The Oregon native son, Vol. I, Part 10

Author: Native Sons of Oregon; Oregon Pioneer Association. cn; Indian War Veterans and Historical Society
Publication date: 1899
Publisher: Portland, Or. : Native Son Publishing Co.
Number of Pages: 1252

USA > Oregon > The Oregon native son, Vol. I > Part 10

Note: The text from this book was generated using artificial intelligence so there may be some errors. The full pages can be found on Archive.org (link on the Part 1 page).

On August 23, 1867. Colonel William- son, with a government party, ascended the mountain, made numerous scientific observations, and, among other things, secured a careful barometric measure- ment, which showed the elevation to be 11,225 feet. Future investigation may change these figures slightly, but they are

very nearly correct, and the most relia- ble of any now in existence, manufactur- ers of souvenir spoons to the contrary notwithstanding. Those interested in such matters will find Colonel Will- iamson's report in the Oregonian of Sep- tember 24, 1867.

In Armstrong's "Oregon and Wash- ington" may be found the following choice contribution to history: "The loftiest of the snow peaks is Mount Hood. It was ascended by Mr. Belden, in October, 1854, and found to be 19,400 feet high. They ascended as high as they could travel, first with snow shoes, then with ice hooks and spikes. When they reached a point some 18,000 feet high respiration became very difficult, owing to the rarity of the atmosphere. At length the blood began to ooze through the pores of the skin like drops of sweat-their eyes began to bleed- then the blood gushed from their ears. Then they commenced their downward march. At the point where they com- menced the ascent, they had left their pack-mules and two men to guard them. The men went out hunting, and when they returned found that the cougars had killed two of the mules." Mr. Belden's first name is not given, but it was prob- ably Ananias.

On July 11, 1857, the first actual ascent of Mount Hood was made by Henry L. Pittock, W. Lyman Chittenden, James G. Deardorff, William Buckley and Pro- fessor L. J. Powell, of Portland. Since that time it is probable that more persons have stood on the summit of this moun- tain than any similar one on the Ameri- can continent. Many years ago the idea was suggested of illuminating it, and in 1885 it was seriously discussed, but not attempted until the following year, when several young men from Portland at- tempted the experiment with red fire, in- tending to set it off at the appointed time.

Photo by C. C. Lewis, Monmouth.

MAZAMAS ATTAINING THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT HOOD, JULY 19. 1814.

OREGON NATIVE SON.

by means of clock-work and acids. By careless handling, however, it was ignited during the day, so the effort proved a failure. In 1887 a party was sent out un- der the direction of the Fourth of July committee of Portland, the result of whose labors are thus described by the Oregonian next morning: "The cele- bration closed with the illumination of Mount Hood, the grandest and most unique event of the day. Precisely at 11:30, the time appointed. just as the fire- works display was over. a bright red light shone away up in the clouds above the eastern horizon, which was greeted with cheers from the thousands congregated on the bridge, wharves, roofs, boats on the river, and on the hills back of town, and with vigorous. and long-continued whistling from every steamboat on the river." Again, just one year later, the mountain was illuminated, and, in re- sponse to a request from Eastern editors, the Mazamas will set it ablaze on the night of July 4 next.

MAZAMAS.

Mazama is a Spanish word, first used by a naturalist in Mexico, about 200 years ago, to designate the mountain goat, or American chamois, found on the Pacific coast of the North American con- tinent. It is also the name of a club of mountain-climbers, with headquarters in Portland, the object of which is to ad- vertise American natural scenery. To compel the world to recognize the fact that our own native land is blessed with scenery equal to or superior to anything found in Europe or elsewhere. Its very organization was romantic, and its life has been one continual labor on scien- tific lines, together with bold mountain- cering feats well planned and success- fully carried out. It is composed of ladies and gentlemen familiar with sci- ence and literature, as also sturdy moun-

taineers, whose lots are cast in. the wil- derness. It was organized on the top- most peak of Mount Hood, July 19. 1894, at which time 200 persons partici- pated. Never before was there such a gathering on a mountain over two miles high. Charter membership was limited to those present at the organization, and no one can join without first climbing to the summit of a snow-capped mountain. on the sides of which there must be at least one living glacier. It must be a mountain, too, up the sides of which it is impossible to ride, horseback or other- wise. Annual excursions are organized, and regular business meetings held on the summit of some mountain of perpet- ual snow. Scientific investigations are carried on in various lines, and lectures - are delivered around the camp fires by men celebrated for their learning.

