JOURNAL OF TRAVELS
FROM
ST. JOSEPHS TO OREGON,

WITH
OBSERVATIONS OF THAT COUNTRY,
TOGETHER WITH
SOME DESCRIPTION OF CALIFORNIA,
ITS AGRICULTURAL INTERESTS,
AND
A Full Description
OF
ITS GOLD MINES.

BY RILEY ROOT.

GALESBURG:
GAZETTEER AND INTELLIGENCER PRINTS.
1850.

EXPLANATORY NOTE.

The Author of the present work has adopted a new method of punctuation, and, in certain cases, of spelling. He discards entirely the colon and the semi-colon. Modern readers passing along with great rapidity, and the principal use of these points being to mark the length of time the voice is to be suspended, the Author is of opinion that they may with propriety disappear from our language. Accordingly he has adjusted the following work to suit those views, and as the reader advances, his attention will naturally be directed to that subject, by which means he will be enabled to judge of the propriety or impropriety of this adjustment of the pauses in the language.

THE PRINTER

ADVERTISEMENT.

As the advantages for knowing the pronunciation of some of the words that occur in the following work are limited amongst most eastern readers, it may not be improper here to give some explanation by way of change in their orthography.

The name of the Willamette, a river in the west valley of Oregon, is changd to Will-am-et, with the accent on the second syllable. A tributary of the Willamet river, with the several names of Quality, Tualiton, and Troliton, is more familiarly calld Twality. Also another, which flows from Mt. Jefferson, by some calld Santa Anna, is more properly calld San-ty-am.

San or Saint Joaquin in California, is pronouncd Saint Wau-keen, with the accent on the second syllable. Stanislaus, a tributary of the St. Wau-keen, is often improperly calld Spanish Slough. Juba river, a tributary of the Sacramento, is now calld Yu-bar river. The old name of Rio de Plumas, is familiarly known by the name of Feather river. Mereposa is divided into four syllables, with the half accent on Mer, and the full accent on Po. The above definitions may in some degree, help the reader to the proper pronunciation of some words as used in California.

JOURNAL.

CHAPTER I.

Journey from home—Trip down the Mississippi and up the Missouri River to St. Josephs.

I left home in Knox county, Illinois, the 3d day of April, 1848, for Woodstock in Fulton county, a distance of about 20 miles, where I staid one day with my eldest daughter. I then started for the Mississippi river, to Nauvoo, a Mormon town, by the way of La Harp, a distance of fifty miles, over which route most of the way to La Harp is as handsome prairie as I have seen in the State. I visited the Temple at Nauvoo, with the expectation of seeing a beautiful edifice, as the Mormons would have it to appear, that the glory of the latter Temple is to exceed that of the former.

It is true that on approaching the Temple[1] the visitor beholds something exquisite in its outward appearance, though not more so than many other buildings in America, but on visiting its inner scenery, the visitor is not arousd by any thing sublime, curious or tasteful. The inner arrangements may be in accordance with their plans of order and church government, yet the design and workmanship are of an ordinary appearance. But the building is fast going to decay, and the town is vacated of three fourths of its inhabitants.

[1]It has since been burnt.

From this place I passd down the river to Quincy, where I stopd with a design to visit my youngest daughter of sixteen years of age, who is attending school at the Mission Institute, about two miles east of Quincy. The school at this place was establishd for the purpose of promoting the cause of Christ by preparing youth for the missionary field, though other scholars who do not wish to enter upon missionary labors are sometimes admitted.

From Quincy I went to St. Louis for the purpose of obtaining a boat to go to St. Josephs on the Missouri river, where most of the emigrants meet before leaving the United States for Oregon. On ascending the Missouri river from its confluence with the Mississippi to Weston, a town twenty-five miles by land below St. Josephs, no pleasant villages are seen except Jefferson City, the capital of the State of Missouri. This town shows something of the beauties of art, with a good levee for the lading and unlading of goods. The state house is worthy of the most notice of the traveler. It is large and elegant, and made of hewn stone.

To the geologist the Missouri river presents a scene of speculation. Its waters are always muddy, and still more so at high stages of the river. To the indifferent observer it may appear that the raw edges of its banks, by their crumbling off at times of high water, furnish material for its turbid appearance at all times. It is true that in times of high water its muddy look is greatly increased, but this is not all that is to be considered. The river has but small depth of water most of the time, and this passes over an argilaceous bottom, with sufficient force to keep it constantly agitated. There is also a mixture of exceedingly fine sand spread over its bottom, and the whole together is constantly agitated by the motion of its waters. The bed of the stream from its union with the Mississippi to St. Josephs, is at least one hundred feet below the high prairie of the country around it. The question naturally arises as to the length of time required to excavate such a channel through a country so vast in extent as the Missouri traverses with all its tributaries, considering the amount of alluvium carried outward into the ocean from age to age, whilst the bed of the river is supplied in part from the high countries of its tributaries, and thus rendering the work of degradation exceedingly slow. Yet notwithstanding the amount of soil received from year to year from above, that river carries outward into the ocean more than it receives, and thereby causes a lowering of its bed, though not visible for ages, yet gradually and slowly has it worn away the earth to its present condition. The geologist has no certain means of ascertaining with certainty the amount of degradation from year to year, and must leave the subject, sublime as it is, to the wild fancies of imagination.

CHAPTER II.

St. Josephs—The Indian country lying west of the River—Formation of the Prairie—Scouring material of the Soil—Its general appearance as far west as the South Pass, or dividing ridge.

St. Josephs is a new town on the Missouri river, in latitude of about 34 deg. 45 min. north, with about 1800 inhabitants, which five years ago was a field of hemp. The town has 18 stores, 3 drug stores, 9 groceries, 6 tailor shops, 8 blacksmith shops, 2 tin shops, 3 taverns, 3 boarding houses, 1 steam and 1 water flouring mill, and 2 steam saw mills. Among its inhabitants are 15 lawyers, 11 doctors, 2 silversmiths and 2 gunsmiths.

The town is mostly located on a plat of ground with sufficient descent for drainage, contiguous to the bluffs on the north, on which it is partly built. On this bluff stands the court house of Buchanan county, where the spectator can overlook the town.

The river from this point is seen but a short distance either up or down, in consequence of its meandering course, so that it is soon lost sight of behind the bluffs.

I left St. Josephs for the Indian country lying west of the Missouri river, through which I was to pass on my way to Oregon, with a train of emigrants for that place, on the 25th of April, 1848, with a view of reaching Oregon before the inclemencies of winter should overtake me, under as favorable auspices as the nature of the case would allow.

The Indian country is a wild, uncultivated tract, and almost destitute of inhabitants. It has, however, a few scattering tribes of Indians, though few indeed and far between. This country is what is calld a prairie country or natural meadow, with very little timber except along the water-courses. It is a continuation of the great valley of the Mississippi westward along the tributaries to the Rocky mountains, where the waters of the continent divide and run westward into the Pacific ocean.

A prairie may be an alluvial country, and it may be tertiary. The one here spoken of is alluvial. At a remote period, the timber and loose material of the country, as well as all prairie districts, were fired by its inhabitants or by lightning, and this continued for ages will destroy the timber and leave its soil to be clothd only by the grasses, an inferior but oftentimes resplendent robe.

