the contents literally tumbled out pell-mell.
Trunks were smashed open, locks broken, straps burst, contents ruined.
And the baggage-men seemed to take a horrid pleasure in tilting heavy
trunks on to their corners, and so bundling them across at a rapid rate
to the other car; dislocation of the strongest joints was the result.
If the passenger be incautious enough to burden himself with needless
weight from Omaha, he should dispatch it to San Francisco by
freight-train addressed to his hotel; the rates are thus so moderated
that he will not have the chagrin of paying to the railroad companies
about as much as most of his baggage is worth.
Another route from England is by Southampton and Panama to San
Francisco. The charge for a first-class passage is £50, and the
traveler will not be bothered about his baggage save on the Isthmus
Railway. He _may_ lose no time in catching the Pacific mail-steamer on
the Pacific side, but he is more likely to have three or four days to
wait at Panama, in a town where there is nothing to see or do, and
where he will be charged not less than three dollars a day at the
hotel. The lovely scenery and gorgeous vegetation of the tropics will
be a pleasant picture in memory, whatever draw-backs the five weeks
occupied on this route may discover.
San Francisco is the city of comfortable and moderately charging
hotels. The most expensive are the Palace and the Baldwin. The Lick
House and the Russ House are comfortable and more moderate; and the
International is cheap but comfortable.
From San Francisco to Portland the steamers Oregon, Columbia, or State
of California, sail every five days, and are each safe, speedy, and
excellent boats. The cost of the journey is twenty dollars, and the
time usually three days or more, including a detention of some hours at
Astoria. As soon as the Yaquina route is opened, it is expected that
this time will be reduced by one half.
And now, what should the emigrant bring to Oregon? So far as household
furniture and fittings are concerned, the best and cheapest way is to
send them by Royal Mail from Southampton by way of Panama. The freight
was £4 10_s._ per ton of forty cubic feet. I do not know if any change
has been made.
It is wise for any family to bring bedding (but not beds), knives and
forks and electro-plate, books, pictures, and the little ornaments and
trifles which go so far to transfer the home feeling to whatever room
they may at once furnish and adorn. And do not forget the crockery. It
is foolish to bring furniture, pianos, or such heavy and cumbersome
property. All these used articles will come in duty free. If they are
sent to San Francisco direct from England, they will have to be
examined at the custom-house there.
The traveler will find it a great waste of time and temper to pass his
goods through the custom-house himself. There are many respectable
agents, whose trifling fee is well spent in getting their services for
this work.
As for clothes. New clothes will be charged with a duty of sixty per
cent. of their value, and cause trouble also. Worn clothes and boots
come in duty free. The strongest and most durable woolen garments are
those best adapted for the Oregon climate. English ankle-boots are
treasures not to be obtained for love or money in Oregon. The
field-boot, of porpoise-skin, will be infinitely valuable in our muddy
winters; but such are too hot for summer wear. English saddlery should
all be left at home.
If the emigrant is the happy owner of a good breech-loader, let him
bring it, with as many of Eley's green cases as he can pack. Ammunition
is expensive here. English rifles are a nuisance. The Winchester,
Sharp, or Ballard, I think superior to any sporting rifles we have--as
much so as the American shot-guns are inferior to the English makers'.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _ATTRACTIONS WHICH OREGON OFFERS._]
Let us see, then, in a few words, why we expect that immigrants will
continue to arrive. What are the attractions which Oregon offers?
1. A healthy and temperate climate, whether residence in the Willamette
Valley or in Southern or Eastern Oregon is chosen.
2. A fertile and not exhausted soil, adapted to the continuous raising
of all cereals, to the growth of the best kinds of pasture, and to the
ripening of all temperate fruits in profusion and excellence.
3. A climate and range unusually suited to cattle, sheep, and horses of
the best breeds.
4. The ocean boundary on the west, giving free access to shipping for
the cheap transport of all productions.
5. Mineral wealth of almost every description, most of which is yet
unworked.
6. Industrial openings of many kinds, with special facilities by way of
abundant water-power.
7. Beautiful scenery, whatever portion of the State may be selected by
the new-comer.
