Lyman's History of old Walla Walla County, Vol. 1 / Embracing Walla Walla, Columbia, Garfield and Asotin counties

by William Denison Lyman

CHAPTER V

PIONEER REMINISCENCES

This is a chapter of remembrances. The author has felt that the work would be incomplete without some space devoted to the personal experiences of those who made the history. Out of the vast amount of matter which might be available he has selected such narrations as cover the widest range and afford the greatest variety.

Some of these selections are of early letters, the writers of which have long since passed away. A few were prepared originally for the Inland Empire Pioneer Association. The larger number have been written especially for this work by those who are still actively engaged in the affairs of the community. It is with the belief that this collection of actual experiences and observations will constitute a chapter of present interest to the pioneers and will be a source of ever-increasing pleasure and instruction to their descendants, that the author gives it a place as the crowning feature of the book.

We first incorporate a letter by Doctor Whitman, never published before, significant of the life and conditions, as well as the habit of thought and mode of expression of that first stage in the history of Old Walla Walla. Doctor Whitman's letter gives a vivid view of the variety of interests with which he was concerned. It is as follows:

Waiilatpu, September 29, 1845.

Rev. Elkanah Walker.

Dear Brother: I take a moment only to write as Mr. Eells is soon to be off.

The first thing I have to say is, will you send Cyrus here to school this winter in case we have one, which we expect we may? I. W. Gilbert, formerly my day and Sabbath School scholar, has come up from the Willamet and will be likely to winter here, and most likely we may employ him to teach.

If you send you may do well to come this way as you go to Lapwai [Mr. Walker was located at Tshimakain in the Spokane country] and leave Cyrus here.

Few of the immigrants call on us.

Four hundred and fifty wagons passed Fort Hall, but from seventy to one hundred went to California and one hundred left the trail at Malade to go to Waskopum. As they are so early they have no great need of provisions short of The Dalles. Most are now passed.

Mr. Eells can tell you about Mr. Green's letter to me. We can now have little hope of a reinforcement. I do not think it best for me to say anything in relation to the subject hinted at in your first, but may at another time.

I am trying to burn some coal [charcoal] in order to have a little work done in the shop. I hope also to get a millwright for a few days to set the sawmill at work.

We would like scholars enough to take some of our time, the more the better. Mrs. Whitman is anxious also and more than willing to have as many as possible.

With esteem and expectation of seeing you and letting you have a first rate article of corn meal, with our united compliments to you all.

Yours truly,

Marcus Whitman.

A letter of an earlier date than that of Doctor Whitman, by one of the immigrants of 1843, is of great interest for a number of reasons. We give it here as containing the spirit of that first genuine American immigration, the one that sealed the American possession of Oregon.

Waiilatpu, October 27, 1843.

Jesse Looney to John C. Bond,

Greenbush, Warren County, Ill.

Dear Sir: I embrace the opportunity of writing to you from this far western country afforded me by the return of Lieutenant Fremont to the States this winter. He thinks he will be at Independence, Mo., by January next, which will be in time for those who intend coming next season to this country to get some information about the necessary preparations to be ready for the journey.

It is a long and tiresome trip from the States to this country, but the company of emigrants came through safely this season to the number of 1000 persons with something over 100 wagons to this place, which is 250 miles east of the Willamet Valley, and, with the exception of myself and a few others, have all gone on down there, intending to go through this winter if possible. About half of them have traded off their stock at Walla Walla, twenty-five miles below here [he means the Hudson's Bay fort] and are going by water. The balance went on by land to the Methodist Mission, 175 miles below this, intending to take to the water there.

I have stopped here in the Walla Walla Valley to spend the winter, in order to save my stock. This is a fine valley of land, excellent water, good climate, and the finest kind of pine timber on the surrounding mountains, and above all a good range for stock both summer and winter. The Indians are friendly and have plenty of grain and potatoes, and a good many hogs and cattle. The missionaries at this and other missions have raised fine crops of wheat, corn, potatoes, etc., so that provisions can be procured here upon as good or better terms than in the lower settlements at present. Cattle are valuable here, especially American cattle. Things induced me to stop here for the winter, save my stock and take them down in the spring.

In preparing for the journey of Rocky Mountains, you cannot be too particular in choice of a wagon. It should be strong in every part and yet it should not be very heavy. The large size, two-horse Yankee wagons are the most substantial wagons I have seen for this trip. You should haul nothing but your clothing, bedding and provisions. Goods are cheaper here than in the States. Let your main load be provisions—flour and bacon. Put in about as much loading ing as one yoke of cattle can draw handily, and then put on three good yoke of cattle and take an extra yoke for change in case of failure from lameness or sore necks, and you can come without any difficulty. The road is good, much better than we had expected, but is long. Bring all the loose cattle you can, especially milk cows and heifers. Do not attempt to bring calves. They will not come through, and by losing them you will be in danger of losing their mothers.

I cannot urge you too strongly to be sure to bring plenty of provisions; don't depend on the game you may get. You may get some and you may not. It is uncertain. We were about five months on the way to this place, and I had plenty of flour, etc., to do me, but most of the company were out long before they got here, and there is little or nothing in the way of provisions to be had at the forts on the way. I would advise you to lay in plenty for at least five months, for if you get out on the way you will have trouble to get any till you get here. I would advise you to start as soon as the grass will admit. We might have started near a month sooner than we did, and then would have been here in time to have gone through with our cattle this winter. We left Independence, Mo., the 22d of May and we are just about a month too late. Myself and family were all sick when we left and continued till we left Blue River, and the rain and wind, but when we reached the highlands along the Platte we began to mend. My health is better than for years, and so far as I have seen this country I think it is very healthy. There was five or six deaths on the road, some by sickness and some by accident, and there were eight or ten births. Upon the whole we fared much better than we expected. We had no interruptions from the Indians. Our greatest difficulty was in crossing rivers. Mrs. L. says prepare with good strong clothing or sage brush will strip you.

This shrub is very plenty, and was hard on our teams, especially those that went before, but it will not be so bad on those that come next year, for we have left a plain, well beaten road all the way. I will have a better opportunity of giving you accounts of this country next spring, and I want you to write the first chance and to direct to the settlement of Willamet.

So no more, but remain,

Your brother till death,

Jesse Looney.

In connection with these letters dealing with the mission at Waiilatpu and the immigration of 1843, we wish to include two of much interest, not hitherto published, both dealing with Doctor Whitman. These are letters of much later date than the preceding, though pertaining to the times of the mission.

The first of these is by Perrin Whitman to W. H. Gray. Perrin Whitman lived many years at Lewiston and was well known in all that region.

Letter from Perrin Whitman to W. H. Gray:

Lapwai Station, October 11, 1880.

About the 20th of April, 1843, I left Rushville, Yates County, N. Y., with Dr. Marcus Whitman (my uncle) for Oregon. I distinctly remember of his telling his mother and friends that his visit with them would be necessarily short, as he had on his way east from Oregon, notified all who were desirous of emigrating to Oregon to rendezvous at Westport and Independence, Mo., and that he would pilot them with their wagons across the Rocky Mountains to the Columbia River. The immigration, consisting of about one hundred and twenty wagons, left the Missouri line about the last of May and reached Waiilatpu (Walla Walla Valley) about the 5th of the following September.

The doctor piloted them the whole distance, as he had promised to do. Gen. J. C. Fremont (at that time a lieutenant) arrived at Waiilatpu with his Government train across the plains a few weeks after the arrival of our immigration.

Doctor Whitman's trip east in the winter of 1842 and '43 was for the double purpose of bringing the immigration across the plains, also prevent, if possible, the trading off of this northwest coast to the British Government. I learned from him that the Mission Board censured him in strong terms for having left his missionary duty and engaged in another so foreign from the one they had sent him to perform. While crossing the plains I repeatedly heard the doctor express himself as being very anxious to succeed in opening a wagon road across the continent to the Columbia River, and thereby stay, if not entirely prevent, the trade of this northwest coast, then pending between the United States and the British Government.

In after years the doctor with much pride and satisfaction reverted to his success in bringing the immigration across the plains and thought it one of the means of saving Oregon to his Government. I remained with him continuously till August, 1847, when he sent me to The Dalles. He was murdered the following November.

The above statement is correct and true, so help me God.

P. B. Whitman.

The next letter is from Judge O. S. Pratt, the territorial judge who presided at the trial of the Indians implicated in the Whitman massacre. It was addressed to Mrs. Catherine Sager Pringle, one of the adopted children of Doctor Whitman, evidently in response to inquiries for information.

While the facts which it states might be known from other sources, it is of much interest as a summary of the permanent views of Judge Pratt upon the life and character of Doctor Whitman.

San Francisco, March 4, 1882.

Dear Madam: In my reply to your letter of January 20th last, I wrote you I thought the late Doctor Whitman was born in Ontario County, N. Y. I said I would soon know as I had just written to a friend who had the means of knowing the doctor's birthplace and would be likely to send me exact information on the subject. In reply to a letter, which I caused to be written to Mrs. Henry F. Wisewell, residing at Naples in Ontario County, N. Y., who is the doctor's sister and the only surviving member of his father's family, I received today, under date of February 22, 1882, an answer dictated by her, stating that "Marcus Whitman was born in Rushville, Ontario County, N. Y., September 4, 1802—the county then being very wild and new. In infancy he narrowly escaped death by burning, his cradle having taken fire from a brand falling out of the fireplace, when left alone. His father died in April, 1810; the same fall the son was sent to Plainfield, Mass., to live with his grandparents. He then attended school and returned to Rushville when eighteen years old. At the latter place he studied medicine and received a diploma at the Fairfield (N. Y.) Medical College. He thereafter practiced medicine a short time in Canada, and afterwards for a few years near his native place. The Rev. Mr. Parker of Ithaca, N. Y., while preaching in the interior of that state on behalf of the Northwestern Indians, became acquainted with Doctor Whitman; and the latter having become deeply interested in Mr. Parker's efforts, first went with him to explore Oregon in the spring of 1835, and returned to his native village about Christmas of the same year, bringing with him two Indian boys. They were sent to school and learned rapidly and were soon able to read well and write legibly.

"In February, 1836, the doctor married Miss Narcissa Prentiss, a resident of Prattsburg, N. Y., and not far from his native village, who, with the doctor and the Rev. and Mrs. Spalding and the Indian boys, left April, 1836, for Oregon, their mission field, traveling west of the Mississippi, with pack horses and mules. Mrs. Whitman and Mrs. Spalding are understood to have been the first white women who ever crossed the Rocky Mountains. The doctor thereafter returned but once, starting October 7, 1842, and reached New York April 2, 1843, having suffered many hardships by the way, sleeping for the most part on the ground, and being at one time without food five days, and in his greatest extremity was compelled to kill his dogs to sustain life. From New York, before visiting his family, he hurried to Washington on his mission with the Government, which was to secure, if possible, Oregon to the United States. Not long afterwards he returned to his home west of the Rocky Mountains, and was, as is well known, massacred with his wife and others by the Indians, November 29, 1847."

I trust the foregoing, which may rightly be treated as authentic, will leave no uncertainty as to the birthplace and some of the important facts connected with the history of the late Doctor Whitman's useful life.

Respectfully yours,

O. S. Pratt.

Turning now from the letters to special contributions we will first present one dealing with the Cayuse war, following the great tragedy at Waiilatpu. This contains the personal experience of W. W. Walter, an immigrant to the Walla Walla country of 1859. He lived many years near Prescott. This article was written from his dictation by his daughter, Mrs. Pettyjohn.

CAYUSE INDIAN WAR

By W. W. Walter

In December, 1847, word reached the settlements in Oregon that the Cayuse Indians had killed Doctor Whitman and wife and twelve others. A runner carried the word to Vancouver, and a messenger was at once dispatched to Oregon City to Governor Abernethy, while Peter Skeen Ogden, factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, with a small company of Hudson's Bay men set out at once for the scene of the massacre—where he accomplished his wonderful work of ransoming the white captives held by the Indians.

"No other power on earth," says Joe Meek, the American, "could have rescued those prisoners from the hands of the Indians." And no man better than Mr. Meek understood the Indian character, or the Hudson's Bay Company's power over them.

The Oregon Legislature was in session when the message from Vancouver arrived, telling of the massacre. A call was made at once for fifty riflemen to proceed at once to The Dalles—to guard the settlements below from an invasion of the Indians. This company was known as the "First Oregon Riflemen."

Word came that the Cayuse Indians were coming to kill all the settlers in Oregon, and it was deemed best to meet the hostiles on their own ground.

After the first fifty men had started for The Dalles, five companies of volunteers were organized. I went from Tualatin County (now Washington) in Capt. Lawrence Hall's company of volunteers—every man furnishing his own horse and equipment—every one who could contribute a gun, or a little powder and lead—that was the way we got our munitions of war.

We rendezvoused at Portland, awaiting marching orders, which were given about January 1, 1848. We were in Portland a week or more, and I remember myself and some other lads made a ride back to the Plains to attend a dance—Christmas week.

About January 1, 1848, we started for the Cayuse Country, three hundred men, all told—we marched across the country and ferried over the Columbia at Vancouver. There the Hudson's Bay Company let us have a cannon, and it was an elephant on our hands.

From Vancouver we traveled up the north side of the Columbia (dragging that old cannon along) to a place above the Cascades where we built a ferry boat and crossed the river again to the south side and followed up the trails to the Dalles. We still kept our cannon, making portages with it, and at the Dalles mounted the thing on a wagon. The fifty men stationed there to hold the Mission were greatly annoyed by the Indians, and just after we arrived a report was brought in that there were hostile Indians up the Deschutes River, and two of our men on horse guard were decoyed by the Indians and killed. It happened thus: The Indians stripped their horses and let them graze near the guards, giving the impression they were loose horses. Our men thought them their own horses and went after them, when the Indians, who were concealed in the grass with ropes on their horses, fired and killed the two men. Those were the first men killed in the war.

So when we heard of the Indians up the Deschutes we were anxious for a fight and started for them. The battleground was at the mouth of Tygh Creek on the ridge where we, as emigrants, had come down the Deschutes hill two years before. We met the Indians early in the morning. The first we knew of their whereabouts we saw them formed in line on the front of a high hill. To reach them we had to climb that hill, facing their fire. We left our horses and took it afoot up that hill, but they did not stand long—we soon routed them—we had but one man wounded. We followed up with continuous firing on both sides—then we had our horses brought up and gave chase. As the country was level on top the hill we followed them five or six miles—they outstripped us, as they had splendid fresh horses; we skirmished all that day—camped on the hill at night, then the next day followed on until we reached their deserted camp. There we found a very old and feeble Indian man and woman—too old to travel. They were deserted and alone, with a little pile of food lying by them. They refused to talk, so we learned nothing from them—so we left them undisturbed and returned to the Dalles, where we fitted up some old emigrant wagons and got some emigrant cattle and Mission cattle, and made up a train of wagons to haul what little supplies we had with us. We now started for the upper country, following the old emigrant road.

We had our next encounter with the Indians at Wells Springs between Willow Creek and Butter Creek. We camped there for the night—in the morning we had just gotten out of camp when we began to see Indians—Indians in every direction, in squads of ten and fifty, just coming thick. There were enough of them to eat up our little band of three hundred. We went only about a mile and a half when Col. Gilliam called a halt and we began preparations for a fight.

It was estimated over one thousand Indians were on the ground. A party of chiefs came out and called for a talk. Col. Gilliam, Tom McKay, Charlie McKay and Mungo, the interpreter, went out to meet them. When they met it was learned there were Indians from all the northern tribes besides the Cayuses. There were Coeur d'Alenes, Flatheads, Pend d'Oreilles and Spokanes.

The Cayuses had sent runners to all the different tribes telling them the Whites in Oregon had killed all the Catholics and Hudson's Bay men who were friends to these Northern Indians—they told them they had killed Tom McKay, their best friend, and were now coming to kill them and take their country. But when an old chief met the commission, he saw and recognized old Tom McKay and knew then they had been deceived and asked an explanation.