The traveler soon after leaving St. Josephs, westward sees prairie in all stages of formation, from the dense forest to an entire prairie. This, with the dense forests of young timber eastward, where the white man has forbidden the practice of firing prairies, seems to be a convincing proof of the aforementioned mode of prairie formation.

It has been noticed in the State of Illinois, and some other places, where the plowman is permitted to glide his plow smoothly over the beautiful landscape, that there is an exceedingly fine scouring material lying near the surface of the soil, so that steel mold boards, on a very short use of them, are seen to present a polishd surface, on drawing them from the soil.—Ages of constant burning of the prairie grasses must necessarily produce a great amount of very fine coal dust and ashes, which, by the beating rains from year to year, would cause it to mingle with the earth to the depth of several inches. Such is the probable cause of the scouring material of these plains.

On passing over the country from St. Josephs to the dividing ridge of the continent, along the emigrant route to Oregon, the traveler accustomd only to fertile districts, is greatly surprised at finding so great a portion of the continent an almost barren waste. From St. Josephs to the Platt river, a distance of 250 miles, is most of the way a country of soil and fertility.

On arriving at the Platt river, a beautifully flat country presents itself, where nature, it would seem, has but an easy task to burden the ground with excessive vegetation, but behold a country of extensive bottom lands, of feeble soil much of the way, and still more feeble at the distance, among the bluffs and rolling country.

Soon after our arrival at Platt, one day while sitting on its banks watching our cattle, I could but reflect on the situation of the country, the emigrant and his journey to Oregon, which I have here expressd in the following form.

One evening at twilight, whilst sitting to view,

On the banks of the Platt, to me ’twas quite new,

Nor sadden or lonely, as one in despair

Sees the beasts of the forest just ’mergd from their lair,

But cheerful and tranquil, I cast my eyes o’er

The wide-spreading Platt, where I ne’er roamd before.

Its banks are all plat, and its islands are flat,

Its waters are tranquil, and turbid at that.

Protrusion of sandbars are seen all along,

To hinder the boatman—here’s nought of his song.

Still anxious for knowledge, I turnd me around.

And saw at short distance what coverd the ground.

’Twere wagons, full many, an Oregon train,

Who’d left their lovd homes, ne’er to see them again.

If you ask what their hearts speak whilst moving along,

I fear they will mingle a tear with their song,

Whilst telling the story of wandering so far,

With their dear earthly all in their pockets and car.

The parent is anxious for his loving child,

The dame is more careless, less cautious and mild,

The lad cares for little, if father is near,

Of wars or of bloodshed—he’ll shrink to the rear.

Then who shall watch over, and daily provide

For this onward band, which so near are allid?

’Tis He who makes water spring out of the rock,

Abundance shall follow—He cares for His flock.

Then onward, brave pilgrims, your Canaan is near,

You’ll soon cross the Jordan [cascades] with hearts full of cheer.

On advancing up the Platt a distance of about 445 miles to Sweet Water, one of its tributaries, and near to the dividing point, the country becomes more barren all around, being more within that portion of the continent where the sun’s influences are not hindered by rains, or even dews, for a great portion of the year. Here, no soil is formd by the decomposition of vegetable or animal matter, for none exists with which to make soil except the wild sage and a few other useless shrubs.

Few animals of any kind dwell here, for want of the means of sustaining life. It may justly be calld a desert country. It should, however, be remarkd that within the distance from Platt to Sweet Water, nearly all the present buffalo range is comprisd, and if the country is a barren waste, how do they receive their support? Along the bottom lands of the Platt and its tributaries, are seen occasional tracts coverd with grass, but these are few compard with the great extent of country over which the buffalo is obligd to ramble for his support. At one season of the year he is seen on Platt and at another on Sweet Water, a distance of more than four hundred miles in extent.

Along the country through which the Sweet Water flows, is seen a range of mountains, calld the Sweet Water range, coverd mostly with a dense forest. On our right are ranges of granite rock of less hight, occasionally divided by intervening valleys. These rocks are naked, having no vegetation upon them except in some of their crevices, where a few vegetables have found a scanty foothold. Within 50 miles of the dividing ridge, these ranges of mountains lower down to an undulating plain, without soil or vegetation, except wild sage, so common on these deserts.

CHAPTER III.

The Indians east of the Rocky Mountains, their migratory habits, &c.—The American Fur Company and its shipments—Fort Larimie and location—Saline quality in the earth and the waters of Platt and its tributaries—Independence rock—Daring deed of one of our company.

Twenty-five miles west of St. Josephs, on the emigrant route, is a school for Indians, calld Iowa and Sack Mission Boarding School. It is conducted by a Mr. S. M. Ervin and H. W. Hamilton. During our stay of two or three days at that place, I visited Mr. Ervin at his school-house and dwelling, with a pleasing reception as a stranger, and was shown to the several apartments of the house. It is a building 106 feet in length by about 40 in width, with a basement for cooking and dining-rooms. The other two stories are occupied as school-room, lodging-rooms and dwelling for the superintendent, and in one apartment is a library and printing press. Mr. Ervin pointed me to his scholars, at this time numbering only 26, consisting mostly of girls from ten to twelve years of age, dressd in American costume. These appeard well, and seemd to be a proof that the wild man of the desert is susceptible of cultivation. Unhappily, however, I was informd by a person living there, it is with difficulty youth are persuaded to tarry long enough at the school to acquire any valuable education.

Whilst staying at that place, Mr. Ervin came into our camp and preachd a sermon to the emigrants, and whilst there he publicly declard that we should pass no nation of Indians on our route to Oregon more vicious than those of that place. We however met with no difficulty nor lost any property by them, though one of them had the boldness to say to one of the emigrants—

“Me good to steal horses!”

To which the emigrant replied—

“You must not steal our horses.”

The Indian still farther announced—

“Ah, me good to steal horse.”

The Indians at this place receive a very good support in consequence of the large amount of land under cultivation by the care and superintendence of the mission.

Those Indians located at Grand Island, calld the Pawnee tribe, are at present a feeble race, liable to be driven about by the Sioux at all times. They are poor, and under the necessity of stealing what buffalo meat and robes they need for their support, and whenever they are discoverd by a band of Sioux rangers, they are obligd to flee for their safety to some other place. Their pressing necessity for food and clothing makes them more inclind to trouble the emigrant trains than they otherwise would, and whenever they meet with a train that is feeble in numbers, they fall on them and plunder their food and clothing.

The day before we arrivd at Grand Island, a band of Sioux rangers discoverd some Pawnees on the banks of the Platt, drying and preparing buffalo meat for their winter’s stock of provisions. They enterd their camp and drove them away so suddenly, that in their wild flight they were obligd to throw away robes and other property, which was strewd along the road 15 or 20 miles’ distance. By this circumstance we passd the Pawnees without seeing an individual Indian.

The Sioux are probably the strongest nation east of the South Pass. They range from Fort Larimie eastward to the Missouri river. Near Ash Hollow on the Platt, we passd two bands of them not many miles distant from each other, consisting of 40 or 50 lodges in each. Their lodges are made by setting up small poles in a conical form and covering them with buffalo skins. Some of them are quite large, requiring from 10 to 15 buffalo skins to inclose them. In the center of these their fires are built. The smoke issues at the top of this conical-shapd edifice, through which a small opening is left for that purpose. Around these fires whilst in their lodges, the Indians sit or recline upon the ground, without seats of any kind, or any thing at all, except sometimes flag matresses or the pelts of some animals.

