Anson Sterling Cone, who came to Oregon in 1846, and is now--February,
1900,--living upon his donation claim a mile and a half from
Butteville, on one portion of French Prairie, is a native of Indiana,
having been born in Shelby County of that State in 1827. At the age of
seventy-three he is still in good health, and of good memory. He is
carrying on a large farm, and, together with his wife, is supporting
the family of his brother's daughter, as his own. He is a man of
medium size, of rather sandy complexion, with hair and beard now
white. He is plain and straightforward in manner, and remembers
distinctly many details of his early experiences in Oregon. Some of
the most interesting features of his narrative are his meeting with
Whitman; his service as juror on the trial of the Indian murderers of
Whitman; and his trip overland to California in the first wagon train
to the mines. His story, however, will be given as he relates it, and
the reader may then use his own judgment as to the relative importance
of his recollections.
With his father's family, who removed for a short residence from
Shelby to La Porte County, Indiana, he went as a mere lad to Iowa. The
farm occupied by his father was alongside one of the main roads, and
there, year after year, he saw the emigrants in their great wagons on
the way to Oregon. In the course of time he took the fever to go with
them to that enchanted country. The opportunity was not long withheld.
In 1846 a well-to-do neighbor, Edward Trimble, made up a party, in
which an older brother of Anson's, Aaron Cone, was to go. Obtaining
permission of his father, Anson, then but a youth of eighteen,
assisted in helping the train off, and drove with the party for some
distance. When the time arrived for him to return home (his dejected
appearance probably indicating his longing to go on with the
emigrants) Trimble said to him: "Anson, I don't advise or ask you to
go to Oregon; but if you are bound to, you may go with me." "I have no
outfit," said the young man. "I have $1,000," answered Trimble; "and
as long as that lasts you shall have your share of it."
Anson went. His patron, however, never reached Oregon. Trimble was one
of the comparatively few who fell a victim to the treachery of the
Indians. He was killed by the Pawnees, on the Platte River, near the
big island. He had been selected captain of the company of forty-three
wagons which was made up at Saint Joe, where the train crossed the
Missouri, and took the route south of the Platte.
At a point opposite the big island, as then known, the cattle were
stampeded by the Pawnees, and driven away, so that the train was left
entirely without teams. Trimble started out to hunt the animals; but
his wife, seeing that he had no arms, said to him, "Edward, you had
better take your rifle." He answered, "I do not need it; I am only
going to look for the trail." But reaching a knoll and finding the
trail of the lost stock, which led to the river, he and a man named
Harris rode on without stopping, until they discovered the cattle on
the island. Going down to the river side, however, they were suddenly
confronted by a party of armed Pawnees, who had secreted themselves
under the steep bank. Harris then, in his excitement, left his horse,
and Trimble delaying for him was shot by the Indians. His body was not
recovered but arrows stained with blood were found, which had
probably been shot through his body. These were preserved by Mrs.
Trimble, and it is thought that they are still in possession of the
family; a daughter of Trimble, having become Mrs. Pomeroy, of Pomeroy,
Washington.
By the men of the train who saw the affair, Harris was rescued, and
the most of the oxen, though in a sad state of demoralization, were
recovered. A considerable number were never found, and on account of
this seven wagons were compelled to return to Saint Joe, with just
enough cattle to draw them. But the mischief was also played with the
oxen that went forward. After one thorough stampede such animals are
always unreliable. Mr. Cone remembers one serious stampede later, of
the whole train on the road, which was started only by a jack rabbit
driven by the dogs under a wagon. "It was a pretty hard sight," he
says, "to see the wagon hauled off, with oxen on the run. But they had
to stop at last; some fell down and were dragged along. Many an old ox
lost his horns. There were horns flying then--let one catch his tip in
the ground and it was gone!"
However, though under unusual strain from this unlucky incident with
the rascally Pawnees, the plains and mountains were crossed at last.
Fort Bridger, Fort Hall, and the Grande Ronde and Blue Mountains were
passed in due order, and about the middle of October the wagons
descended upon the Umatilla.
Here the two young men, Anson and his brother Aaron, thought it
advisable to leave the train and push on to the Willamette. To
accomplish this they went over to the Walla Walla, with the idea of
working for Whitman long enough to pay for a pack horse. At Waiilatpu
they found the doctor at home, and made known their intention. "Boys,"
replied the Old Man (A. S. C.), "you had better take Bob there, and
all the provisions you need, and go at once. At the end of the season
there will be those coming who will have to stay here anyhow, and I
had better save the work for them. I will be down in the Willamette
country next summer, and you can pay me then." The young men
accordingly took "Bob," a trusty old white cayuse horse and a good
pack animal, who had somehow lost his tail, all except a short stump,
just sufficient to hold the crupper.
