USA > Washington > Thurston County > Early history of Thurston County, Washington : together with biographies and reminiscences of those identified with pioneer days > Part 8
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"Here occurred an incident the reasons of which kept my comrades guessing for the remainder of the campaign. Among the supplies sent the volunteers was a barrel of whisky. This was divided among the several companies, my company's share being a three gallon camp kettle full. The kettle, with its precious contents, was set in the com- manding officer's tent to wait till the boys got in from a scouting expedition, before dividing the whisky. As it was difficult to get the men together that night our captain de- cided that a morning drink would best be appreciated by the boys. Now, it was my duty to care for this captain's tent, as I was 2nd sergeant of our company, and was generally the first one up in the morning, to make the fire and bring fresh water for making the coffee for our mess. I grabbed this kettle, threw the contents on the ground and filled the utensil with water. Later, when the boys were lined up with their tin cups in their hands and glad anticipation in their minds,
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the captain went into the tent to bring out the kettle. Where was it? Why, there on the fire filled with boiling coffee. I was questioned and acknowledged that it was through my act that the whisky was scattered on the ground. How was I to know that the kettle held anything but dirty water? The captain could say but little, for he had not told me to be careful of the contents of the kettle, and it was my custom to take that kettle every morning to the creek for fresh water. My comrades growled a good bit, but they never could tell for certain whether I really did know what was in that kettle or not. After these years I can say that the very name of whisky has always been distasteful to me. We were on the eve of an attack from the Indians, we supposed. and I was determined that there would be at least one sober com- pany in the engagement. The boys didn't dare to manhandle me, but I know they would have liked to do so.
"Word was received that the Indian tribes were collect- ing in the Grande Rounde Valley to gather camas for the Winter, and we were sent in to rout them. We were 100 fighting men with a guard of 75 men with the pack animals. It was night when we reached the upper end of the valley and we went into camp there. Very foolishly we built camp fires, so letting the Indians know where we were. We expected to find the Indians at the lower passage on the Grande Rounde River, and in the morning formed in line and started for there. Before the passage was reached there came riding out of the willow trees that fringed the river banks an Indian brave in war paint. In his hand was a long pole on which was a white man's scalp. Riding wildly around in front of the volunteers, but always out of rifle range, the Indian gave his war whoop and waved the ghastly trophy as a tantalizing menace before our boys. My comrade all through the war was G. C. Blankenship, and a finer man I never met. This sight was too much for his temper, so he dashed up to our commanding officer and plead : 'Col. let me get that fellow ?" 'Go then,' said the colonel. 'Get him if you can while he is in the open, but do not follow him into the brush.' Blankenship rode out after the Indian, but when the rascal saw he was pursued he took refuge in the bushes and the man had to return to his company.
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"Dust arising from the plain near the upper crossing of the Grande Rounde was seen. and Col. Shaw called a halt and said : 'Boys, there is where we want to charge, for there is where the Indian train, with their supplies, are trying to get out of the valley.' We dashed up and Col. Shaw dismounted and went into the bushes where he could see up and down the river. A man named Buchanan. and myself. also dis- mounted and went up to the river, leading our horses. I saw blood on Buchanan's horse's flank and said, 'We'd better get back a little. Buck.' which we did. When Col. Shaw joined us, one of the boys said. 'What's that on your coat rollar. Colonel?' He looked. and there was a bullet hole clear through the cloth and another one through the skirt of his roat. The Indians were poor shooters and couldn't hit any- thing a few yards away.
"We crossed the river and the Indians fired on us as we were fording, but no one was killed. although we got three or four of their men. As expected, we found the pack train with the women and papooses. The ponies were loaded with camas and the next day we had a burning and destroyed at least 200 bushels of roots.
"This was the Indians' last struggle against the whites. By destroying their winter's supplies they were rendered help- less. They couldn't fight on empty stomachs and so we con- quered them.
"That the Indian war was hastened and fostered by the Hudson Bay people there is little doubt. At that time Eng- land claimed all this country from the Canadian possessions to the Columbia river. and the ever increasing number of Ameri- vans coming to settle the Northwest threatened to put under the plow land that the Hudson Bay sheep men were accustomed to look upon as their legitimate pasturage. so they aided the Indians with arms and supplies in a struggle to maintain eon- trol of the country.