When they wish to prepare for the reception of company of a public nature, they form a semi-circle on the ground with their chiefs or heads of bands in the center of the arch of the half-circle, which renders them conspicuous to all. On our approach to the first of these bands, we found them seated in a semi-circular form, with their two chiefs, Whirlwind and Badwoon, in the center of this arch, with the American flag erected within and in front of the chiefs, ready to receive us, having been apprisd of our coming several days beforehand by an Indian trader by the name of Richards, who had traveld with us much of the way from St. Josephs to that place. He having gone ahead, arrivd at the band several days before us, informing them that we were coming and advising them to peace, with the expectation of receiving a gift from us as indicative of friendship. Accordingly they spread robes and blankets on the ground within the half-circle, upon which the emigrants bestowd their gifts of flour, corn meal, beans, bacon, and every such thing, as they pleasd to give. While in the act of doing this, occasional acclamations were heard from the red audience, especially when a larger panful of flour than common was presented.

After our company had ceasd to present their gifts, two or three men started from the circle to make a distribution of the gift, which was bestowd upon the heads of families. This was an amusing sight. Some would present a dish to receive their gift, others the corner of a blanket, and others again would hold out the skirt of an old filthy coat to receive a little flour. Presently all receivd their several gifts, and so we parted in friendship.

The night previous to our arrival at this band, we had encampd about 2 miles distant, though in sight of their lodges. In the morning, after our teams were ready for starting, our captain orderd the train to keep close together, with their guns where they could lay their hands on them at a moment’s warning, if necessary, and no one should speak to an Indian except himself till we should pass the reach of danger, as there was no possible way to pass this band excepting through their camp, and as the advice of former emigrants was to guard against the treachery of the Indians. Unfortunately for me, as some would think, I had neither gun, pistol nor bowie-knife with me, but the young man with whom I traveld, having a spare pistol presented it to me, saying—

“Here, take this, and the captain says you must go to his wagon and get a hatchet, so that you may defend yourself and others.”

I told him as we had about 2 miles to travel before we should come to them, and as I had no convenient way of carrying it, except in my hand, he had better carry it till we arrivd there, and then I would take it. But this was the last I saw of the pistol at that place. When our teams arrivd at the camp, we all halted, and one man ran one way and another man another way, talking and trading with the Indians, and preparing to give them presents.

These bands migrate with the roaming buffalo, for on him depends their support. At this time they were here, drying buffalo meat for their winter supply, and also preparing robes for sale, though their station is most of the time at Fort Larimie. The flesh of the buffalo is cut into thin pieces and dried in the sun without salt, and this is their principal food. They have no flour except what little they procure of the emigrants while passing to Oregon. In this waste country the plow is not seen to greet the soil, and the poor Indian has nought for his support but what nature alone provides. These Indians are better dressd, and may be considerd more wealthy, if their property can be calld wealth, than Indians west of the Rocky Mountains.

The American Fur Company, which has its posts of trade located at different points east of the Rocky Mountains, are at present in a somewhat prosperous state. I was informd by the Principal at Fort Larimie, that the company shipd from Fort Pier, a point on a tributary of the Missouri river, the year 1847, more than 80,000 buffalo robes, between 11,000 and 12,000 of which were obtaind at Fort Larimie, besides a great amount of other peltry. But as the country is gradually drying up and buffalo becoming less abundant, this source of profit will at length fail.

Fort Larimie is located at Larimie fork of Platt river, a mile or two above its confluence with that river. There is nothing interesting about the fort. It is built of sun-dried bricks, with timbers sufficient to support the bricks and form the doors and windows, and done in the coarsest manner. Within this wall, which is about 12 or 14 feet high, are the dwellings and other necessary rooms for the accommodation of the fort. Within this area, also, stands a large rude press, for pressing robes and peltry for market. In another apartment is a yard for horses and cattle. What is most attractive is, within these dwellings are seen the white man and the rusty-looking Indian woman, living lovingly together, whilst the little papooses are playing together as happily. Without these mud walls are seen no appendages. The eye can rest on nothing all around but a dreary waste, an uncultivated country.

On advancing up the Platt and its tributary, Sweet Water river, the traveler’s attention is attracted by a kind of salt he occasionally sees upon the ground along the road, which by examining he finds to possess strong alkaline properties. The waters of the Platt and Sweet Water rivers are also impregnated so strongly that whenever the rivers are so low as to disclose the sand-bars long enough for them to dry upon their surfaces, this salt is seen abundantly upon them.

A few miles east of Independence rock, along our route, we saw several ponds, or small lakes, with an incrustation of this salt several inches thick. These places the emigrants call saleratus lakes, from the known fact that it has the property of raising bread.

Advancing a few miles, we come to Independence rock.—This rock is hardly worthy of notice, except for the many inscriptions made upon it by emigrants. It is a coarse granite rock about 100 feet high, covering about 20 acres of ground, standing alone and near enough to our road to read its inscriptions on passing it.

About 4 miles west of Independence rock, the Sweet Water passes through a gap of precipitous rocks 300 feet high, where is a cascade of short distance. This gap is narrow and formd along its sides with several crevices of circular and chimney shape, from top to bottom. In one of these a man of our company, by the name of Brock, descended. Whilst the train was slowly passing along, several men of our company left the train for the purpose of passing through this gap along the sides of the waterfall. On their approach at this place, they stood viewing the scenery around, whilst one of them, looking up, saw a man in the act of descending through one of these frightful openings, at a distance of more than 200 feet above their heads. Mr. Brock had passd around to the top of the rocks alone, to view the scenery, and finding one of these places, attempted a descent. He began the descent without knowing that any human being stood to witness his hazardous undertaking. This opening was so wide in some places that he could with difficulty reach from one side to the other without losing his perpendicular position, and oftentimes he was obligd to hold on to the rocks by his fingers, where they projected not more than an inch. In this alarming situation of Mr. Brock, his comrades below stood looking at him, without daring to speak, with intense anxiety for his safety, till he had accomplishd his entire descent.

CHAPTER IV.

Remarks of the writer relative to his Journal en route to Oregon—The Journal.

As I had at one time thought of making a separate history of my every day’s travels from St. Josephs to Oregon city, in pamphlet form, in order to benefit those who might desire to have a knowledge of the route and its several distances from place to place, at little cost, I determined to keep as accurate an account of the distances I traveld every day, together with such remarks in a condensed form as might be deemd necessary to guide the traveler to Oregon, as the circumstances of the case would admit. I therefore commencd my reckoning of distances from day to day by the rotation of a wagon-wheel, at St. Josephs, and kept it up unceasingly till I arrivd at Oregon city. But finding this mode of writing somewhat inconvenient, and thinking, likewise, that the history of my travels might not be altogether uninteresting, although at somewhat more cost, I have concluded to insert them in this place with my journal of travels and such incidents as may occur in my absence from home.

* * * * * * * *

On the 25th of April, 1848, I crossd the Missouri river at St Josephs into the Indian territory, with several wagons of emigrants, who intended to travel out a short distance and organize for the route. This day we have traveld as far as the bluffs of the river, a distance of 5 miles, and encampd for the night.—The next day we pursued our journey as far as Musketoe creek, a distance of 8 miles, where we encampd. Next day, Friday, 27th, we organizd into a company of 15 or 20 wagons, with such regulations as we deemd necessary for our safety through the Indian country, and tarried there for the night.

