While wandering through the valley of the Clearwater and the adjacent

hills, I was much struck with the wonders of petrification. I saw huge

fir-logs, petrified. I can never think of what I then saw without

recalling a story which I heard while delegate to Congress, and at

Washington City. Congress always makes liberal appropriations for the

investigation of the flora and fauna, and the mineral indications, as

well as the water supply or rainfall, in the territories, and in the

desert portions of the United States. Rugged old Ben Wade, while a

Senator from Ohio, always opposed these appropriations as a waste of the

people's money in what he styled, bug-hunting expeditions. Two

scientists, eminent for their learning, and known as Major Hayden and

Captain Powell, were usually employed in these explorations. The Major

was said to be something of a martinet, while the Captain was an

excellent judge of human nature, and had plenty of what the Philosopher

Locke called "round-about common-sense." While on one of these

scientific exploring expeditions these two gentlemen were in the

mountains near Pike's Peak. That country abounds in fine specimens of

petrification. One day the Major met a company of miners, and related to

them the wonderful specimens of petrification seen by him that day. The

miners listened with eloquent, but I fear insincere, attention to the

Major's statement. When he had concluded, one of them said: "If you will

go with me, Major, to the other side of the ridge, I will show you a

specimen of petrification that discounts anything you have seen today."

The Major listened while the miner said, that at the base of a nearly

perpendicular wall of rock, extending upward several hundred feet, there

was an Indian with a rifle in his hand pointing at an angle upward

towards the rock; that both Indian and rifle were petrified; that the

smoke around the muzzle of the gun was petrified; and, what was more

wonderful, that a short distance from the muzzle of the gun a cougar was

petrified right in the air. The Major showed some uneasiness as the

story proceeded, and said at its conclusion: "I was inclined to believe

you when you began, but now I know you are lying." The miner softly put

his hand to his pistol, but, relenting, said: "You are a tenderfoot and

I forgive you; but why did you say I was lying?" "Because," said the

Major, "I know that the laws of gravitation would bring that cougar

down." "The laws of gravitation be damned," said the miner, "they were

petrified too."

I visited Oregon City with my friend, and observed the beautiful falls

of the Willamette and the waste of electrical and mechanical power.

Returning to his humble home, I bade him the next day a regretful

good-bye, and with my horses started for a point in Mill Creek Valley,

six or seven miles south of Salem, to the home of a friend with whom I

became acquainted on the plains. This friend had taken up a claim, and I

found him busily engaged in the erection of a building which might be

styled in architecture as a midway between a dwelling house and a cabin.

He had determined, as soon as this structure was completed, to go to the

mines in Southern Oregon. I also concluded to try my luck in digging for

gold. In the latter part of October, 1852, in company with two other

gentlemen, we started for the mines in Rogue River Valley, Southern

Oregon. The habitations in the Willamette Valley at that time were few

and far between. Large bands of Spanish cattle roamed over, and found

ample food in the upper portion of the valley. It was dangerous for a

footman to pass through that country. On horseback he was safe. But

little of interest occured on this trip. My friend claimed to be and he

was an expert rider. He had a large and powerful Spanish horse as his

riding animal. While in the Umpqua Valley he mounted this horse one

morning without saddle or bridle on a steep hill. The horse viciously

resented this breach of etiquette and plunged with stiff-legged vaults

downward and sideways on the steep incline, throwing his rider over his

head. The rider struck with his full weight and the momentum of the

horse's motion, on his right hand, throwing the small bones, to which

some of the muscles of the inner arm are attached, out of their sockets

at the base of the palm of the hand. The tendency was for these muscles

still further to contract--thus aggravating his injury. The nearest

doctor was fifty miles away. Upon examination, I concluded that these

small bones ought to be forced into their proper place, if possible,

before inflammation intervened. We accordingly placed the injured man

upon his back on the ground, and as the operation would be very painful,

the others held him securely while I forced these bones back into their

sockets. Then we bound the wrist tightly, so as to keep them in place.

When we arrived at the Doctor's he, after an examination, complimented

me highly for my surgical skill, and gave me credit for saving the wrist

of the injured man. On our way to the mines we passed through what is

known as the Canyon in the mountain-spur that separates the Umpqua

country from the Rogue River county. People now passing through this

canyon scarcely appreciate the difficulties attending the passage which

then existed. The canyon is formed by two streams, both heading in a

small pond or lake at the summit of the mountain; the one that flows

northward is called Canyon Creek. It was then crossed eighty-four times

by the road. The other stream flowed southward and was crossed by way of

the road over sixty times. In the rainy season, and especially when the

mountains were covered, or blockaded with snow, the passage was almost

impossible. The passage was strewn with the wrecks of wagons and the

bones of horses and mules. Subsequently, Congress made an appropriation

of $40,000 for a military road through this mountain gorge. This money

was faithfully expended by General Hooker. The distance through the

canyon is about nine miles. General Hooker built the military road on

the side of the mountain. In quite a number of places you can sit in

the stage and look down into a nearly perpendicular and sunless abyss

hundreds of feet in depth. Large sums of money have since been expended

by toll corporations, to keep this military road passable and in repair.

We arrived at Jacksonville, in Southern Oregon, in the first part of

November.

To a person who prior to that time had always been accustomed to a

different order of society, and who had never visited the mines in the

palmy days of California, a new social order was manifest. I state the

facts and the impression they made upon me as a tenderfoot; but I ought

to add that since that time, having become somewhat familiar with such

scenes, my moral sense has toughened, so that my ability to "endure" is

far greater now, than then, though my judgment as to the ultimate moral

result of such a social order has never changed.

There were in Jacksonville and its immediate vicinity from seven to

eight thousand men, possibly more. The coat as an article of dress had

fallen into "innocuous desuetude." Soft slouch hats were universally

worn. There were but a few women, and most of them not angelic. The

mines were rich, money was abundant, and gambling rampant. I ought not

to omit the dance-halls that pointed the lurid way to perdition. I said

that money was abundant; I do not mean by this that much United States

gold coin was in circulation. There was a five-dollar gold piece that

had its origin in Oregon. It was stamped on one side with the words

"United States of America," and on the reverse side with the impress of

a beaver; hence, it was called "beaver money." It was of the same size

of the minted half-eagle, but contained more of gold. The other piece

of money in circulation was octahedron in shape or form. It was stamped

on one side the same as the beaver money, and on the reverse side were

the words "Fifty Dollars." It contained more gold than the same weight

of minted coin; but the money used in nearly all transactions was gold

dust; hence, every merchant, saloonkeeper or gambler had his gold scales

at command. Gold dust had a standard value of sixteen dollars per ounce,

and purchases were paid for in gold dust. There was some silver in

circulation, but the lowest denomination was twenty-five cents. A drink

of milk, glass of beer or any other liquor, was twenty-five cents.

Sunday was partly a laundry day, but mostly a gala day. Mining ceased on

that day. All came to town to see the sights, to hear the news, to try

their luck at the gambling tables, or to purchase supplies for the

coming week. This day was a harvest day for the gambler, the

saloonkeeper, and the merchant. While there was a large quantity of

alcoholic beverages consumed, drunkennes was at a minimum. Nearly

everyone carried a pistol in his belt, and a sheath-knife in his boot.

Homicides were not frequent; this was due to the character possessed by

the great body of miners, who acted on the great law of honor, and to

the fact that to call a man a liar or to impeach the honor of his

origin, or to use towards him any epithet imputing dishonor, was to

invite the contents of a pistol into the accuser's physical economy. The

laws of chivalry and honor were the only laws obeyed in such matters.