"Governor Stevens sent his clerk out once to visit the In- dian camps to see if he could find evidence of aid to the Indians from this source. I was sent along, with others. as a guard. We found empty sacks and cans with the Hudson Bay let- tering on them, proving conclusively where much of the sup- port the Indians received came from.
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"I must tell one other incident of the war. While we were camped on Tenalquot prairie, at the fort there, and the volun- teer troops were assembling, myself and seven other men were sent to Olympia for supplies. We were on horseback and had just come out on Long prairie when we spied a party of 75 Indians coming towards us. That they were armed, we could see, for the sun glittered on their guns. We held a hurried consultation and decided that as we were mounted and the Indians were on foot we would go a bit closer to see what was doing, although we intended keeping well out of rifle shot. It proved to be the Squaxon Indian tribe, under leadership of Indian Agent Gosnald, coming to join forces with the volunteers to fight the hostiles. When they saw us eight men ride up single file to meet their army of 75, they broke into a perfect bedlam, they were so excited. 'What's the use. Indian fight white man.' their chief said, 'one white man not afraid ten Indians.' And that was always the way it was. We never thought it was possible that the Indians could lick us. When we went down into the Grande Rounde after them we were only 100 fighting men, not counting the 75 men in charge of the pack train, and there were 1.000 Indian warriors against us. But we were never afraid, and so won the struggle.
"When we were on the campaign one of the pleasant recol- lections of this grim time was the cooking my comrade. G. C. Blankenship. did for the mess. The men were supposed to take turns in this task but after they had all been tried out. Mr. Blankenship proved so superior in the culinary art that he was made chief cook for the rest of the campaign. He would open a sack of flour, mix up a batch of bread with his sour dough 'starting' and when that bread was baked in the camp oven with plenty of bacon grease it was a delight to the hungry men. One day, to vary the menu our cook rolled some sugar in the dough, cut it into little pieces and fried these in bacon grease. The result was the best doughnuts man ever tasted-or so we thought at the time. When I got home I tried them to show my women folks how, but they didn't taste so good. With this bread, doughnuts and bacon, beans and coffee. we fared well on the trip.
"After the war was over I was appointed Indian Agent under General R. H. Milroy, and became well acquainted with
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the Indians. I could speak their language and had many friends among them. I have worked as cabinet maker and carpenter for years in Olympia, and once went to Salem, Ore- gon, where I was engaged in a sash and door factory for three years, but always came back to this town."
Here Mr. Beatty ceased his talk and asked to be excused while his wife proceeded with the narrative.
"With my uncle, Rev. Geo. F. Whitworth, and my aunt, Eliza Whitworth, and her mother, Mrs. Sarah Thompson, my sister Sarah and the four young Whitworth children, I crossed the plains from Connelton. Indiana. Grandmother was 78 years old, and I was a young girl of sixteen.
"The way I happened to make this trip was, when the Presbyterian Board of Missionaries sent Uncle Whitworth out to preach the Gospel in the wilderness, he begged father to let my sister Sarah and myself come along as company for Aunt Eliza and to help take care of our grandmother. Of course, I was to go back in a year or two, but it has been over sixty years since I made that journey and I have never been back vet.
"We had no special hardships on the trip, other than was to be expected from camping out for so long a time and the fatigue of constant but slow travelling, for we had ox teams. There were 40 wagons in our train, and so, owing to our considerable numbers, we were not molested by the In- dians, although once we were followed 150 miles by a band of warriors, who told us they intended killing every one of our party in revenge for the death of one of their number, which had occurred shortly before. An emigrant in a train ahead of ours had shot and killed the Indian. The brave who came into our camp to tell us of their intentions amused him- self by marking off with stakes in the ground the length of the graves he informed us we would soon occupy when they had finished us. But they never seemed to find the weak spot in our defense and finally gave over following us. When we reached the Snake river we waited for other teams along the road to join us for further protection. Two wagons came along the trail with their beds completely riddled from the Indians' bullets. They had been attacked by a roving band,
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one of the children killed and an attempt made to stampede their stock. They were a sorry-looking outfit.