8. Sport and pastime in moderation, with a notable absence of dangerous
animals, and reptiles, and noxious insects.
9. A modern and liberal Constitution, affording special advantages and
securities to foreigners and aliens.
10. A quiet and orderly population, ready to welcome strangers.
11. Good facilities for education, remarkable in so young a country.
12. A railroad and river system of transportation, only now in process
of development, and which is certain to effect a great rise in the
value of lands.
* * * * *
And now my work is done. I have endeavored to give, in as concise and
short a form as I could contrive, a faithful picture of life as it is
in Oregon to-day. I have extenuated nothing, nor set down aught in
malice.
If, in reviewing what I have written, I feel conscious of a special
weakness, it is that I have brought too strongly into view the
difficulties the immigrant will have to encounter; for I feel sure that
no one, on full knowledge, will accuse me of drawing in too fair and
flattering colors the attractions of our beautiful State.
May Oregon flourish by receiving constant additions to her vigorous and
industrious people, whose efforts, in scarcely any other place in the
wide world so certain of a due return, may make her waste places plain,
and cause her wildernesses to rejoice and blossom as the rose!
APPENDIX.
Since the foregoing pages were finished, a period of six months has
passed. Nothing has transpired which should affect the opinions formed
and expressed by the author in favor of the attractions which Oregon
offers to the energetic and industrious. The past half-year has been
one of successful development for the State as a whole. A bountiful
harvest, which has been vouchsafed to Oregon while many Eastern States
and many European countries have had to mourn because of drought or
excessive rain and consequent scarcity, has again proved how highly
favored by position and climate is this Western nook. And now, in the
early days of October, we have had a week's rain to soften the clods
and prepare the ground for tillage, but the sun of the Indian summer is
shining with soft brilliancy, and we look for crisp nights and
mornings, and lovely days, for from six to ten weeks to come.
During the six months, Eastern capital has been prodigally turned into
Oregon and Washington Territory by Mr. H. Villard and his associates.
New lines of railway designed as feeders to the Columbia River route
are being pushed to completion regardless of cost, while the
trunk-line, along the side of the Columbia River, is being still urged
forward by the united forces of over three thousand Chinamen and all
the white laborers that can be picked up. Time alone will show how far
a line, which winds and twists along the banks of the mighty Columbia
in devious curves, overhung by mountain-sides loaded with loose rocks
at the mercy of every winter's storms, can be trusted to carry the
enormous traffic predicated for it; and, granted that this slender reed
has the necessary strength, at what kind of port is the hoped-for mass
of grain for export to be delivered? The following article appeared in
the "Daily Oregonian," of Portland, on the 10th of this last September.
The newspaper in question claims to be the leading journal of the
State, and is in fact the only one publishing full daily telegraphic
dispatches. It is also the organ of the Villard interest, and it may be
taken that it is not likely to overstate the disadvantages attaching to
the city of its publication:
"THE COST OF NEGLECT."
"The water in the rivers between Portland and the ocean is at about
the usual September stage, but, owing to the absence of any means
whatever of dredging the bars, the depth at the three or four shoal
places is less than in former seasons. Steamers drawing seventeen
or even seventeen and a half feet come up by plowing through a few
inches of mud at certain points, but ships have not the force to go
through, nor, in many instances, the iron bottoms to stand the rub.
It is not safe to load a vessel which must pass down the river more
than sixteen feet. The result is, that grain-ships can only be
partly loaded here, and must take a large proportion of their
cargoes down the river. The American ship Palmyra went down
Thursday with 900 tons of a total wheat cargo of 2,200. The bulk of
her load--1,300 tons--must be carried down by barges and taken in
at Baker's Bay. The Zamora, now taking wheat here, can only be half
loaded at her Portland dock. Lighterage costs $1.25 per short ton,
or six cents per cental. Thus the Palmyra must pay $1,625 extra
because the river is not properly dredged. The average of
lighterage this season will be about three cents per cental on all
wheat that goes out of the Columbia River."