This kind of society, rough and uncouth in its exterior, had a strong

basis in the nobler principles of a chivalric manhood. It had also a

poetic side, being composed principally of young men; it did not

suppress the finer impulses and feelings of their better nature. As an

illustration: there was located in the valley a family, consisting of

husband and wife and two children. They had quite a number of cows and

kept milk for sale. A large number of young men used to visit this

family every Sunday for the ostensible purpose of buying milk, when the

real purpose was to see someone who had the form, the purity and the

affection of a mother. When they left the humble abode of this mother,

they talked of their own mothers, of home and its sweet recollections.

The strong ligaments of a mother's love serves as a moral anchor to them

in the billowy storms of life, even far away from that mother.

Personal property of great value, such as gold in sluice boxes, though

unguarded, was perfectly secure. The sneak thief, the burglar and the

robber were conspicuous by their absence. Probably the certainty,

promptness and severity of the punishment deterred their visitation.

There were no churches in that mining town, and religious services were

infrequent. I remember one incident in this line: A Methodist minister,

by the name of Stratton, came over from California and notices were

posted that he would preach the next Sunday. There was a large building

in process of erection for a gambling-house on the opposite side of the

street from the principal gambling saloon. The roof was on this new

building and a large party of us, desiring to hear the Gospel again

preached, fitted up this hall with seats from the unused lumber. The

minister had a large audience, the seats were all filled and hundreds

stood on the outside of the building. He was an able and eloquent man

and presented the simple story of the Gospel in a very forcible and

earnest manner. When he had concluded his sermon, the contribution-box

was passed around and carried across the street to the gambling saloon,

and they all contributed liberally, some of them dropping into the box a

fifty-dollar gold piece. As soon as he had pronounced the benediction,

two mounted auctioneers, one desiring to sell a horse, the other a mule,

requested the audience to remain while they offered them bargains and

cried the virtues of these animals. Most of the audience did remain and

the bidding was quite spirited and animated; so you see that that

congregation had an opportunity to hear the Gospel, to buy a horse or a

mule, as each man's wants might demand.

Civil government had not been extended over that section of the country.

The only system they had was the Alcalde system. This was borrowed from

California, and by the Californians was borrowed from the mining

jurisprudence of Spain. Every mining community of any considerable size

had its Alcalde. He held his office by election, and his jurisdiction

swept over the entire field of jurisprudence. There was no appeal from

his judgments or decrees. Jacksonville and its mining community had such

an officer; his name was Rogers. I think he was a lawyer, but had long

since ceased to practice. He was a grey-headed and venerable-looking

man. He administered the unwritten and the unclassified law of justice

and equity as it appeared to him from the facts of each case heard by

him. His judgments and decrees were promptly enforced; but there came a

change. In the fall of '52 four men in the Willamette Valley formed

themselves into a co-partnership for mining purposes, and with their

horses and provisions went to Jackson Creek to try their fortune at

mining. At first they were not successful. Provisions running low, they

dispatched one of their number to the Willamette Valley with their

horses to bring in an ample supply of provisions for the

fast-approaching winter. This partner, sent on such a mission, became

acquainted on his trip with a blooming damsel who had just crossed the

plains. He made love to her; she reciprocated, and they were married.

The season had far advanced when the honeymoon was over. He brought,

however, on his delayed return an abundant supply of provisions. His

partners during his absence, had located some claims, opened them and

found them very rich. But on his return, while they accepted the

provisions, they denied to him all accounting, and refused to

acknowledge his interest in the new-found claims. He brought an action

before the Alcalde for an accounting and for the affirmation of his

interest in the claims. The Alcalde, after hearing and fully considering

the facts of the case, granted both of the petitions. Up to this time I

had had no employment in the case and had taken but a general interest

in it. The defeated parties called a miners' convention, whose declared

object was the election of a judge of appeals for that and other cases.

My connection with the case commenced at this point. I was employed by

the successful party before the Alcalde, and by others, to oppose this

movement. At the appointed time nearly all of the miners of Jackson

Creek and its vicinity assembled in convention at the appointed place.

The feeling for and against the proposition was quite intensified. After

the convention was organized I arose and with some trepidation addressed

the large crowd. I was listened to throughout with silent and respectful

attention. I took the position, first, that inasmuch as the machinery of

civil government had not as yet been extended over that district of the

country, the Alcalde system prevailed, and thousands upon thousands of

valuable properties had changed hands by virtue of the Alcalde judgments

and decrees and their enforcement, and the property rights of many were

dependent upon the validity and stability of such judgments and decrees,

all would be endangered by the proposed change; that his ministerial

officers might be subject to prosecution; that under such circumstances

we had better stand upon the records of the past,--records as old as the

institution of mining in the United States. I further argued that if we

attempted to complicate affairs by the election of a judge of appeals,

and possibly by the institution of other tribunals for the correction of

error, we turn a system simple in itself, and beneficent in its

operations in the past, into a complicated farce. I argued in favor of

the probability of the Legislature, when it extended its machinery of

civil government over that section of country, passing an act validating

the judgments and decrees or providing for a liberal mode and time for

an appeal from them. My last point, omitting others, was that this

movement had its origin in, and promotion by, the parties defeated in

the Alcalde's court. If they had the power to secure a determination in

favor of a court of appeals they certainly had power to elect the judge

of appeals; that as this would be the first case to be heard by him,

they certainly would not elect a judge who was not favorable to their

interests; and that it had the appearance to me of a court organized to

convict or to reverse. I pushed this point with every reason and every

illustration and consideration that I could command. I appealed in

conclusion to their native sense of justice and equity, and closed

after speaking a little over an hour. I was roundly applauded. My

opponent was what was known in the States as a pettifogger. I use this

term not opprobriously. He was an old miner and possessed the power of

rough-edged ridicule and philippics. He thought that the best way to

answer my argument was to annihilate me. His description of a beardless

tenderfoot coming all the way from Michigan to teach veteran miners what

they ought to do, or ought not to do was certainly amusing, if not

overdrawn by its exaggeration. He was frequently applauded by his side.

When he was through the voting commenced. The contending forces arrayed

themselves on each side of a line, with a space of four or five feet

between them. The pulling and hauling across the space was continuous.

After several efforts to make an accurate count, it was reported to the

President that there was a majority of from three to ten in favor of the

proposition. The next move was to select a judge of the court of

appeals. This was soon accomplished. The judge so elected notified the

parties of the time and place where the appeal was to be heard. At the

appointed time I appeared and filed a written protest and demurrer to

his jurisdiction. When I had finished reading them he promptly, and

without hearing the other party, overruled both protest and demurrer. He

heard the case anew and promptly reversed the judgment of the Alcalde. I

think this was the only case the judge of appeals ever heard. Nothing

but the dignity of the office remained. In after years I became well

acquainted with said judge, but I never mentioned the subject to him. A

more extended account of this affair is given in one of Bancroft's

histories of the coast. The record or papers filed by me in this case,

I have been informed, are in the archives of Jackson County.

Two incidents occurred late in the fall of '53 which as they are

somewhat historical in their character and results, may bear narration.

Rogue River Valley was unoccupied and afforded abundant pasturage for

horses and mules and horned cattle. Some enterprising fellow had just

pre-empted all of that portion of the valley west of Bear Creek, and

received stock for pasturage on that pre-empted domain, at so much per

head. Late in the fall, four fine American horses had been stolen from

this pasture. The theft was immediately attributed by the owners, and by

the keepers of the stock, to the Indians. A party of hot-headed fellows,

headed by the owners of the lost horses, went to the Indian Ranceree on

Rogue River and took four of its younger men as prisoners, or rather as

hostages--threatening to kill them if the stock was not delivered within

a week. The hostages were brought to Jacksonville and strictly confined

until the time should elapse. This action created great excitement among

the Indians, and to save the lives of their companions they hunted for

the lost animals in every direction, but could find no trace of them.