By this kindness and confidence of Whitman Mr. Cone was greatly
impressed. "He was a good man," he says, "he had a heart like an ox!"
According to his recollections Whitman was about six feet tall,
straight as an Indian and of fine presence. His face was florid, his
hair chestnut, and not noticeably gray. In manner he was quick "for a
big man," and "always in for anything that had life"--sociable, and a
good joker. The horse and provisions, taken from the doctor's door,
amounted to about $25 worth; "and the next summer," says Mr. Cone,
"when I heard that the Old Man was at Oregon City, didn't I rustle
around to have the money ready for him!"
Young Cone arrived at Oregon City on November 6th, his nineteenth
birthday. He began almost immediately to look about the country, and
taking the road to Tualatin Plains, was surprised, but greatly
pleased, to meet on the way--at the house of Mr. Masters, near the
present town of Reedville--an old friend, whom he had known at the
East. This was T. G. Naylor, long a well known resident of Forest
Grove. By this hospitable friend Cone was invited to spend the winter
on the farm on Gale's Creek, and actually spent two months, managing
to find eight working days between showers, out of that time--which
indicates that the climate, even then, was rainy. However the young
immigrant had good health, enjoyed life, and grew fat. For his eight
days of work he received an order for eight bushels of wheat, and
being in great need of new clothes, went back to Oregon City, and
obtaining work at rail splitting, he succeeded in mending his fortunes
sufficiently to procure new garments. He also found work afterwards in
the sawmills. "Many a day," he says, "I worked alongside the Kanakas."
There was at that time a considerable number of these native Sandwich
Islanders in Oregon. They were good workmen, says Mr. Cone, being
especially useful in work about the water. They had their own
quarters, which they kept themselves, and provided their own
sustenance quite independently.
During the dry season of 1847 the two brothers having decided to
return East across the Plains, made a long tour of the Willamette
Valley, in order to tell all about Oregon, with which, however, they
were not fully satisfied as a permanent home; but their preparations
not being complete they were delayed until late in the next season.
It was in August of that year that the Cayuse Indian murderers were
brought down from the upper country, and were tried and hanged at
Oregon City [Mr. Cone was evidently confused in this part of his
recollections as the Cayuse Indian murderers did not give themselves
up until April 1850; and were tried later in that year.--EDITOR.] The
Indians had the benefit of counsel, and the usual motions were made
for acquittal. Among others was rejection of many jurymen, on the
ground of prejudice. As it began to seem that no jury could be found,
Cone, who was present as a spectator at the trial, whispered to a
companion, "Come, let's go; they will be getting us on the jury!"
They quietly slipped out, therefore, and retiring to a big rock on the
bluff, were engaged chatting. A young man soon approached, however,
whom they took to be another like themselves, but they recognized that
he was after them and a deputy sheriff, when he proceeded to summon
them to the jury box. They were accordingly impaneled, with the
necessary number, and listened to the evidence. The case was entirely
clear, the prosecution simply presenting evidence to show that the
accused were the Indians who had committed the crime.
As to the motive of the murder, or the causes back of it, Mr. Cone
inclines to the opinion very prevalent at the time, that it was due to
religious differences; "there was another church there, and this I
know, that none of the other church were hurt." He mentions
particularly Joe Stanbough, who was not injured, yet was a full-blood
white man. This is mentioned here, and indeed is given very cautiously
by Mr. Cone, not as any brand for present sectarian differences, but
as a true reflection of opinion at the time. The precise justice of
that opinion is not discussed here.
Very soon after the trial Cone was told by General Lovejoy, at Oregon
City, of the discovery of gold in California. "If I were you," said
Lovejoy, "I would go as soon as possible." By this advice Cone and his
brother were led to get together three wagons and join the overland
company. This was a most eventful journey and illustrates the capacity
of the trained Oregon men.
According to Mr. Cone's recollections there were forty one wagons;
though Peter Burnett says, in "An Old Pioneer," that there were fifty
and one hundred and fifty men. There was but one family in the train,
the name of which Mr. Cone has forgotten. In this he coincides with
Burnett. Cone also recalls Thomas McKay very distinctly as the guide
and virtual leader; who said that he could take them through to the
Sacramento River without trouble; "and there is only one place that I
am afraid of; that is going down the mountain into the Sacramento
Valley. You may have to let your wagons down with ropes there."