When Tom McKay, who was intimately acquainted with those northern Indians, and whose influence over them exceeded that of any other man in the country, told them the true story and that they were only up there to punish the murderers of Dr. Whitman and people, the old Flathead chief promised to take no part and to draw off all except the Cayuses. When the haughty Cayuse chief, named Grey Eagle, heard this he was so enraged he turned on McKay and said, "I'll kill you, Tom McKay," and drew his gun to fire, but McKay was too quick for him and fired first, killing the chief.

Grey Eagle was a great medicine man, and had boasted he could swallow all the bullets fired at him and McKay shot him in the mouth. As the Indians turned to run, Charlie McKay shot Five Crows, breaking his arm, but he escaped. It will be remembered he was the Indian who held captive a girl from the Mission. Five Crows, however, shot the powder horn off McKay, so you can see they were in pretty close quarters.

We boys gave McKay great credit for the service he done us—for our little band of three hundred looked pretty small compared with the foe.

Now, the battle was fairly on. The Northern Indians drew off on a hill and the Cayuses made a dash on us, about six hundred strong, all well mounted, riding in a circle and firing whenever a chance came. The Indians never left their horses—if they dismounted, the horse was fastened to the rider. When an Indian was killed we would always find the horse standing by his fallen rider, usually tied by the hair rope to his wrist.

(The horse rode by Grey Eagle was a beautiful gray, and McKay's son Alec rode him many years.) The fight lasted the whole day long—that cannon that had caused so much vexation of spirit was of but little use, as the Indians scattered so—it was fired a few times at a squad of Indians at long range—it served more to terrorize them than to kill, as it made a tremendous noise and they no doubt thought it great medicine. It was an impressive sight to see those hundreds of Northern Indians, splendidly mounted and armed after the Indian fashion, sitting on their horses at one side all day long, watching the progress of the fight. What a picture that would have made!

We camped that night on the battleground, but the next morning the Indians were gone. I think neither side could claim a victory. As we traveled that day Indians kept in sight all day, but did not interfere with us until we reached the Mission at Waiilatpu, where we performed the sad duty of gathering up the remains of the martyrs and burying them. We found parts of bodies lying around, scattered about. We found a skull with a tomahawk wound in it—we supposed it was that of Mrs. Whitman. We also found locks of her beautiful yellow hair in the yard. It was taken to Oregon City and placed among the Oregon State Documents.

We made a sort of stockade by building a wall breast high of adobe from the old buildings—also built a corral for the horses by placing rails end in the ground, and corraled the horses every night and guarded them by day. We slaughtered what cattle we could find and jerked the meat so we would have supplies in case we were corraled by the Indians. We subsisted on Indian and Mission cattle—no bread.

After getting settled in camp, parts of two companies, myself one of the number, escorted Joe Meek and his party to the snow line of the Blue Mountains as he started on his famous trip across the continent at midwinter, as an agent from Oregon, to ask protection of the United States Government for the suffering settlers in the wilds of Oregon. He was accompanied by Squire Ebberts and Nat Bowman, both mountain men, and three others. So we left the little party to pursue their journey amid untold perils while we returned to Fort Waters, as the Mission was now called. This was in February. About the first of March about eighty-five or ninety men were called to go out on a raid to gather up what cattle we could and learn what we could of the whereabouts of the hostiles. My company went, as we were the best mounted men in the command. Not thinking to be gone long, we rode light and took no provisions.

We traveled what was long known as the Nez Perces trails, cross the country to Copeii, where we were met by two friendly Indians. They told as the Cayuses were camped at the mouth of Tucanon. Our interpreter, Mungo, said he could pilot us there. We concluded to hunt them up.

So at dark we started going down Copeii, then across the country to Tucanon to where Starbuck now is. There we crossed and followed down the creek, reaching the encampment just at break of day. Just as we crossed Tucanon we ran onto an Indian guard, but he got away and ran to camp—so when we got near camp two Indians came out with a white flag. I will state here that runners had been sent with word that if friendly Indians would raise a flag of truce they would not be molested, as we were only seeking to punish the Cayuses. So when they sent out the flag and asked for a talk, Col. Gilliam went forward. They claimed to be Palouses and friendly to the Whites. Said the Cayuses had gone across Snake River, but had left lots of stock behind which they would turn over to the volunteers, and that they would go out and gather them in for us. So they began running in horses and cattle, we helping—and all went merrily along. However, we soon noticed the lodges going down as by magic and the boys on the hill saw them busily ferrying their families over the river, and asked why they were moving. They said their women were afraid of the Whites and wished to go. So by their cunning manœuvres they had detained us half a day, and we, without any food since the early morning before, were beginning to feel pretty hungry.

When they had delivered up all the stock, Col. Gilliam said we would drive out to grass and camp and eat. So we started out, but soon discovered we had been duped the worst way. They were the Cayuses—even the real murderers were there, and they were after us. Now there was no thought of eating. Indians on every side, yelling like demons, calling us women—afraid to fight. It was a running fight all day long and we were still holding the stock at night—in McKay Hollow, where we strung along the little hollow seeking shelter from the Indians by hiding behind the banks. We did not dare kindle a fire. On examination it was found thirty volunteers were wounded, but not dangerously. Our ammunition was about exhausted and we were half famished.

The older men and officers evidently realized we were in a pretty serious predicament, but we young boys had no idea of the danger we were in, not as I see it now. During the night Gilliam ordered the stock turned loose—as we were now about out of ammunition he hoped by turning the stock loose to get rid of the Indians. The boys objected to that move, but instead of the Indians leaving us that only renewed their courage. They thought we were giving up, and attacked us more savagely than ever. We were pretty well hidden and in no immediate danger, so we saved our ammunition and only fired when sure of an Indian—they frequently came in range when circling around us. In the morning they still hung on our heels. As we started out they followed us on—calling to Mungo repeatedly, asking why we did not stop to fight, while he abused them in return.

The Indians would drop behind until a bunch of us were a distance from the command, then make a dash, trying to cut us off, and we surely were not cautious. Tom Cornelius, Pete Engart and myself were a little behind when an Indian shot Engart in the calf of the leg. He fell from his horse, saying he was killed. Tom and I jumped from our horses and shook him up and told him he was not hurt—he gave up. We finally threw him up astride his horse—we cursed him and told him to ride—and he rode. By this time the Indians were on us and the boys ahead had not missed us. I tell you we made a race for it, one of us on each side of the wounded man, but we made it.

Another time that day Mungo's horse was shot from under him. Tom Cornelius and I saw him fall and ran back to him. He had stopped to take his saddle—we were just in time, as the Indians were coming pell-mell, shouting, "We've got Mungo." I took Mungo behind me and Tom took his saddle and away we went. This was the way we were at it all the way, some one in close quarters all the time.

Mungo told the Cayuses we would fight when we reached the Touchet and got water. Then began the race for the first stand at the Touchet. The Indians beat us on the lower side, but we headed them off above the ford. Some Indians hid in the brush and shot at our men as they passed on the trail. We were trying to get our wounded men across, but the Indians were killing horses and men. I was in the company up the creek. When we came down, Col. Gilliam told Lieut. Engart to rout those ambushed Indians. Engart called for volunteers to go in after them. I was one with twenty others. We started for the hiding place, skirting along the brush, expecting any minute to run on them. When we did find them, not more than five or six of us were together in the lead, and the Indians were firing at another squad of men some distance away—we were within thirty feet of them. I fired and hit my Indian just as he turned to run, striking him in the back of the head. He fell and I stepped back behind a bush to reload, when another man ran in and stood in my place; as he did so the Indian rolled over and fired at him, killing him. Just then Nate Olney, an old Indian fighter, ran in with a tomahawk and made a good Indian of him. He scalped him and I carried the grewsome trophy at my saddle horn when I returned home. We killed about sixty Indians there. It was hard to make an estimate of how many, as they carried their dead away unless too hard pressed.

All during this battle the chief sat on his horse on the rocky point just above Bolles Junction [the present junction] and gave command and encouragement in a loud and stentorian voice. He could be heard for miles. Finally a bullet sped his way and he was killed—and he being the medicine man, the battle ceased and a council was called. We were now across the Touchet. We were carrying our wounded men on litters made by stretching blankets on willow poles—taking turns carrying—that was a hard job. As we began to climb the hill beyond the Touchet we heard the Indians let up their death-wail—they were gathered together on those low hills just north the Bolles Junction depot.

We traveled on to Dry Creek that day; there we went into camp and spying some Indian horses on the prairie, myself with some others ran in a bunch, near some brush where some of our men were hidden, and as they passed, shot two. That was the first horse meat I had tried to eat, but it made me sick—though they were young unbroken horses. I was sure they tasted of the saddle blanket—suggestion, I suppose. When we woke next morning there was four or five inches of snow on our blankets—we had no tents.

A runner had been sent on to the Mission and a wagon sent out for our wounded men. My bunkie and I got up early, mounted our horses and rode on to the Mission that morning. The boys soon were preparing provisions for the famishing troops, but after starving so long the smell of food cooking made me sick and I could not eat until the next morning. Some of the boys were so ravenous they had to be restrained or they would have killed themselves eating.

Now we laid around camp, getting into mischief, and I learned to smoke. The only regular rations issued us was tobacco—and the smokers seemed to take such comfort in the pipe, I too indulged.

When we came into the Indian country Gilliam told us we could have any Indian horses we captured. I was pretty handy with a rope and got away with three head from the battle at the Touchet. One, a fine horse rode by a chief, I was particularly proud of. A big burly Dutchman in another company also coveted that horse, so one morning he put his rope on him and led him into camp. I at once claimed the horse and proceeded to make good my claim. He resisted and we got into a "scrap"; he had friends, so had I. All took sides—it was decided we fight for possession; the winner to get him. That suited me all right—so at it we went. Men say it was a hard fight, but I won and took the horse to lead him off, when an under officer, a friend of the Dutchman, stepped up and took hold of the rope, saying, "I'll take this horse." I was only a boy of nineteen years, but I did not intend to give up the horse without a struggle, and was considering the consequences of hitting an officer when Colonel Gilliam walked unobserved into the ring, cut the rope behind the officer's hand, handed the rope to me and walked away without a word. I tell you I was the proudest boy in that camp—and after the colonel was gone I could not resist crowing at the Dutchman in true boy fashion. This is just an example of how justice was meted out in the army of volunteers.

In the spring about two hundred recruits came. We now numbered about five hundred men. Then a party set out for north of Snake River to hunt Indians. I was with the company. We crossed the Snake at the mouth of the Palouse—we made a camp at Little Falls—were at Big Lake on Cow Creek and all over the upper country, but failed to find any number of Indians. We fired a few shots at stragglers now and then, but had no regular engagement. The Cayuse warriors had scattered about among other tribes, many going over the mountains to wait until the soldiers left the country.

A detachment of men was sent to Walker's Mission, called Tshimakain, where Walker and Eells and their families were located as missionaries among the Spokanes. We got the families and brought them back with us. We came back across country, crossing Snake River at the mouth of Alpowa Creek to an Indian encampment known as Red Wolf's Land—then we returned to Waiilatpu. This expedition went out the first of May. Sometime in June we began our return trip to Oregon, having been out about six months.

I remember while camped in the Umatilla country I was breaking an Indian horse to ride—and he would throw himself whenever I mounted. I had become pretty mad at his persistence in lying down, so concluded to tie him down until he would be willing to stand up. I did so and left him close to camp—but in the morning I was minus a horse—the wolves had eaten him up. We had much to learn in those days.

On this trip Colonel Gilliam was killed accidentally. In pulling a gun from a wagon it caught in a rope and was discharged, killing him. He was a good man and a good officer, well liked by all his men, as he was a friend to all.

We arrived at Oregon City a few days before the Fourth of July. The Governor rode out and reviewed the troops, as we were on parade. Every man had his horse decked out in Indian trappings and we were as wild as a band of Indians. Crowds of people had gathered to welcome us home. The Governor made us a short talk and dismissed us. Thus ended the organization of Oregon's First Mounted Volunteers—we all scattered out to our homes.—Thus ends Mr. Walter's article.

Another of the pioneers of '59 was W. S. Gilliam, son of the Colonel Gilliam referred to in Mr. Walter's article. Mr. Gilliam was one of the most honored and useful of Walla Walla's pioneers. A number of years ago he prepared a contribution for the Pioneer Association which we are presenting here. We are making selections on account of the length of the article. The first pertains to the journey across the plains in 1844, and gives a view of some of the interesting events there:

"The next morning a sight opened up to us that can never be seen again by mortal man. As far as the eye could reach up the valley of the South Platte and as far on the bluffs as we could see was black with buffaloes. The quantity of the buffaloes was one thing that the early travelers could not exaggerate.

"Under the guidance of Mr. Sublette we struck across the country from the last mentioned camp to the North Platte. In the course of the day we descried a large band of buffaloes under full headway, making directly for the train. We hastily gathered our guns and put ourselves in position, and as soon as the head of the herd came in shooting distance we commenced firing on them and succeeded as we thought, luckily, in turning them around the rear of the train. I think I may safely say that while we were in the buffalo country we were hardly ever out of sight of the animals.

"We struck the North Platte the next day and traveled up the stream most of the way to Fort Laramie, where we laid by a day. We met Mr. Joseph Walker here, who was a noted mountaineer and also an old friend of my father's. He happened to be going our way as far as Fort Bridger and made a very acceptable guide for us.

"The day we laid by I was taken with a very violent fever and remember but little that happened till we got to Sweet Water, where I became convalescent. I remember seeing Independence Rock, covered with names innumerable, and the Devil's Gate, where the river had cut its way through a hill, leaving perpendicular banks perhaps a hundred feet high and a gorge not any wider than the stream.

"We followed up Sweet Water several days to a point where we left it to our right and took into the South Pass across the Rocky Mountains. After a moderate day's travel we camped at the Pacific Springs, the first water that we had encountered that flowed westward. I remember that we felt quite jubilant over the affair and thought that this was quite a circumstance in our journey. In passing over the country from here to Fort Bridger we crossed the two Sandies, Green River, and Ham's Fork. We stopped a day at the fort and next day, it being the first day of September, we started a northerly course across the country to Bear River. We followed down this stream to the Soda Springs, which was a great wonder to us. On an area of perhaps one hundred acres hundreds of springs boiled up, many in the bed of the river."

Following this is an estimate of Captain Grant, the Hudson's Bay commandant at Fort Hall. As the character of Captain Grant has been the subject of controversy, the views of Mr. Gilliam have much interest:

"We camped here and next morning when we started we left the river, and after traveling some sixty or seventy miles we reached Fort Hall, then a Hudson's Bay Company trading post, where Mr. Grant was chief factor. Here a circumstance occurred that has caused me through life to regard Grant as a bad hearted man. Peter H. Burnett, a noted man of the previous emigration, had written a letter of instruction and encouragement and sent it to Grant with instructions that he should read it to the emigrants when they reached Fort Hall. When we arrived there the letter was called for and Grant read it to us. It was a very welcome note, giving us useful instructions about the route and strong encouragement about the country we were going to. But you can hardly conceive of the barrels of cold water he poured onto Mr. Burnett's words of encouragement. The circumstances were such that such a proceeding was of no profit or benefit to him or the company he was serving, for it was next to impossible for us to turn back. We were from the very nature of our situation compelled to go ahead, and he well knew that his discouragement could avail nothing towards stopping us. I have never been able to regard him as a good man."

A retrospect by Mr. Gilliam, and an account of settlement in the Willamette Valley contains matter of interest:

"It may be well enough to take a retrospect of things as they were then and compare them with things as they are now. We traveled through the territory that now constitutes the states of Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah, Idaho and well through Oregon, and in all this vast region we did not find one single home, unless you, by a strained construction, call a mission or trading post a home. There were a thousand miles of this journey, which required six months to perform it. We stood guard to protect our lives and property from hostile Indians. This being the year that Polk was elected president, the earliest news that we got of it was in July following, and we considered ourselves rather fortunate in getting it thus early; it having come by ship, when in fact we did not expect to get it until the arrival of the emigrants in the fall. When a presidential election occurs now if we do not get the news the next day we feel that we are unfortunate in being deprived of the news so long.

