MARCHING EXPERIENCES OF ESTHER CHAMBERS.
The following thrilling account, written by herself and first published
in the "Weekly Ledger" of Tacoma, Washington, of June 3, 1892, is to be
highly commended for its clear and forcible style:
"My father, William Packwood, left Missouri in the spring of 1844
with my mother and four children in an ox team to cross the
plains to Oregon.
"My mother's health was very poor when we started. She had to be
helped in and out of the wagon, but the change by traveling
improved her health so much that she gained a little every day,
and in the course of a month or six weeks she was able to get up
in the morning and cook breakfast, while my father attended his
team and did other chores. I had one sister older than myself,
and I was only six years old. My little sister and baby brother,
who learned to walk by rolling the water keg as we camped nights
and mornings, were of no help to my sick mother.
"The company in which we started was Captain Gilliam's and we
traveled quite a way when we joined Captain Ford's company,
making upward of sixty wagons in all.
"Our company was so large that the Indians did not molest us,
although we, after letting our stock feed until late in the
evening, had formed a large corral of the wagons, in which we
drove the cattle and horses, and stood guard at night, as the
Indians had troubled small companies by driving off their stock,
but they were not at all hostile to us.
"We came to a river and camped. The next morning we were visited
by Indians, who seemed to want to see us children, so we were
terribly afraid of the Indians, and, as father drove in the river
to cross, the oxen got frightened at the Indians and tipped the
wagon over, and father jumped and held the wagon until help came.
We thought the Indians would catch us, so we jumped to the lower
part of the box, where there was about six inches of water. The
swim and fright I will never forget--the Indian fright, of
course.
"I was quite small but I do remember the beautiful scenery. We
could see antelope, deer, rabbits, sage hens and coyotes, etc.,
and in the camp we children had a general good time. All joined
at night in the plays. One night Mr. Jenkins' boys told me to ask
their father for his sheath knife to cut some sticks with. When
using it on the first stick, I cut my lefthand forefinger nail
and all off, except a small portion of the top of my finger, and
the scar is still visible.
"On another evening we children were having a nice time, when a
boy by the name of Stephen, who had been in the habit of hugging
around the children's shoulders and biting them, hugged me and
bit a piece almost out of my shoulder. This was the first time I
remember seeing my father's wrath rise on the plains, as he was a
very even-tempered man. He said to the offending boy, 'If you do
that again, I shall surely whip you.'
"A few days later we came to a stream that was deep but narrow.
Mr. Stephens, this boy's father, was leading a cow by a rope tied
around his waist and around the cow's head for the purpose of
teaching the rest of the cattle to swim. The current being very
swift, washed the cow down the stream, dragging the man. The
women and children were all crying at a great rate, when one of
the party went to Mrs. Stephens, saying, 'Mr. Stephens is
drowning.' 'Well,' she replied, 'there is plenty of more men
where he came from.' Mr. Stephens, his cow and all lodged safely
on a drift. They got him out safely, but he did not try to swim a
stream with a cow tied to his waist again.
"We could see the plains covered with buffalo as we traveled
along, just like the cattle of our plains are here.
"One day a band of buffalo came running toward us, and one jumped
between the wheel cattle and the wheels of the wagon, and we came
very near having a general stampede of the cattle; so when the
teamsters got their teams quieted down, the men, gathering their
guns, ran and killed three of the buffalo, and all of the company
were furnished with dried beef, which was fine for camping.
"We came to a place where there was a boiling spring that would
cook eggs, and a short distance from this was a cold, clear
spring, and a short distance from this was a heap of what looked
like ashes, and when we crossed it the cattle's' feet burned until
they bawled. Another great sight I remember of seeing was an oil
spring.
"Then we reached the Blue Mountains. Snow fell as we traveled
through them.
"We then came down in the Grande Ronde valley, and it seemed as
if we had reached a paradise. It was a beautiful valley. Here
Indians came to trade us dried salmon, la camas cakes and dried
crickette cakes. We traded for some salmon and the la camas
cakes, but the crickette cakes we did not hanker after.
"A man in one train thought he would fool an Indian chief, so he
told the Indian he would swap his girl sixteen years old, for a
couple of horses. The bargain was made and he took the horses,
and the Indian hung around until near night. When the captain of
the company found out that the Indian was waiting for his girl to
go with him, the captain told the man that we might all be killed
through him, and made him give up the horses to the chief. The
Indian chief was real mad as he took the horses away.
"We went on down to The Dalles, where we stopped a few days.