Burnett, in his vivid sketch of this journey, says that he went to
Doctor McLoughlin for advice, and was directed by him to employ McKay,
as this intrepid son of the unfortunate Alexander McKay was acquainted
with every foot of the way and was especially efficient in dealing
with the Indians. But Mr. Cone recollects nothing of Burnett.
As to Indian troubles, Cone says that there was only one Indian
killed. This was in the Umpqua Valley, and the deed was without
provocation, and by an irresponsible young man, of the kind that hung
on to almost every party. McKay read the young man a severe lesson,
and complained to the company, endeavoring to show how reckless such
actions were. The young man made the saucy reply that he must be
still, or else there would be another Indian killed--alluding to
McKay's Indian blood. However, there were no other natives disturbed,
and the way was through the country of the Klamaths, the Modocs, and
the Pitt River Indians. Burnett mentions meeting a very few natives
near the end of the journey, but says there was no trouble whatever.
In the Pitt River Valley the Oregon wagon train came upon the track of
the California immigrants, whom Peter Lawsen--or Lassen, as Burnett
spells the name--was guiding to his great ranch on the Upper
Sacramento. When at last overtaken they were found to be in great
destitution, and so exasperated at Lassen, who had lost the way, and
was wandering in the Sierra Nevadas, trying to find a practicable way
down their stupendous western declivities, that he seemed in danger of
his life. A practicable descent was found at last, however, and then
began the race to see who would be first into the valley. This was
near Lassen's Peak, which is so high as to be spotted with old snow,
even to late autumn.
Here Mr. Cone describes "the maddest man he ever saw." This was the
pioneer, Job McNemee, of Portland. With an extra good team and high
determination of his own he had declared that he would be first in the
valley. He was well on the way to success, having got and held the
lead; but halfway down the mountain side, in his wild career, he ran
his wheel against a protruding bowlder, by which the heavy wagon was
upset, and there it lay, while the other wagons, nine in number, of
that particular section of the train, went bouncing by. But at last,
in spite of all accidents, men and animals reached Lassen's ranch, and
were there treated with royal hospitality. The vaqueros were directed
to slaughter beef, and the Oregon men, as well as the California
party, were invited to the barbecue. The Oregonians, however, were not
likely to wait long. It was now late in November, and though some went
first up to Redding's ranch, all soon struck out for Coloma. Although
not an active participant in the Indian troubles there, these are
recalled by Mr. Cone. He remembers the murder of the party of Oregon
men, recalling the circumstance, however, that the number killed was
five, and that one of the six escaped. The Indians, as he remembers,
were tracked to their camp on the river, and attacked and punished.
His memory was more deeply impressed, however, with the enormous price
of provisions; as, for instance, going down one day to Sacramento, and
seeing some nice little hams, he had a mind to purchase one. On asking
the price he was told four dollars a pound. He concluded he did not
want any. That was late in the season of '48 or early '49. Vast
quantities of stores were shipped in soon, and prices fell.
Misfortunes robbed Mr. Cone of the results of his adventure. His
brother was taken sick and died. He was himself attacked by scurvy,
and finally being unable to work longer, sought passage home on a
sailing vessel, which crossed the Columbia bar late in the fall of
'49, a very smoky season, and of long drouth, the vessel being
becalmed for days together.
Mr. Cone remembers many amusing incidents of the mining life; one of
which was the shooting of Weimer's pig by his partner--the animal
being a nuisance around camp, yet of great value. One morning the
partner of Cone said: "Load the gun and I'll shoot the ---- sow." To
run the bluff, Cone did so, and not to be backed off, the partner shot
and killed. Then to hide their trespass the carcass was hidden in the
brush; but upon returning at evening from their rockers the young men
found that the ravens had taken care of the pork.
In 1850 Mr. Cone, having recovered his health, located a claim on
French Prairie. His father arrived in Oregon in 1851. His brothers,
Oscar and G. A., Jr., came in 1847. Three other brothers also became
Oregonians, Oliver, Francis Marian, and Philander Johnson. All found
claims near each other on French Prairie, or just across the river.
Anson and Oscar are the only ones now living.
Of the old father, G. A. Cone, there are eighteen grandchildren and
thirty-seven great-grandchildren.
Anson Cone was married in 1866 to Sarah A., the widow of his brother
Oliver, whose maiden name was Wade, and who is herself a pioneer of
'53.