"I took my first trip back three years ago. I was three days in making it, and on the route found two large cities, Salt Lake and Denver, and seemingly happy homes everywhere, and made the trip in a comfortable manner that was undreamed of in those early days.

"Well, to return. We wintered where the town of Cornelius now stands, about eighty rods south of the depot, with Messrs. Waters and Emerick, who were keeping batch at that time. The winter was very mild, which impressed us very favorably with the climate.

"In February father went up the country to select a land claim. I think his was the first claim taken south of the Rickreall. The town of Dallas stands on part of it. He came back with a glowing account of the country he had seen and particularly of the place that he had selected for a home. So we got ready and as early in March as traveling was good we started for our new home. We arrived there the 16th of March, it being Sunday. The whole country was a natural park, and, combined with the ideal spring day that we reached there, made it seem to me like dreamland.

"We went to work in good earnest building a log cabin, but before we could complete it we were overtaken by the equinoctial storm, which gave us some very serious discomfort. The next thing to do was to put in some garden and sow some wheat. Will say that nature gave us a bountiful yield in both field and garden.

"During this season we suffered some privations in food. For instance, at times we had to substitute boiled wheat for bread. It is hardly necessary to say that we did not do this from choice, but having plenty of wild meat, milk and butter, we could have a meal that would hardly pass muster now, but I can assure you that a person would be a long time starving to death on it. We never had any shortage of breadstuffs after the first season, for there was a grist-mill built in the immediate neighborhood the next year, where we could get flour any time."

Mr. Gilliam's brief reference to Dr. Whitman is of special value:

"A large share of the immigrants who wintered at Dr. Whitman's during the season settled in our immediate neighborhood and I learned a great deal about the Doctor's character from them. It seemed as if he had made a deep impression on them, for they talked a great deal about him, and from their talk I came to have a high regard for him. They told me that he would come home from Wallula, a distance of twenty-five miles, before breakfast, or if necessary go up to where they were building the sawmill, a distance of eighteen miles, before breakfast. In fact, his energy seemed to have no bounds and no obstacle with him seemed insurmountable. It was this summer of 1845 that he visited Willamette Valley and while there he called on my father, and as it happened I was away from home and therefore failed to see him, a circumstance that I have always regretted, more especially since he has become such an important figure in history."

The portraiture of early conditions in the Willamette, reference to his father's death, gold discovery, and then settlement in the Walla Walla country follow:

"The immigration of 1847 brought from Washington City father's appointment as postal agent with instructions from the Post Office Department concerning the same. On a recent visit with my sister at Dallas, Ore., who has all the papers, I had the pleasure of inspecting them anew. I found them queer reading from our standpoint.

"In the fall of 1847 father disposed of the place we settled on and moved up the country about twelve miles and bought a place on Pedee. This fall one of my sisters married. In the meantime some Indians had become acquainted with us and were living in the immediate neighborhood. They took some interest in the wedding and were very curious to know what her husband gave for her, it being their custom to sell their daughters into marriage. They were surprised beyond measure when told that she was given to him.

"It was November of this year that the Whitman massacre occurred. Father was at once notified that he was requested to take command and of the volunteers that were to be raised to march against the hostile Indians. He left home abruptly early in December, never to return. His death was the heaviest blow that has ever befallen me.

"The next year was one long to be remembered in Oregon. It was the year of the discovery of gold in California. It was late in August that reports of the discovery began to reach Oregon. They reported the mines to be so rich that at first they were discredited; but they were soon confirmed in such a way as to relieve all doubts. It would be hard to exaggerate the excitement that was raised upon the confirmation of the news. In fact, it would be hard to excite a community in any other way to the pitch ours was on this occasion, more especially when we consider how small it was. Everybody that could get away dropped their business and left. My brother-in-law and I rigged ourselves out with a saddle horse and pack-horse apiece and started. We had to travel through the Rogue River and Klamath countries in considerable bands to protect ourselves against the hostile Indians, but by the time we got to where it was dangerous we had fallen in with plenty of company, so we had no trouble on that score. We passed through the hostile country without being attacked or having any horses stolen. In fact, to me it was a trip that afforded me some of the keenest kind of pleasure, new scenery every day and some of it, Mt. Shasta, for instance, was of the grandest kind. It was the first time I had left the parental roof.

"When we got well into the Sacramento Valley, just after we had struck camp, an acquaintance rode into camp with his pack-horse and proceeded to camp with us. He had a thrilling story to tell of his previous night's experience. It seemed that the company he traveled with through the hostile country were highly disagreeable to him, so when they reached the Sacramento Valley, where the Indians were friendly, he tore himself away from it and was traveling alone. During the first day of his lone travel he bought a salmon of the Indians. When he camped that night he cooked part of the salmon for supper and laid the balance within a few feet of where he made his bed. After retiring, while looking out into the increasing gloom, he saw an approaching form that looked as large as a covered wagon. His bearship, for such it was, very coolly and unconcernedly appropriated the remainder of the salmon and sat down within a few feet of him and quietly ate it. After eating he still sat there, seeming to ponder on what to do next. In the meantime the campfire got into the dry grass and burnt towards where Mr. Bear was sitting. When it got unpleasantly near him he slowly moved away and disappeared. Some Indians were at the camp in the morning and were shown the track. They assured him the best they could that he was very fortunate in not being served up for a supper for Mr. Bear. When he reached our camp and narrated the circumstance he remarked that he had concluded that he would not camp alone any more.

"I went into the mines and worked with only fair success until late next spring, when I became homesick, and not appreciating the opportunities as I would have in later life, I returned home, where I arrived the 16th of June, 1849.

"After resting a few days I visited a camp meeting that was in progress near Salem. I had visited the meeting at the same grounds the year before. I was very forcibly impressed with the difference in the dress of the people in the two years. The first year, before California had poured her wealth of gold into the country, the people were dressed in very plain pioneer style, the men in buckskin pants with the balance of the suit corresponding, the women in calicoes and muslin. But this year it was very evident that they had freely availed themselves of the privilege that the great quantity of gold that had found its way to Oregon gave them to improve their attire, for in the case of the men broadcloth had taken the place of buckskin, and in the women silks and satins had replaced calico and gingham.

"In 1851 there was a vacancy in the sheriff's office and I was appointed by the county commissioners to fill the vacancy. During my incumbency, in the discharge of my duty as sheriff, it fell to my lot to execute a death warrant by hanging a man by the name of Everman, who had committed a very foul murder. It was not a very pleasant duty to perform and most certainly one that I never wanted to be called on to repeat. This was the first execution for murder in Polk County, and I think the second in the territory, excepting the Indians that were hung at Oregon City for the murder of Doctor Whitman and others.

"There was another circumstance that grew out of the murder case that gave me the unenviable distinction of being the only man that ever put up a white man at auction and sold him to the highest bidder. The man in question was a brother of the above murderer. He was found guilty of being accessory to the murder after the fact, which would entitle him to a term in the penitentiary. There was no penitentiary in the territory at that time, and the judge in sentencing him to a term made the provision in the order that in default of there being a penitentiary he be sold to the highest bidder for the same term that he was sentenced to the penitentiary. Some of my lawyer friends tell me that the judge assumed a very doubtful right in so sentencing the culprit; but no legal move was made to invalidate the judge's order, so the matter rested.

"The above execution occurred on the 11th of May, 1852. That year my future wife crossed the plains and settled in the neighborhood where I lived. After a year's acquaintance we were married and moved onto a donation claim that I had three miles northwest of Dallas. At this time I was engaged in cattle raising.

"We lived here until 1859, when I became disgusted with the long, wet, dreary winters. That, coupled with the growing shortage of public pasturage, caused us to sell and seek a country with less winter rains and more public range. From what we could hear of the Walla Walla country we concluded that the winter weather and range were about what we wanted, so we at once decided to emigrate thither. In July I gathered up the cattle and started. The journey was somewhat tedious, a part of it being over dusty roads and the weather at times hot. I reached Dry Creek at Mr. Aldrich's place, early in August. I bought a man's claim just above the Aldrich place. I stayed some two weeks getting the cattle settled on the range. I started back for the family the first day of September, traveling with saddle-and pack-horse.

"On my way back I had the good fortune to fall in with an immigrant who had been in Oregon and knew the locality where my land was, to sell him my farm, and was thus relieved from being detained on that account.

"I reached home in twelve days after leaving Dry Creek and found the folks all well. We hurriedly made arrangements for our departure to the place that I had selected for our new home. We bundled our household goods into a wagon, bade good-bye to our friends and started. We drove over the country to Portland, where we put the wagon and team on the boat and got on ourselves, and finally landed at The Dalles. From there we took the wagon to Walla Walla, arriving at our new home the 23rd of October.

"There was nothing there in the shape of a house but a miserable hut that would neither protect us from the rain or cold. Therefore it was very important to build a house at the earliest possible time. I took a man with me into the mountains to assist me in getting out the timbers, and put another one to hauling them as fast as we got them cut; so it was but a few days till we had the material on the ground with which to build a cabin. We at once put it up and finished it so as to make it endurable for the winter.

"This was a tolerably severe winter, a great deal of snow and cold weather; but the stock got through in good shape for the reason that the grass was fine in the late fall, which put them in good shape to withstand bad weather; and the country was all open so that they could range on to the creeks and browse when the grass was covered with snow. As to ourselves, we got along fairly well in the line of provisions, but I can assure you we did not enjoy any delicacies. We had plenty of bread, meat and potatoes, but as to the bread I remember that at times I had to work for it. When the flour was low I had to take corn to a neighbor's who had a steel hand mill, and grind it into meal. I think any person who has ever had the experience of grinding on a hand mill, in the matter of recollection will be like myself, that is, he will remember it.

"When spring came, the first I did was to gather up the cattle that had got considerably scattered. When that was attended to we went to seeding and planting garden. The season being very favorable everything planted grew luxuriantly. I have never since seen such a crop of potatoes as we raised that year. We estimated the crop at 600 bushels per acre, and I am inclined to believe that it was over rather than under the estimate. I often hear people remark that it rains more now than when the country was first settled. I can confidently say that there has never been a season in which more rain fell in summer season, with possibly the exception of 1862, than fell this season of 1860. I heard remarked that had it not been for the peculiar nature of our soil that readily absorbed it the crops would have been generally drowned out. I look back upon this season as being one of the most enjoyable of my life. The summer was all that we could want it to be. I heartily enjoyed looking over the beautiful country, fresh from the hands of nature and unmarred by the hands of man; everything seemed to smile. The country became endeared to me and I have never seriously thought of making any other place my home.

"To give an idea of how little people then in the country knew of its value, when it was being surveyed it was talked among the people that it was a waste of Government money to survey it, for the reason that there was so little of it fit for settlement; and today you could not get an acre of that land for less than forty dollars. [At present date about a hundred and forty.] It was universally believed that all the country was worth anything for was its grazing qualities, excepting the low bottoms, which were known to be very productive. Everybody who came to the country then came with the intention of raising stock on the fine pasturage that the country afforded. Nobody came with the intention of farming, for the reason that it was thought that a very small part of the country would produce grain.

"In 1861 I was elected a member of the Territorial Legislature, which I have always thought was unfortunate for me, for the reason that the following winter was the hard winter and my presence at home would have been very desirable and beneficial to my interests. As soon as the legislature adjourned, although the severe weather was still in evidence, I started at once for home. We traveled in public conveyance as far as Monticello. We found the Columbia thoroughly frozen up and waited a few days, hoping that there might be a breakup, but as the bad weather continued and showed no signs of a change, Mr. Moore, a member of the Legislature, and I concluded to start on foot for The Dalles. It was one of the hardest trips I ever had. We traveled mostly on the ice, but at times would take to the land, where trails were beaten between neighbors in the snow who lived along the shore. We were fortunate enough to find lodging every night and to procure meals when we wanted them.

"After about a week of weary traveling we reached The Dalles, where we got saddle horses. A Wells, Fargo & Co. messenger fell in with us here, which swelled our company to three. We had traveled a couple of days when my two comrades became badly afflicted with snow blindness. The trail had been broken through the snow, but had later filled up with fresh snow. It took the practiced eye to follow it. My comrades being snowblinded it devolved on me to lead and break the way. The weather at times was intensely cold, but we found lodging every night except one; luckily for us, it happened to be one of the mildest nights we had, and with some blankets we passed the night fairly comfortably.

"We reached Walla Walla about the last of February. The war was raging then to such an extent and travel impeded that we brought news that was six weeks old.

"I found my folks all well and hearty, but the destruction of our stock was something frightful. When I looked them up later I found about ten per cent of them alive; but being in the prime of life and enjoying perfect health I was not discouraged.

"This season the Orofino and Florence mines poured wealth into the country to such an extent that money was very plentiful and produce very high. I succeeded in putting in a large lot of potatoes and vegetables and some grain. The season being highly favorable everything grew splendidly and produced abundantly and brought a very high price, potatoes selling at four and one-half cents per pound and other things in proportion; so at the end of the year I had to a large extent retrieved the losses that I had sustained by the severity of the winter.

"Ever since I had heard so much about Doctor Whitman from the immigrants who wintered with him in 1844, and especially after his tragic death, I had become interested in him and in the site of his mission, but had never visited it. In June this year I took a day for it and got on my horse and rode to the old site. Father Eells was occupying it then. I told him the object of my visit. He was very kind indeed and took a great deal of pains in showing me about the place and explaining things the best he could. He took me to the ruins of the old adobe building and explained the plan of it and showed me the spot where Doctor Whitman, according to reports, must have fallen. He then took me to where the victims of the massacre were buried, and while standing there one of us kicked the loose dirt and turned up the lower jaw bone of one of the victims. One of the teeth in the bone was filled with gold. We buried it as well as we could without tools and inferred from the circumstance that they had been buried in shallow graves or been dug up by badgers. I went home feeling that I had been well rewarded for my ride.

"The next year, 1863, I was elected sheriff. I have nothing to report that was unusual during my term, the usual routine of business incident to the office and no executions for murder or anything else worth speaking about. At the same time I was appointed deputy collector of internal revenue under Philip D. Moore. The duties of this position were simply collecting revenue that fell to the Government. The most unpleasant part of my duties was my responsibility for the considerable sums of money that I had in my possession.

"After the expiration of my term I returned to the farm and entered into the usual humdrum routine pertaining to farm life.

"In 1869, for the first time since leaving, I took a trip to Oregon. The election occurred the day before I started. The telegraph line had reached Umatilla. When the boat landed there the messenger went immediately to the telegraph office with the election news. This was my first contact with the telegraph, and it was hard for me to realize that while the operator was sending the dispatch at that very moment it was being received in Portland.

"At The Dalles we met the first tourist who had come on the newly completed transcontinental railroad to San Francisco and from thence by steamer to Portland and from Portland by river steamers to The Dalles.

"I went to Dallas, where most of my people lived. I had a very enjoyable visit, having been away ten years. In due time I returned home and found the folks all well.

"My reminiscences having come down to and partly including the year 1869, the year that the transcontinental railroad was completed, I think about this time they should lose their character as pioneer reminiscences and thus far their interest to the public; for I think the future historian will draw the line between those who came in an ox-team and those who came on the railroads. So I feel that my task is done, and when a person's work is finished it is a good time to quit."