The Rogue River Indians gave it as their opinion that a band of Klamath

Indians but recently in Rogue River Valley, on a trading expedition, had

stolen the horses and driven them across the mountains to the Klamath

Lake country. The fatal day arrived and the horses were unfound; and the

determination was expressed by a large party of miners, reinforced by

the gambling element, to carry the threat into execution. One of the

Indians asked that he might talk to the whites before he was led out to

execution. His request, after some considerable opposition, was finally

granted. His speech was interpreted into English and ran, as far as I

remember it, about as follows: He said that neither himself nor his

companions had stolen the horses, and that they knew nothing about their

loss; that the white man did not claim that they stole the horses, but

they were to be killed because others had stolen the white man's horses,

and neither they nor their friends were able to deliver them up to the

white man; that the Indians had always treated the white man

kindly--when he was hungry they gave him something to eat--but the white

man had taken possession of their country, had driven the game far away

into the mountains, had decreased the number of fish in the rivers and

streams by muddying their waters, and had by the tramping of their

horses and cattle destroyed the Kamas and Kouse upon which they largely

subsisted and had entirely destroyed the grass and other seeds which

they gathered in large quantities for food; that he felt like one

wandering alone in the deep fog and dark timber on a mountain side, and

he heard the voice of the spirits of his fathers calling to him "be

quiet and brave; the Great Spirit will avenge you." He closed. Someone

moved that the punishment be mitigated to whipping. I protested against

any punishment at all, but voted for the mitigation. The motion carried;

the poor innocent Indians were led away to receive the punishment; but I

must say that the executioner of the sentence did not lay on the lash in

a severe and brutal manner. The Indians were told to go; and they stayed

not on the order of their going, but left with good speed. Such

unjustified acts are pregnant with trouble, and the Indian war followed

soon after.

There lies east of the southern portion of Rogue River

Valley a wide slope of land free from timber and ending at the rim of

the mountain, and beyond and easterly from which--there is a high

mountain table land--covered with fine green timber, among which sleep

verdant valleys whose arms extend like the radius of a star, in every

direction. Some of these valleys are wet and marshy, while others are

dry and produce a rich and abundant growth of bunch grass. There was a

large number of stock pastured in this section of country. Occasionally

a small band of the fattest and largest steers would mysteriously

disappear from this range. The number disappearing increased each

successive year. The cattle men became alarmed, and organized an armed

and mounted patrol to keep guard and watch over their stock. In the fall

of '51 it was reported that some five or six fine steers were missing

from their accustomed range. A search was immediately made and the trail

of the missing cattle discovered. It led over the rim into the mountain

basin or plateau, above referred to and across a marsh, now, and from

this circumstance, called Dead Indian Prairie, and up a narrow arm of

the prairie to a mountain culmination in a lonely spot, surrounded on

nearly all sides by a dense growth of tall chapparal brush. Here the

carcasses of the cattle, also the bodies of three Indians were found,

with all the indications that they had been recently killed. These

patrol men said that they also found the meat of the slaughtered cattle

on platforms, with a slow fire of hardwood still burning beneath them.

Thus the process of jerking preparatory to packing was in full

operation. They gave it as their opinion that the cattle had been stolen

by Klamath Indians, and that a party of predatory Modocs came upon them

a short time before the patrol men appeared, and, finding a good

opportunity to supply themselves with food, shot down the Klamaths; but

that before they could appropriate to themselves the booty, the whites

made their appearance and the Modocs hid away in the chapparal brush.

This theory was received by their employers as rational and

satisfactory. In '58 I visited this country for the first time--having

heard the story, I sought the spot where the tragedy occurred. There

were still the bleached bones of the cattle and the whitened skeletons

of three Indians. The platform was still standing, and the extinguished

brands of charcoal and the ashes, of the vine-maple fire still existed.

It was late in the afternoon. The sun was fast disappearing behind the

western hills. I hesitated for a moment whether to take a long route by

way of the narrow prairie to our camp, or to go down the brush-covered

mountain sides and thus cut off at least a mile of the distance. The

side of the mountain down which I determined to go, was said to be

infested with grizzly. I examined my rifle and pistol, to see if they

were in order and then with rapid strides commenced the descent. When

about half way down I heard a rustling in the brush to my left; I turned

and looked in that direction, and saw two large grizzlies on their

haunches attentively surveying me. My first thought was to shoot; but as

my rifle was a muzzle loader, I concluded that discretion was the better

part of valor, inasmuch as there were two of them--hence I stood quiet

till they dropped out of sight in the brush. I did not allow the grass

to grow much under my feet, as I dodged through the chapparal brush to

reach the prairie beyond. I am convinced that I could have killed one

of them, but what to do with his enraged mate, was the question. I

remember the answer of a young man, who, while hunting, came across a

grizzly probably in her own jungle, in about the same way. He was asked

why he did not shoot; his answer was, that it would be some honor for a

man to kill a full grown grizzly, but a far greater honor for a grizzly

to kill a man.

This great basin--circular in form and some eight miles in diameter--has

been visited by me in connection with hunting parties many times since.

It is, or was in former years the hunter's paradise; but I am informed

that the cattle men--the pre-emptor, and the homesteaders, and timber

monopolizers--have extended their dominion over the luxuriant

grass-producing prairies and the magnificent forests of pine, fir,

hemlock and larch, and have driven the game far back into the fastnesses

of the mountains. The Indian kills only to satisfy his wants and with

only imperfect instruments of destruction; he did not menace the entire

extinction of the beasts of the field and forest, hence game of every

kind existed and multiplied all around him; but to the white man, armed

with a repeating rifle, and fired with a devouring avarice their doom is

fixed. Nothing but the intervention of the strong arm of the law can

avert the decree of annihilation. Having alluded to this matter once

before in these sketches I will not pursue it further here.

Black-tail deer were abundant on this mountain plateau, and it did not

take long for a party of good shots to obtain all the venison desired.

We did not kill for the mere love of slaughter, but for food and for the

attendant excitement and recreation of hunting.

There roamed through these forests numerous small bands of elk; I say

small bands, for I have never seen them here in such large herds as I

have seen in the Coast and Olympic ranges of mountains. They seemed to

exist here in family groups, ranging in number from three to seven or

eight. I counted one group, however, numbering fifteen, in an exploring

expedition in the dark woods near the base of snow-crowned Mount

McLaughlin. I had a fine opportunity to shoot a good sized buck whose

head was crowned with large and fine antlers; but was so distant from

camp and the ground was so rough and difficult of access, that I

forebore, and seated myself on a rock to study their habits and to watch

their movements. These small bands were quite difficult to find, for the

elk is a great roamer, but with pluck and perseverance, and the

discomforts of sleeping on their trail perhaps for one night, we were

usually successful, unless the trail led into the impassable breaks in

the mountains.

The bear family was well represented in this mountain plateau. The

black, the brown, the cinnamon, the grizzly and what is known among

hunters as the mealy-nosed brown bear, were plentiful. This last species

of bear, if it be proper to call them a species, I have always thought

was a cross between the grizzly and the brown bear. His nose or muzzle

up to his eyes is nearly white. Like many crosses, he inherits all the

bad qualities of his progenitors, and seemingly, none of their good

qualities. In size he is between the grizzly and the brown bear. While

most of the species of the bear family will run on the approach of man,

unless one comes upon them suddenly in their patrimonial jungle, or a

female with her cubs, the mealy-nosed bear is inclined to stand his

ground, and to resent any crowding upon him. Doctor Livingston says, in

his Book of Travels in Africa, that if you come upon the lion in the

day time, he will face you and quietly look at you; and if you stand

still he will in a short time turn and look at you over his shoulder,

and then commence easily to move away, and when he thinks he is out of

sight he will bound off with accelerated speed. The mealy-nosed brown

bear acts very much in the same manner. Hunting parties sometimes have

with them a leash of trained bear-dogs, and they always close the hunt

in a chase for bruin. There is in this kind of sport a dash of danger,

that makes it all the more exciting.