Accompanying Colonel Frank V. Drake's poem, "Mazamas," descriptive of the organization on Mount Hood, is the following interesting note:

"Mercury passed between us and the sun in July, 1894, being at inferior con- junction July 20 at 4 hours 28 minutes P. M., central time. Venus passed by Jupiter on the morning of July 20. Ju- piter and Neptune were in conjunction with Venus on the morning of the 20th. See 'Astronomy and Astro-Physics,' June, 1894. All these planets were in this rare conjunction (occurring at inter- vals of many centuries) on the morning of July 19, when the Mazamas began the ascent of Mount Hood."

On the evening before organization over 300 persons camped on the rugged moraines at extreme timber line, fully a mile above the line of snow. As the day wore on and the sun descended, word was passed from camp to camp to watch the western horizon. Far off in the dis- tance, by one sweep of the eye, the fa-

MOUNTAIN LORE.

mous Willamette valley could be seen through its entirety. Beyond it the Coast range of mountains shut the ocean from view, and almost from our very feet the great Columbia flows on to the sea. The Cascade range extends to the south in a line of snow peaks and cross ranges, while here and there bits of cloud gather over the valleys below. Mount Jeffer- son, fifty miles distant. seems like a sen- tinel, while forty miles beyond the Three Sisters stand in chaste beauty. One hundred and fifty miles down the range Diamond Peak rears its snowy crest aloft. Fifty miles to the east the plains of East- ern Oregon lie Trke a scroll, tessellated with fields of ripening grain.

But the sun is descending, and as his rays strike the waters of the Pacific at the proper angle They are reflected to us on the mountain, and a yellow line along the horizon shows us clearly the ocean, over a hundred miles distant. Everybody in camp is excited as Old Sol descends, for clouds have gathered in the west, and Heaven's artistic hand is at work on the canvas. Every moment the scene grows more brilliant. The gilded clouds roll into golden streets and celestial palaces and cities rise up and disappear. Great temples and walls of precious stones lin- ger for a brief season and fade away. The waters of the ocean seem like molten gold in their magnificence. Finally the sun sinks to rest, the ocean disappears, the brilliance of a moment is but the vivid recollection of a glorious scene that shall never fade from memory. Before us stands the grand old mountain. bold and beautiful, while a ea of snow stretches away to the sumint and is lost in the timber below. As the sun goes down a great yellow ball appears on the eastern horizon, and a full moon covers the world with a soft, effulgent light that grows brighter as the night advances. Camp is pitched fully a mile above sea-

level, beyond all impurities of the atmos- phere, and is surrounded with pure snow. which reflects and increases the already bright light of the moon. So light is the night that many sit and marvel that such things can be.

A weird scene presents itself as we look up and down the moraines and see scores of camp-fires, from around which happy voices are heard, mingled with various musical instruments. Shouts and laughter greet the ear, and dull care is banished from our midst. Some of the brightest minds of the country are gathered here, with mechanics and farni- ers' boys, presidents of colleges, students and beautiful women. Original songs float upon the breeze, and trained voices add melody to the general rejoicing. Newspapers sent representatives, and delegates are here from schools and re- ligious organizations. The musicians of Portland sent a bugler, who at 9 o'clock climbed high up the mountain and played "America." Quick as thought camps here and there joined with words. and it seemed that every voice on the mountain-side was awaking the echoes in one grand refrain. Then the bugler played "Nearer, My God to Thee." The notes came like whisperings from heaven; every voice was hushed, every sound ceased, and all seemed charmed into absolute silence. Never did music sound half so sweet, never was poor hu- manity so peacefully at rest. "Taps" followed in quick succession, and camp was stilled for the night.