From the reminiscences of Mr. Gilliam we turn to those of one of the honored builders, still living in Walla Walla, F. W. Paine. As one of the earliest business men of the region, Mr. Paine is peculiarly qualified to give a picture of the business men and conditions in Walla Walla in the early '60s. We feel ourselves fortunate to be able to present this article from his pen:

BUSINESS MEN OF THE '60s

"In approaching the subject I realize my utter inability to fitly handle even so small a quota of so large a class, which comprises men of the most eminent minds from among whom are found the financial geniuses to solve the most intricate problems of the world's commerce, from among whose ranks have been chosen by their fellow countrymen men to occupy and administer the highest offices of the nation, and the contingent which I am about to consider, the business men of Walla Walla, has afforded men of more than local fame, not only in their own calling, but men as well who have been chosen from their own sphere to fill places of honor from city councilman to United States senator; the achievements of this class impel the conclusion that the calling of general merchandising affords a training which adapts the mind to the handling of large affairs. To come to my subject, as I now recall the appearance of Main Street, the home of the business man in the spring of 1862, as I first beheld it, it might be described as a development of the old Indian trail along the natural elevation of the south bank of Mill Creek, forming a dry ridge much used by the Indians in horse racing before the whites appropriated it for the more advanced purposes of a business street, which, by the way, established its own azimuth which still maintains and which incidentally misses all the cardinal points of compass. Architecturally viewed it would seem that the earliest occupants of this street differed in their opinions as to the established width, for at that time there was gross irregularity in the building line, as well as ups and downs in the sidewalks, each owner apparently deeming it his own affair, that of fixing the line. When building his house, sidewalk, and frequently a board awning on scantling supports, to afford a show place for his merchandise, while in the matter of the building line 'the crooked have been made straight, the rough places have not all been made plain,' a few still remain perhaps to attest the tenacity of error. With this much for outside appearances let us now step inside where we are met by the subject of this sketch, a business man of Walla Walla, a man approaching middle life, of good presence, well informed on the country in general, its business prospects and opportunities, his stock of merchandise, and his patrons, who, if stockmen, ranged from the Cascades to the Rocky Mountains; if a packer his range was nearly as wide, or if a miner his field covered much the same vast territory, the magnitude of which seemed to be measurably reflected in the men who partook of its largess, for the merchants of early Walla Walla were of the stalwart type who rose to the occasion and occupied the field in a creditable manner, for few of the class known in California as 'Cheap Johns,' ever tarried long in Walla Walla. They came but soon recognized their betters and left for more congenial surroundings. As time sped on and the country settled up business grew to be more complex in its administering. Gold dust and gold and silver bars as important factors in the circulating medium, gave place to gold and silver coin, and greenbacks brought in by the immigrants of the middle '60s were tolerated at fifty to seventy-five cents on the dollar, but no lesser coin than a twenty-five cent piece was accepted in exchange for merchandise and even the saloons treated anything smaller with disdain; but the country was filling up with settlers, and as they became fixed and permanent citizens, credits were extended, some of the leading houses even in the early years, carrying heavy accounts with farmers and stockmen. This necessitated the merchants' assistance in marketing their products, thus these business houses became dealers in wool, wheat, barley, etc., which continued for many years and proved a substantial source of revenue which went far toward helping out the year's profits and also encouraged investments in other lines, such as transportation facilities, flouring mills and various manufactures, in which the business man frequently took the lead, as he did in most of the important doings of the day; for instance, in the matter of public spirit a record may be found in his generous subscriptions to induce the construction of railroads, for the building of hospitals, churches and educational institutions, and for their maintenance, and again in the voting of taxes for public schools and public buildings, both of the city and county. This matter of voting taxes brings to mind that even this early, politics was an institution to be reckoned with, but the business man seldom sought its honors. His political creed was, business before pleasure or politics. When election day came around he voted his party ticket and enjoyed the diversion, so it did not interfere with business. He seldom accepted office, and then only as a matter of duty, but when such responsibilities were undertaken they were discharged with fidelity to the trust imposed.

"Of his religion he took a less serious view, but his hand was ever open to the deserving in a good cause, it mattered not from whence the call. To illustrate, in the early days there came to this city a man most devout, a reserved and gentle mannered man, who, finding no church of his denomination, proceeded to build one near to the business district. He contributed largely of his own rather limited means and completed the building. Among the many brilliant sermons delivered from its pulpit were some very caustic and pointed, directly aimed at the shortcomings of the business world. He became noted for his good work, both in and out of the pulpit, but one day his church was accidentally burned, a total loss and no insurance. Whereupon a prominent business man (who for himself had little use for churches) seemingly prompted by his sense of justice, and as he said, 'a desire to see a good man get a square deal,' took prompt action and with a subscription list headed by a liberal sum, set against his own name, he proceeded to interview the business places, omitting none. Everything that was operated for money was in business to him, at least for that day, and was assessed and collection made at the same time. When he had made the round of Main Street, even before the ashes were cold, he had enough to build a new church. No one asked was the money tainted, but the church was built and much good resulted therefrom. One other instance I recall, when a preacher who had gathered many souls into his fold, somewhat on his merits as a good 'mixer' (this word belongs to politics, but if the good man could say even now he would approve its use here). After he had scheduled members enough to justify building a church he went among the brethren for subscriptions. Meeting two of his business acquaintances he made known his plans to which they readily subscribed a generous sum, only conditioned upon his steeple rising higher than that of the church across the street. To this he readily assented, and the spire stands today to attest his good works.

"Some historian has said, 'History is not written with a microscope,' nor should it be written with one's eye blinded to events that it were better had never occurred, but so long as man continues to indulge erroneous thoughts, those thoughts will be expressed in actions which, with their effects, will be recorded. So, notwithstanding the enviable record of the average business man of his day, there was the inevitable exception when someone went wrong, or, so to say, was swept off his feet by the lure of the open games of chance, presided over by the man with the starched shirt and polished nails. Such heaps of gold and silver, bags of dust even all so temptingly lay, just waiting the turn of a card, the jingling of coins, the hustle and murmur of the crowds, the glint and dazzle of the lights, the music and the song, the tinkle of the glasses, the odor of cocktails and champagne, a perfect riot of sensations, and over all that transport of abandon so free of all restraint, 'society' looked on complacently, law lacked an introduction, but 'twas all so sociable he took a hand or perchance bought a few chips and the better to celebrate his first winning, ordered a cocktail and cigar, and then was soon on the road that men of all callings frequented in the very early days. Little wonder that an occasional business man was found among the discard.

"Elsewhere I note that occasion was had to mention so many of the names of firms and men in business in the early days, that I will not attempt to repeat them, suffice to say that rare and potent conditions must have worked together to produce a force of men so fitting to the time and place as were these, to prosecute their chosen calling as a means to success; some, to be sure, looking only to a temporary stay which as time wore on, grew to be permanent, others, casting their lot with the county from the beginning, remained to amass fortunes of no mean proportions. Several having reached business limitations here, naturally gravitated to larger cities, to enjoy a wider field of operations, where they continued to court the Goddess of Fortune successfully. Of those who remained many have attained to places of honor, and of few indeed could it be said that the world was no better for their having lived in it, and taken as a whole, the history of the county would be sadly abbreviated were it to be deprived of a record of their doings."

One of the best known of the pioneer families of Walla Walla is that of the Ferrels. As a charming narrative of the typical events of a journey across the plains and settlement in Walla Walla in the early days, we incorporate here a paper by Mrs. Brewster Ferrel.

A WOMAN'S EXPERIENCE CROSSING THE PLAINS

May 1, 1864.

We started from Corydon, Wayne County, Iowa, to travel the wild and desolate plains and seek a home in Walla Walla, Wash. This is a true story, but before you get through reading it you will not wonder at the people out west calling us green immigrants.

My husband and I and our little boy, who was two years old, and my husband's brother, were all that came in our wagon. We had a good little mule team. I have had a kind regard for mules over since I took that trip. Did not know a mule could learn so much.

The first day was a sad one going past our relatives and old neighbors' homes and stopping to say good-bye. Our people gave us little presents, tokens of love, and lots of good advice, such as, "be careful and don't let the Indians get you," or, "be a good girl and come back some day." Well, we did come back twenty-four years after, but not with a mule team.

The first night we stayed at a house. Next morning the good woman said, "I will give you some pickled meat." So she went out in the meat house to get it, and there was a skunk drowned in the brine. We thanked her and got our meat at another place.

The next night we camped out, the first I ever slept out of a house, and when bedtime came our little boy cried, oh, so hard to go home, but we got him quiet and slept well; that was one thing we could do on that trip.

Woman-like, I was very much afraid of the bad roads. We had all of our belongings piled in that wagon, and among other things were our firearms. We came to a very bad place in the road. I took our little boy out of the wagon and we were walking behind when a shotgun that was lying in the wagon went off and the shot came very near us. Then I concluded in the wagon was the safest place and soon got so I was not afraid to ride over any kind of road.

We traveled alone till we got to the Missouri River. Then we came to a string of wagons about a mile and a half long. They were waiting to be ferried over the river. We came there in the forenoon, and took our place in line and moved up as the wagons went over. We stayed there all that day and camped there that night. Next morning we got over.

Then we traveled with a train and the Indians came around our wagons; some of them begged for food. One day when we sat down on the ground to eat our dinner about a dozen big red-faced fellows came and stood around with tomahawks in their hands. I did not want any dinner that day, but they went away peaceably, and we traveled on over good roads and through beautiful country up Platte River and on and on and soon got used to seeing Indians. Sometimes they would follow our wagons and some one would throw a piece of bread out to them and they would run after the wagon and pick it up; then throw another piece, till they would look like little chickens after an old hen.

Fuel was very scarce in that country. We had to burn sage brush, dead weeds, or anything we could get. Sometimes my husband would keep feeding the fire while I baked the flapjacks, as we called them.

The men folks were all the time looking out for good grass and water for the stock, which they would herd on the grass till late at night, and than tie them to the wagon wheels. In the morning they would take them out again and herd them until starting time, which was pretty early, as we wanted to hurry through to Walla Walla. We gave our mules all the scraps we had left from our meals and they relished it very much and would hunt in the wagon for the dinner box and look and wait for their lunch.

There were some mean people crossed the plains. There was a man and his wife and three grown daughters traveling in our train. One day when we lay over we heard a commotion, and looking toward a tent we saw a girl pitch out of it and a man's boot and foot up in the air. The girl said her papa kicked her out because she had forgotten to water the horses. One other time we had stopped to rest and I heard a woman cry and swear and pray, first one and then the other. I said to a friend, "Let us go and see if we can help her;" but she said "No; it is a woman with a very loathsome disease and the man that drives the team was kind to bring her out west." The man would cook a little food and hand it to her and then go away.

Well, the people were not all bad; we found some very dear friends on our trip. I never will forget them. It was a trying trip on us all. We had some dangerous streams to cross. We would come to some that looked impossible to cross. We would stop and plan and try the depth in every way possible, and then block up the wagon bed to the top of the standard, then tie them fast to the wagon, then cautiously drive in almost holding our breath. We had four mules and the leaders were small. Sometimes we could not see much of them but their heads. Our little boy would laugh and enjoy the excitement, but I took many a cry when I thought of where we were taking him. We had started and must get through. I had about forgotten to mention the weather, which was very stormy. It rained and snowed and blew our wagon sheet off and everything we had got wet. Our flour got musty; we had to eat it; we could get no other.

By this time we were getting pretty well up Platte River, and did not see many Indians, but were hearing a good deal about their committing depredations, and commenced to corral our wagons of nights. That was to drive in a circle, unhitch, then the men would pull them close together by hand, and after herding the stock would bring them in and tie to the outside wheels of the wagons for the night.

One day our train came up to a corral of this kind and the women were sitting around crying and the men were standing in groups talking very earnestly, and not a hoof in sight. We soon learned their troubles. They had left their stock out a little way from the wagons to feed without any guards and the Indians had seen their opportunity and run between them and their stock and run them off. What those poor people did we never learned. We had to travel on.

One morning a few days after this sad scene we passed a train which had not started out yet, and came upon another sad scene. Two men had left their train in the evening and drove about a mile ahead, in order to get better grass for their horses. Just at dusk they were sitting on a log near their wagons when eight Indians came behind them and commenced shooting them with arrows. The men jumped for their guns, but before they reached their wagons the Indians had them both down. They left them for dead and then took the four horses and guns and ammunition and $800 in money and everything else they wanted out of the wagon, and left. But one poor fellow was not quite dead. After the Indians left he crawled a little way off in the brush and lay there till next morning. When we came along he crawled out and told us all about it. We stayed with him till his train came up, then helped him to bury his partner, and then went on. I was pretty homesick for a few days.

We were getting into the mountains and the roads were bad, and so were the Indians. We were very cautious; two men stood guard every night, taking turns.

The weather was getting warm and pleasant after all, and through all of our hardships we had some pleasant and amusing things happen. There was a good many jack rabbits along the road. We had a rabbit pot-pie pretty often. One day about a half-dozen men got after a rabbit and were running past our wagon and shooting with their pistols. My husband was walking by our wagon and said, "Hand me the shotgun," and I handed it to him. He shot and brought down the rabbit, then gave it to me. That ended the race and raised a laugh.

Once in every two days we would stop a day and rest, lay over, we called it, to do our washing. We would take a bucket and camp kettle and go to the creek; that was all the utensils we had to wash with. When the clothes were dry they were ready to put on—no ironing on that trip. We saw irons, tubs, washboards, and a good many other things that people had thrown out of their wagons because their teams were giving out. We did not dare to pick them up and haul them for fear our own teams would give out. I knew one woman that had a cook stove in her wagon and she was so anxious to bring it through that she would get out and push on the wagon when it was going up hill, but she had to give it up and set it out and go on without it. We were beginning to find out how dependent we were on our teams.

Before we left home our neighbors and friends gave me a lot of nice pieces and helped me make a keepsake quilt. I prized it very highly. One day, I put it out to sun and some fire blew on it and burned it up. Then I shed a few tears. Much as we needed everything we had we would lose and leave our things at the camps. We lost our axe and coffee pot and our comb. Then we tried to borrow a comb, but found out there were but few in the train. So we women got together and had our hair cut off. Then we were called the short-haired train.

The health of our train was pretty good. Sometimes a family would get very sick from eating too many wild weeds they would gather and cook for greens so as to have a change, as variety of wood was getting scarce.

We brought a keg of sorghum syrup with us, and would have had plenty to last through, but one day our little boy was missing, and looking in the wagon we saw him. He had found the matches and was just putting the last bunch in the syrup keg, so we had to do without sorghum.

One night we stopped near an old fort where some men were staying. So I felt pretty safe, but before morning we found out they were worse than Indians, for they had whiskey to sell and some of the men in our train got some whiskey and got drunk, then fought and quarreled all night. Next morning when a few wagons were ready to start the men that had been drunk were asleep. Another train came along and we drove on with them. It seemed a trip where every one had to look out for self. We did not dare to stop long to help the unfortunate or we would not get through ourselves. We did not start out to die on the plains. We passed many a new made grave.

At this time it was as disagreeably hot as it had been cold on the start. One time we tried traveling at night to avoid the extreme heat, but that would not do.

I have not given many dates, as I have forgotten most of them. Am writing this mostly for my children and grandchildren to read and want it to be as near true as I can remember.

We learned that the main thing on that trip was to keep on moving. As we got near and into the mountains the weather got cool and pleasant. But, oh, such mountains and roads, sometimes they would seem almost perpendicular, but we would climb and get up most all out of the wagon walking, then slide down on the other side, then up, then down, and soon day after day some of the mountains seemed almost solid rock.

One day we came to a beautiful little stream. Someone that was walking dipped up a cup of water and said, "Will you have a drink?" I took the cup. Imagine my surprise when it almost burned my lips. Those were the first hot springs we had ever seen. Then we came to a place that looked like it was covered with ice and frost, but it proved to be salt. We picked up some pieces and used it for cooking.

We began to hear more rumors about the Indians and could see signs of their mischief. So we corralled our wagons very carefully and went to bed and were sleeping soundly when all of a sudden we were awakened with hearing screaming and very rapid shooting. I jumped out of bed and said, "The Indians have attacked us." My husband got up and said, "I will go and see what the trouble is." Then I got all of the guns and ammunition to the front of the wagon ready for battle, and was piling the sacks of flour and bacon around our little boy, who was yet asleep, when my husband came back and said it was coyotes yelping and the guards were shooting at them. So we went to bed again and were soon asleep. That was one thing we could enjoy on that trip.

Well, we finally got over the Rocky Mountains. You need not be surprised if I tell you that our shoes were getting thin and pretty badly worn. We did not start with an over supply and our clothes were wearing out fast and we were looking pretty rough and sunburnt.