Saturday, April 28, we proceeded on our journey a distance of 12 miles, to the Ioway Mission Boarding-School.

25

The 29th and 30th of April, we tarried at the mission.

Monday, May 1, we traveld 15 miles.

Tuesday, May 2—20 miles.

Wednesday, May 3—15 miles, to Nemahaw creek.

Thursday, May 4, we staid at the same place.

Friday, May 5—13 miles over a very crooked road.

Saturday, May 6—20 miles.

108

Sunday, May 7—14 miles to camp, 4 miles to Blue creek, and 10 more to camp.

Monday, May 8—20 miles to Wyatt, fork of Blue.

Tuesday, 9th—14 miles to Walnut creek, or Sandy.

Wednesday, 10th—18 miles, at Little Fork of L. Sandy.

174

Thursday, 11th—11 miles, at Blue creek.

Friday, 12th—12 miles, yet at Blue.

Saturday, 13th—9 miles, still on Blue creek.

206

Sunday, 14th—10 miles. Here on Blue our company killd a buffalo, for the first.

Monday, 15th—12 miles to camp on a small fork of Blue. Feed has not yet been sufficient to give our cattle a full supply. At this place a few wagons, which had been traveling behind us, came up and joind our party, making in all about thirty wagons.

Tuesday, 16th—28 miles to camp. Twenty brought us to Platt river, and 8 more to camp on banks of Platt river.

256

Wednesday, 17th—22 miles up the south side of Platt.

Thursday, 18th—15 miles to City du Chien, at Plumb creek. Here is the first saline appearance we saw on the ground.

Friday, 19th—Staid at the same place.

293

Saturday, 20th—18 miles to camp on Platt river. Wood and pasturage scarce.

Sunday, 21st—25 miles. Little grass.

Monday, 22d—25 miles along under the bluffs of the river to camp. No wood here, except a few willows, for cooking. It raind all this day, and all the night following.

361

Tuesday, 23d—The severe storm of the previous night drove our cattle a considerable distance to the bluffs, by which means we did not get them all till three o’clock. We traveld only two miles to-day.

Wednesday, 24th—12 miles to the crossing of South Fork of Platt. The confluence of the two streams is about 18 miles below the crossing. The intermediate high ridge begins about two miles below the crossing, where probably was once their confluence. This fork at this place is about half a mile wide, and the quicksands gave way so rapidly under our cattle’s feet, that we found it necessary to travel quickly over it, for fear of sinking deeply into it. By my reckoning here, the distance from St. Josephs to the crossing is 375 miles. After we crossd the river, we traveld five miles up the north side of the river and encampd for the night without any wood for cooking our food, except a few small willows.

380

Thursday, 25th—18 miles to camp, one mile and a half west of where the bluffs come to the river.

Friday, 26th—22 miles to camp, one mile and a half west of where the old road crosses over to the North Fork of Platt. Grass good, the best we have had. No wood.

420

Saturday, 27th—22 miles to camp on the North Fork of Platt river. Eighteen miles of the route was over a beautifully undulating prairie. Rest of the way, about two miles down into Ash Hollow, to North Platt, rugged, and even dangerous for wagons to pass. Four miles up the river brought us to camp, where we had no wood except what we carried from Ash Hollow.

442

Sunday, 28th—11 miles up Platt river, over a sandy road, and passd a village of Sioux Indians.

453

Monday, 29th—17 miles to-day. Sandy road, no wood. Burnt buffalo excrement for cooking.

Tuesday, 30th—13 miles to camp on Platt. Six miles south of this camp stands Babel towr. It is a precipitous bluff of clay, containing lime enough to give some degree of hardness to it, 600 feet above the bed of the creek that passes near its base on the south side of it. Near to this stands another, nearly equal in hight, but inferior in size.

Wednesday, 31st—21 miles to camp on Platt. 14 to Chimney rock, and 7 more to camp. Chimney rock is of the same material as Babel towr, and is fast crumbling down.

504

June 1st—34 miles to camp on Horse-Shoe creek, 8 miles to where the road leaves the river and passes into Romantic valley, where the bluffs on the sides of the valley resemble distant cities. At the west end of this valley, the bluffs are calld Scot’s bluffs, from the circumstance of a man’s having died there by that name. At this place is a spring where emigrants may camp, though the grass is not very abundant. At this place we noond, and passd over the bluffs onward, having a good road to Horse creek, where we campd for the night. From Scot’s bluffs, Larimie peak is first seen.

538

2d—15 miles through sand-hills a considerable part of the way, near to Platt, where little grass grows, except wild wormwood and prickly pear. Encampd with plenty of wood for fuel.

3d—17 miles, most of the way over a good road, to camp, 1 mile west of Fort Larimie, on Larimie’s fork of Platt river.

570

4th, 5th and 6th—Staid at the same place, and shod several oxen, which had become lame by traveling. However, as the road some of the way after that, provd worse than any we had passd, and our oxen not becoming lame by traveling over it, we concluded that their lameness must be attributed in part to the alkali over which they so frequently passd. The fort has a blacksmith shop and some few tools, for the use of which our company paid 7½ dollars for one day and a half.

7th—Left Larimie fork about noon, and passd over the bluffs 2 miles to Platt river. From thence we passd on about 4 miles farther and encampd, with plenty of flood wood, of yellow pine and cedar. During the night, it was so cold as to produce ice in our cooking vessels. About 4 miles farther on, is Black Hills Gap, where the river passes through high, precipitous rocks. At this place, also, the Black hills commence.

June 8th—22 miles through the Black hills. Encampd at a spring of the best water west of St. Josephs, near to Platt. Feed very scarce.

9th—20 miles, over a tolerably good road. The waysides are bordered with wild sage. Occasionally we saw the river Encampd on it at night, with but little grass for our cattle. This night, the weather was not very cold.

10th—17 miles. Left Platt early in the morning, and pursued our way through the Black hills, nearly all the forenoon, in a southerly direction towards Larimie peak. Road to-day quite smooth. The country around is almost destitute of vegetation, except the wild sage. Encampd on Big Timber creek.

635

11th—18 miles through the Black hills. Road tolerably good most of the way. Encampd on Mike’s Head creek. Have not seen Platt to-day. Before noon we lost sight of Larimie peak, among the hills.

12th—16 miles to camp on Deer creek, near to Platt. Twelve miles brought us to Platt, and 4 more to our camp. At this place we had a plenty of wood, good water and grass for our stock. About noon, we left the Black hills on the north. South of us they are seen stretching along towards the south-west, gradually receding from us.

669

13th—16 miles. Encampd on Platt with plenty of wood. Feed scarce. The wood through this part of the route is cottonwood, and found only bordering the stream.

14th—Staid at the same place, on account of its being exceedingly windy.

15th—5 miles to Platt crossing.

690

At this place the river is about 40 rods wide, and has considerable current. The Mormons from Salt Lake had arrivd a few days previous, and prepard a raft for crossing.

16th—Crossd the Platt, traveld up the north side of it 2 miles, and encampd.