Promptly at 2 o'clock the "Reveille" was sounded, and all was activity. Far down below us the foothills and moun- tain valleys were filled with clouds. through which vivid flashes of lightning could be seen, and from which came loud peals of thunder. The air was chilly and the wind strong. Fears were expressed for the day by those unused to such

OREGON NATIVE SON.

Photo by Porter. CAPTAIN ORRIN KELLOGG, A Pioneer of 1849.

Photo by Moore. MRS. MARGARET KELLOGG, A Pioneer of 1849.

Photo by Kroft.

CAPTAIN JOSEPH KELLOGG. A Pioneer of 1840.

Photo by Watson. MRS. ESTELLA A. KELLOGG, A Pioneer of 1849.

OREGON PIONEERS.

MOUNTAIN LORE.

scenes, but the order was given to ad- vance. After a hasty breakfast, more than 300 persons started over the snow. At 7 o'clock a snow storm overtook us, and an hour later a hail storm pelted us until it was tired. Many discouraged climbers turned back, some of whom re- pented and reached the summit later in the day. At sunrise a shadow of the mountain was shown, clear and sharp, in the atmosphere to the west. In a few minutes a second; smaller and darker shadow-mountain appeared behind the first. then both gradually melted from view. When the hail storm ceased, the sky above became clear, but the clouds below remained until nearly noon, when they. too, disappeared, leaving an un- clouded atmosphere and a view unsur- passed and seldom witnessed by poor

humanity. Two great states lay at our feet, and a dozen grand old snow peaks were before us. For a hundred miles in all directions the view was unobscured. and will never be described, for human language is powerless before such stu- pendous grandeur.

The shadows of the mountain seen in mid-air are the subject of a beautiful In- dian legend, which, among other things, is described in Colonel Drake's poem, of which it may be said, in the native Indian dialect, "Tahoma" signifies the god, or spirit of the mountains; "Red Tamah- nous," the spirit of love; "Black Tamah- nous," the spirit of hate. envy, malice. In the word tamahnous, accent is on the second syllable, the letter "a" having the broad sound.

LEGEND OF MOUNT HOOD.

"Tahoma" -- thus the native Indian legends run- "A god magnificent and pure of soul, dwelt in a grove Of giant trees where stands this mountain now. None came to share His meditations, or his loneliness,

'Till form empyreal, of loveliness And grace and majesty and holiness

Coequal with his own, swept through the vault-a goddess fair, On errand from the stars. 'Twas Red Tamahnous, queen of love! Tahoma saw; she smiled, and passed beyond the sun.

Aflame with strange, ecstatic fire, the fervent god, In sleepless vigil, waited through the years for her return- Ten hundred years. She came at last, at rising of the sun. Exalting all his form Tahoma rose To greet his queen; in maidenly repose She lingered in the west; upon her brows

A wreathed effulgence flamed. In form the lovers were as one. Their ornaments the same. Each learned that fires celestial burn

Where love is pure. Thus, near opposed, they willing stood.

Foredoomed to earthly home, Tahoma sued her dear

Companionship-that she, with silver hair untressed and spread In beauty through the skies, no more from stars to sun should roam. An errant messenger. She gave consent :

OREGON NATIVE SON.

Above the pair a morning halo bent, The greater spirit's token of assent. With arms outstretched the god essayed to clasp his bride's fair form, When lo! behind her 'rose a grisly shape of aspect dread; It veiled her from his sight and bore her through the air.

'Twas Black Tamahnous, fiend of rage and hate, the foe Of all the good and pure in heaven, on earth; relentless, fierce, Of form prodigious, aspect foul, she murders joy and love Where e'er she goes. Transfixed Tahoma stood; Then burst his heart: above his head the blood, In fountain red and hot, poured all its flood, And thus he died. The Spirit Great bewailed his son and wove A mantle pure and white around his form, and as the years Speed past renews the garb, as symbol of his woe.