There was a mission at The Dalles where two missionaries lived,
Brewer and Waller. We emigrants traded some of our poor, tired
cattle off to them for some of their fat beef, and some coarse
flour chopped on a hand mill, like what we call chop-feed
nowadays.
"Then we had to make a portage around the falls, and the women
and children walked. I don't remember the distance, but we walked
until late at night, and waded in the mud knee-deep, and my
mother stumped her toe and fell against a log or she might have
gone down into the river. We little tots fell down in the mud
until you'd have thought we were pigs.
"The men drove around the falls another way, and got out of
provisions.
"My father, seeing a boat from the high bluffs, going down to the
river hailed it, and when he came down to the boat he found us.
He said he had gotten so hungry that he killed a crow and ate it,
and thought it tasted splendid. He took provisions to the cattle
drivers and we came on down the river to Fort Vancouver. It
rained on us for a week and our bedclothes were drenched through
and through, so at night we would open our bed of wet clothes and
cuddle in them as though we were in a palace car, and all kept
well and were not sick a day in all of our six months' journey
crossing the plains. My mother gained and grew fleshy and strong.
"Next we arrived in what is now the city of Portland, which then
consisted of a log cabin and a few shanties. We stayed there a
few days to dry our bedding.
"Then we moved out to the Tualatin Plains, where we wintered in a
barn, with three other families, each family having a corner of
the barn, with fire in the center and a hole in the roof for the
smoke to go out. My father went to work for a man by the name of
Baxton, as all my father was worth in money, I think, was
twenty-five cents, or something like that. He arrived with a cow,
calf and three oxen, and had to support his family by mauling
rails in the rain, to earn the wheat, peas and potatoes we ate, as
that was all we could get, as bread was out of the question.
Shortly after father had gone to work my little brother had a
rising on his cheek. It made him so sick that mother wanted us
little tots to go to the place where my father was working. It
being dark, we got out of our way and went to a man, who had an
Indian woman, by the name of Williams. In the plains there are
swales that fill up with water when the heavy rains come, and they
are knee deep. I fell in one of these, but we got to Mr. Williams
all right. But when we found our neighbor we began crying, so Mr.
Williams persuaded us to come in and he would go and get father,
which he did, and father came home with us to our barn house. My
little brother got better, and my father returned to his work
again.
"Among the settlers on the Tualatin Plains were Mr. Lackriss, Mr.
Burton, Mr. Williams and General McCarver, who had settled on
farms before we came, and many a time did we go to their farms
for greens and turnips, which were something new and a great
treat to us.
"Often the Indians used to frighten us with their war dances, as
we called them, as we did not know the nature of Indians, so, as
General McCarver was used to them, we often asked him if the
Indians were having a war dance for the purpose of hostility. He
told us, that was the way they doctored their sick.
"General McCarver settled in Tacoma when the townsite was first
laid out and is well known. He died in Tacoma, leaving a family.
"After we moved out to the Tualatin Plains, many a night when
father was away we lay awake listening to the dogs barking,
thinking the Indians were coming to kill us, and when father came
home I felt safe and slept happily.
"In the spring of 1845 my father took a nice place in West
Yamhill, about two miles from the Willamette River and we had
some settlers around, but our advantage for a school was poor, as
we were too far from settlers to have a school, so my education,
what little I have, was gotten by punching the cedar fire and
studying at night, but, however, we were a happy family, hoping
to accumulate a competency in our new home.
"One dog, myself and elder sister and brother were carrying water
from our spring, which was a hundred yards or more from our
house, when a number of Indians came along. We were afraid of
them and all hid. I hid by the trail, when an old Indian, seeing
me, yelled out, 'Adeda!' and I began to laugh, but my sister was
terribly frightened and yelled at me to hide, so they found all
of us, but they were friendly to us, only a wretched lot to
steal, as they stole the only cow we had brought through, leaving
the calf with us without milk.
"My father was quite a hunter, and deer were plenty, and once in
a while he would get one, so we did get along without milk.
During the first year we could not get bread, as there were no
mills or places to buy flour. A Canadian put up a small chop mill
and chopped wheat something like feed is chopped now.
"My father being a jack-of-all-trades, set to work and put up a
turning lathe and went to making chairs, and my mother and her
little tots took the straw from the sheaves and braided and made
hats. We sold the chairs and hats and helped ourselves along in
every way we could and did pretty well.
"One day, while my father's lathe was running, some one yelled
'Stop!' A large black bear was walking through the yard. The men
gave him a grand chase, but bruin got away from them.
"My father remained on this place until the spring of 1847, when
he and a number of other families decided to move to Puget Sound.