17th—30 miles. Encampd 3 miles east of the Willow spring. About 3 miles east of camp is a spring or two, the alkaline properties of which are strong enough in dry seasons to kill cattle, if allowd to drink freely. I was informd that the Mormons the last year lost more than 50 cattle at this place, by drinking the water of these springs. Five miles of the morning route was along the Platt, to a place calld Red Butes, from their being tingd with iron ore, as are many others through the Black Hill country. At these butes the Black hills terminate, and the road leaves the Platt and passes over to Sweet Water river.

18th—7 miles over a hilly though smooth road to camp, at a small clear spring, though somewhat saline. No wood, burnt buffalo excrement.

729

19th—18 miles, 14 to Sweet Water river, 2 miles to Independence rock, and 2 farther to camp. Grass and water, no wood. To-day over a level but mostly sandy road. The country before us and on our left, at a distance, while traveling along, appeard more serrated, but on advancing, the illusion vanishes, and the hills mostly appear only isolated granite rocks of moderate hight, with large intervening valleys.

747

20th—14 miles to camp on Sweet Water river. Grass, no wood. After traveling 2 miles in the morning, we came to a kanion, where the river passes through a precipitous ledge of rocks, 300 feet high. The water at this place falls over the ragged rocks, which at some distant time had fallen into the stream from above and formd a cascade. To-day, on our left traverses the Sweet Water range of mountains, whilst on our right are ranges of less hight, divided occasionally by intervening valleys.

21st—Staid at the same place.

761

22d—12 miles over a sandy road to camp on Sweet Water. Good grass, no wood. Frost and ice during the night.

23d—14 miles over a sandy road. Grass, no wood. About 3 o’clock, came in full view of the Rocky mountains. Ice formd in our cooking vessels during the night.

787

24th—17 miles over an uneven, sandy road, to camp, on the Sweet Water river. Here the country is a barren waste, except along the river, where a little grass is found. Back from the river, nothing grows but wild sage. At this place, the water of the river is clear. Previous to this, the waters, like those of Platt, have been turbid.

804

25th—9 miles over a hilly and gravelly road to camp, where is another kanion of the river.

26th—Left the river this morning, and traveld 17 miles over a very hilly road of coarse, sharp gravel stones, and in some places the rocks protrude so as to strain wagons in crossing them. In viewing the country from some of the highest hills in this place, it appears very broken all around. Passd two or three places that would do for camps for small parties. Encampd on a fork of Sweet Water, just above its junction.

830

27th—18 miles. Traveld 4 miles, and crossd the Sweet Water river. Here we left it, to see it no more. About 9 miles farther, brought us to the South pass or dividing ridge.

843

South of the culminating point, at a little distance, stands a solitary high hill, which some call Table rock. On the right, about 12 or 15 miles, are the Wind River peaks, coverd in some parts with snow. Traveld 5 miles farther and encampd on Pacific springs, calld so from the fact that their waters run westwardly into the Pacific ocean. Some grass, no wood.

28th—19 miles to Little Sandy creek, a fine stream, of sufficient amount of water to carry 4 run of mill stones. We passd over an entire desert, to-day. There is no possible encampment between Pacific springs and this place, and here is no grass, except what borders the stream, a few rods wide on each side of it.

867

29th—Six miles to Great Sandy creek, over a barren clay road. Fine stream. Little grass, no wood except a few willows. This stream is a branch of the California Colorado river. This is Greenwood’s cut-off, which begins a little east of this river, between the two Sandys. The old road is the one leading to Bridger’s fort. It is also the one the Mormons took, when they emigrated to Salt Lake. From Big Sandy creek, the place of our nooning, we traveld about 2 miles, to the top of a high point of ground, where stands Colepit rock, a mound 20 or 30 feet high, and perhaps 100 feet around, composd mostly of clay. On the top of this rock, the country can be viewd to a great distance around.

Advancing 8 miles farther, the country appears a level plain all around as far as the eye can reach, except on the north, where the Wind River range stretches far to the north-west. The rest of the day and the following night, we traveld about 15 miles, to a deep valley, dangerous to go down at night.

898

It may here be remarkd, that it would be safe to remain at Big Sandy creek till 4 or 4½ o’clock in the afternoon, in order that daylight may appear before arriving at this valley, as it seems necessary to travel part of the distance from Big Sandy to Green river in the night, there being no water nor grass on the way from Big Sandy to Green river, a distance of 44 miles.

30th—19 miles to Green river. After having passd from Sandy to Green river, over a sage plain, destitute of water and grass for our cattle, with four deep and dangerous valleys to descend into on our way, our hearts were gladdend that we were enabld to slake the thirst of our famishing cattle. Here, also, as much of the way past, were several springs issuing from the banks of the river, containing so much alkali as to render them unpleasant to drink. This crossing of Green river is half way from St. Josephs to Oregon city, being 917 miles.

July 1st—Staid at the crossing.

917

2d—9 miles to camp on Salmon Trout branch, 6 or 8 miles above its union with Green river. We gaind but little towards Oregon, to-day, the road being very circuitous and hilly, part of the way.

3d—16 miles over a very hilly road. 10 miles to nooning, where is a tolerably good camp for a small party, 6 miles farther to camp. No wood, little grass, no water except a small spring.

942

4th—10 miles, over a very hilly and stony road, to Ham’s fork of Green river. Some grass, no wood but willows. Here were a few Indian lodges of the Snake tribe.

952

5th—14 miles over a very hilly road, and part of it very dangerous to pass. No wood at camp, and but little grass.

6th—Frost in camp, this morning. To-day, we traveld 18 miles and encampd on Bear river, 4 miles west of Smith fork. The hills around us are quite barren. Bear river has a little grass in some places along its bottoms. It is a considerable stream, though not more than three fourths the water that Green river has at the crossing.

7th—11 miles to camp on Thomas’ fork of Bear river, about 5 miles above its confluence, by a circuitous route. No wood but willows.

8th—13½ miles over steep mountains, destitute of soil and vegetation, except weeds, to camp on Bear river, where the bottom furnishes a little grass. South of us at a small distance, in a large bottom, is Bear lake, the outlet of which unites with Bear river, a little below camp. The mountains, viewd from camp, seem to form a triangle. East, comes in Bear river. A little east of south, is a long gap in the mountains, where their waters contribute to Bear lake. A little west of north, the valley stretches far away down Bear river.

9th—Staid at the same place, and attended the burial of a young man of our company. To-day, also, are 14 sick persons in our company.

1008

10th—25 miles to camp on Bear river. Passd several fine rills from the mountains, to-day. A very good road down Bear River bottom. The bottom and mountain lands, to-day, assume a more verdant appearance, though the verdure consists mostly of useless shrubs and weeds, except on the skirts of some of the peaks, where they are clothd with timber sparingly. From this camp, snow is seen on the Bear River mountains.

11th—10 miles to Soda springs, and 1 farther to camp, making 11 miles. Have traveld over volcanic rocks, to-day, the first I have seen on our route. Near to camp and north of it, near the base of the mountain, are three small craters, apparently, of extinct volcanoes. They may, however, be the craters of some of those silent springs.

12th—23½ miles to the head waters of Portneuf, a tributary of Snake river. It runs in a very circuitous manner.

1067½

13th—21 miles, over a mountainous road, to camp. Little grass, no wood but willows.