"Uncle Whitworth would have no Sunday traveling, and the train was always halted on this day, and we laid by for rest, and generally held some kind of worship. But when we reached the Blue Mountains the supplies were running so low that the other people in the train determined to travel all day Sunday. We started up the Blue Mountains on this par- ticular Sabbath day, which was the first we had failed to properly observe. When we were rounding a canyon I was driving the oxen on one side and my sister on the other to keep them in the narrow road. The front yoke deliberately walked off over the edge of the precipice. The rigging gave way and left a single yoke of young oxen to hold the wagon from slipping back down the hillside. These animals strained till their horns were buried in the dust of the road, and they were brought to their knees before the wagon could be stopped. That was our first Sunday trial. As evening came cn Uncle Whitworth had to take our big wagon and strike out to the river, twelve miles away, leaving Aunt Eliza. one of the children and me to guard the other wagon. We were frightened, for the coyotes were howling round and it was a fearsome spot. William Mitchell. who was with our train. heard of our being left behind alone and rode back to stay with us till Uncle Whitworth could return. We were so glad to see him and appreciated his thoughtfulness.
"When we reach Portland. Uncle Whitworth came on up to Fort Steilacoom to take up his missionary labors. He found an Episcopal minister already stationed at the fort, and doing such a noble work that there seemed to be no field of labor there for any other minister. But in Olympia there was a good opening. and it seemed to him that he could do a great deal of good in this new place, so decided to locate here. There was scarcely anybody living here then, the settlement being mostly at Tumwater, but at what is now known as Priest's Point some Catholic fathers had established a mission.
"Uncle took up a donation claim on land adjoining the mission property, built a temporary home for his family and began his missionary labors. He organized the First Presby- terian church in Olympia, also at Chehalis, and the one on
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Chambers prairie. Riding for miles to carry the gospel wher- over a few were congregated, sometimes being obliged to teach school to support his family, so meager was the pittance al- lowed him by the Presbytery, and so poor were his congrega- tions. He was a good man and has gone to a well earned reward.
"Aunt Eliza, with the rest of the family, had stayed in Portland the first winter in the West, while Uncle Whitworth was locating on the Sound. Aunt and my sister, Sarah, taught school that winter to pay our expenses.
"In May of the following summer Uncle came to bring us to our new home. The trip in the Indian canoes up the Cow- litz river was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. ] was totally unused to water, and although the canoes were large, they looked dangerous to me. Indeed, one of the canoes was upset and we lost all our bread and dishes, although the latter were recovered after several weeks and sent on to us. We found refuge the night we reached the landing in the home of Mr. Lemon, whose son is now Millard Lemon, the Olympia capitalist.
"We were met at the landing by Judge B. F. Yantis with an ox team to bring us to our new home. As we had to camp out along the way from the Cowlitz to Olympia, the loss of our dishes was very inconvenient. Judge Yantis searched among the ranch houses to find cups for us to drink out of, but all the dishes he could procure were three small sugar bowls of thick earthenware. These the elders used for drink- ing cups, but we younger ones had to use egg shells from which to drink our coffee. But we enjoyed the experience and thought coffee never tasted so good.
"We had one scare as a welcome to the new country. At the Cowlitz landing were a number of Indian tents and in them were some very sick squaws and pappooses. Harry Whit- worth, then about nine years old, went in among them, carry- ing them water and tending them until way in the night. Later it developed that the disease with which the Indians were ill was smallpox, and that in the most virulent form. So severe did the disease rage that that particular band of Indians was almost lost. We watched Harry with great uneasiness till the
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danger period was safely over. I suppose the fresh air and our perfect health prevented our taking the disease.
"When we reached Tumwater Judge Yantis, who was al- ways full of his fun and jokes, took Sarah and me to visit an Indian camp, to see what he told us would be our eatables from now on. They had just finished drying and hanging up a string of geoducks. The long necks and scaly looking bodies of this, to us, new species of salt water products, did not look very inviting.
"From Tumwater we took canoes for Priests Point, where Uncle's claim was. If I was frightened before. imagine my sensations when I was placed in a tiny craft that, when I was in with my Indian paddler, was only about one inch above the water of Puget Sound. When we reached the point below the mission all our household goods we had with us had to be carried by hand up the hill to our home. Grand- mother, who had shared in all our adventures. could not climb up there, however, so sister Sarah and myself put her in the little old rocking chair we had brought clear from our old home in Indiana for her to sit in and carried her up the hill and the quarter of a mile to where our house stood. This house was but a shack 16x16 built of poles and covered. sides and all. with cedar bark. There was a fireplace in one end three or four feet across and one of the most joyous objects we had beheld for a long time.