It is not far from the fact that, although from sixty to sixty-five
shillings is a well-paying freight for ships from Portland to the
United Kingdom, and although abundance of sailing-ships are available
from the substitution of steamers in so many parts of the world, yet
the actual freight charged has ranged from eighty to eighty-five
shillings, this resulting from a combination of causes, of which the
charges for pilotage, towage, and lighterage are among the chief.
Of course, all these charges come out of the pocket of the producer,
and, unless some radical change can be effected, there is no apparent
reason why these sums should not be cumulated to such a height as to
place the valley farmer on the level of his Eastern Oregon and Eastern
Washington Territory neighbor, who does not realize for his wheat much
over thirty-five cents a bushel on an average market price of
seventy-five cents.
Nor would there be much hope of a reduction in the inland
transportation charges, were matters to progress as they have been
doing during the past six months. Everything pointed toward the
centralization of the control of every railroad and steamboat line in
this State and the adjacent Territory in the hands of the Oregon
Railway and Navigation Company, presided over by Mr. Villard. The
narrow-gauge system of railroads in this valley, owned and operated by
the Scotch company, with headquarters at Dundee, was six months back
the sole hope of the valley farmers as an honest competitor with its
huge rival. But a few months ago announcement was made that Mr. Villard
had secured the Scotch company, by a series of astute operations in
Scotland; and now, under the ninety-nine years' lease which he
obtained, the narrow-gauge company has ceased its independent
existence, and its traffic is being assimilated as to rates with that
of its former competitor, while it is so conducted as to stifle its
growth as a separate organization, and throw all its vitality into the
other roads.
But the anticipations, expressed in the earlier pages of this book, of
an active rivalry to the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company, through
the Oregon Pacific Railroad and its outlet at Yaquina Bay, are being
realized as rapidly as men and money can do it.
Early in July last the news came through the wires that the financial
battle had been won by Colonel Hogg, and that construction was to be
pushed forward immediately. Short as the time is, much has been done,
and more is being done. Engineering parties were organized and fitted
out, and their work is nearly complete in all its parts. A good line of
easy grades is located through from Corvallis to Yaquina Bay,
presenting no extraordinary difficulties of construction. On this, as I
write, a large force of both white and Chinese labor is employed, with
the full expectation that the line will be surveyed, built, equipped,
and running within four or five months from the time the first spadeful
of earth was dug. Difficulties in starting a great enterprise like the
Oregon Pacific Railroad, of course, abound, but so far have been
successfully met. Meanwhile the goodwill of the valley farmers has been
maintained throughout, and the new road will open with abundance of
customers. Therefore, all interested in the undertaking are well
satisfied with the prospect of having to operate a line which shall
save the valley farmers two hundred and twenty-one miles in actual
distance, and save them half the present charges for transportation
between the valley and San Francisco, and which gives also an early
prospect of ocean-going ships loading direct from an Oregon port, with
wharves within three miles from the ocean, for the European or Eastern
market.
It does not seem, then, an unreasonable augury that the day of
exorbitant freights, excessive pilotage and towage charges, half-cargo
lighterage, and also of traffic discrimination, will have passed away
for ever, so far as Oregon is concerned, when the Oregon Pacific is
opened. And I think every reader of this book will admit that it is a
matter of just pride to see projects formed years back, and adhered to
through much evil speaking, slander, and belittling, come to their full
strength and fulfillment.
The last time I visited Yaquina Bay was during the closing days of
September. The afternoon sun shone on the little dancing waves as we
rowed across from Newport to the South Beach, where the harbor-works
are going on. A heavy equinoctial storm had raged for two days before,
and it would have been no surprise had the incomplete works suffered.
But we found the men busily employed in piling large blocks of rock on
the mattresses made of large, long bundles of brushwood, secured with
cords, and deposited carefully in the line of the breakwater. Many of
the hands were Indians, who were working very intelligently and quickly
under the direction of our old friend Kit Abbey. No damage whatever had
been done, but, on the contrary, the storm had piled the sand in even
layers, five or six feet deep, on each side of the breakwater,
solidifying and strengthening the work. Already the channel nearest to
the beach, which had robbed the main channel of some of the tidal
water, had been permanently closed. And the increase of the tidal
in-and-out flow thus caused had proved to the satisfaction of the
United States engineer officer in charge the correctness of the theory
on which the works were designed. So that all tends in the one
direction of opening this harbor, on which so many hopes are fixed, to
ocean-going ships of deep draught.