We came to some more deep rivers and had to block up our wagon beds so we could cross. Then we came to a country infested with crickets. I never saw anything like it; they were almost as big as a mouse and could chirp and jump in such big bands. Our mules shied at them. Well, we were glad to get out of that country.

One day looking ahead in the distance we saw something coming that looked like covered wagons, but as it drew near we could see it was actually coming the other way toward us, something we had not seen for hundreds, yes, thousands of miles. Well, they came on and passed us. It was a pack train, wonderful sight for us. They frightened our teams in their weak and half-dead condition. Then someone said those were cowboys.

Then we came to where some men camped. They were excited over losing a lot of mules and horses. They were driving a band out west. The Indians had stampeded them and run a lot of them away. We saw several dead horses which the men had ridden to death trying to get the band together again. We traveled on and came to some timbered mountains. Now we could have plenty of wood to cook with. It was a treat to have plenty of wood and water at the same time.

One evening after we had corralled our wagons and the guards had taken the teams out to grass one of the men came running back and said, "Get your guns quick; there is a drove of elk right among our stock." The men hurried out with their guns, fired, and brought down two big elks and dragged them into camp. I remember it so well, they looked so much like one of our little mules. The men skinned them and cut them up and then decided that my husband had fired the most fatal shot; so we had first choice piece. The meat was fine.

We came to a desolate looking place. It was in a deep canyon and we had to stop over night. There were some old bleached bones and a lot of tangled hair. Someone said it was human hair and bones and that the Indians had massacred a train and their bodies had never been buried. We did not know how much of that was true, but at that time we could believe almost anything. After all, our Indian troubles were mostly scares, but as the old saying is, you had as well kill a person as scare him to death.

By this time we came to some more awful hills to come down. We all got out of wagons and the men tied ropes to the hind wheels and held back while the teams and people slid down. Well, we all got down and went on our way rejoicing, and finally got into some pretty country and laid over to let our teams rest, and do our washing.

That day I took a stroll down by the creek and saw a big fish lying in some shallow water in a little island. I very cautiously slipped around between it and the main creek and put my hands under it and threw it out on land. Then I wrapped my apron around it and went carrying it into camp. It was alive and weighed about eight pounds. We would not eat it for fear it might be sick, but some of the boys wanted it, so I gave it to them. They cooked it and ate it and said it was very good. Next morning we hitched up and traveled on.

The weather was pleasant and we began to see signs of civilization and met another pack train which was loaded with flour, bacon, whisky, and tobacco. I should not have said signs of civilization. But we saw better things further on. Some of our people tried to buy some provisions of them, but they would not sell; said they were taking them to the mines and expected to get a dollar a pound for what they had. Our money was pretty scarce and what we had was greenbacks and only worth fifty cents on the dollar out West.

Then we came to a little garden and a cabin back in the brush. We could see the green lettuce and onions through the fence. Some of our boys said they would make a raid on that garden, but when they got on the fence they saw a tree on the other side and a man hanging by the neck from a limb of that tree. Then they said, "We don't want any garden sass." We learned later that it was only a paddy stuffed with straw. Our provisions were getting scarce and our teams were getting weaker, and we very anxious to get through.

We finally arrived in the Grande Ronde Valley and then we spent the last cent we had to buy a beef bone and some fresh vegetables. Then all got together and made a big dinner. All sat down and ate together. After dinner we all shook hands and said good-bye. Then each one went his own way.

We started to cross the Blue Mountains and one of our mules got sick. We had urged him too much. He seemed to be asleep on his feet, held his eyes shut, and wanted to pull all the time. Well, he pulled through. I had almost learned to love those mules, they had been so faithful.

We arrived in Walla Walla, Wash., footsore and weary, in just three months from the day we started.

When we arrived in this beautiful little valley without a dollar and scarcely any clothing and no provisions we had a pretty hard time. Now, when a family gets their house and everything they have, burned, the people around get together and help them, and it is right they should in this land of plenty; and when a criminal leaves the penitentiary they give him a suit of clothes and some money. But there was no help for the green immigrants, as we were called, and I suppose we were, at least in some respects.

We did not understand the western slang and Indian talk that we heard so much. It was something like this. A man that had been out West about five years was eating dinner with us, said, "That is hiu mucka muck." He was referring to something on the table. We asked him if he liked this country. He said, "You bet your life!" We said, "Why do so many men out West wear revolvers on their belts and big knives in their boot legs?" He said, "It is necessary to keep order; we have a man for breakfast quite often."

Then we would hear the remark, lots of men out West are made to bite the dust with their boots on; and then, you sabba, or savvy, and many such expressions. Well, we finally got initiated. And the people were very kind to us. We never saw a time when we appreciated our neighbors so much. They were friends in need and in deed.

This country was covered with bunch-grass, flowers, Indians, coyotes, and grasshoppers. A few white people were living along the creeks in little huts. Some were growing a little wheat and others small grain and gardens. Everything was very high priced. Wheat sold for a dollar and a half a bushel. There was scarcely any fruit to be had at any price. When I go through this beautiful valley, now a little less than forty years after, and see wagon loads of delicious fruit going to waste it makes me think of those times.

Well, we went to work; had to rustle, kept at it from early morn till late at night. But we would jump from one thing to another. There seemed to be too many chances. First we would settle on one piece of land, then on another. There were thousands and thousands of acres of good unclaimed land all about us, but people thought none but the sloughs would grow anything. After two or three years of changing about we finally bought eighty acres of land and settled down. Paid eight hundred dollars for it. We gave thirty dollars, a horse, and our only cow to make the first payment. At this time we had two children in our family.

Before we had any wheat to sell it came down to fifty cents per bushel. The country up to this time had been settled mostly by men; only some of them had Indian women for wives. The families that settled this country first were nearly all new married people and a baby came to almost every home in less than two years for a dozen years or more.

One day I went to visit a dear neighbor and I was complaining of hard times and she said, "We have been living on boiled wheat for several days." I believe there were a good many others doing the same thing. Those hard times seemed to bind neighbors close together. Three or four of us would get together and go two or three miles to get some wild gooseberries and elderberries and red haws and fix them up for fruit. They were pretty good when there was nothing better.

I will now mention some of the Indian scares that we had to endure. We had been warned by the newspapers to look out for the Indians, as they were on the war path and had murdered some of the white settlers and had mangled them terribly. So one Sunday the people were holding meeting on Mill Creek in a little school house when a little girl came running in, crying, and said, "The Indians are killing my mama and papa." Some of the men hurried to the house, which was about a mile away, and the young boy preacher got on a horse and away he went as fast as his horse could go to warn the people at their homes that the Indians had broken out. He stopped at our house and asked for a fresh horse, as his was about run down. We did not have any, so he went rushing on and stopping at every house to give the alarm. My husband and several of the neighbor men had gone from home that day. Imagine the scene. We were running from one house to another; each one of us had three or four little children. After about a dozen of us got together we decided to go to a log cabin that was near and wait for the Indians to come. There was one man in the cabin and he was getting ready to shoot out through the cracks between the logs. When a man came from the seat of war and said no one is seriously hurt, it was a drunken row and only one Indian was killed, we all went home and the boy preacher got over his scare and has been long since a good and noted preacher. And the Indian that was supposed to be dead came to life again. Some of the men took him to town and had a trial and the jury sentenced him to wash his face. Well, this is one of the many such scares as some others can remember that are yet living.

I will relate one more incident. At this time there was a saw mill at the head of Mill Creek and there were several families living at the mill. The men had built a fort for the women and children in case the Indians should attack them. One day some men who lived in the valley took their teams and wagons and started to go to the mill, but when they got in the mountains they saw a band of Indians coming down the trail beyond the mill. The men at once stopped, unhitched from their wagons, and jumped on their horses and used the tugs for whips and came down the mountains on double quick and reported to all the people along the road what they had seen, and the people were soon leaving their cabins and running for the brush. And those at the mill saw the Indians coming and they went running to the fort. Some one relating the scene said the men could run faster than the women and children and got into the fort first. Well, the Indians came and were friendly and very much surprised when they saw the people running and said they had been back in the mountains hunting and fishing and did not know that there was any war going on.

The health of a people in a new country is usually good, but we would sometimes get sick. Would hardly dare think of sending for a doctor. There was no money to pay one and there could hardly be one found. But there was a woman who lived in our neighborhood that had a good doctor book. It was Doctor Gunn's work. She went by it in her own family, and the neighbors sent for her. She would take her doctor book under her arm and go to visit the sick. Then they would read and study together and use the simple remedies prescribed in that book and get along pretty well. In that way she got into quite a large practice. She often rode a little blue pony. People would sometimes make the remark, "I think there is someone sick at a certain house. I see the blue pony tied at the gate."

This woman officiated where more than a hundred babies were born. She was very successful, never lost a mother or child while she was taking care of them. She most always went back every day for a week to see the patient and wash and dress the baby. And most of the time she had one of her own to take with her. She made no charges, as she did not have any license. But she received a good many presents, and is sometimes yet pleasantly reminded of by-gone days. Just a few days ago she received a photo of five large, stalwart men and a letter from their mother saying these are pictures of your boys; see how they have grown. Then another time a picture came from a distance of two large twin boys and a girl and word saying, see how your boys have grown.

I have not made mention of any names in this sketch, thinking it would be just as interesting without.

Well, I must get back to my pioneer days that I started to write about. Schools and churches were scarce. One woman taught a school in her home of two rooms. She had about a dozen scholars. About one-third of them were part Indian children. As I said before, some of the men that came out West first came alone and took Indian women for wives. People called them squaw men. We remember another woman that taught school in her home of one room. At noon when the children were out playing she would cook dinner and the family would eat, then she would take up her school again.

We would sometimes go three or four miles to church in a home of one room where three or four persons lived. The preacher would stand up in the corner between the table and fireplace and preach, while the congregation sat around on the beds and benches and boxes. Every corner would be full. Many a one received a blessing in those humble meetings. But we did not have to do that way very long. People with such energy soon built school houses and churches.

Building material was hard to get. When one man worked for or sold another man anything he would often pay him in gold dust. They used that a great deal. We would take our little sack of gold dust and go to town to buy things, and the merchants would weigh and blow and spill it till we would not have much left. I said go to town; there was not much town to go to. It was not like the town the little boy said he could not see for the houses. One would hardly know it was a town by the houses. At that time there was about a dozen, mostly business houses, scattered around in Walla Walla.

Mrs. Brewster Ferrel.

Equally characteristic of the first days is the narration of the "first boy in Walla Walla." This was Charles W. Clark. One of the honored citizens of Walla Walla, he was doubtless "the first boy to ride down Main Street," as he expressed it. Through his kindness we are able to present here some scenes from his memory of the first days in the history of Walla Walla.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE FIRST BOY IN WALLA WALLA

I was born on August 29, 1846, in Oregon, on my father's claim near LaFayette, Yamhill County, from which the family was taken to Oregon City and thence to Portland.

Needless to say, Portland was then a raw, crude town on the edge of the Willamette River, with no business places except on Front and First streets.

In 1855 my father, Ransom Clark, left home for Colville mines. On his way home to Portland he selected the place on the Yellowhawk, since known from his name, ran out the lines with a pocket compass, for there was no Government survey. The place was nearly in a square and extended from about where the road just east of Harry Reynolds' house now is to the present Whitney Road.

My father was on the place in 1855 when the Indian war broke out, and he, like all the other settlers—few in number, of course—was ordered by the United States commandant to leave the country.

That war prevented my father's making proof on the claim, but the Government ruled that since the settlers had been obliged to leave on account of war, they should not lose their time, but could resume possession and continue to prepare for making final proof.

We lived in Portland until 1859, when announcement was made that Indian disturbances were at an end. In the fall of 1858 father had returned to the claim. With the coming of winter he went back to Portland, but on March 1, 1859, he went back again to Walla Walla, taking me with him. I was then twelve years old, a strong, active boy, and accustomed to all sorts of work and capable of being of much assistance to my father in starting the place.

We came from Portland with a team and wagon, putting them on the steamer at Portland and going as far as The Dalles; thence driving to Walla Walla. Mother was left alone in Portland with my brother Will, then two years old.

We had quite a lot of apple and peach trees which we obtained at the Tibbetts and Luelling nurseries, near Oregon City. I can tell you the Walla Walla Valley looked beautiful in those early spring days. It was just a waving sea of new grass, green all over without a fence or anything to obstruct riding anywhere that we might wish.

We reached our claim on March 28th. So far as I remember there was not another white boy in the whole valley, except at the fort, or whose parents were employed at the fort. Some of the army officers had children, but I hardly ever saw them. I had no playmates except the Indian children, and they were very friendly. There were no women, that is, no white women outside the fort, unless two or three transients. There were several Indian women married to white men, former Hudson's Bay men, down the valley at Frenchtown and elsewhere.

When we reached the claim we discovered that "Curly" Drumheller and Samuel Johnson had done some plowing on the south edge of our place, from the spring branch to Russell Creek. We sowed it with oats and there was a good crop, which we threshed out with flails in the fall. We set out some of our fruit trees on the flat just southeast of where Harry Reynolds' house now is. Those were, I am sure, the first trees ever brought to Walla Walla, that is, after those that had been raised from seed by Doctor Whitman at Waiilatpu. John Foster bought the trees which were set on his place from our lot. The bill for those trees from Seth Luelling is still in possession of my brother Will.

After remaining six weeks my father returned to Portland to get my mother and brother. I was left to keep the place, in company with Robert Horton. We had nothing but a tent for a house, but we managed to get along very comfortably. My main work was to cook. I helped plow on John Foster's place to help pay for the logs which Foster had gotten out that spring or summer for making our cabin. On Sundays and sometimes on other days I would go to "town," which was just a mongrel collection of shacks and tents, with a confused mass of settlers, Indians and soldiers straying through. The chief amusement was horse racing and gambling. There was a straightaway track where the cemetery now is and another just about through where the chief part of town now lies. The first circular track was laid out by George Porter about three miles down the valley, running around the peculiar hill on the Sam Smith place, afterward the Tom Lyons place.

The saloon business was very active then and every species of vice flourished. There was a man named Ed Leach who had come with father and me from The Dalles, who had afterwards drifted around town.

One day I was near the saloon owned by W. A. Ball, and I saw that there had just been something going on, for there was a bunch of men standing around talking excitedly.

Ed Leach was there, and seeing me he pulled me over to a place where I saw blood on the ground, and he said, pointing out the puddle of blood, "There, Charlie, is where I got him." He had just killed a man.

Nothing was done about it, so far as I know.

W. A. Ball was uncle of my wife, and one of the first business men in Walla Walla. He was the one especially who insisted on giving the name of Walla Walla to the town. Some wanted to call it Waiilatpu, while some favored Steptoeville.

One day while in town a man called to me saying that he had heard it rumored that my father was dead. I paid no attention to this, for I had heard from him a few days before, that he had safely reached home, was getting ready to return, and that everything was well. There were no mails at that time and the only way to get messages was through the army or by stray travelers. It would take a week or two to hear anything from Portland.

But though I paid no attention to the rumor it proved a sad reality. That very day after I had returned to the tent which I called home, my mother's brother, Uncle Billy Millican, who is still living in Walla Walla, appeared and told me that it was only too true, that my father had been taken suddenly sick and had died a number of days before, and that my mother was even then on her way to Walla Walla.

The next day she came, having come on the Steamer Colonel Wright, of which Lew White was captain, on her second or third trip from The Dalles to Wallula. From that place she came with Capt. F. F. Dent in an army ambulance to Walla Walla. That Captain Dent, by the way, was a brother-in-law of General Grant.

As you can imagine it was a sad, hard journey for a woman who had just been made a widow, and who was soon to be again a mother.

It shows something of the nerve and heroism of pioneer women that they could go through such experiences. My mother had been strongly advised to give up her claim. A man had offered her $300.00 for it, and Judge Shattuck, one of the leading lawyers of Portland, urged her to take it, assuring her that it would be the most that she could ever get out of it. But father had been greatly impressed with the prospective value of the place and the prospects of the town, and my mother had been so much impressed with his views that she determined to hold the claim.