"The good fathers at the mission were our only neigh- bors. and the woods came close to our shack. In our imme- diate neighborhood was an Indian burial place. the bodies hanging in the branches of the tall trees. laid in canoes. It was to us a fearsome sight, but we became accustomed to it. and did not mind it after a while. Indeed. we much preferred these dead Indians to some of those still alive, for it was at this time that the Indian trouble was on.
"That summer Uncle raised quite an amount of potatoes and. as we had no cellar, was at loss where to store them, until someone pointed out that in the field where he was clearing there were a number of big trees, the roots of which had been burned into, leaving hollows and thus forming excellent places for storing the potatoes.
"As a variation of our diet we used to put up the wild
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berries we found growing here in profusion. As sugar was scarce and very expensive we used wild honey as the preserva- tive. Honey bee trees were frequently located, and it was one of the sports of the time to cut one down and secure the sweets stored in the hollow trunk. We had rough and tumble times, but good times withal. Life was full of snap and en- joyment in simple pleasures. We had our mail about every six weeks, and for the first few years all our supplies came from the Sandwich Islands. It was a great day when we began to get things in from San Francisco; we began to feel omite civilized. I remember the first apples ever grown in Thurston County. They were grown on a tree planted by Mr. Axtel, on Grand Mound prairie. Mrs. Axtel told the boys that if they did not touch the fruit when it was ripe she would make them a pie. They obeyed and when that pie was made. so precious were the apples they went in, peel and all. No wasting good fruit by taking off even the thinnest peeling.
"We lived in the shack Uncle Whitworth had provided for us for quite a while. but finally we were ready for a new house, so comes from Olympia David Beatty and A. J. Lin- ville, carpenters, to build our new house. And that is the time and the place I met Mr. Beatty. These men cut down trees from the land around the site of the new house, split them into boards and planed ont the weather boarding, all by hand. They made a very creditable and comfortable resi- dence, which we appreciated after our crowded quarters. We sent for our household furnishings, books, etc., which came around the Horn, and from San Francisco were sent on by sailing vessels to this port.
"As the Indians were getting troublesome Uncle Whit- worth asked the mission fathers if they considered our situa- tion dangerous. They replied. 'Not yet, we will give you warning, if it becomes so, in time for you to go to the stock- ade in Olympia.' In about two weeks this warning was given and we fled to town. Again we carried grandmother in her little chair to the water and set her into a canoe. We found refuge in two rooms over Mr. Beatty's shop. These rooms had been fitted up as a photograph gallery by Samuel Holmes father of Fred Holmes and Mrs. Robert Frost, and was the
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first art gallery in the Northwest. I slept right under the big skylight in the roof.
"Mr. Beatty and I were married in 1856 after the Indian war was over. We at one time took up a homestead of 160 acres on Ayers' Hill, joining Swan's donation claim. Mr. Beatty built a cabin on one side of a stream that flowed there then, and his partner, Mr. Linville, lived on the other side of the stream, but it was so Ionesome and the trees were so for- midable that the places were abandoned. The timber alone, in after years on those claims, would have been worth a fortune.
"Uncle Whitworth, Aunt Eliza, the grandmother, Sister Sarah, all are gone. I can think of no one of my associates of those early days who is still living. Our daughter Adelaide, is the only child we have ever had."
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MRS. JOHN G. PARKER
Have you ever opened a long-forgotten desk and taken out a packet of letters tied with faded blue ribbon, and caught the sweet, evanescent perfume of rose leaves and violets which have been put away by hands which have long since finished their earthly tasks? Such were the sensations of the compiler of these reminiscences when journeying back to the days of long ¿go with Mrs. John G. Parker. Sweet and full of girlish ro- mance were the memories evoked of conquests, triumphs and innocent coquetry of this belle of Olympia of the early '50's, although the dear old lady could also tell of hardships and privations that would undoubtedly crush a girl of modern days.
In Mrs. Parker's words will her story be told, for they were more eloquent and expressive than any at my command, but the reader will miss the inspiration of watching the deli- cate color come and go in the faded but still lovely face, of listening to the gentle voice thrill and tremble over the ex- citing or sorrowful portions of the narrative, of being taken back to the actual scenes and experiences of those days that are no more.