DRAWN BY FRED A. ROUTLEDGE, A MAZAMA, AND AN EYE WITNESS OF THE SCENE.

And ever as the summer comes the mystic queen. Forbidden ever to return as comet to the sky, Steals silently from out the west, at rising of the sun, To loc . upon her lover's mantled form And meditate, alone, that sweet, sad morn When first they met; and still the hag, hell born, Pursues and draws obscuring veil o'er each: to realms unknown They thus return. The tale is true, for even mortal eve. When blessed of sight, may yet behold that very scene."

THE STOLEN LOAF.

Thus runs the tale of Red Tamahnous, Hag and Hood: .

Were those the phantom forms we saw this morn? and were we blessed With more than mortal vision while we stood in rifted storm?

Ah! Who shall read that wondrous mystery;

Or ever know how far Time's history, Part written in these rocks, may testify

The truth of whispered story and the lore of spirit forms?

Thus much we know: Time was, the lava on this mountain's crest

Was red and hot within its breast-a sea of blood."

THE STOLEN LOAF.

A TRUE PIONEER STORY.

His hair is silvered by the hand of Time, his step is no longer the buoyant . one of youth; yet the keen blue eyes have lost none of their brightness, nor the hearty laugh its ring. His faculties are well preserved: the recollections of pioneer days being retained and told with vividness, which old age cannot efface. The Stolen Loaf is one of his best stories. and as he smokes his pipe on the porch. a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes as they rest "away over yonder." where the evening sunset lingers on the snowy Cas- cade range. I will chronicle it verbatim, as he told me.

"In 1852, while the Yreka mining ex- citement was at its height. Sidney Cook, his father and two brothers, crossed the plains to Oregon, and settled in Yamhill county, where the old man began teach- ing school for a livelihood. the boys tak- ing advantage of every odd job that came along. Like a good many other young fellows, Sid was ambitious, and conclud- ed to make a stake by going to the mines. Having no money to pay his way-tray- eling was mighty expensive then-he concluded to go on foot. and take his chances while on the 300-mile tramp of catching a meal wherever circumstances offered.

"So Sidney, being one of the best men God ever put breath in, set out with a roll of blankets on his back, sleeping sometimes in houses, sometimes in barns. and at other times sleeping on the ground with the sky for a tent. In due course of time he arrived, foot-sore and hun- gry, in the Umpqua valley. Yes, Sidney was hungry; there wasn't any doubt of it. To tell the truth, he hadn't tasted any grub for 24 hours, the houses on the road being mighty few and far between. What to do for grub he didn't exactly know: so he sat down by the side of the road. mighty lonesome like, and pondered. Then all of a sudden a thought struck him. Over in the woods he could hear the rumble of a waterfall: so he conclud- ed he would yank out a trout, if he could. and ease his gnawing stomach.

"Sidney didn't have any fish line along. or hooks, either, for that matter; but in his pack was a spool of old-fashioned thread, stout enough to hold a yearling calf: so with this, and a common pin. he rigged himself up a line. Then he cut a pole and caught a dozen grasshoppers. and started for the creek. But wasn't he surprised, though, when he ran slap- bang on a cabin in the woods, Well. I should say. Smoke was curling out of

OREGON NATIVE SON.

the chimney, and the door standing open, so he walked right up and said hello. Not getting any answer he poked his head in the door and said hello again, but no one answered.

"Just then Sidney saw something and smelt something that made him feel good all over; and his spirits rose up like the feathers of a wet hen standing in the sun. Hanging on the crane, over the fire, was . a kettle with a big hunk of beef in it. simmering and sputtering. That beef,

ner of the cabin, hanging on a peg, was an empty flour sack. Into this Sidney dumped the red-hot beef and pone of bread; then, holding the steaming sack at arm's length, he lit out again on his way · to the mines. This grub he used spar- ingly, it lasting him within range of Yreka.