Fortunately, the facts are being daily ascertained, tabulated, and
certified by the independent authority of the United States engineers;
they have minute surveys of the channel, and the changes operated by
the new breakwater will be observed and recorded. Thus, as soon as the
time comes to invite the shipping sailing to the Northwest coast to
enter the port, there will be no further room for question as to depth
of water and ease of access; but the facts will be so patent and plain
to the world, that no one need be longer blinded by the persistent
misrepresentations of interested parties.
[Illustration: Entrance to Yaquina Bay (Looking seaward)]
The effect of the opening of the Oregon Pacific Railroad, which in two,
or at most three years from now, will meet at or near Boisé City,
Idaho, the lines rapidly pushing westward to that point, will be
manifold:
First, it will open the new port at Yaquina to commerce, and so give
the Willamette Valley its independent outlet, unaffected by
terror-dealing bars, winter ice, and exorbitant charges. Second, it
will in its eastward progress open up to settlement a broad belt of
fertile and well-watered country, at present well-nigh untenanted.
Third, it will operate as a check to the pretensions of the Oregon
Railway and Navigation Company to entire monopoly of the transportation
of the State, and its boasted consequent ability to fix fares and
freights at its own sweet will.
THE END.
TWO YEARS IN OREGON.
By WALLIS NASH, author of "Oregon There and Back in 1877."
_Second edition._ With Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, $1.50.
The following are a few out of a very large number of press notices:
_From the New York Sun._
"Under the title of 'Two Years in Oregon,' by Wallis Nash, we have
an authentic and exhaustive guide-book, written for the benefit of
those persons who intend to settle there. There is nothing in this
volume to recall the superficial observations of the ordinary
tourist; yet, although the author has confined himself to
collecting information of real value to the emigrant, he has set it
forth in a distinct, unpretentious, and attractive way."
_From the Springfield Republican._
"For the best picture of Oregon as it is to-day, we are indebted to
an Englishman. 'Two Years in Oregon' is the title of the book,
written by Wallis Nash, and published by D. Appleton & Co., of New
York. Mr. Nash conducted a colony of his countrymen some time since
to the neighborhood of Corvallis, a thriving town a hundred or more
miles south of Portland. He did not attempt to set up a New
Jerusalem of his own after the example of unlucky Tom Hughes in the
Rugby venture, but mingled all his interests with the settlers
already on the ground, and good success has evidently attended his
efforts. Mr. Nash has made a thorough study of the State and its
resources. He has considerable literary skill, and while his book
contains the practical facts and statistics needful to the posting
of the would-be immigrant, it has besides enough racy descriptive
writing to make it attractive to the general reader. Oregon has two
distinct climates. The Cascade Range, cutting the State in halves,
is the dividing line. On the Pacific side of the mountains, where
most of the settlements are located, there are milder winters,
cooler summers, and a heavier rain-fall than upon the plains
stretching to the eastward of the range. There, too, are the heavy
forests for which the State is noted. Wheat is the staple crop of
the Oregon farmers, and last year there was a surplus of over one
hundred thousand tons sent to market. Sheep husbandry is
considerably followed, and the climate appears admirably adapted to
the profitable raising of all kinds of livestock, while all the
fruits and vegetables of the temperate zone yield remarkably. With
better transportation facilities, a mixed agriculture is likely to
be pursued in the future. The State has suffered much at the hands
of transportation monopolists. The Villard combination have so far
had almost complete control of the railways and waterways, and the
rates charged have been enormous. A Portland merchant's freight
bill on some goods shipped recently from New York, showed that one
third of the whole amount was charged for the water-carriage of
seven hundred miles from San Francisco. The company's railroad
charges are still heavier. According to a new schedule of reduced
rates from Portland to Walla Walla, two hundred and seventy miles,
twenty-four cents is the rate for a bushel of wheat, against two to
four cents a bushel for greater distances on Eastern roads. Mr.