Hunters, like poets, are born. Keenness of vision, presence of mind in

case of conflict or danger, together with steadiness of nerve, are the

essential characteristics of a true hunter. No practice or exercise can

fully supply these qualities. I could narrate many exciting and

dangerous conditions, or situations, arising from the want of some of

these qualities; but as the actors may be living, I omit them.

I am at liberty to narrate only my own acts and mistakes. I cannot omit

from these sketches the first grizzly killed by me. Myself and companion

were camping on Dead Indian Prairie, when we were informed that there

were some fresh elk-tracks near a large wet prairie some three miles

from our camp. We started out to hunt for these elks. We went up a

narrow prairie through which flowed a small brook to a larger prairie

through which this brook also flowed. The brook was fringed on each side

with a thick growth of willows from three to five rods in width. We

hitched our horses near the larger prairie, and my companion was to go

carefully through the timber on the right hand, while I was to cross the

brook and carefully scout the timber on the left hand. Shortly after I

had crossed the brook and got a good view of the prairie beyond, I saw a

large grizzly feeding near the outer line of the willows. He was some

sixty or seventy rods away. I considered for a moment, my plan of

action. I had left my pistol at the camp and had only my rifle and

hunting-knife. I kept in the timber out of sight until I got opposite to

him and probably about forty rods away. Grass on the prairie was tall,

and I concluded that as I only had one shot, I would get closer to him;

so I crawled through the grass towards him until I was possibly twenty

rods away. He commenced to act as though all was not right, and he stood

listening, reared upon his haunches, and snuffing the air. I began to

get a little nervous. I desired to get a shot at or near the butt of his

ear. While he was listening, however, he kept turning his head from me

and towards the willows. I concluded that I could strike his heart, and

quickly brought my rifle in position, and fired. He fell to the ground;

I arose to my feet and commenced to reload. My rifle was muzzle-tight,

and I had to carry in my pouch a bullet-starter. Having got the powder

in the gun and started the ball, just as I pulled the ramrod he arose to

his feet. As I was in plain view, he started directly for me. Casting my

eye around, I saw a hemlock tree, with pendent limbs, some thirty or

more rods away. I started for it with all the speed I possessed. As he

was running on a kind of circle hypothenuse, I could see that he was

rapidly closing the space between us. He was probably fifteen or twenty

feet from me when I dropped my rifle and leaped for the branches of the

tree. My aspirations were lofty just then. Had he come on, he might

possibly have gotten me, but I was soon out of his reach. He stopped to

grasp my rifle and shook it violently. It was a half-stocked rifle, and

he bit off a portion of the stock. He stayed around the tree some three

or four minutes licking his wound, which I subsequently found was less

than half an inch too high. It was a mortal shot, but did not produce

immediate death. He suddenly leaped to his feet and dashed off to a

thicket of chapparal some twelve or thirteen rods away. I descended from

the tree, found my rifle to be in an effective condition, rammed down

the ball, put on a cap and ran for a tree standing outside of the

chapparal brush--listened and looked; and I quickly saw him. He had run

into the forks of a felled tree and had all the appearance of life. I

fired at the butt of his ear, but he did not move. I reloaded and

carefully approached him and found him to be dead. He was poor, but was

estimated to weigh some two hundred and fifty or three hundred pounds.

We took his pelt, and after a good deal of persuasion and blindfolding

my riding-horse took it into camp.

Moral: no man has the right to hunt grizzly bear with a muzzle-loading

rifle and muzzle-tight at that.

I have several times since then, either alone or with a hunting

companion, met them, and with a Remington repeater found no difficulty

in commanding the situation.

The winter of 1852-'53 was distinguished for--so far as the memory of

the oldest inhabitants recalled--its unprecedented deep fall of snow.

Rogue River Valley is rimmed around on all sides by high ranges of

mountains. These mountain ranges were rendered impassable for pack

trains or other modes of transportation. The supply of provisions in the

mines grew less and less, until it was nearly exhausted. Flour and

beef, the staples of the miners' diet, went up to a dollar a pound and

more; salt was worth nearly its weight in gold. This was the result of a

corner, however. In these circumstances myself and three partners, who

had purchased some mining claims a considerable distance down Rogue

River, took our blankets, rifles and a scanty supply of provisions on

our backs and started for our claims. It was with some difficulty that

we were able to reach them. They were gulch claims, and if intelligently

worked under fair conditions of the weather would yield about an ounce a

day to each laborer. We commenced work on them, but the weather was so

inclement and the snow fall so continuous that we suspended. I ought to

have stated that there was quite a good log cabin on the claims. My

partners all claimed to be good hunters, but showed no disposition to

try or show their skill in that regard. I did all the hunting and

succeeded in keeping the camp quite well supplied with venison. I

finally tired of their masterly inactivity, and my strenuous work in

wallowing about in the snow.

I also ceased hunting. The provisions were soon exhausted. Nothing was

left but coffee and sugar, of which we had a fair supply. With a drink

of strong coffee well saturated with sugar, and jolly in spirit, we

treated the situation as a huge joke. We all started out for venison. I

saw nothing during the day, but frequently heard the report of the

rifles of my partners. Each shot was full of hope. We all returned quite

late in the evening, and the report of nothing killed was somewhat

dismaying. We made, however, a cup of strong coffee--told our best

stories, then rolled ourselves in our blankets to dream of home, and of

our father's house, where there was bread enough and to spare. We rose

early the next morning, taciturn and sad; not much conversation was

indulged in. Each, after his breakfast of coffee and sugar, took his own

course into the woods, while I had my accustomed ill luck of seeing no

game. I heard reports of my companions' rifles, but their echoes did not

carry with them much of faith, or hope. I returned quite late that

evening and found my companions all in the cabin. Things began to look

serious. We took our accustomed coffee and sugar, and soon retired to

our bunks to dream of tables loaded with provisions; but some fatality

always prevented us from reaching them. I was hungry, and while slowly

working my way through the snow to the cabin I looked anxiously for some

bird or squirrel that I might kill and eat. The next morning we held a

short consultation to determine whether it was better to leave, or to

make still further efforts to obtain provisions. In the afternoon of

that day I saw a large buck and three does in a clump of brush above me

on the mountain side. They were too far away for an effective shot--so I

slowly approached them. They saw me and were somewhat disturbed by my

presence. They could not go higher on account of the increasing depth of

snow. I was lying on the snow with my rifle in position, watching an

opportunity for a successful shot. All at once the buck left the clump

of brush and came plunging down the mountain side, attempting to pass me

some eight rods to my right. If I ever looked through the sights of a

rifle with a desperate determination, it was then. I fired when he was

nearly opposite me and he plunged headlong into the snow. I had struck

him fairly in the heart, and life was immediately extinct. I got to him

as soon as I could, after reloading my rifle, and cut out of his ham a

piece, which I ate while it was still warm. It had the same effect upon

me for a short time as a drink of strong brandy has upon an empty

stomach. I cut off the saddle, threw it over my shoulder, and started

for camp. It was in the dusk of the evening when I arrived. My partners

were there, and when they saw me coming said nothing, but with a fixed

gaze, as though to be certain of relief, fairly grabbed the saddle from

my shoulders, rushed into the cabin and began to roast and eat. The

roasting was not overdone. About midnight, for fear that wolf or cougar

might find the portion left on the mountain side, they took my trail to

where it was, and brought it in. We stayed about a week longer, but I

had no difficulty in killing an abundance of venison. I did the hunting;

my partners did the packing. On the last day of our stay I killed three

deer, and with the echo of my last shot, the ghost of starvation, which

I had imagined was standing on the clouds and pointing Willametteward,

disappeared in thin air.