Accordingly, after spending two weeks with me she returned to Portland. I spent that summer, sometimes a very lonesome one, in the tent, or hoeing the garden which he had put out, and in September Robert Horton and Uncle Billy Millican put up a cabin from the logs.

The cabin was put on the present location of Harry Reynolds' house. It was moved from there a few feet many years ago, and put on a good foundation, so that it is now just about as sound as ever. It is undoubtedly the oldest house now existing in the Inland Empire, in which a white woman lived. My mother was about the first white woman in this region, after the missionary period.

My mother came back to Walla Walla in October of that same year, 1859, with her newly born child, then six weeks old, to live the remainder of her life in Walla Walla.

During those early years the valley seemed to be filled with Indians, but they were very kindly and well disposed, and we had no trouble with them, even though a good part of the time we were alone, mother and the baby and the little boy and myself as the nearest a man about the place. We had plenty of horses and cattle and chickens and garden and had an abundance of the necessities, though no elegancies.

There were two principal Indian chiefs, and they, with their squaws and children were often around the house. They were fine Indians. Yellowhawk was one of them, and his location was on the creek named after him, on what is now the Billy Russell place near the Braden schoolhouse. The other was Tintimitsy. His location was on what became the J. H. Abbott place.

As I remember the old town in 1860, there were several shack stores. One was that of Neil McClinchy, on what would now be between Third and Fourth streets.

Baldwin Brothers were about between Second and Third. Frank Worden was located just about where the Third National Bank now is. Guichard and Kohlhauff had a store on the same corner where the White House Clothing Store now is. John F. Abbott had a stable right in what is now Second Street, just about what would be between the Jaycox Store and the Jones Building. There was no order or system to the streets for many years, and, as we know, they are very irregular now, having followed convenient trails or breakings through the cottonwoods and birches which grew on the creek.

The creek at that time ran right on the top of the ground and in high water ran out in many places. Quite a stream at high water ran through just about where Senator Ankeny's house is, over through the present high school grounds and thence joining Garrison Creek.

During the long, cold nights of winter in 1860-61 we lived alone in our cabin. Mother and I would grind our flour in the big coffee-mill. One regular job we had, and often we were up till midnight working at it, and that was to make sacks for the flour-mill which A. H. Reynolds, in partnership with J. A. Sims and Capt. F. F. Dent, put up in 1859 on what is now the Whitney place.

But my mother was anxious that I should have some schooling, and having become married to Mr. Reynolds, she sent me to Portland Academy for two years, and two years more to LaFayette where I lived with my grandparents.

When I returned in 1865 I was a man. Walla Walla was growing. That was right in the midst of the mining times and the Vigilantes, when they had "a man for breakfast" nearly every morning. It was a wild, exciting time, but through it all Walla Walla has grown to be the beautiful city of which we are now so proud.

We have devoted considerable space in the early part of this volume to Indians and Indian wars. The narrative of W. W. Walter gave a view of the Cayuse war from the standpoint of a participant. Other wars with the natives followed. The most spectacular and in many ways most remarkable of all was that of 1877, with the Joseph band of Nez Percés.

We incorporate here an account of the personal experiences of W. S. Clark, one of the leading pioneers of Walla Walla, and one of the best informed students of early history.

THE NEZ PERCÉ WAR

On the morning of June 19, 1877, a courier reached the City of Walla Walla bringing the sad news of the engagement on Camas Prairie between the Nez Percé Indians and Colonel Perry's troop of cavalry in which one-half of Perry's troop had been killed. The news caused a great deal of excitement. Word also came that the citizens of Lewiston were in danger of a raid by the Indians and that the settlers were pouring into town from all sides and help was much needed.

Thomas P. Page, county auditor of Walla Walla County, started to work raising a volunteer company. At 1 o'clock in the afternoon a meeting was called at the courthouse where the facts were presented and resolutions were passed promising aid to the people of the Lewiston District. One hundred names were soon down on the roll and all who could get horses were to start that night. The quartermaster at the fort here gave us rifles and sixty rounds of cartridges apiece. At 6 o'clock that evening the following party left Walla Walla en route to Lewiston: A. Reeves Ayres, John Agu, Ike Abbott, A. L. Bird, Chas. Blewett, W. S. Clark, Lane Gilliam, H. E. Holmes, Albert Hall, Jake Holbrook, Frank Jackson, John Keeney, J. H. Lister, Henry Lacy, Wm. McKearn:, S. H. Maxon, Aleck O'Dell, C. S. Robinson, J. S. Stott, Ben Scott, Albert Small, Frank Waldrip, T. P. Page, L. K. Grimm and J. F. McLean.

We arrived at Dayton at 1 o'clock that night, and put our horses in the livery stable and ourselves to sleep in the hay-mow overhead. Next morning we breakfasted at the hotel. A. R. Ayers, H. E. Holmes and Tom Beall were missing. We traveled to Marengo where a short stop was made and the troops under Colonel Whipple came up. The volunteers took the Indian trails across the hills and the regular troops followed the wagon road. We stopped two hours on the Pataha and then traveled on to Dan Favor's ranch which was about fifteen miles this side of Lewiston, where we went into camp. Here we waited about three hours for supper, there being some misunderstanding as to the getting of the meal. When the troops came up they camped at the same place.

On the morning of the 21st, after paying our bills, we traveled on to Lewiston. Leaving our horses on this side of the river, we crossed over to the town where we met Major Spurgeon, the commander at that place, who gave us to understand that the settlers nearby were in no immediate danger and told us that, if we cared to go on into the Indian country, we could be of service, but would have to be under the command of the regular military authorities.

We re-crossed the river to our horses and, after dinner, signed our names to report to General Howard for eight days of service. We then elected our officers as follows: T. P. Page, captain, L. K. Grimm, lieutenant, and John F. McLean, sergeant. Then we again crossed over to Lewiston, this time with our outfits, and were regularly mustered in for eight days of service. Up to this time, Ayres, Holmes and Beall had not caught up with us. Some thought that they had backed out and gone home, others thought that they would yet come up.

Major Spurgeon directed us to Fort Lapwai to report to General Howard, where we arrived at 6 o'clock in the evening. Here we had supper, after drawing on the post commissary for rations. It rained on us all that night. The morning of the 22d we spent in repairing and fixing up our outfits. At 1 o'clock we were again on the march as General Howard's guard, the troops going in advance. There were three companies of infantry, two companies of cavalry, one company of artillery and one company of volunteers.

As we were starting off from camp that afternoon we were surprised as well as pleased to see Doc Ayers, Doc Holmes and Ike Abbott coming up. They were forgiven for their delinquency when we learned that they had gotten lost, being led astray by Beall whose horse gave out and who then gave up the expedition and went back home. They joined us in the march without waiting to secure any dinner. While we were going up Craig Mountain Ike Abbott's horse got away from him and he did not catch him until several hours later. On the evening of the 22d we made camp on Craig Mountain, putting our horses out with those of the regular troops, and Sergeant McLean detailed J. H. Lister, Frank Waldrip and myself to be on guard the first part of the night and Lane Gilliam, A. L. Bird and Frank Jackson for the latter part. This was our first guard duty and I thought that upon me rested the entire burden of herding those 300 head of horses.

On Saturday, June 23d, we started early and traveled along the mountain until after noon when we reached the great Camas Prairie. I was very much surprised at the extent and richness of this prairie on any part of which, it was claimed, timothy hay would grow. We passed the place where our former citizen, Lew Day, was first attacked by the Indians and later came to Ben Norton's place on Cottonwood where we camped. Owing to the fact that we were in advance of the command, Captain Page put a guard on the house and barn. He placed Henry Lacy as guard over the barn and, after the command came up, Captain Wilkinson started to enter the barn and Henry stopped him. The captain told Henry who he was. Still this did no good and the captain turned and went away. Henry Lacy and Charley Blewett were the youngest members of the company.

The following morning Aleck O'Dell, Lane Gilliam, Al Hall, Jake Holbrook, Ben Scott, Ike Abbott, Wm. McKearn and I got up early and started for Mount Idaho, nineteen miles distant. We passed the place where Norton and his family, John Moore and Miss Bowers had been overtaken by the Indians, also the place where a load of goods for Mount Idaho had been captured by the Indians. We passed through Grangeville and went on to Mount Idaho, arriving there at about 12 o'clock. We hitched our horses to the fence of a man by the name of Aram (?) who gave them some hay. Mr. Brown at the hotel told us that dinner would be at 4 o'clock. We told him that we were hungry and could not wait. He wasn't long in getting us something to eat.

During our stay here O'Dell and one or two others had their horses shod. I went into Volmer's store and wrote a letter home. Mr. Scott, the manager of the store, showed us many courtesies. Both he and Mr. Volmer had formerly lived in Walla Walla. Mr. Scott said that all the people in that district who could were preparing to leave for the Salmon River. Mr. Aram (?) invited us all in to dinner, which invitation we gladly accepted.

Here we secured the following information with regard to the depredations of the Indians. Joseph's band from the Wallowa and the Salmon River Indians under White Bird had been camped on Rocky Canyon, eight miles from Mount Idaho. The Indians attacked on Thursday, June 14th. The settlers on White Bird suffered severely. Jack Manuel was living there with his wife and baby. The baby was killed and Mrs. Manuel, after being horribly mistreated, was locked up in a room of their house and then the house was burned to the ground. James Baker, who lived about a mile below Manuel's place on White Bird, was killed. Samuel Benedict was killed but his wife and little girl escaped and came safely into town. H. C. Brown was shot in the shoulder but escaped in a boat and was later found by the cavalry. Harry Mason was killed but his sister escaped in the brush. William Osborn was also killed. Those killed on John Day's Creek were Henry Elfreys and his nephew, Robert Bland, Dick Divine, and two Frenchmen. The Elfreys were killed by the Indians with their own guns which had been secured while the settlers were at work in the field.

The settlers on Camas Prairie shared a similar fate. According to Mr. Scott, Lew Day left Mount Idaho to place the settlers on the prairie on guard and to give notice to the troops at Lapwai. The Indians overtook him about two miles beyond Norton's house. They immediately fired on him, hitting him twice in the back. Lew turned and went back to Norton's place where he found Norton and his family getting ready to go to Mount Idaho.

Norton, with his wife and boy, Joseph Moore, Miss Bowers, Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain and their child and Lew Day all got into the wagon and started for town, the Indians following and firing on them. Four miles the other side of Grangeville the Indians succeeded in killing the horses and they were forced to abandon the wagon. Hill Norton and Miss Bowers made their escape and came into Grangeville, bringing the first information of the attack. Norton was killed, Joseph Moore was hit twice, Mrs. Norton was shot through both legs, Mr. Chamberlain and their child were killed, the child's head being split open with a hatchet, and Mrs. Chamberlain was shot in the breast with an arrow. Theodore Schwartz, another settler, was wounded.

At 6 o'clock that evening we started back to camp and arrived there at 9 o'clock. On Monday, June 25th, we left our camp on the Cottonwood and continued our march to Johnson's camp or ranch, where we again made camp. On the road we passed the place where, before the outbreak, about one hundred lodges of Indians had been set at the lakes, on the rocks, in the canyons and on the prairie. Also we passed over the ground of Colonel Perry's retreat. Captain Page picked up some twenty cartridge shells within a distance of fifty yards. At Johnson's we were given a camping ground to the right of the main column, about half a mile from wood and water. The boys were dissatisfied and we secured permission to camp within the enclosure at Johnson's house. H. E. Holmes, Ike Abbott and C. S. Robinson were put on guard.

After breakfast on Tuesday morning, June 26th, we left camp to reconnoiter. We were in advance of the command that day. In our reconnoitering we came across the body of a dead soldier about two miles from camp. We were compelled to rest at times to allow the infantry an opportunity to dig trenches which we might use in case of need. About 12 o'clock we reached the summit looking down on White Bird Creek. During the morning's ride most of the soldiers killed in Colonel Perry's fight with the Indians were buried. For several miles we kept coming upon their dead bodies.

In the afternoon, with Chapman as guide, we rode along the top of the divide between Salmon River and White Bird. It was rough and tiresome riding. We saw fresh tracks and Chapman told us that we were liable to meet Indians at any time. Soon we discovered three Indian scouts across the river and shortly after that we discovered the whole band moving farther up the mountain. We fired a number of shots toward them but they were too far away and we were only wasting our cartridges.

We then left the ridge and went down on the bottom at Manuel's on White Bird. We went inside the gate and looked at the remains of the buildings which the Indians had burned. A few of the volunteers strayed down to the creek and what was their surprise to see, sitting in a little shed which the Indians had spared, a white man whom we all soon found to be Jack Manuel, and whom we had previously reported as among the killed. He had been wounded in the back of the neck by an arrow and had also been shot in the hips.

Our next task was to get Manuel out and away to safety. We soon fixed a pole in a broken buggy that was standing near and by fastening what spare ropes we had to the buggy and to the pommels of our saddles we succeeded in getting him away. Finding that we were not making headway fast enough, our captain sent to Captain Miller for two pack mules which were soon at hand. Then, making the pole into shafts, we soon arrived at camp where we turned Mr. Manuel over to his friends, who were to care for his wounds and take him to Mount Idaho the following day. It had rained all that day and we had had a hard day's work.

On June 27th we broke camp and marched to White Bird, the soldiers burying the dead soldiers we found which they had not had time to bury the preceding day. It was there on the White Bird side of the divide that the terrible battle had taken place. That night we camped within a short distance of the Salmon River which we expected to cross the following day. It seemed likely that, on crossing the river, we would have a fight with the Indians for we could see them for hours that afternoon riding their horses about and swinging themselves from side to side in all kinds of capers.

After we had made camp we received instructions to escort the pack train back to Lewiston where they were going for supplies. On reaching Lewiston the eight days for which we had engaged were up and, believing that the army of General Howard was fully able to conquer Chief Joseph and his braves, we returned to our homes.

On the afternoon after our return came word of the ambushing of Lieutenant Rains and a dozen volunteers and regulars, and the killing of Blewett and Foster near Cottonwood. The troops there had known that the Indians were in the vicinity and the lieutenant called for volunteers to go and hunt for Blewett and Foster, who had gone out earlier in the day and had failed to return as they had been ordered to do. The lieutenant and his men had not been gone long before a volley was heard and, on other troops tracing them up, they found that they had all been killed from ambush at the one volley. Foster had been killed earlier in the day near the road at the entrance to the prairie. Blewett had been killed a little later, around the mountain, undoubtedly after a run for his life.

This Charley Blewett was my next-door neighbor and had been for ten years prior to his death. We were students together at the school in district number one and also at Whitman Seminary. We had all regretted very much leaving Charley but he wanted to stay and Colonel Whipple said that he would look after him. This he did, taking him into his own mess. As soon as conditions would permit we had his remains brought home and he was given a military funeral.

The long chase after Chief Joseph and his Nez Percé Indians, with one or two fights and finally his surrender to General Miles, is now a matter of history. While General Howard has been greatly maligned it must not be forgotten that he was fighting one of the bravest tribes of Indians in the United States.

Among the most attractive features of Walla Walla is the park. This has usually been known as "City Park" for lack of a better name. Discussion has been rife as to a better and a permanent name. That question is still pending but the author ventures to express the opinion here that the most appropriate name would be "Pashki," one of several forms of the Indian name for the location of the park and also used for the creek. The word means "sunflower."

We are fortunate to be able to present a sketch by Miss Grace Isaacs, a "Native Daughter" of Walla Walla, and one of the foremost among the creators of the park.

THE PARK AT WALLA WALLA

"When Mr. Olmstead outlined a plan for Walla Walla's parks ten years ago, it was a source of satisfaction to discover that the work by our first park commission was along similar lines.