Nash devotes a chapter to the iniquities of the Villard monopoly
which bears so heavily upon the farming community. There is
prospect, however, that the burden may be lightened when the
railway now building eastward from Yaquina Bay to a connection
through Southwestern Idaho with the Union Pacific is completed."
_From the Portland Standard_ (_Oregon_).
"Mr. Nash's experiences and observations as set forth in this book
are correct representations of Oregon life. His opinions are not
biased and warped by long residence, so as to give everything a
color beyond the truth in favor of the beauties and facilities of
the State for persons desiring homes, and which would be found to
be untrue by strangers seeking farms and residences, and
consequently bring disappointment to them after the trouble and
expense of going there. Mr. Nash represents the State as it is, and
his book is calculated to do far more good as an advertising medium
for bringing immigration within her boundaries than the many
pamphlets issued by immigration bureaus, painting in high colors
beyond the truth the many advantages which Oregon presents. This
book should be widely circulated and read. It will attract
immigration and capital to the State with an impetus not heretofore
felt."
_From the Corvallis Gazette_ (_Oregon_).
This journal gives a large number of commendatory extracts, and
concludes its notice as follows: "Many others are equally
complimentary, and we are glad that Oregon, and especially the
Willamette Valley, are being so well advertised. We understand the
book is having a large sale."
_From the Albany Register_ (_Oregon_).
"'Two Years in Oregon,' by Wallis Nash, is the title of a very neat
work just issued from the press of the Appletons, New York. It is
the impressions made and the experience gained by the writer after
a two years' residence in Oregon, written in a most entertaining
and attractive style. It will be read everywhere with pleasure, as
it is a most faithful description of things and scenes as the
writer beheld them. The picture, to our mind, is nowhere overdrawn.
Portland is faithfully pictured, and 'The Oregonian' so faithfully
portrayed that its poor editor will never forgive the writer."
_From the Philadelphia Press._
"Mr. Nash's book describes the State in the most practical manner.
It describes the scenery, the society, the legislative
peculiarities, the economical advantages and disadvantages, the
state of the industries, the transportation question, and all the
various points which a possible emigrant might wish to know before
he took the decisive step. It is written in a pleasant, vivacious
style, and can be read with much profit by any one who takes an
interest in our own great West."
_From the Sheffield and Rotherham Independent_ (_England_).
"Mr. Nash's 'Two Years in Oregon' is one of the most charming books
we have lately come across. He is a shrewd and careful observer,
and writes with grace and ease. The illustrations, also, of the
book are more than ordinarily clever. Mr. Nash evidently feels a
warm interest in Oregon, and his book will go a long way to attract
public interest in that direction. Few men can tell a story better,
or enable readers to realize more vividly the appearance of a
country and people they have never seen. The emigrant, the
politician, the student of men and manners, the naturalist and the
political economist, will all enjoy this book, which we hope will
soon be followed by a fresh work from its author's pen."
_From the University Press._
"This book has for its author an Englishman who visited Oregon in
1877, and who then traveled 'its length and breadth.' He moved his
family there in 1879. He now sends out this interesting and
instructive volume in answer to the many letters received by him
asking for information. He is an easy, simple, unostentatious
writer. We believe, as he says, that he has endeavored to give 'a
faithful picture of life as it is in Oregon to-day.' He has good
descriptive powers, and has enlivened his book with several amusing
incidents."
_From the Chicago Times._
"This book is the work of a man who has lived two years in the
State, with an observant eye, an apparently judicial and impartial
mind, and a ready and fluent pen. It embraces pretty much
everything in the way of information about the region which any
emigrant would like to know on pretty much all of its natural,
social, and political features. It is, indeed, almost a guide-book
to the region, but is one quite out of the usual sort, enlivened
with a great fund of personal and local anecdote and incident,
which serves to make it very interesting reading. It offers to the
public a more complete compendium of information about one of the
most interesting, at least, of American localities, than can
elsewhere be found in the same space; and as one of the chief final
centers around which American civilization promises to reach its
ultimate development, everything connected with it is of interest,
not only to Americans, but to people abroad also."