Resting for two days, and in the meantime having received an offer for

our claims from a company mining on the bars of Rogue River, my partners

were anxious to accept the offer. I first opposed it, but finally

consented. My partners were not only tenderfeet, but they were subject

to periodic attacks of cold feet. I drew the bill of sale, and each

partner took his $250 in gold dust. It was an unwise transaction, for

the claims were worth much more. We all determined to go to the

Willamette Valley. When we arrived at the road we found that many

miners, especially of those living in the Umpqua, or Willamette Valley,

were returning home. The second night we stopped at what was called a

hotel, about four miles south of the mouth of the canyon. It rained hard

and continuously all of the second day of our journey, and we wallowed

through the slush, snow and water until about 11 o'clock p. m. before we

reached our stopping-place. The next morning early, twenty-five or

thirty of us were at the southern mouth of the canyon and on the creek

that flows south. We found it a dashing, foaming and roaring torrent,

but it had to be crossed; so eight of us, with strong poles in our

hands, standing in a line, elbow to elbow, moved slowly and in unison

through the tumbling waters. The worst, so far as that creek was

concerned, was over. The other crossings were made without so much

difficulty, or danger. It rained continuously all day. We arrived at the

little lake on the summit about noon. There we commenced the descent of

Canyon Creek proper. This has a larger, deeper and more furious current.

The first crossings were accomplished without much trouble or peril; but

as we descended the mountain its volume increased and its current became

so swift and strong, that we were compelled to make our way, the best we

could, on the steep mountain side. We crawled under logs and over logs,

and in dangerous places hung onto brush to steady us. I was among the

first to reach the hotel near midnight of that awful day, tired, wet and

hungry. We were now in a land of plenty, and although we paid a dollar

each for one meal of good, plain, solid food, we did not begrudge it.

The next day we made a camp in an old deserted shack in the valley and

remained there for about a week. The flood had swept away all the

ferry-boats on the South Umpqua, and there were no means to cross that

swollen and rapid river. The ropes, or cables still remained, however.

The owner of the ferry offered eight of us board, and a place to sleep

in his barn, if we would assist him in the construction or rather

digging out, of a canoe from a huge log which he had selected for that

purpose. We accepted his proposition, and experience soon showed that

most of those who had accepted his offer were quite good mechanics. One

of them, who was a wagon maker by trade, was elected as boss, and every

day, by the continuous stroke of ax, adz and other tools, that canoe

began to assume the shape and form of the real thing. It was full thirty

feet in length, and of several tons capacity. It might be classed a

giant in the canoe family. It was placed upon an extemporized sleigh,

and two yoke of oxen drew it to the river bank. The wire or rope

extending across the river being intact, the next day the builders of

this ark, or most of them, and the ferryman with his two sons, launched

it; and we having deposited our blankets in it, the owner, seated in the

stern, acted as captain, while two of the strongest men in the party

took hold of the rope and by a hand over hand motion, to keep it

straight in the current, thus attempted to work it across the river. But

when the stronger current was encountered, it became impossible to hold

it without filling it with water, and the command was given to let go.

It rapidly shot down stream, but the captain succeeded in steering it

into the willows on the side where we desired to land, though a

considerable distance below, and we all seized hold of the willows and

succeeded in making a landing. Had we gone down stream much further, we

might have been compelled to take an ocean voyage; but all is well that

ends well. The captain and his two sons thought that they could reach

the further shore by running diagonally across the current. We stood

upon the bank and watched the operation, and saw that it was successful.

I have stated probably with too much particularity this incident in

order to show something of the hardships, as well as joy, of pioneering.

The trip across the Umpqua Valley and down the Willamette was a

continuous wade through slush, and mud, and the steady downpour of the

garnered fatness of the clouds. I had for my companion a, seemingly,

intelligent man, but a pronounced pessimist, bordering on the

anarchistic type. His gloomy philosophy of life added a moral chill to

the prevailing dampness. I gladly bade him adieu in the hills south of

Salem, where I departed to the home of a friend. Safely arriving there,

I rested and recuperated for ten days. I had adopted the maxim, never to

pay board when I had the ability or capacity to earn it. I therefore

considered what it was best to do, and I determined to teach school for

a time, and then to return to Michigan. I drew up a simple article of

agreement and went up into the Waldo Hills--that country being settled

with families--to offer my services as a school-teacher. The prospect

proved to be not very encouraging, although I offered to teach a

three-months' school for five dollars a scholar, and board. Three-days'

effort secured but seven-and-a-half scholars. The afternoon of the third

day was an alternation of rain and snow. I stopped quite late in the

afternoon at the house of Mr. Waldo, the father of the late Hon. John B.

Waldo. I freely stated to him the object of my visit, and he promptly

told me that he did not care to subscribe. I stood for a time waiting

for the storm to abate somewhat, when he suddenly asked me what State I

came from; I answered "from Michigan." He said laughingly that they

wanted no more Michigan men, or men from the North to come to this

country, for they had already, by their presence, changed the climate.

After a moment I asked him from what state he came; he proudly answered,

"from Virginia, sir." I laughingly replied "that if we had any more

Virginians in this country I feared we would have neither schools, nor

churches, nor any other agency of civilization." He said to me: "Walk

into the house, and we will talk this matter over." We walked into the

house; and as Cervantes' work, containing the exploits of Don Quixote,

lay on the table, the conversation turned upon that. I was quite

familiar with the work, and its absurdity and wisdom, and we discussed

chivalry and its social aspect, as well as its system of land tenures,

together with Sancho's judgment after he became governor of the island,

and Don Quixote's profound maxims of government. By his invitation I

stayed all night. He said to me the next morning that as a matter of

courtesy, I should see certain friends whom he named, and that as there

would be a meeting held in the school-house, which was also used as a

church, he would have it publicly announced at that meeting, that school

would be opened by me at that place, one week from the following Monday.

I followed his advice, and at the appointed time there was quite a full

attendance of pupils. Mr. Waldo was somewhat eccentric, but in him was

embodied that principle of the Roman maxim, that true friendship is

everlasting.

I ought possibly to have stated that the first person that I called upon

in my educational venture was a baldheaded and sharp-visaged man, with a

family of five boys, the youngest of whom was over ten years of age. He

told me that his oldest son had been almost through arithmetic, and that

it would require some ability in a teacher to instruct him. I modestly

informed him that I thought I could do it; but my assurances did not

seem to satisfy him, and he only signed one-half of a scholar. During

our conversation he told me that he was a poet, that he had crossed the

plains in '45 and had written an account of the trip in poetry. He said

he would like to repeat a portion of that poem; but before he did so he

exacted from me a promise that I would give him an honest opinion of the

merits of his poem. He was a weird and skeleton-like man, and rising to

his feet, and with sundry gestures, repeated his poem to me. It was a

hard matter for me to keep a solemn aspect on my countenance during this

recitation. I only remember two lines:

"The Soda Springs lay on our way--

It makes good beer, I do say."

When he took his seat, I stated to him briefly some of the laws of

poetic composition, and then showed him how his lines failed to comply

with these laws; I added, however, by way of salving his feelings, that

genius knows no law, and was not to be judged by ordinary mortals. He

seemed a little nettled, and replied that he had repeated his poem to a

great many people, who were scholars and good judges of poetry, and that

they had pronounced it a fine performance. This ended the incident. Had

my judgment been given before he signed one-half a scholar, it would

probably have been one-tenth, or a still smaller proportion of a

scholar. His boys all attended school, however, and he personally urged

me to teach another quarter. On the last day of school, many of the

parents came in and paid me for my services, three hundred dollars, and

hired me for six-months' more teaching at the same price. I taught in

all about three years in that neighborhood.