"The Olmstead plan included a boulevard encircling the city and connecting a series of parks in the four quarters of the town, embracing land now leased by the golf club and other tracts owned by the city. Its fruition has been regarded by many as a beautiful dream, or an ideal not realized in this generation by some of our men of affairs. Not so, however, with some enthusiasts, encouraged by the president of the Park Commission, John W. Langdon. When the plans for our first City Park were outlined, this forty acre tract, a part of the oldest farm in the valley, had been the property of the city for some years, it having been acquired by the purchase of the water system, and contained two of the main reservoirs of spring water, which then supplied the town. John F. McLean, as a member of the City Council, had endeavored to improve the tract, but was handicapped for lack of funds, and by lack of interest among his colleagues to the extent of a resolution in the council to sell a part of the land for building lots. Mr. McLean opposed this plan so vigorously, and continued to urge the park's improvement so earnestly, that others became interested, and when Mayor Tausick appointed the first Park Commission, Mr. McLean was a member, with Mr. Langdon, John P. Kent, Mrs. J. C. Huckett and Mrs. E. S. Isaacs.

"It was in 1901 that Mrs. Conde Hamlin of St. Paul, a member of the Civic Improvement Committee of the General Federation of Woman's Clubs, at the invitation of The Women's Reading Club and the Art Club of Walla Walla (at that time the only clubs in Walla Walla, though our city has the distinction of having organized in 1885, the second woman's club in the State of Washington, it being also one of the first dozen in the United States), gave us our first public lecture upon Civic Improvement. The Commercial Club supplied the theatre and W. P. Hooper, vice president of the Commercial Club, presided and introduced the speaker. The immediate result was the organizing of local Improvement Clubs of men and women, that did much to prepare public sentiment for a broader development. The Women's Clubs which had already their civic committees, making tentative experiments (of trash cans and such) received an impetus, and finally the Park Commission was appointed, and Mr. Langdon proceeded to draw a plan for the improvement of City Park. A park superintendent was secured and then came the question of money. It would require $4,000 to lay the system of water pipes through forty acres; the Council gasped, and said 'dare we do it?'

"A mass meeting of women was called, and a petition to the Council asking that this work be done, was circulated by women, and assumed the remarkable length of fourteen feet of names when presented to the Council. Needless to say, the argument was irresistible, and the work was hurried to completion. There being still the necessity for funds, the Woman's Park Club thus organized on the broad lines of membership, willingness 'to work for parks' constituting eligibility to membership, and year by year its plans have been carried to completion in proportion to the state of the exchequer. Dreamland, a tract of ten acres in the southwestern part of town, has been acquired, and following Mr. Olmstead's recommendations, an effort is being made to secure land for another in the northwestern area, which is more than a mile from the Dreamland, and two from City Park. There are also eight acres on Boyer Avenue known as 'Wildwood' awaiting development, as well as the land lying along Mill Creek, previously mentioned as leased by the Golf Club. Walla Walla possesses abundant land for all the recreation places she will need for one hundred years at least, if wisely conserved.

"The Park Club established and maintains the playgrounds in two parks, and hopes another season to build swimming pools. For the establishment of this department credit should be given the eloquence of Jane Addams and of Judge Lindsey in depicting the need for the right environment of children in their leisure hours. It was with the hope that preventive measures might make some of the unhappy conditions of cities impossible in this community. The Park Club has for eight years given annually a 'Community' entertainment, usually an open air festival in the park. The Pageant of 1914, written and staged by Porter Garnett of the Pageant Association of America, the artist who has staged so many of the Bohemian Club's Grove Plays, will linger long in memory as 'the most beautiful thing Walla Walla ever did.' It was a wonderful artistic success, owing to the devotion of the Park Club to ideals, which were epitomized by Mr. Garnett as 'those whose Civic pride and constructive idealism have enabled them to dare and to achieve.'

"The year 1917 has been marked by a 'Kirmess,' the proceeds of which are to be devoted to Red Cross work. It is the judgment of all concerned that though the park needs work, the soldiers in the field need our money more."

While there are naturally many more recollections in respect to Walla Walla and its near vicinity, yet we have a number of others of great interest from other parts of the field.

We are turning therefore, now from Walla Walla to the youngest sister of the counties, Asotin. We have first a reminiscence of early settlement in Asotin County, by Mrs. Mary A. Wormell, whose family is among the most prominent of the builders of the county:

SOME PIONEER RECOLLECTIONS OF ASOTIN COUNTY

By Mrs. Mary A. Wormell

In the summer of 1880 the writer came with her family to that portion of Asotin County known as Asotin flat. We arrived late in July from California travelling by the "prairie schooner" route. We had encountered many difficulties and no little discouragement en route, and heard many disparaging stories about the new country towards which we were travelling. One Californian, disgusted and homeward bound, solemnly informed us that we would see icicles in Washington a foot and a half long. And as the darky said: "We have seen all that an' mo'."

One day we met a family taking the back trail that had left our locality the year before with this slogan printed on the new, white cover of their "prairie schooner"—"Washington or Bust." They passed slowly by, a weary, dejected looking outfit, and the weather-beaten old canvas top bore the single word—"Busted." But even this demonstration of defeat did not daunt us, for we were already "busted," had nothing to lose and everything to gain, so we kept right on as the western phrase so aptly puts it—"hitting the trail," to the north that brought us at last to what is now Asotin County. It "looked good" to us then and has kept right on looking good to us ever since.

A SPANISH CHESTNUT, CLARKSTON-VINELAND, 1907

The townsite of Asotin at that time was a cattle range. There was one cabin but farther up the river in what was later called the "upper town" was a store and postoffice conducted by Alex Sumpter. We proceeded to climb the hill driving where we could, for there was practically no road. Upon reaching the plateau we gazed out over miles and miles of bunch grass prairie that stretched away, seemingly, in unbroken lines to the foot of the Blue Mountains nearly twenty miles away. As we drove on we passed here and there a settler's home with a few acres broken and fenced. There were the Bean, Ayers, and Bolick ranches, while a little further on we came to the Boyer place. Nearer the mountains there were many families; namely: Whiton, Scott, James and Andrew Robinson, Sangster, Kanawyer, Dodson, Perciful, Flinn, Bay, Huber, Dundrum, Shelman, Foredyce, Sweigert, and many others. We located about four miles from Anatone, which at that time consisted of a small store and postoffice conducted by Chas. Isecke. The only schoolhouse in what is now Asotin County, was located about one-half mile distant from the postoffice. Back in the Blue Mountains a few miles was the saw mill of Messrs. Bean and Farrish.

The immediate neighborhood in which we lived held the honor of being the first on the "flat" visited by the "stork"; Elmer Pintler, second son of Mr. and Mrs. Edward Pintler, being the first white child born on Asotin flat, and Ellen Caroline Bay, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. John Bay was the first girl. Both little toddlers were two years old or thereabouts when we moved into the neighborhood.

The country was now filling up rapidly; all fear of Indian troubles was past, and the people were intent upon making comfortable and permanent homes for themselves and their children. Money was so scarce that it was often said that tamarack rails were "legal tender." Every man was owner of a few, at least, for it was the only fencing known here at that time. Consequently every man, at some time during the year, went into the mountains and demonstrated the accomplishment of Lincoln.

The nearest flour mill was at Colombia Center, some thirty or forty miles distant, and the yearly trips to that point were long and tedious, over a track that could scarcely be called a road. The country was full of cattle, so beef was cheap, being two or three cents per pound, but pork was scarce. Vegetables were also scarce that year, owing to a grasshopper raid. In 1881, instead of grasshoppers, there were crickets, which passed through the country in May, but were too early to do much damage, and the gardens were fairly good that year. These raiding pests did not visit us again and all vegetation flourished in the new soil.

The Pine Grove schoolhouse, the second to be built on the flat, was built in the fall of 1880, and school was conducted there that winter. This was not the first term taught in the district however, as a Mr. Morgan had taught the few children in the neighborhood, the year before in the home of Mr. Pintler. All school districts held at first only three months of school, but it was a beginning out of which has grown our school system of today of which all are so justly proud.

The diversions of the time, for there are no people on earth more sociably inclined than the pioneer, were visiting, dancing, quilting bees, barn and house raisings, "turkey shoots" on holidays, and of course the patriotic celebrations of July Fourth.

As to dress, the people wore what they had and were glad to get it. Cowhide and calico were the latest importations. It was not what they wore but what they were that counted, and that simple garb clothed some of the finest characters that I have ever known. Wherever there was sickness, sorrow, or trouble of whatever sort, that home was filled with friends with sympathetic hearts and helpful hands.

Of churches there were none and no resident minister, though an occasional visiting or circuit minister held services in the schoolhouse, but each school district maintained a flourishing Sunday school. The most convenient and common mode of travel to these gatherings was on horseback.

In 1883 Asotin County was established. We were very proud and later when statehood was granted we felt that we were making progress by leaps and bounds.

Year by year the acreage was increased, new fences were run, and in an amazingly short time, the vast herds of horses and cattle that had grazed peacefully there or wandered in long wavering lines, along the deep old trails to the nearby water holes, gave place to the wide fields of waving grain and passed on to the wilder regions.

And so we grew, the old log cabins with their mud and rock chimneys were replaced by more pretentious dwellings, better farm buildings began to appear, more machinery was purchased, the cayuses and the gaunt range cattle were weeded out to make room for better livestock. Along all lines we sought to improve the general equipment and thus add to the farm's efficiency. Each year brought much progress and some failure. There were hard winters and years of drought. There were good times and hard times, but these were just the incidents common to the life of every community. We weathered them all—and today are proud that our little corner is a worthy part of the "Great Northwest."

In passing along any one of the numerous fine highways of which our county boasts today, one meets occasionally an old pioneer slipping smoothly along in his high powered motor, and there comes to mind a picture of that same traveller, thirty or forty years ago, toiling along that same highway, over a rough rutted course, that could only by the greatest courtesy be called a road, with his jaded cayuse team and lumber wagon, creeping along with the summer sun blazing down upon him or the howling blizzard of winter buffetting, beating him pitilessly, and the biting cold freezing him to the very bone. Picture the contrast, dear reader, and rejoice in the progress of forty years.

In all the years to come we will be found working together for all that makes for development and betterment along all lines, for in such unity alone, can there be real progress. We know that each coming year is better than the last, and all unite in the wish that good old Asotin County may see many of them.

Another of the most prominent of the early families of Asotin County is the Clemans family. A daughter of that family, now well known in Asotin city as Mrs. Lillian Clemans Merchant, was for some years a teacher, and then the superintendent of schools. We are glad to present here a valuable and entertaining account of the early schools of Asotin County from Mrs. Merchant:

BEGINNINGS OF SCHOOLS IN ASOTIN COUNTY

By Mrs. Lillian Clemens Merchant

The writer was not among the earliest settlers of this portion of Washington, having reached the county in the autumn of 1885, although the schools and school systems of the county were still in the embryonic stage, we having enjoyed the privilege of attending school in the first schoolhouse in the county, a little log building 12 by 14 situated about one-half mile from Anatone.

This seat of learning had one window on either side and was furnished as follows: A few rude desks of varying sizes fashioned from rough lumber but soon worn smooth by the activity of the children by whom they were occupied, a long bench made of a hewed log with eight upright pieces driven into it for legs, being used as recitation bench, a small crude table constructed from native wood served for the teacher, a few planed boards painted black in the rear of the room sufficed for a board, a piece of sheep-skin tacked on a block of wood served as an eraser, while a small box heater occupied the center of the room.

Many of the children rode cayuse ponies to school, staking or hobbling them in the open, that they might feast on the tall bunch grass that was so abundant. School was held only during the spring and summer months. On rainy days the riding equipment was of necessity brought into the schoolhouse. The odor emanating from them and the huddled groups of wet children and the lunch pails made a peculiar combination of odors, but in those days we knew nothing of germs. Children were taught to value the privilege of attending school as almost sacred. A year's work was frequently done in a term of three or four months, much stress being placed upon the three R's.

These pioneer children represented many nationalities. One family in the locality were direct descendants of the Wadsworth family of New England to which the poet Longfellow belongs. There were many of Indian blood. One of these young Indian women of distinguished lineage (half breed) grew to womanhood with us. Later losing her father, her mother having died in the girl's infancy, upon opening of the reservation of the Nez Percés, secured her allotment and was persuaded by the teachers of the Indians to attend Carlisle, which she did. But in recent years we happened to be at the interstate fair, and walking into the main pavilion where an Indian baby show was being held, there we saw our schoolmate, a proud and happy mother wrapped in the regulation blanket with the "blue ribbon" pinned on her dusky babe which she held in her arms. Recognition was mutual, but owing to the natural reserve of her race we secured no explanation of conditions.

Fortunately in those early days requirements for securing a teacher's certificate were not rigid, so teachers were plentiful but none qualified to teach beyond the grammar school work, necessitating a removal for high school work which could be ill afforded at that time. At Lewiston, Idaho, about twenty miles distant the Methodist Church established a so-called college which flourished for a time. Many of the young men and women of Asotin County availed themselves of the educational advantages offered by it.

As soon as the normal school at Cheney opened its doors Asotin County was represented, but in order to go there the student was compelled to leave Anatone at 7 A. M., reaching Asotin four hours later and from there another stage was taken which connected with the Uniontown stage in Lewiston, Idaho. About 2 P. M. the Uniontown stage, now designated as a wild-west stage coach, being drawn by six to eight horses, carrying often fourteen to sixteen passengers, took the timid student in charge and transported him as far as Uniontown. It being dark and the train not leaving until morning a stop was made over night. The train was boarded the next morning for Spokane, a stop of a few hours in that thriving little village, and then off to Cheney which was reached later in the afternoon, thus making two days for the trip. But the influence of the splendid men and women in charge of the normal and the excellent opportunities offered the student over his environment in his home county was a splendid recompense for the sacrifice he had to make in leaving Asotin County home folks and friends. But the return of the student and his entry into the teaching profession where he was given a royal welcome by all neighbors and old friends made him feel once more that the effort was more than worth while.

The association of the teachers with the parents in these communities was close indeed. It was the good fortune of the teacher to be entertained over night in every home, although humble, thus acquiring first-hand knowledge of the environment of every child under his or her supervision. It was also the teacher who set the example for the young people in the community thus almost invariably improving the moral status. The teacher was often the Sunday school superintendent or called upon to direct the community choir or was instrumental in organizing debating societies or spelling schools, thus again coming in close contact with the entire neighborhood. Out of this association many friendships were formed that counted for much in the later development of the county. The remuneration received by these teachers rarely exceeded forty dollars per month, many receiving less, but these faithful teachers who still remain in the county in various walks of life have the satisfaction of thinking that their work was appreciated when they observe the places these pioneer children occupy in the county.

The county school superintendent was also an efficient factor in those early days. He might be justly compared to a missionary. Every school board and likewise patrons of the district looked to him for close supervision of the work, as also did every teacher expect in him a high tribunal for the settlement of difficulties that occasionally arose through some misunderstanding.

Since the organization of the county the office of county superintendent has been held by both men and women, as to service about equally divided. Speaking from a woman's standpoint, school visitation in early days in the county was not an easy matter. The roads were extremely poor, schoolhouses far apart, many of which were not accessible by vehicle. One was compelled to drive until the road ceased to be fit for travel or terminated abruptly, at which time the team was converted into saddle horses when the journey was continued. Arduous indeed! was the trip but one was fully repaid when some homesick teacher brightened under the encouragement given and the children put forth an extra effort to make their school the best in the county in attendance or improvement along some line designated by the superintendent, the result to be passed upon by that officer upon the next official visit. Some of the children in these isolated districts were twelve and fourteen years old and never had the privilege of being inside of any public building except their own little schoolhouse, had never had the pleasure of spending a dime. These hardy pioneers always shared their best with the superintendent. We recall one of the young women superintendents having gone out for a survey of the rural schools being entertained in a home over night where the only bed in the home was a bunk nailed up to the side of the wall and filled with straw. This the hostess and her three months' old baby shared with the visitor, while the husband went to the barn loft to sleep. This young woman so hospitably entertained was made to feel in this humble home that those people struggling against poverty knew she was interested in the development of the various districts and always had the loyal support of every one in those communities. All worked for the common aim—the betterment of local conditions.