_From the New York Evening Mail and Express._
"It would be impossible in a brief notice to state even the
substance of this book, which is packed with information of all
sorts, information procured and conned by himself, which neglects
nothing that a would-be emigrant ought to inquire into, which is
close in observation, terse in deduction, good-tempered,
warm-hearted, hard-headed, and, what is more than all this,
thoroughly amusing."
_From the Utica Observer._
"A book like this is especially timely. The author, Wallis Nash, is
an English settler in the great Willamette Valley, and discourses
of his adopted home with the tone of an avowed advocate of its soil
and climate. He combats with his own observations and the official
weather reports the wide-spread belief that Oregon is a land of
perpetual rains, and presents altogether the most comprehensive
sketch of the existing industries and possible development of the
State which has yet been published."
_From the Chicago Inter-Ocean._
"Mr. Nash narrates his own experiences, and gives a detailed
account of the agricultural, business, and social resources of the
State in an obviously impartial manner."
_From the Chicago Journal._
"In the year 1877 the author of this volume visited Oregon,
traveled through its length and breadth, and, on returning to his
home in England, published a book giving a short account of his
journey, and recommending the country as a desirable one in which
to settle. A few months afterward he left England at the head of a
party of twenty-six persons, and, upon arriving in Oregon, settled
at Corvallis, a pleasant little village on the banks of the
Willamette River. After a continuous residence of two years in that
far Western State, Mr. Nash again gives the result of his
experience, as a guide to the emigrant who may intend to make
Oregon his future home. He presents in a favorable view the
agricultural and business prospects of the country; the social and
political life of the people, and while he does not claim that a
competence can be secured without persevering industry, he
maintains that the inducements offered to the enterprising and
energetic are such that in a few years the emigrant of moderate
means and some experience will be able to acquire a home and
pecuniary independence. The book contains a vast amount of
information useful to the emigrant, and it is written in a
pleasant, chatty style. The descriptions of the varied scenery, the
character sketches of the settlers, and the laughable incidents
recounted, give an additional pleasure to the volume, which is
enriched by several illustrations of Oregon scenery."
_From the St. Paul Pioneer Press_ (_Minnesota_).
"Any thorough description of Oregon, its resources, and the people
who settle in it, must win many eager and interested readers. But,
to do full justice to Mr. Nash, he has taken but little advantage
of this fact. His book, which he modestly styles 'a guide-book to
Oregon for the intending emigrant,' is far more than this. It is a
pains-taking description of the natural features of a great Pacific
State; of its soil, climate, and productive qualities; of its past
development and future promise; of its leading industries and its
adaptation to others; in short, of all that a man who has lived in
Oregon with his eyes open might be expected to find out, and all
about which one who has not lived there might be expected to wish
information. There are in existence very few works which tell in
such short compass as much about any State east of the Rocky
Mountains. There are very many points in this hand-book which it
would be interesting to present in detail, but nothing less than a
careful reading will suffice. The story told by the writer about
the outrageous swindling out of their land grant of the men who
constructed, at great sacrifice, the greatest wagon highway in
Oregon, deserves investigation. If Mr. Nash is correct, the farmers
of Oregon have no reason to love Mr. Villard or his transportation
company. The greatest drawback to the settling up of the State is
the iron grip and remorseless extortions of the railways. This book
is from beginning to end thoroughly readable. It furnishes more
information than whole folios of statistics, or any number of
glowing descriptions by hasty, prejudiced, and uninformed
correspondents."
_From the Chicago Evening Herald._
"Mr. Nash's data were gathered during a two years' residence, and
are so well digested and so thoroughly re-enforced by the practical
and personal experiences of the writer and his friends, that the
most captious critic can not reasonably pick many flaws therein.
Mr. Nash is evidently not only a close observer, but an eminently
practical man, and in describing the advantages and disadvantages
of Oregon, keeps constantly in view the information which other
practical men, seeking a location, would be likely to need and
appreciate. A great many chatty and amusing pages are devoted to
anecdotes of early and later life in Oregon, and to the fortunes
and misfortunes of those who sought first to subdue the virgin soil
of that State. Some of the concluding chapters of the book are
devoted to a very intelligent discussion of the existing
transportation problems in Oregon. All in all, the work is not only
readable, but has an intrinsic value which those who wish to know
all about the _terra incognita_ of which it treats will thoroughly
appreciate."