"When I was a young girl of a little less than sixteen years of age, living in Saline County, Missouri, my father, Gilmore Hays, decided to leave the old homestead and take his family out to Oregon, as all this section of the country was then called. Father had been out West before and knew · that the land was full of richness and opportunities for amass- ing wealth such as would never be found in the more settled country. There were six boys in our family and father thought they would stand a better chance to get on in the world when the time came for them to branch out for them- selves in the new country. Father's enthusiasm spread to a lot of our kinsfolks and they decided to join our train and cross the plains with us.
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"I can't tell now just how many wagons there were in ime when we pulled out for our start for the long journey over the Oregon Trail. But the ones whom I am able to re- call were the family of Dr. N. Ostrander, Uncle Frank Yantis with his family, George Scott and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Hillory Butler, my father's brother Isaac Hays, Rev. Lapsley Yantis and many others.
"The first stages of the trip were full of pleasure and de- light, especially to us younger members of the train. Although the greater part of the wagons were drawn by yokes of oxen and perforce the travel was slow, we younger ones had each Gur own pony and would ride far in advance of the train, pick out a good camping place where there was wood, water and grass for the animals. Here we would dismount and the young men proceed to collect piles of wood for the camp fires in the evening while we girls would skylark around, pick flowers and rest beneath the trees by the side of the beautiful streams which we frequently were fortunate enough to find for our camping place. When the wagons would pull in towards evening it was a hurry-up to get supper, turn out the stock and then all hands gather around the enormous campfires where merry jest, songs and cheerful companionship banished every thought of homesickness or foreboding. We had several violins, a banjo and many fine voices in the party, so music was enjoyed almost every evening.
"I must tell you about my pony. She was the fastest ani- mal in the train, a perfect beauty and a great pet, and an animal of more than ordinary intelligence. So speedy was she that the hunters always borrowed her when they wanted to run down a buffalo to replenish our supply of fresh meat. One day I was in a pet towards the other girls in the train, Sarah Yantis and her sister, Mrs. Pullen. (these girls were afterwards Mrs. G. C. Blankenship and Mrs. Dick Wood). So I told them to ride on and I would wait for the wagons, let- ting my pony eat by the road side. As soon as they had dis- appeared along the trail I dismounted and sat down in the grass. That pony would scarcely eat a mouthful so intently c'id she watch, looking all around for possible danger. When the wagons came on up and father saw me there alone he scolded me good and hard and said the horse showed a good
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deal more sense than I did. But some way I was never in the least afraid of the Indians and thought the tales I heard of their cruelty and treachery were mostly imaginary. I was to learn better a few years afterwards during the Indian war in Washington.
"Well, all went merry as a marriage bell until we reached Fort Laramie. Here was the parting of the ways. Uncle Lapsley Yantis was a Presbyterian minister and as good a man as ever trod the earth, and he was strong for whatever he considered to be the right, and to travel on the Sabbath day was not right according to his views. Father was also a good man but he was more practical and had different ideas from Uncle Lapsley. He reasoned that even if the train did lay over and not travel on Sundays that the emigrants would probably not observe the day any better than those who pushed on toward their journey's end. The women would bake, wash, etc., and the young folks get into various kinds of mischief. but most weighty argument of all, the cattle would become so scattered in a whole day's and two nights' layoff that, in his judgment, it was better to keep going. The leaders couldn't agree, so the train was divided, some going on with father and the remainder staying with the Sabbath keepers. Was it a judgment from God that as soon as the decision was made and we began to fail in Sabbath observance dire calamity be- fell us? It certainly looked so. Soon after the separation we overtook an emigrant wagon in which was a sick boy. Mother offered her services to the parents of the lad and did what she could do for them in the way of nursing and simple remedies to relieve the lad's fever. Little did she suspect the nature of the disease she came in contact with. About ten days after encountering the sick boy she was taken down with a raging fever which soon developed into a severe case of black measles. Soon nearly all the young people of the train were inflicted with the dread disease. Of my six brothers one after another died till three graves were made along the roadside. But before Brother Henry died mother, too, was taken. Henry seemed to be getting over the measles and we hoped for a time he might be spared us. One night, after convalescence had set in, we were sitting around the campfire, no longer glee- ful and singing, but oppressed with our dreadful sorrow.
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