During that winter they dug two large canoes, lashed them
together as a raft or flatboat to move on, and sold out their
places, bought enough provisions to last that summer, and loading
up with their wagons, families and provisions, started for Puget
Sound.
"Coming up the Cowlitz River was a hard trip, as the men had to
tow the raft over rapids and wade. The weather was very bad.
Arriving at what was called the Cowlitz Landing we stayed a few
days and moved out to the Catholic priest's place (Mr. Langlay's)
where the women and children remained while the men went back to
Oregon for our stock. They had to drive up the Cowlitz River by a
trail, and swim the rivers. My father said it was a hard trip.
"On arriving at Puget Sound we found a good many settlers. Among
them, now living that I know of, was Jesse Ferguson, on Bush
Prairie. We stayed near Mr. Ferguson's place until my father,
McAllister and Shager, who lives in Olympia, took them to places
in the Nisqually bottoms. My father's place then, is now owned by
Isaac Hawk.
"Mr. McAllister was killed in the Indian war of 1855-6, leaving
a family of a number of children, of whom one is Mrs. Grace Hawk.
The three families living in the bottom were often frightened by
the saucy Indians telling us to leave, as the King George men
told them to make us go, so on one occasion there came about 300
Indians in canoes. They were painted and had knives, and said
they wanted to kill a chief that lived by us by the name of
Quinasapam. When he saw the warriors coming he came into our
house for protection, and all of the Indians who could do so came
in after him. Mr. Shager and father gave them tobacco to smoke.
So they smoked and let the chief go and took their departure. If
there were ever glad faces on this earth and free hearts, ours
were at that time.
"My father and Mr. McAllister took a job of bursting up old
steamboat boilers for Dr. Tolmie for groceries and clothing, and
between their improving their farms they worked at this. While
they were away the Indians' dogs were plenty, and, like wolves,
they ran after everything, including our only milch cow, and she
died, so there was another great loss to us, but after father got
through with the old boilers, he took another job of making
butter firkins for Dr. Tolmie and shingles also. This was a great
help to the new settlers. The Hudson Bay Company was very kind to
settlers.
"In 1849 the gold fever began to rage and my father took the
fever. I was standing before the fire, listening to my mother
tell about it, when my dress caught fire, and my mother and Mrs.
Shager got the fire extinguished, when I found my hair was off on
one side of my head and my dress missing. I felt in luck to save
my life.
"In the spring of 1850 all arrangements were made for the
California gold mines and we started by land in an ox team. We
went back through Oregon and met our company in Yamhill, where we
had lived. They joined our company of about thirty wagons.
Portions of our journey were real pleasant, but the rest was
terribly rough. In one canyon we crossed a stream seventy-five
times in one day, and it was the most unpleasant part of our
journey.
"After two months' travel we arrived in Sacramento City, Cal.,
and found it tolerably warm for us, not being used to a warm
climate.
"Father stayed in California nearly two years. Our fortune was
not a large one. We returned by sea to Washington and made our
home in the Nisqually Bottom.
"On April 30, 1854, I was married to a man named G. W. T. Allen
and lived with him on Whidby Island seven years, during which
time four children were born. We finally agreed to disagree. Only
one of our children by my first husband is living. She is Mrs. L.
L. Andrews of Tacoma, Washington. He is in the banking business.
On July 7, 1863, I was married to my present husband, McLain
Chambers. We have lived in Washington ever since. We have had
nine children. Our oldest, a son, I. M. Chambers, lives on a farm
near Roy, Wash. Others are married and live at Roy, Yelm and
Stampede. We have two little boys at home. Have lost three within
the last three years. We live a mile and a half southeast of Roy,
Wash.
"I have lived here through all the hostilities of the war. Dr.
Tolmie sent wagons to haul us to the fort for safety. My present
husband was a volunteer and came through with a company of
scouts, very hungry. They were so hungry that when they saw my
mother take a pan of biscuits from the stove, one of them saying,
'Excuse me, but we are almost starved,' grabbed the biscuits from
the pan, eating like a hungry dog.
"I suppose you have heard of the murder of Col. I. N. Ebey of
Whidby Island? He was beheaded by the Northern or Fort Simpson
Indians and his family and George Corliss and his wife made their
escape from the house by climbing out of the windows, leaving
even their clothes and bushwhacking it until morning. I was on
Whidby Island about seven miles from where he was killed, that
same night, alone with my little girl, now Mrs. Andrews. When one
of our neighbors called at the gate and said, 'Colonel Ebey was
beheaded last night,' I said 'Captain Barrington, it cannot be,
as I have been staying here so close by alone without being
disturbed.' Shortly after the Indians came armed, and one of
them came up to me, shaking a large knife in his hand saying,
'Iskum mika tenas and klatawa copa stick or we will kill you.' I
said to him, 'I don't understand; come and go to the field where
my husband and an Indian boy are,' but they refused to go and
left me soon. I started for the field with my child, and the
further I went the more scared I got until when I reached my
husband, I cried like a child. He ran to the house and sent a
message to the agent on the reservation, but they skipped out of
his reach, and never bothered me again, but I truly suffered as
though I were sick, although I stayed alone with a boy eight or
nine years old."