My teaching career was in every way pleasant, and I have every reason to

feel proud of the positions of honor and trust attained by at least

three of my pupils, and by the general financial success and high moral

standing of all. Judge Bellinger, late of the United States District

Court of Oregon, was a pupil of mine for about a year. He was the son of

poor parents, and by sheer force of intellect and study pushed his way

to the front, and to the honorable position which he attained, and which

he held at the time of his death.

John B. Waldo, recently demised, was also a pupil of mine for about two

years. He was a sober, clear-headed, studious and somewhat taciturn boy,

quick to perceive and prompt to act. He became judge of the Supreme

Court of the State of Oregon for one term. His decisions are models of

clearness, and directness. In addition to his store of legal learning,

he probably knew more of the flora and fauna, of the mountains of Oregon

than any other man. He was not a man of robust constitution, and his

health was precarious. His death, in the prime of manhood, was deeply

mourned by all who knew him.

Our own honored Oregon Dunbar, was also a pupil of mine. He was a frank,

open-hearted boy, of determined will and intense application. He had

what the great law-writer Bishop calls a legal mind--a natural

perception of the relation of legal truths--and superior powers of

classification and generalization. He is eminently a fit man for the

position he holds on the Supreme Bench of Washington. Long may he

continue as a distinguished member of that Bench--and late may be his

return to Heaven!

With such a triumvirate of integrity, high legal attainments, and

judicial honor, a teacher may well feel proud. While it is the duty of

the teacher to aid and assist his pupils and to impart instruction in

the various branches taught, yet this is not his whole, or principal

mission. His higher and nobler mission is to arouse into action all the

latent forces and qualities of his pupil's nature and to inspire him

with a noble ambition to conquer in the arduous conflicts of life. If he

succeeds in the accomplishment of this, he has fully performed his

mission.

After I ceased to teach public school in Marion County, I became the

private tutor of the children of R., who was at the time Superintendent

of Indian Affairs for Oregon and Washington. I also became to some

extent his literary secretary. R., though not a learned man, had

business capacity of a high order. In religious matters he was an

agnostic, and he read more of Shakespeare than he did of the Bible. He

was a man of inflexible integrity, and a capable and faithful

administrative officer. He was much interested in Indian civilization,

and talked much of it. He was of the opinion that the system of most of

the churches was wrong in principle, and not fruitful in good results.

He maintained that the first move in this work of civilization was to

improve the physical condition of the Indian, and that the moral

improvement would come as a slow, but necessary consequence. Being full

of the subject, he concluded to call a council of the chiefs and the

principal head men of the various tribes under his jurisdiction, and to

impart to them his ideas in this behalf. The time was fixed, the place

named was the general council hall in the city of Salem, and notices

were sent out requesting their attendance. R., while he had a good

residence in town, usually spent most of his time upon his fine farm in

the country. At the appointed time he invited me to go with him to the

council and take notes of the proceedings. When we arrived at the

council chamber we found from fifty to seventy-five Indians seated on

the floor with their backs to the wall. After a general salutation, R.

took a seat on the rostrum and requested an Indian whom he knew to act

as interpreter. As the interpreter could not speak in the language of

the various tribes represented, the jargon was adopted as the mode of

communication--all the Indians understanding that. R. briefly stated to

them the object of the council, and then asked the question, "Did they

desire fine houses, fine horses and cattle, and plenty to eat and wear":

R. was a very emphatic man and spoke in short and positive sentences.

The Indian is a stoic, and if any emotion ever agitates him it is not

betrayed in his countenance. I was much interested in the interpreter.

He seemed to be full of his mission, and he imitated the tone of voice

and gestures of R. Having asked the question, R. himself emphatically

answered that all these things that he had mentioned, and which they

desired, were obtained by "work." He reminded them that many of them had

visited his fine house in the city, and had seen his fine furniture and

other things, and he asked: "How did I get these things?" He again

answered, "By work." Having concluded his short, emphatic and impulsive

speech, silence prevailed for a short time. Finally a chief arose and

with great deliberation adjusted his blanket about him; this being

accomplished, he spoke as follows: "We are very thankful for the good

talk of our father; we will consider it; we cannot answer now." He

suggested that one week from that time they would meet the good father

at that place and tell him their conclusions.

We afterwards learned that they appointed what we would call a

committee. That committee, in their investigations, when they found a

man engaged in some menial employment and roughly clad, followed him to

his house, found that it was a very humble abode, and was not filled

with fine things; then they followed up the merchant, who had many fine

things and wore good clothes, to his home, and they found a fine house

filled with fine furniture; they also applied the same test to the

saloon keeper. Neither the merchant nor the saloon keeper, according to

their views, worked at all. On our way home from the council chamber I

ventured to suggest to R. that most of the wealth of this world was in

the hands of men who organized, or directed labor or work, and but a

small pittance in the possession of those who actually performed the

labor. I gave as my judgment that the Indian had no conception of this

work of directing and organizing labor, and that he would not consider

it as work at all. At the appointed time for the answer, the spokesman

for the Indians narrated what I have briefly stated above, and announced

very plainly and flatly as their conclusion, that what the good father

had said was not true. R. was much disappointed at his failure to start

a general movement upward in the line of Indian civilization. I am of

the opinion that his feelings went farther and impinged on the domain of

actual disgust. The subject of Indian civilization fell, henceforward,

into innocuous desuetude.

Looking at the surface manifestations only, and not having the ability

to look deeper into that complex machine called society, we cannot be

astonished at the conclusion reached by the Indian committee.

While I had the honor to represent Washington Territory in Congress, and

by request of several members of the Committee on Indian Affairs with

whom I was acquainted, and while the bill reported by them was under

consideration and general debate was in order, I made a speech on Indian

civilization. I shall not reproduce that speech here, nor give an

extended synopsis of it. I commenced with the declaration that the

philosophy of an Indian's life was to put forth an act and to reap

immediately, the result of that act; that he threw a baited hook into

the water, and expected to obtain fish; that he sent an arrow or a

bullet on its fatal mission, and he expected game; that he did not plant

nor sow, because the time between planting or sowing, and reaping--the

gathering and enjoyment of the result of his work, was too distant; that

it requires the highest degree of civilization to do an act, or to make

an investment, the profits of which are not to be realized until the

lapse of considerable time: that this primary law inherent in an

Indian's philosophy of life is fundamental, and no system for his

civilization can disregard it. My next cardinal proposition was that

Indian tribes, if civilized at all, must be civilized along the lines of

their past history, habits and modes of life; that some tribes of

Indians subsist, and have subsisted for ages, on the products of ocean,

lake and river: that these are sometimes called fish Indians: that to

make appropriations to teach these Indians agriculture, or the

successful operation of the farm, is a wasteful expenditure of public

money; they are naturally sailors, and have carried the art of canoe

making and sailing to a high degree of perfection; their larger canoes

are models of symmetry, safety and strength; that in them they

fearlessly go out on the ocean a distance of 40 or 50 miles to obtain

halibut, codfish and fur seals. Let the Government, I said, if it

desires to civilize these Indians, build them a sailing-vessel of a

hundred tons or more capacity, and they will almost intuitively learn to

sail and manage it; it would act as a consort for their larger canoes

and as a storehouse for the profits of the sea taken or captured by

them; that with such a boat, the Neah Bay Indians, for instance, would

soon become self-supporting. My views had a respectful hearing, and

influenced to some extent the policy of the Government in that regard. A

large number of copies of this speech were sent by me to the people of

the Territory, and to all our Territorial papers; but none of these, so

far as I know, noticed it further than to say that I had made such a

speech. Copious extracts from it, containing its points, were published

in many of the Eastern papers, while two published it in full. There was

some discussion as to the soundness of my views, but generally they were

approved. So far as the Neah Bay Indians were concerned, the Government

did build a sailing-vessel of smaller dimensions, however, and many of

the Neah Bay Indians have like vessels of their own, and have become, to

a great extent, self-supporting and prosperous. The same policy in a

modified form, but in fact the development of the same idea, was adopted

by Rev. Wilbur, agent of the Yakima Indians; and these Indians, to a

great extent, have given up their nomadic mode of life; they have small

farms, and neat and comfortable houses; they have gardens, chickens and

a large accumulation of domestic animals about them. They are

prosperous, and slowly moving along the line to a higher civilization.