In early days it was not out of the ordinary for Indians to appear at the farm houses demanding a meal. One incident has been brought to our knowledge where two blanket Indians went into a house asking for a meal in almost unintelligible English, but during the progress of the meal one of the girls of the family was murmuring a few German phrases which she had learned from a neighbor, whereupon the younger of the two Indians asked in splendid English why she had not learned the languages when young. It developed that he was able to converse in five languages, being a college graduate, while at this time Asotin County's children had no advantages above the grammar grades. But let it be said to the credit of these pioneer children who are the fathers and mothers of the present younger generation that they made good and are seeing that their children are getting the best the great state offers educationally.

Thirty years have brought vast changes educationally—classical, industrial and literary courses having been added to our systems, the schools having been inspected and placed upon the accredited lists of the state. Children are provided free transportation to and from schools; hot lunches are provided; buildings equipped with splendid heating systems and sanitary conditions are generally observed. Teachers are paid excellent wages and are well prepared for their work. The county superintendent is provided with an automobile for visitation of schools which are practically all reached by an excellent system of highways.

As an outcome of this superior development many of our young men are holding positions of trust in the present crisis, in the service of Uncle Sam both at home and abroad.

Would we return to the old conditions and times were we given our choice? We love to dwell upon the early times, the struggles, the happy hours, to think of those who were friends during those trying years, but we wish our county to keep pace with the progress of the whole Northwest. So we, in the future, as we have done in the past, as loyal united citizens, will boost for the educational, spiritual and civic growth of Asotin County.

We have given the personal reminiscences of pioneers of Walla Walla and Asotin counties. We are now giving something of the recollections of the first woman in what is now Columbia County, one of the pioneers of 1859, Mrs. Margaret Gilbreath:

S. L. Gilbreath and I were married at Albany, Ore., in March, 1859, and started at once for Washington Territory with a band of cattle, one wagon and team, and three herders.

At the Cascade Mountains two other men, John Wells and Tom Davis, with a wagon and cattle, joined us. We soon found it impossible to hurry on with the wagons, so they were left behind until the road was opened, the rest coming on with the stock. Pack horses carried the camp equipment. It was hard work opening up the trail on account of fallen trees and deep snow. We camped on Butter Creek and sent two men on to find suitable grazing land for our cattle. They returned in a few days reporting that good land with plenty of bunch grass could be homesteaded on the Touchet River. Having succeeded in bringing up our wagons under much difficulty, we continued on our way to Walla Walla.

Captain Dent, commander of Fort Walla Walla, stopped us and insisted that we settle near Walla Walla. We could not do this as the horses of the garrison had eaten all the grass from the range and we were looking for good pasture.

We inquired of the captain if we would be safe from the Indians if we went to the Touchet Valley. He assured us that the Indians were peaceable, which Mr. Gilbreath believed as he had served as volunteer through the Indian wars of 1855 and 1856, and knew of the Nez Percés fighting and scouting for the whites through the war. We found them always friendly, unless they had been drinking.

Leaving Walla Walla we proceeded on our way to The Crossing, which is now Dayton, reaching there August 27, 1859.

Mr. Stubbs, whose real name was Theodore Schnebley, lived here in a log house with his squaw wife. He sold whiskey to the Indians, thereby causing the whites much trouble. In coming into the Valley of the Touchet we left the Indian trail and came down a ravine, in some places having to shovel out places in the ravine to keep the wagons from turning over. These wagons were the first brought into the Touchet Valley.

The next day, after our arrival at The Crossing, we started to build a corral for the cattle, but discovered a den of rattlesnakes. After killing ten we decided to move down the valley to a fine location near a big spring of pure water. This land we homesteaded.

The Indian chiefs were frequent visitors at our cabin, calling soon after we came. Timothy and Lawyer and their friends sometimes sent messengers on ahead to tell us they were coming to dine with us. We would hasten to get ready a good meal for we thought it best to keep them friendly.

Many times we expected trouble from them. Once they rode up the trail shouting and firing off their guns. That night they burned the house of Mr. Stubbs. Sometimes they would imitate wolves howling and slip up near the house to see if there was a man there to know whether to scare the white woman or not.

Several times they would run a beef into the woods and kill it, carrying home the meat. One night when the Indians had been drinking and were giving us a great scare, two men hunting cattle and Reverend Berry, who preached at our cabin once a month, happened to be there. We were certainly glad to have company.

One day Mr. Gilbreath was plowing rye grass with oxen when Reverend Berry came riding up. He stopped his work and waited for Mr. Berry to come up to him, then said, looking at his clothes and general appearance, "A Methodist preacher, I suppose." "Yes, I am," was the reply. "Well, go on to the house. My wife is a Methodist and will be glad to see you." Reverend Berry preached in our cabin all that fall and winter of 1859 and 1860. His congregation consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Herren, Mr. Stubbs and his dusky wife, Mr. Gilbreath and I, and men who happened to be in the neighborhood. Mr. Berry afterward made his home in Walla Walla for some years.

Whiskey Creek was so named because a band of outlaws made this region their rendezvous, selling whiskey and stealing cattle. Their names were Bill Bunting, John Cooper, Bill Skinner, George Ives and several others who were later hanged in Montana for crimes. The authorities there evidently knew their business, for these were the men who caused the Vigilantes to organize against them. Many prominent men took part in ridding the new country of these undesirables, among them Anderson Cox and J. W. McGhee. It was said that in dealing with the thieves Mr. McGhee said to George Ives who was up for trial: "George, we want you to leave, and we want it to be a long time before you come back." Mr. McGhee's deliberate way of speaking evidently carried weight, for George left.

The first crop of wheat in the Touchet Valley was raised on the land of Israel Davis on Whiskey Creek. He was leaving for the Willamette to buy sheep and Mr. Gilbreath harvested the wheat by cradling, and threshed it out by horses tramping on it. One night a wind came up and Mr. Gilbreath and hired man got up out of bed and began the work of cleaning the eat by pouring pails full of it from a scaffold to the ground. In this manner over a thousand bushels were cleaned. This was intended for seed for the coming year, but the hard winter of 1861 and 1862 followed when food for man and beast became so scarce that most of it was sold to the needy for food, and to keep the teams from starving. Some of the settlers ground the wheat in coffee mills and used it as porridge. We sold our wheat for $2 a bushel. We could have sold at any price but Mr. Gilbreath would not take advantage of their great need.

This was the most terrible winter ever experienced in the valley. The snow drifted so deep that many of the cattle were frozen standing up. Out of 300 of ours two cows and a calf, which we fed, were left. The timber wolves killed a good many cattle that winter. One day a wolf attacked a calf and the mother heard the cry of distress coming from some distance. When she reached it, the wolf was starting to devour the body. The cow fought it from the calf for a day or two, making the most piteous cries. Other cattle smelled the blood and came bawling for miles around. The sound of hundreds of frenzied cattle bawling will not soon be forgotten.

We were fortunate in having plenty of supplies that winter, as we had prepared to send a small pack train to the mines at Elk City. The deep snow made it impossible to get supplies, so the neighbors called on us, and our stores were opened to feed them. Our stock of food was divided among thirteen families. The snow was so deep that only a narrow trail could be kept open to Walla Walla by miners coming to and from the Idaho mines. The snow lay on the ground until March, and in shady places until June. We had to go to Walla Walla in the spring and buy barley for seed.

Miller and Mossman who ran a pony express to the mines, stopped at our cabin for meals, and for exchange of horses. Their saddle-bags were often loaded with gold dust. Joaquin Miller, who is now known as one of our best western poets, was then a rough frontiersman, dressed in buckskin.

Having moved to a new log house, school was held in our cabin in the spring of 1862. Five or six children attended. Mr. Harlin, an Englishman, was the teacher, and he stayed with us.

Another school was taught in 1863 in the Forrest brothers' cabin. These men were brothers-in-law of Jesse N. Day, who later founded Dayton. Frank Harmon was the teacher and A. W. Sweeney of Walla Walla was the first county superintendent.

Reverend Sweeney organized a Cumberland Presbyterian Church at Waitsburg. Among others, Mr. and Mrs. Long and daughter and Mr. Gilbreath and I were charter members.

Our first child who died in infancy was the first white child born in the territory now included in Columbia, Garfield and Asotin counties. The oldest living person born in this territory is Mrs. John Steen, daughter of George Miller.

I was the only white woman in this territory for two months, until Lambert Herren and family came and settled near. Mrs. Robt. Rowley, who was two months old at that time, is the only living one of the Herren family of eight children.

Mrs. Herren was a typical pioneer woman, fearless and kind-hearted, nursing me and others in times of sickness, in the absence of a physician. When the Indians threatened me, I sent for her and she came with shotgun and indignation, and rescued me.

Great changes have taken place since those early days, and many incidents of vital interest to us then have been forgotten, but the kindness and simple living of the early settlers are not easily forgotten.

We have had occasion in this volume to make frequent reference to Mr. and Mrs. J. M. Pomeroy, founders of the town named from them.

One of their daughters, now Mrs. Peter McClung, living still in her home town, was the "first child" in Pomeroy now living there. She has kindly given us a short sketch of what might well be called the atmosphere and the feeling of her childhood home.

We are pleased to include it here as the closing contribution of this chapter of memories.

RECOLLECTIONS OF POMEROY

By Mrs. Peter McClung

To write a story of my experience as a child on the land now occupied by the town of Pomeroy will not require extended space. Days were much the same with the three children of the Pomeroy family isolated from neighbors by distance measured in many miles. Being the youngest of the three children my amusements were in large measure directed by my brother, who was my senior by four years, and my sister, the oldest of the trio.

My earliest recollections recall the counting of the election ballots at our home which was the precinct voting place for the half dozen votes then polled here. It was my great privilege and delight to sit beside my father, for many years one of the members of the election board, and listen to the humdrum tones of the men's voices as they uttered the words that made for the success of some doughty pioneer with political ambitions, or the defeat of one who had fallen a victim to the solicitations of over-zealous friends.

For several years my father cast the only republican ballot in the precinct. I soon reached an age that enabled me to comprehend that fact and know its significance. Our voting precinct contained many thousand square miles—bounded on the south by the Blue Mountains, on the north by the Snake River, on the east by Idaho and on the west by the Touchet River. I sometimes wonder if the deep interest I now feel in all elections and campaigns is not in part due to my early experiences wherein the heat of the neighborhood contests centered about me.

My play time was long and often lonesome, the same, I suppose, as that of other pioneer children reared in the interior of this semi-arid region. Great was my pleasure when I was allowed to ride my pony over the hills after cattle, or to follow my brother on a hunt for prairie chickens or ducks. When my father's two greyhounds, "Peggy" and "John," made one of their frequent raids on the then ever-present coyotes, with the rest of the family my cup of happiness was near the point of bubbling over. Old "Rero's" peculiar bark warned us of the near approach of predaceous animal or bird.

The Pataha Creek then teemed with fish and angling occupied much of my time. The great birds' nests in the trees that fringed the streams, the cubby-holes of the animals along its banks, the caverns in the granite-ribbed Pataha hills, in the fancy of a child, contained wonders impenetrable, yet much there was revealed. With the beginning of the town began a new life for me.

We insert at this point a notable speech upon a notable occasion by one of the most distinguished citizens of Walla Walla, who is also one of our Advisory Board, and whose support and suggestions in the preparation of this work have been of utmost value.

This is Governor Miles C. Moore, last Territorial Governor. Upon his retirement on November 11, 1889, he delivered the following address, one eminently worthy of preservation in the literature of the State of Washington.

ADDRESS OF EX-GOVERNOR MOORE

Ladies and Gentlemen: A custom has grown up here at the capital city and crystallized into unwritten law, which requires the retiring governor to deliver his own valedictory, and also to salute the incoming administration. In accordance with that custom I am here as the last of the race of territorial governors to say "Hail and farewell." Hail to the lusty young State of Washington, rising like a giant in its strength; farewell to old territorial days. It is an occasion for reminiscence, for retrospection. To those of us who have watched at the cradle of Washington's political childhood, this transition to statehood has its pathetic side. It stirs within us memories of the "brave days of old." The past rises before us.

We see again the long line of white canvas-covered wagons leaving the fringe of settlements of the then western frontier, through tear-dimmed eyes we see them disappear down behind the western horizon, entered upon that vast terra incognita, the great American desert of our school days. At last we see them emerge, after months of weary travel upon the plains of eastern Washington, or, later, hewing out paths in the wilderness, striving to reach that "Eden they call Puget Sound." Hither year after year came the pioneers and builded their homes and planted the symbols of their faith upon the banks of your rivers, in the sun-kissed valleys of your inland empire, under the shadows of your grand mountains, and upon the shores of this vast inland sea.

Very gradually we grew. The donation act passed by Congress in 1850, giving to each man and his wife who would settle thereon a square mile of land in this fertile region, attracted the first considerable immigration. It also probably saved to the United States this northwest territory. The entire population, which at the date of organization as a separate territory, in 1853, was 5,500, had grown to only 24,000 in 1870, and to 67,000 in 1880.

Still with an abiding faith in the ultimate greatness of Washington, and the attractions of her climate, when her wealth of resources should become known, the old settler watched through the long years the gradual unfolding of these resources, the slow increase in population. At last the railroad came, linking us with the populous centers of civilization. They poured upon us a restless stream of immigration. A change came over the sleepy old territory. These active, pushing emigrants, the best blood of the older states, are leveling the forests, they are delving in the mines, they are tunneling the mountains, they are toiling in the grain fields, they are building cities, towns and villages, filling the heavens with the shining towers of religion and civilization.

The old settler finds himself in the midst of a strange new age and almost uncomprehended scenes. The old order of things has passed away but your sturdy self-reliant pioneer looks not mournfully into the past. He is with you in the living present, with you here today, rejoicing in the marvelous prosperity visible everywhere around him, rejoicing to see the empire which he wrested from savage foes become the home of a happy people, rejoiced to see that empire, emerged from the condition of territorial vassalage, put on the robes of sovereignty.

We are assembled here to celebrate this event, the most important in the history of Washington, and to put in motion the wheels of the state government. Through many slow revolving years the people of Washington have waited for their exalted privileges. So quietly have they come at last, so quietly have we passed from political infancy to the manly strength and independence of statehood, that we scarce can realize that we have attained the fruition of our hopes.

Let us not forget in this hour of rejoicing the responsibility that comes with autonomy. Let us not forget that under statehood life will still have woes, that there will still be want and misery in this fair land of ours. To reduce these to the minimum is the problem of statesmanship. The responsibility rests largely with our lawmakers now assembled here. A good foundation has been laid in the adoption of an admirable constitution pronounced by an eminent authority "as good as any state now has and probably as good as any will ever get." Upon this you are to build the superstructure of the commonwealth by enacting laws for the millions who are to dwell therein.

You have the storehouse of the centuries from which to draw, the crystallized experience of lawmakers from the days of Justinian down to present times. To fail to give us good laws will be to "sin against light." "Unto whomsoever much is given of him shall be much required." The eyes of all the people are upon you. It is hoped and confidently expected you will bring to the discharge of your duties wisdom, industry and lofty patriotism; that when your work is done it will be found to have been well done; that capital and labor will here have equal recognition and absolute protection; that here will arise an ideal commonwealth, the home of a race to match our mountains, worthy to wear the name of Washington.

Now that I am about to surrender my trust and return to private life, I desire to testify to my grateful appreciation of the uniform kindness, forbearance and courtesy accorded me by the people of Olympia, and by all the citizens of Washington, it has been my good fortune to meet during my brief term of office. I shall always cherish among the pleasant experiences of my life the seven months passed here as Washington's last territorial governor.

To your governor-elect you need no introduction; if not a pioneer, he is at least an old settler. It is a graceful tribute to this class that one of their number was selected to be the first governor of the state. It affords me pleasure to testify to his thorough and absolute devotion to its interests. His every thought is instinct with love for the fair young state. I bespeak for him your generous co-operation and assistance.

With Governor Moore's address as last Territorial governor, this volume may fittingly close. The development of the Territory there so vividly summarized by him, has continued and has indeed exceeded all forecasts during the twenty-eight years of statehood, from 1889 to 1917.

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BIOGRAPHICAL

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Old Walla Walla County