"A BOY OF SEVEN WHO CAME TO SHOW HIS FATHER THE WAY."
In the same columns with the preceding sketch appeared R. A. Bundy's
story of his juvenile adventures:
"I will try to give an account of my trip crossing the plains in
the pioneer days. You need not expect a flowery story, as you
will observe before I get through. The chances for an education
in those days were quite different from what they are today. Here
goes with my story, anyway:
"My father left his old home in the State of Illinois in the
month of April in the year 1865. As I was a lad not seven years
of age until the 27th of the month, of course I was obliged to
go along to show the old man the way.
"We were all ready to start, and a large number of others that
were going in the same train had gathered at our place. There
were also numerous relatives present to bid us good-bye, and warn
us of the big undertaking we were about to embark in, and tell of
the dangers we would encounter. But a lad of my age always thinks
it is a great thing to go along with a covered wagon, especially
if 'pap' is driving. I crawled right in and did not apprehend
anything dangerous or wearisome about a short trip like that. I
will have to omit dates and camping places, as I was too young to
pay any attention to such things; and you may swear that I was
always around close. Everything went along smoothly with me for a
short time. Riding in a covered wagon was a picnic, but my
father's team was composed of both horses and cattle, and the
oxen soon became tenderfooted and had to be turned loose and
driven behind the wagons.
"About this time A. L. McCauley, whose account of the trip has
appeared in the 'Ledger,' fell in with the train. He thought
himself a brave man and as he had had a 'right smart' experience
in traveling, especially since the war broke out, and was used to
going in the lead and had selected a great many safe camping
places for himself during that time, the men thought he would be
a good man to hide from the Indians, so he was elected captain.
He went ahead and showed my old man the way. I being now relieved
of this responsibility, stayed behind the train and drove the
tenderfooted oxen. When McCauley found a camping place I always
brought up the rear.
"That was not quite so much of a picnic as some of us old-timers
have nowadays at Shilo. I found out after driving oxen a few
days, that I was going 'with' the old man.
"For a week or two my job was not as bad as some who have never
tried it might imagine. But six months of travel behind the
wagons barefooted, over sagebrush, sand toads, hot sand and
gravel, rattlesnakes, prickly pears, etc., made me sometimes wish
I had gone back home when the old dog did, or that 'pap' had sold
me at the sale with the other property. In spite of my
disagreeable situation, however, I kept trudging alone, bound to
stay with the crowd. I thought my lot was a rough one when I saw
other boys older than myself riding and occasionally walking just
for pleasure. I could not see where the fun came in, and thought
that if the opportunity was offered I could stand it to ride all
the time. I thought I had the disadvantage until the Indians got
all the stock.
"I remember one night that our famous captain said he had found
us a good, safe camping place. The next morning the people were
all right but the horses and cattle were all gone. For a while
it looked like the whole train would have to walk. I did not care
so much for myself but I thought it would be hard on those that
were not used to it.
"During the day the men got a part of the horses back, and I was
feeling pretty good, thinking the rest would get to ride, but
along in the afternoon my joyful mood was suddenly changed. All
the men, excepting a few on the sick list, were out after the
stock, when the captain and some other men came running into camp
as fast as their horses could carry them. The captain got off his
horse, apparently almost scared to death. He told the women that
they would never see their men again; that the Indians were
coming from every direction. That was in the Wood River country,
and it made me feel pretty bad after walking so far. We were all
frightened, and some boys and myself found a hiding place in a
wagon. We got under a feather bed and waited, expecting every
minute that the Indians would come. They did not come so we came
out and found that the captain was feeling rather weak and had
laid down to have a rest. Shortly after we came out, one of the
men came in leading an Indian pony. It was then learned that the
captain and some of the men with him had been running from some
of the men belonging to the train, thinking they were Indians.
They found all their horses but two and captured two Indian
ponies. The next day we journeyed on and I felt more like
walking, knowing that the others could ride. We did not meet with
any other difficulty that seriously attracted my attention.
"We arrived on the Touchet at Waitsburg in October or November,
and don't you forget it, I had spent many a hot, tiresome day,
having walked all the way across the plains."