Civilization is a slow process. It takes all the forces, moral,

intellectual, educational and religious, now in successful operation, to

hold the world from falling back and to move it slowly, but surely

onward and upward, to a higher plane of civilization. While it is a

tedious and arduous, if not an impossible task, to make a white man, in

his habits and modes of life, out of an Indian, yet the descent of the

white man to the modes, habits of life and appearance of an Indian, is a

sadly speedy process.

In a trip I made to Colville, Washington, in 1856 there came into our

camp one day a person whom I supposed at first to be an Indian. He was

dressed in buckskin, ornamented with fringes and beads, with a blanket

over his shoulders; his hair was long and unkept, with no hat on his

head and his face bronzed like that of an Indian; and he was besmeared

across the forehead with red ochre, or some other kind of paint. I

should judge that he was 36 years of age. At first he refused to talk,

except in jargon; but after a while, when we were alone, he became more

communicative, and gave me something of his history. He spoke good

English. He claimed to be a graduate of one of the Eastern Colleges, and

I have no doubt his claim was true. He had gotten into some difficulty

in the States and had been living as an Indian for some eight years, or

more. To all appearances he was an Indian; he looked like an Indian and

acted like one. I was in his company for some three days, and when alone

he talked to me in good English; he said he loved this wild and nomadic

life, with its perfect freedom from the shams and hypocrisy of

so-called civilization. He said that the hills, the mountains with

their snow-crowned culminations, the dark woods, the silver thread of

the stream viewed from an elevated point and fringed with green as it

went leaping and rollicking to its ocean home, were to him an unwritten

poem, the rythm of which he enjoyed, and the lines of which he was

trying to interpret. He quoted to me from Byron the passage concerning

the pleasures of the pathless woods, and from Bryant:

"Where rolls the Oregon,

And hears no sound, save his own dashings."

On the evening of the third day he rode away in the continuous woods to

enjoy, I suppose, their poetry and solitude. This case illustrates the

facility of the descent, by even an educated white man, to the level of

an Indian; retaining, however, in his soul, still glowing, some of the

lights of civilization.

While I was stopping at R.'s I wrote a series of eight articles for The

Oregonian, showing the necessity of manufacturing crevices in the

country to hold the gold taken out of the gold mines, and also that

which was being brought in great abundance by its citizens from

California. These articles were used by The Oregonian, by my implied

assent, as editorials. The Oregonian was the leading opposition paper in

the Territory, with Silver-Gray Whig tendencies. The leading Democratic

paper was The Statesman, published at Salem, and owned and edited by Asa

Bush, who was a sharp, pungent, and effective editorial writer. "Tom

Drier," as the editor of The Oregonian was familiarly called, was an

editorial writer of considerable ability. Drier usually added some

introductory matter to my articles, and also some matter of

amplification, or illustration. It was to me a matter of interest, and

amusement, to note that the editor of The Statesman was always able to

point out to its readers the matter written by The Oregonian's "hired

man," and what was added by the editor. Bush did not know who wrote

these articles, nor did anybody else know except myself, R. and the

editor of The Oregonian. Bush spoke highly of these articles and

enforced, in editorials of his own, the logic and necessity of the

policy recommended by them. These articles had much to do with the

establishment of the first woolen mills in the State of Oregon. These

mills were built at Salem.

As the State of Washington is woefully lacking, so far as manufacturing

is concerned, I am tempted to recall, with a Seattle application, one of

the many facts embodied in the logic of those articles. Seattle has a

population of 250,000, we will say. It costs at least $7.00 each for the

feet clothing of such people for one year. This would give the sum of

$1,750,000 for boots and shoes alone. When we come to add to this the

value of the leather for harness-making, for belting and the other

purposes for which leather is used, we have over $2,000,000 taken

annually from the people of this city for leather, and its fabrics. The

absurdity of this thing appears when we consider that we have a great

abundance of hides, which are sold for a mere song, and are received

back in manufactured articles. Our forests are rich in tanning; in fact,

the raw materials of all kinds required are abundant. Any person by

giving serious consideration to the subject will soon be convinced of

its great importance, and the imperious necessity of action. As well

might we ship the logs cut in our forests to foreign countries, or the

Eastern States, to be manufactured into furniture, or finished lumber,

as to ship other raw materials away and receive their finished products

back, paying for them the increased price, resulting from the labor

performed upon them, and for the freight both ways. No country can stand

such a drainage, and prosper.

It was in the summer of 1855, if I remember correctly, that I was

nominated by an opposition convention to run as a candidate for the

Lower House of the Territorial Legislature in Oregon. I did not attend

the convention at which I was nominated, nor was I a delegate thereto.

At first I hesitated about the acceptance of the nomination; but urged

by my friends, I finally consented to run. The Territory as well as the

County, was largely Democratic. The platform announced three cardinal

principles: first, the most stringent regulation of the liquor traffic;

second, America for Americans; and thirdly, the curtailment of public

expenses and the cutting-down of salaries. The first and last of these

principles I heartily endorsed; the second, in the know-nothing sense,

and application, I was not in favor of; furthermore, I was opposed to

secret political societies. I favored an open field and a fair fight.

Having concluded to run, I went into the fight vigorously, and made

speeches in nearly all of the precincts in the County. My canvass

alarmed the Democrats, and they sent some of their best speakers after

me. I met them in joint debate at times, and at other times I, alone,

spoke. As the time approached for election, the excitement increased,

and public interest in the campaign was very much aroused. I won, during

the campaign, quite a reputation for a raconteur. A point illustrated

and enforced by an anecdote or story becomes an integral part of a man's

mental and moral constitution.

About the big bills, I told the story of the farmer who had a large

flock of chickens and an equally numerous flock of ducks. He fed them

with grain. He noticed that the ducks, on account of their larger and

broader bills, were able to get more than their share of the food, and

he came to the conclusion that in order to equalize matters, he must cut

down their bills. This was just what I told the people that we proposed

to do. One of the speakers sent out by the Democracy found fault with

every proposition announced by me, and I answered him by the narration

of the story of a friend who had not seen his quondam neighbor for many

months. He was so pleased at his return that he provided a feast for

him. Mine host had roast beef, roast mutton, roast pork and chickens. He

says to John Doe: "Shant I help your plate with some of this roast beef,

which is very juicy and fine?" "No," said John Doe. "I have come to the

conclusion that a man who eats beef becomes sluggish and stupid." "Then

shall I help you to some of the mutton?" "No," says Doe, "a man who eats

mutton becomes timid and cowardly." "Well," says mine host, "you will

certainly take some roast pork?" "No," says Doe, "a man who eats pork

becomes coarse and swinish." "Then you will take some of the roast

chicken?" "No," says Doe, "of all the creatures used by man for food,

the chicken is the most filthy in his diet of them all." Mine host,

being somewhat disgusted, called to his son Sam to go out to the barn

and get some eggs--"possibly this old fool would like to suck an egg or

two."