"On arriving at the mines, Sidney com- menced prospecting. In order to get tools to work with, and not having any money, he sold two of his shirts and pur-

A MAN WAS STANDING IN THE DOOR.

so Sidney told me, smelt the best of any- thing he ever smelt in his life. On the table. too, was a pone of sour dough bread, which made his eyes water. 'What's the matter with me getting away with that bread and bes "?" said Sidney to himself. 'It ain't stealing to do a thing like that when a fellow's hungry.'

"Going to the door. Sid poked his head outside and took a careful look all around: no one was in sight. In a cor-

chased part of an outfit. as near as he could. His prospecting was successful from the start, going one dollar to the pan; and, within four months, he had taken out in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars. 1

"Knowing that his father was pining away for a sight of old Tennessee, and having the means to send him home, Sidney bought a mule, and. in company with several others, lit out for Oregon,

OREGON PIONEERS.

CAPTAIN SETH POPE, A Pioneer of 1850.

WM. HENWOOD POPE. A Pioneer of 1854.

CHARLES POPE. A Pioneer of 1851.

MR :. SARAH E. POPE, A Pioneer of 1851. /

OREGON NATIVE SON.

with his gold dust in a cantena over the pommel of his saddle. On arriving at Jacksonville-a mighty small town then "'It don't make any difference,' said -- Sid's party attended a hoe-down, in . Sid. 'I owe you that amount; and I'm which one of the crowd. to have a little going to settle it right here.' fun out of him, pinned a dish-rag to Sid- ney's coat tail. That made Sid as mad as a wet hen, and he vowed if he could find the one who did it he would whale blazes out of him.

"Sid didn't find who did it that night, but next day, as the party went aboard the ferry-boat at Rogue river, he was told who it was: and the two men went at it 'tooth and toe-nail,' in which Sidney slapped the other fellow clean over the railing into the river. When the fellow was fished out by some men on the bank, all hands sided against Sidney and a sep- aration followed, and he jogged on, alone and forsaken.

"When Sidney reached the Umpqua and passed down the valley. the remembrance of the old log cabin came into mind. 'Now,' said Sidney. 'is the time to do a good act:' so he turned his mule's head into the brush, and rode up to the cabin. This time a man was standing in the door.

"'Hello!' said Sid, reining up: 'are you the landlord here?'

"'Yes,' said the man: 'I'm the one that runs the shebang.

"'Were you living here four months ago?' Sid asked, to make sure. "'I was,' said the man.

".Then.' said Sid, alighting from his mule, 'I owe you five hundred dollars.'

It is said that the first cattle which came to Oregon were shipped from the Sandwich islands in 1835. In 1836 some Mexican cattle were driven here from California. The first blooded stock-the Durhams-came the plains across, in 1847. John Wilson being the importer.

".Five hundred dollars!' said the man. "Why, I never saw you before.'

"Sid then dropped his bridle reins, took his cantena from the saddle pom- mel, and started for the house. . Now,' said he, as he entered the cabin, 'get me a couple of tin plates, and we'll proceed to settle up .:

"The man, who was mightily amazed, got the pans and placed them on the ta- ble. Then Sig took a pair of six-ounce scales from his pocket; and, after empty- ing a great wad of gold in one of the pans, proceeded to weigh out five hun- dred dollars into the other pan, six ounces at a whack.

"'There,' said Sid, pushing the pan across the table; that's yours.'

".But I tell you you don't owe me a cent.' persisted the man.

"'Can't help it,' said Sid. 'Do you remember,' said he, looking the man straight in the eye, 'of losing a chunk of meat and a pone of bread, about four months ago?'

".Well, I should say I do remember it.' said the man. 'It's always been a mystery, too, what became of it.'

"'I got it,' said Sid; `and that dust is to pay for it.'

"'But what am I to do with the gold?' said the man.

".Keep it,' said Sidney, as he mounted his mule and rode away."