_From the Janesville Gazette._
"The book contains a vast amount of information useful to the
emigrant, and it is written in a pleasant, chatty style. The
descriptions of the varied scenery, the character sketches of the
settlers, and the laughable incidents recounted, give an additional
pleasure to the volume, which is enriched by several illustrations
of Oregon scenery."
_From the Detroit Evening News._
"Mr. Nash has just written for the benefit of his old friends and
neighbors in England a little book relating his observations and
experiences during his first two years of frontier life. It
contains much interesting information about Oregon and its people,
and coming from a disinterested source will be especially
acceptable to those contemplating removal to that State."
_From the Columbus Dispatch_ (_Wisconsin_).
"It is a compendium of information, and will be an addition to any
library."
_From the Boston Journal._
"Mr. Nash writes especially for the benefit of emigrants and
intending settlers, but the book will have an interest for all
readers who like to trace the developments of social and political
institutions in a swiftly growing State. The author writes with
enthusiasm, but frankly and sometimes critically; and he has
collected a good deal of valuable information, which, together with
the results of his own experience, he presents in an animated and
pleasant manner."
_From the Christian at Work._
"It is a capital book."
_From the Ann Arbor Chronicle._
"To read the book is like making a trip to Oregon without the
tediousness and expense of the journey."
_From the Milwaukee Sentinel._
"The reader instinctively feels that here is a careful, temperate
guide, who can be absolutely trusted."
_From the Springfield Union_ _(Massachusetts_).
"A valuable book."
_From the New York World._
"It is a description of the country and of life in Oregon that is
worth reading by anybody who may for any reason be interested in
the subject."
_From the Cincinnati Commercial._
"A fascinating book."
_From the San José Mercury_ (_California_).
"A highly interesting and instructive volume, marked by fairness of
statement and honesty of opinion."
_From the Omaha Republican_ (_Nebraska_).
"Mr. Nash has written a most interesting volume. His powers of
description are simply magnificent, and, with such an expansive
theme before him, he has wrought out a book that will no doubt have
ready sale, and do a great measure of good in placing the
advantages of Oregon most entertainingly before a large and choice
number of readers."
_From the Philadelphia North American_.
"It is a very good report which Mr. Nash has to make of the State,
and of the people by whom it is inhabited; and as he tells his tale
in the plain, straightforward way of a man who is relating facts,
and nothing but facts, and who simply desires to make known the
truth, it can not fail to make a favorable impression."
Cordial commendatory notices of the work have appeared also in the
following journals:
Albany (Oregon) Herald.
Benton (Oregon) Leader.
State Rights Democrat (Albany, Oregon).
San Francisco Argonaut.
San Francisco Chronicle.
San Francisco Bulletin.
Montreal Daily Star.
New York Herald.
Kansas City Times.
Buffalo Courier.
Kansas City Journal.
Worcester Daily Spy.
Philadelphia Business Advocate.
Holyoke Paper World.
Albany (New York) Evening Journal.
Akron (Ohio) Gazette.
Syracuse Daily Journal.
Pittsburg Gazette.
Syracuse Herald.
Charleston (South Carolina) News and Courier.
Chicago Tribune.
Albany Argus.
Cincinnati Gazette.
Boston Post.
Montreal Gazette.
Boston Gazette.
Philadelphia Times.
New York Observer.
Philadelphia Inquirer.
Harrisburg (Pennsylvania) Patriot.
Boston Times.
Portland (Maine) Argus.
Petersburg (Virginia) Index and Appeal.
Davenport (Iowa) Gazette.
Albany Country Gentleman.
Cincinnati Times.
Boston Commonwealth.
Boston Courier.
Pittsburg Telegram.
Brooklyn Times.
Indianapolis Sentinel.
Boston Journal.
Providence Press.
_For sale by all booksellers; or sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of
price_.
_D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street, New York._
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