14th—16 miles to camp, about 4 miles east of Fort Hall in a large plain, coverd over a considerable portion of it with a heavy growth of wild sage. This plain is very extensive, reaching from north to south, probably nearly 100 miles. The Sheep mountain and three butes are seen from the fort, a considerable distance to the north of it, rising abruptly from the plain. To the east, south and south-west, mountains are seen from the fort, serrating the horizon. The rest of the horizon around presents nearly an unbroken expanse. This plain is waterd with several springs and streams of considerable size, some of them rising from the level plain and passing on to join the waters of the Snake or Lewis river. The Snake is a fine river, rising in the Wind River mountains, north of Fort Hall, and passing near to it in a southerly direction, where it is joind by the Portneuf about 9 miles below the fort, with other tributaries along the plain. Thence, bending its course westwardly for more than 100 miles, after which its course is northward till it falls into the Columbia river.

1104½

15th—4 miles to Fort Hall, and 2 miles farther to camp, on Portneuf creek.

1110½

16th—7 miles to Portneuf crossing, about 25 rods above its confluence with Snake river. At this place, and also below, on Snake river, I gatherd a great quantity of red, yellow and blue currants, the stalks of which grew, in some places, from 10 to 14 feet high.

1117½

17th—12½ miles to camp, at some springs near Snake river. After leaving Portneuf crossing, we passd a mile down Snake River bottom, and came to a slough, bad to cross. Passd about half a mile farther, and came to another bad crossing of a small stream. Thence, down the bottom about 2 miles, to a considerable stream, whose banks were steep and its passage difficult. Thence, about half a mile, to where the road ascends the first terrace above the river bottom. The river bottom along this day’s route has considerable grass, furnishing camps at almost any place.

1130

18th—18 miles to camp, on Cascade creek. Two miles to American falls, 10 miles to palaisades, 6 to camp. The water of the American falls does not descend perpendicularly, but like a cascade. The whole descent from the upper to the lower expanse is from 40 to 50 feet, reckond by perpendicular measurement. The rocks about the falls appear volcanic, though some of them show marks of stratification. The table lands here close in, so as to make the bottom lands draw to a point at the falls. Below the falls, the table lands border the river, and being entirely destitute of grass, render encampments difficult, much of the way.

19th—8 miles to Cassia creek. No wood. At this camp, the California road leaves the Oregon trail to the right hand. West of camp, and near to it, is a range of basaltic trap rocks, of a prismatic and columnar structure, the fairest specimens of basalt I have seen. Range about 60 feet high above the creek.

20th—16 miles over a district of basaltic rocks, slightly hidden from sight by a thin layer of clay, though in many places they protrude so as to render traveling with wagons irksome. Camp on Marsh or Swamp creek. No wood, plenty of grass bordering the creek. Country around, both mountains and plains, destitute of soil. On the plain, is the famd sage. On the mountains, are clusters of inferior cedar growth. Rest of the mountains totally barren.

21st—11½ miles, over a dry and dusty plain, to camp, on Snake river, about 2 miles above the mouth of Goose creek. Here is a narrow bottom, which furnishes a little coarse grass. No wood. River here about ¼ of a mile wide.

1183½

22d—21 miles. Four miles to Goose creek, 8 miles to the river, a poor place for encamping, 9 miles farther to camp. Grass. No water at this season of the year in this creek. No wood but willows. Forenoon, road was good. Afternoon, rocky.

1204½

23rd—9 miles to Rock creek, so calld from its rocky bottom. Fine little stream. Willows for wood. Good camp.

24th—21 miles to camp. Ten to the crossing of Rock creek. Here the banks are steep and rocky. We noond at this place. Here, also, is grass enough for a small company to camp at. About 4 miles farther on, Rock creek turns to the left, and we saw it no more. At this bend of the creek is a tolerable camp. Seven miles farther brought us to camp, and a miserable one it was, being on the top of Snake River bluffs, a hight of at least 300 feet perpendicular from the river. No grass at this place. Our cattle were driven down a narrow and difficult way, much of it very steep, three-fourths of a mile to the river, where it was bordered in some places by little patches of grass, often not one rod wide. Our cattle were taken up, next morning, with not half a supply during the night.

1234½

25th—16 miles. Eleven miles to Warm Spring creek. Here is but little grass. About 4 miles farther, to Salmon Fall creek. One mile down the creek, to camp, near its mouth. Here is a very good camp. On the north-east side of the river, along here for several miles, are fine springs issuing from the bluffs, some of which would carry the largest flouring mills. They are a curiosity. Supposd to be the waters of the river, spreading out into the country above the American falls, and passing along between the basaltic rock above, and another stratum below, till they arrive at this place, where they are dischargd into the river. The evidence that they are the waters of the river appears to be derivd from the fact, that the river between the falls and this place has not more than half the water in it that it has above the falls.

26th—6 miles. Five miles to first rapids of Salmon falls, 1 more to camp. But little grass at this place, and that is mostly on a small island or two. Salmon falls is more a cascade than fall, except in one place, where it falls a few feet perpendicularly. Also calld Fishing falls. The whole cascade is more than a mile in length. To this place the Indians resort to obtain salmon, which at some seasons of the year are tolerably plenty, having come from the ocean up the Columbia river, to the mouth of Snake river, whence they find their way to this place.

1256½

27th—24½ miles to camp, on Snake river. To obtain this camp, we left the road a mile and a half back, and followd a dry branch down to this place. To-day, we traveld over a dry sage plain, though we had a tolerably good road. At this place, and even farther east, are seen the relics of wagons of former emigrants, strewd along the road. Boxes, bands, tire, and all parts of the irons of wagons, left behind.

1281

28th—2 miles from where we left the road, yesterday, to the old crossing of Snake river. At the crossing, are two small islands, which furnish a little grass, Encampd 2½ miles farther on, where is little grass. No wood for fuel. Along the river at this place, is a kind of grass so salt that cattle will eat it only as they stand in need of salt. The leaves of this grass grow about 3 inches high, and the seed-bearing stalk is from 6 to 10 inches in hight. It grows along the river bottoms, in small patches. I do not know any name for it, and therefore denominate it salt grass, as other grasses will grow amongst it, that are perfectly fresh.

29th—12 miles, over as rough and stony a road, along the banks of Snake river, as ever I traveld. One wagon was broken, to-day, and left to be totally destroyd by those that came after us.

1297½

30th—11 miles to camp. Grass not very good. About two miles back, grass might be had by driving the cattle on to an island, in the river. Road sandy during forepart of the route, to-day, and during the afterpart, good.

31st—11½ miles. Six and a half miles to Salt Grass creek, a name given from the abundance of salt grass growing there. A tolerable camp might be had at that place. The creek soon passes among the bluffs, in a northerly direction, and unites with Snake river, about 5 miles below where we are campd. Grass is plenty at this place, but it is almost impossible to obtain any thing of which to make fires.

1320

August 1st—19½ miles, over a very level plain, most of the way, and near to the river, to camp, on Grease Wood creek, about a mile above its mouth. No good camp can be had along this day’s route, till our present one, which is not very good. Between camp and Snake river, the little stream on which our camp is located passes through two crags of basaltic rock, much crumbled down by time. Rock, east of creek, shows marks of excessive volcanic violence. Volcanic cinders, rocks half melted, chimneys where smoke has issued, and in fact, every mark of Vulcan’s blacksmith shop is here displayd.