.THOMAS H. ROGERS.

Pottery was first made in the state in 1865. A. M. Smith inaugurating the in- dustry among us, locating his plant at Buena Vista, where the same continues in operation at the present time.

The first flax mill established in the state was built at Albany in 1877.

BEAUTIFUL WILLAMETTE.

Sam L. Simpson.

From the Cascade's frozen gorges, Leaping like a child at play,

Winding, widening through the valley. Bright Willamette gl des away: Onward ever. Lovely river. Softly calling to the sea; Time that scars us. Maims and mars us, Leaves no track or trace on thee!

SAM L. SIMPSON. A Pioneer of 1846.

Spring's green witchery is weaving Braid and border for thy side: Grace forever haunts thy journey, Beauty dimples on thy tide. Through the purple gates of morning ._ Now thy roseate ripples dance: Golden, then, when day departing, On thy waters trails his lance: Waltzing, flashing. Tinkling, plashing. Limpid, volatile and free- Always hurried To be buried In the bitter, moon-mad sea.

In thy crystal deeps, inverted, Swings a picture of the sky, Like those wavering hopes of Aidenn Dimly in our dreams that lie:

Clouded often, drowned in turmoil, Faint and lovely, far away-

Wreathing sunshine on the morrow, Breathing fragrance round today. Love could wander Here, and ponder- Hither poetry would dream: Life's old questions. Sad suggestions, "Whence and whither?" throng thy stream.

On the roaring waste of ocean, Soon thy scattered waves shall toss: 'Mid the surges' rhythmic thunder Shall thy silver tongues be lost. Oh, thy glimmering rush of gladness Mocks this turbid life of mine, Racing to the wild Forever. Down the sloping paths of time- Onward ever, Lovely river. Softly calling to the sea: Time that Scars us. Maims and mars us, Leaves no track or trace on thee!

HOMER C. DAVENPORT.

Written by his father.

The subject of this sketch was born on outside of heredity. and that early art training is unimportant. If from such his father's farm, located in the Waldo Hills, some five miles south of Silverton, . vagaries, and without previous training, Marion county, the date of his birth be- ing March 8. 1867. His mother's maiden name was Miss Flora Geer, daughter of Ralph C. Geer. She was married to the writer of this article November 17. 1854. and died of smallpox on November 20, 1870. a green Oregon boy could enter the field of art and carry off high honors and emoluments, why not others do the same? Hence all over the Pacific coast boys who had never taken a thought of how pic- tures are made, began to draw cartoons, full of enthusiastic purpose to become famous like Homer.

Homer has no doubt been the subject of more "write ups" than any other news- paper artist in the United States.

His appearance among the foremost cartoonists was so sudden and unher- alded, that writers of all degrees were tempted to try their descriptive and ana- lytic powers upon him. Of necessity they had not much data to draw from, for he had no diploma from an American art school: had not been in England, Germany, Italy or France; in fact, had not been educated in art anywhere; and as he was not a lineal descendant from artists, as any one knew, it is not strange that many of the "interviews" were as grotesque as the artist himselfcould wish. He never claimed to be an artist, and so when questioned as to the employment of his youth, he generally gave such facts as would make a humorous picture, such as firing on a steamboat. wiping locomo- tives, breeding and fighting game chick- ens, playing clown for a circus, feeding lions and tigers in a menagerie, clog dancing in a minstrel show. umpiring baseball games, or any other of the thou- sand and one things boys attempt in the rattle-brain period of existence.

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The Oregon native son, Vol. I, Part 10

Author: Native Sons of Oregon; Oregon Pioneer Association. cn; Indian War Veterans and Historical Society Publication date: 1899 Publisher: Portland, Or. : Native Son Publishing Co. Number of Pages: 1252

Author: Native Sons of Oregon; Oregon Pioneer Association. cn; Indian War Veterans and Historical Society
Publication date: 1899
Publisher: Portland, Or. : Native Son Publishing Co.
Number of Pages: 1252