2d—24 miles to camp on Snake river, at the mouth of a small dry branch. Grass scarce. No place for encamping, short of this place, except at 8 miles from last night’s camp, where a small stream affords very little grass. Our way, to-day, has been over a very uneven and dusty road. We ascended one hill, so steep and sandy, that we were obligd to double our teams to surmount it.

1363½

3d—4 miles to camp, on Snake river, and drove our cattle on to a small island.

4th—9 miles to camp, on Snake river, 7½ miles to Hot springs, 1½ to camp. The water of these Hot springs, at their source, is scalding hot. We crossd them both, a short distance from their source, and as they are not very far apart, it is probable that their fountain is together. They are much mineralized.

5th—14½ miles, through a sultry hot day, over a desert plain and dusty road, to camp, on Snake river. No good camp could be had short of this place, to-day. During the day, we could discover a visible lowering down of the mountains on each side, towards the confluence of Boyce and Owyhe rivers and the Snake, where their valleys unite and form an extensive plain. Salt grass still continues along the river bottom. We, to-day, lose sight of the basaltic rocks, so long witnessd on our right hand and on our left. They reach from the American falls nearly to this place, and as they appear to be thinner on advancing westward, it is thought by some that the lava of which they are formd, flowd in that direction. It is said that the Indians of this place are snakes in the grass, but it is much to be regretted that the river is not a snake in the grass, whilst our cattle are in so starving a condition.

6th—19 miles to camp on Owyhe river, about 4 miles above Fort Boyce. Not very good grass at this place.

1410

7th—Traveld one mile and a half down Owyhe river, and encampd.

8th—16 miles, over a good road, to camp, on Malheur (pron. malare) river. Grass plenty. No firewood but willows. At this place, Mr. Meek attempted a cut-off to Oregon city, by following up the course of this river south, for some distance, and then directing his course westward, till he should arrive at Willamet valley, south a considerable distance from Oregon city. His attempt proved a failure, with the loss of considerable property and the lives of some of his company. It is said that there were nearly 200 wagons in his train.

Our route to-day, from last night’s camp to Malheur river, leaves Fort Boyce 3 miles to the right. The fort is located in a pleasant place, on the bank of Snake river, just below the union of the Owyhe and Boyce with the Snake. The river at this place is near a quarter of a mile wide, and the only means of ferrying it is a canoe brought from the river Payette, 250 miles from this place.

1427½

9th—25 miles to camp, on Birch creek. 13 miles to a sulphur spring, where we noond. This distance is up an arm of the Malheur, though dry at the time. Its course is through a level flat, from one to two miles wide, having high ranges of land on each side. From Sulphur spring, the road ascends rapidly to its highest point, a mile or two farther on, where the country can be viewd for a considerable distance all around. Reflecting upon such a wonderful scenery as is here on every side displayd, the mind can hardly appreciate the amount of dynamics adequate to displace and disrupt the surface of the earth so immensely. It appears like a great harrow, fit only for Hercules to use in leveling off the surface of some planet.

10th—8 miles to Burnt river, (probably from the naked and reddend appearance of the mountains through which it passes.) Three miles of the morning route brought us once more to Snake river, where we saw it for the last time. Remaining 5 miles over a somewhat hilly road to camp, on Burnt river, but a small stream at this place. On viewing the river and its small flats bordering it, from camp, it appears wholly environd by rugged, jagged mountains, in close contiguity. Oh, when shall I view, once more, a verdant landscape! One thousand miles of naked rocks! Landscape without soil! River bottoms with scarcely grass enough to support emigrant teams. Who can but think of his native land and the “old oaken bucket”?

1460½

11th—13 miles to camp on Burnt river. No good camp short of this, and this not very good. For 5 or 6 miles of our morning route up the river, the road was very rough and stony, and it crosses the creek seven times within that distance. Remainder of the day’s travel was more easily performd, though more hilly, yet smooth. South of camp and near to it, ascends a mountain, the height of which, as nearly as I could measure, with the limited means I had, is about 1300 feet above the bed of Burnt creek. Along this stream emigrants have formerly been much intimidated through fear of sudden attacks from Indians. It is very densely shrouded much of the way with balm of Gilead, alder, hawthorn, and various kinds of shrubbery, so that the Indians could secrete themselves, till the near approach of an emigrant train, and then with a sudden rush from the thicket, frighten the teams and kill many of the emigrants. However, we saw no Indians along this river.

12th—4 miles over a worse road than yesterday afternoon, and crossd the creek five times.

1477½

13th—16 miles to camp on a tributary of Burnt river. Soon after having started in the morning, we crossd the principal stream of Burnt river, for the last time. A little farther on, we came to a small right hand tributary coming from the north, which we followd up about 2 miles, crossing it 8 times. We then left it, winding our way over the mountains westwardly, crossing two or three other small tributaries, till we arrivd again upon the Burnt river bottoms, not more than 8 miles in a straight line from last night’s camp. At this place we noond, after having passd over a hilly, though smooth road. Here emigrants might tarry for the night. One mile further on we crossd North fork, and upset one wagon at the crossing. Our course was now nearly west, up a mountain, till we arrivd at a branch of the North fork. Passing on a mile or more, we encampd for the night. Grasses along the bottom here are coarse, consisting of wild wheat, rye, and wild chess. Mountain grasses here are the bunch grass, as it is calld, but at this time so dry and dead that cattle do not love it. The hills at the sources of the Burnt river, among which they ramify in all directions, like the blood vessels in the human system, are composd measurably of a slaty rock, which decomposes into loose material more readily than the hard basaltic rocks of Snake river. Occasionally, however, graphic granite is here seen to protrude above the hills.

14th—20 miles to camp, at Lone Pine stump, now nearly obliterated by fires set to it by emigrants, in the valley of Powder river. Here is the bed of a small stream, where there is water at some seasons of the year, though dry now, except in stagnant ponds. Grass is tolerably plenty along this little branch. No wood at this place to be obtaind for cooking. Road, to-day, hilly but smooth. At about 6 miles, emigrants might camp. Here, we left the waters of Burnt river, and passd over the hills to Powder river. Powder River valley, east of camp, still retains the old character of desert and sage plain.

1513½

15th—14½ miles to camp, on west branch in west valley of Powder river. Nine miles to Powder river, down by a circuitous route, along the river, 2 miles to first crossing. Thence across the plain to second fork or crossing, 2½ miles. One mile farther to west fork or third crossing. In all, 14½ miles to camp. East valley of Powder river is a spacious plain, very level, and would be as handsome a valley as my feet ever trode upon, were it coverd with the rich grasses of the eastern states. At each of the three crossings here mentiond, which unite a short distance below us and form the principal Powder river, is seen in small patches, a luxuriant growth of the well known grass, red top. As we advance, the climate changes. In camp, this morning, was seen ice in our cooking vessels, and by 10 we were uncomfortably warm. On our left, the Powder River mountains, close by which the river finds it way, are clothd with timber, nearly down their declivities to their base. On our right they yet are naked, Indians around us are burning, as fast as verdure becomes dry enough, which at this time, renders the air so smoky, that we can see but a short distance.

16th—15 miles to camp, at the head of Grand Round valley. After traveling a short distance, this morning, from the last crossing of Powder river, we ascended a short rise. We then proceeded over a smooth road of moderate descent, till we came to a small branch of Powder river, at the foot of a hill, where several small rivulets are seen to issue from the hills round about. This is about 8 miles from the last crossing. Here is a tolerable encampment. The rest of the way to Grand Round hollow, a distance of 7 miles further, is over a hilly and some part of the way, very stony road. At 10½ miles from the crossing, emigrants might also encamp for the night, there being a little water and some grass along a small run. Grand Round valley is extensive. It is surrounded with high hills, coverd with bunch grass, except occasional patches of yellow pine. Along our road, this valley is rich, coverd with various kinds of grasses, though entirely dead much of the way across the upper end of the valley at this time, no rains having fallen here lately.

17th—15 miles to camp, on Grand Round river. Eight miles across the head of the beautiful Grand Round valley, to a small branch, where emigrants might camp for the night, at the foot of the Blue mountains bordering the valley. From thence, we wound our way over the steep and rugged mountains, racking and straining our wagons, the distance of 7 miles farther, to the deep and lonely dell, where the Grand Round river is struggling and forcing its way through its narrow passage, down to the beautiful valley, Grand Round. Over this day’s route, the mountains have as rich a soil as the valley, till near the dell, where the red mountain soil is seen. Where we are campd, the dell is narrow, and furnishes but little grass. It is remarkable for loudness of sound, when a gun is fired. Rocks of these mountains, volcanic.

1558½

18th—10½ miles, over a very uneven district of volcanic rocks and mountain soil, to camp, on one of the highest peaks of the Blue mountains on our route. Country, to-day, becomes more densely timberd all around and along our road, overshadowing it in many places with yellow pine, fir and spruce hemlock. Have passd several deep cuts, to-day, so steep that teams were necessarily doubld to ascend out of them, and some of them were dangerous and difficult. Our camp is located on the side of a high ridge, in a small opening, nearly one fourth of a mile above its base, where we were obligd to descend, to obtain water for cooking. From this high ridge, it is said, Mt. Hood can be seen, but at this time it is so smoky, that we can see but a little distance.

1569

19th—10 miles, over the western declivity of the Blue mountains, moderate in descent, and tolerably smooth most of the way to camp, in a small opening, a little larger than our carelle, calld Lee’s encampment. Here, two men met us, from Fort Waters, where the late murders were committed, with news that we had nothing to fear from hostile Indians, any farther on our route. This gave great encouragement to the timorous emigrants. Accordingly,

20th—We descended the western declivity of the Blue mountains, part of the way over volcanic scoria, to camp, on Umatilla river. About 12 miles of the first part of this day’s route, was through a timberd district of pine, hemlock and fir, loaded, many of them, with pendant moss. On leaving the timber, we ascended a hill, a mile or more, to Mount Prospect, the last high point before descending the bluffs to the river. I name the hill, from its commanding a view of the whole western horizon, to a great distance around.

On Prospect hill is a cluster of rocks, which, with a little help of the imagination, can be easily construed into Vulcan’s blacksmith shop, where all the cinders so profusely spread over the Blue mountains, were made. On retiring, he left his forge loaded with the cinders of his last blast, as a memorial of his great ambition.

Three and a half miles more, down the bluffs, brought us to camp, making in all, this day, 16½ miles.

1595½

21st—Down Umatilla river, near to crossing, 10 miles. Country here entirely prairie, and very undulating.

22d—Crossd the river, half a mile below camp, and passd about two miles on the flat. Ascended the bluff, and passd over the prairie about 14 miles, to the river, down the river two miles to camp, making in all 18½ miles. Prairie, to-day, uneven, and of poor soil.

1624

23d—14½ miles to camp, on Alder creek. Five miles to second crossing of Umatilla, 8½ miles to Alder creek, up the same one mile to camp. Little grass, no wood but fine willows. In this day’s travel, two miles might have been savd, by crossing the river at camp, but to avoid sandy traveling, emigrants go down the river some farther. This is Whitman’s cut-off.

24th—18½ miles, over a poor tract of the Columbia River valley, to camp, at the foot of a hill, by a spring, calld Well spring, rising in the center of a large mound of decayd vegetation, and sinking suddenly again, within a few feet of where it issues. Noond, to-day, on the battle-ground of the 24th February, 1848, between Oregon soldiers and the Cayuse Indians. No grass nor water exists along this day’s route, where emigrants might refresh themselves and their weary teams. Fire wood is obtaind two miles east, in a hollow, where are a few scattering cedars. The spring at camp should be watchd during the night, by a strong guard, to keep thirsty cattle from falling into it, out of which they cannot extricate themselves.

25th—13 miles, over a miserably poor and uneven country, to Quesnell’s creek. Down the creek one mile, in order to obtain water, where camp is located.

1670

26th—Staid at camp. Morning cold. Found there was ice in our cooking vessels, though weather became warm during the day.

27th—Returnd up the creek to the crossing, though on the west side of the flat. From the east side of the flat, to-day’s reckoning commences, and crosses over to Beaver fork of John Day’s river, a distance of 20½ miles. No camp can be had between the two places, though a small spring exists, two miles east of camp. Most of the way to-day, the road has been good, through a long, level valley.

28th—7 miles to crossing of John Day’s river. Way down Beaver fork, very rocky, and road crosses it 4 times.

1697½

29th—Down John Day’s river, half a mile. Then ascended the bluff, about one mile, up a narrow, winding, rocky ravine, the worst we had ever traveld. On the top of this bluff, the road divides, one leading to the Columbia river. The other, at the left, is the one we took. From the top of this bluff, the road, the remainder of the day, was smooth to camp, at a lone spring among the bluffs. Distance to-day, about fifteen miles. Grass enough for a small band. No wood. About two miles east, up a ravine a short distance to the left, there are two small springs, where a small party might camp for the night. No wood.

1712½

30th—25 miles to camp, on the western declivity of the dividing ridge, between John Day’s and Deshutes river, at the upper end of a ravine, where was a little grass, but no wood, and no water for cattle. We staid through the night, without supper, and left next morning, without breakfast.

31st—Traveld about 5 miles, to the crossing of Deshutes or Fall river. Here, we breakfasted in a deep chasm, almost as difficult of descent and ascent, as the valley of Sindbad the sailor, with nearly precipitous rocks, from 1000 to 1500 feet high, on every side. Afternoon employd in calking wagon-boxes, to ferry our goods across the river.

Friday, Sept. 1st—All day employd in getting our goods across the river, with the help of several Indians. River at the crossing, about seven rods wide, with considerable current.

2d—Whilst watching some of our wagons on the bank of the river, till others could be taken up the bluffs, I was led to the following reflections upon the miserable condition of the poor, degraded-looking Indians at this place—

THE INDIANS OF DESHUTES.

“That Indian, whose untutord mind

Sees God in the clouds, or hears him in the wind—

Whose soul, proud science never taught to stray”

Far as the glittring sun, or other orbs of day,

Lives far retird—a kanion deep, a solitary dell,

A gloomy shade—’tis there he deigns to dwell.

What is his food, when naught but rocks around

Are seen? No fields of plenty there do clothe the ground.

His raiment, also scant, to shield his naked form,

No robes of beasts, nor pelts, nor furs, to guard him from the storm.

And when with food he chance to break his fast,

He finds no wood to cook his limited repast.