Just before election, tickets were scattered all over the County with my

name printed in every shape and form, and quite a number of these

tickets had printed on them "for representative, O. Jaques." The

canvassers refused to count for me the last named ticket, and this

defeated me. There was no other man running whose name in orthography,

or sound, resembled mine. Had these tickets been counted for me, they

would have elected me by a small majority. I was urged to contest the

election, but I refused to do it. My own opinion, as a lawyer, was that

probably the judgment of the canvassing board was right; at least there

was enough plausibility in its support to furnish an excuse to sustain

the position of the canvassing board.

Not being entirely satisfied with the climate and country, and being

desirous of visiting California and Mexico, before my return to

Michigan, I quite suddenly, in the fall of 1857, concluded to make a

start. What means I had were loaned out on demand notes. To my regret I

found my debtors unable to respond promptly. I concluded, however, to go

to Jackson County and there to await collections. I made the trip on

horseback and most of the time alone. Approaching Canonville late in the

afternoon one day I saw a lone horseman ahead of me, whose appearance

indicated that he was a traveler. I increased my speed and was soon

along side of him,--I said "How do you do, sir?" He turned a frowning

countenance towards me and snarlingly answered, "None of your business,

sir." I was not long in coming to the conclusion that possibly company

was not desired by him and especially my company; so I touched the spurs

to my horse and left him to his melancholy meditations. I might have

been wrong in my conclusion, and I must confess that I felt a good deal

as I suppose the fellow felt who was kicked out of the fourth-story

window: after gathering himself up and finding that his physical

economy, though somewhat bruised, was intact, he came, after deliberate

reflection, to the conclusion that possibly he was not wanted up there.

I stopped at a town in Jackson County, bearing the euphonious name of

Gasberg. I rested there for a couple of weeks. The people of that

settlement were contemplating the erection of a building for a high

school or seminary; and they offered me $150 a month to teach a

six-months' school. Mr. Culver, quite a wealthy gentleman, offered me an

additional $50 a month to keep his books posted, a work I could attend

to at night without interfering with the school. I concluded as I

probably would have to wait until spring for my collections, to accept

the offer. The district already had quite a good school-house. My

scholars were mostly young men and women, and I taught everything from

reading and spelling, up to and including algebra, and surveying. I

never had to do with a finer lot of pupils, and my position was in every

way agreeable to me. I ought possibly to state that my wife, then Miss

Lucinda Davenport, the only daughter of Dr. Davenport, attended that

school. This added to my other employments the delightsome one of

courting, and we were married on the first of January, 1858. Although we

have lived together for fifty years, we never have been reconciled yet,

because there never has been any occasion for a reconciliation.

At the close of the first term I contracted to teach for another term of

six months, as my roving disposition had dissolved into thin air. When

the second term was closed, I was appointed a Justice of the Peace of

that precinct, and I returned to the practice of law--occasionally

writing for the newspapers.

When the Civil War commenced, the editor of the principal paper in the

southern part of the state--The Sentinel--was a Secession sympathizer,

and he and the proprietor and publisher had a fight in which the editor

was seriously wounded. I was solicited by the publisher and a committee

of leading Union men to assume charge of the editorial department of the

paper. I did so, and wrote all the editorials in the paper for over

three years. The paper was a weekly, but at times, when the news was

stirring, it was published semi-weekly. The paper under my control

rapidly increased in circulation. The editorial work that I did while on

the paper secured me an offer, when I announced my intention to resume

the practice of law, from the Sacramento Union, then the leading paper

on the Pacific Coast, to become one of its editorial staff at a good

salary. I considered the proposition for quite a time; then concluded to

decline it. Had I accepted this offer, it would have changed the whole

course and direction of my life, and I probably would have continued in

that line of work to this day. It was while I was editor of The Sentinel

that a rumor was telegraphed to me that President Lincoln had been

assassinated. It came first merely as a rumor and I communicated it only

to a few persons, anxiously waiting to hear whether it was true or not.

Many of the good and patriotic citizens of all parties feared a riot. I

issued an extra, on the confirmation of the news, briefly stating the

facts of the assassination: and every store, business house and saloon

was immediately closed, and their doors draped in mourning. A meeting

was shortly called, and I was invited to deliver an oration on the

character and service of the lamented President. I was given three days

to prepare that address. The Methodist minister was also invited to

deliver an address on that occasion. The crowd was immense; no church

in town being large enough to hold it. My oration was published in The

Sentinel and other papers in the State and in some of the California

papers. I have a copy of that oration; but, as I give in full the

oration delivered by me in the City of Seattle on the death of President

Garfield a more recent occurrence, I have concluded to give only the

later address.

I ran for the Lower House of the Legislature in Jackson County and I was

fairly elected, but was counted out; not unjustly, I do not mean to say,

for on the face of the returns I was defeated by six votes. The County

was largely Democratic, and I ran as a Republican. I said that I was

fairly elected, because there was a contest in one of the precincts for

the office of Justice of the Peace; I was the contestant's attorney, and

he succeeded in his contest because he conclusively showed that thirteen

illegal votes were cast against him. To have thrown them out on a

contest would have elected me by seven majority. I refused to contest

the election, and the matter dropped. Subsequently I ran in that County

for the office of County Judge. After I took the field, the Democrats

became alarmed, and they withdrew the candidate nominated by them, in

convention, and placed in his stead a Mr. Duncan, one of the strongest

and most popular Democrats in the County. He beat me by sixteen votes.

The other Democratic candidates were elected by majorities ranging from

three hundred to four hundred.

At the time Mr. Harding was elected United States Senator for Oregon I

was without consultation, or being present, put in nomination for the

position, and I lacked only two votes of an election.

Thus, while I was a hard man to beat, I was always beaten, fairly, or

unfairly.

I was appointed Associate Justice of the Supreme Court of Washington

Territory in 1869. Less than a year afterwards, by unanimous

recommendation of the members of the Territorial Legislature, I was

appointed Chief Justice of that Court, and at the expiration of that

term was re-appointed Chief Justice. During this last term I was

nominated by the Republican party and elected Delegate to Congress. At

the expiration of that term I was renominated and re-elected.

To make an account of my official career complete, I ought to state that

I was a member of the Territorial Council (the equivalent of a State

Senate) of Washington for one term; also Mayor of the City of Seattle

for one term; and Regent of the Territorial University of Washington for

ten years, and Treasurer of the Board of Regents all of that time.

As a member of the Territorial "Council" I was appointed chairman of the

judiciary committee, and also chairman of the committee on education.

The work on these committees was almost continuous. It absorbed all of

my time for nearly every evening of the session.

The iniquitous gross earning tax law, as applied to railroads, was

repealed at this session. The vote on its repeal in the "Council" was

close--and if I were not a modest man--I would say, that I contributed

largely to its repeal. I made the only elaborate argument in the

"Council" against its unequal, unjust, inequitable and partial

provisions, discriminating in favor of centralized wealth and organized

power. It was a close and hard fight in the "Council" but repeal won.

The school system theretofore existing in the Territory, was radically

remodeled at this session of the Legislature. The bill as presented to

the committee was the work of a selected body of teachers. In a

legislative sense it was crude and in some of its provisions, intensely

radical. I, in fact, re-wrote the whole bill making its retained

provisions full and accurate--omitting surplus statements, and embodying

many new provisions. The bill thus remodeled passed the "Council" and

the "House," and its essential provisions remain the law of the State

today.

A few general observations may be allowable: Rare are the men who

possess in a high degree, constructive legislative ability. Every act of

legislation ought by clear and accurate provisions cover every element

of the subject matter stated in the title. As the act approaches this it

approaches perfection.

Any act of legislation laying the foundation of a system--such as the

school system and providing for its administration is a difficult task.

The human judgment is imperfect--and prescience is limited--hence any

approach to perfection in the system itself, or in its administrative

provisions, is a matter of evolution of slow growth--and of the survival

of the fittest. As time advances and light and knowledge increase, the

dead and useless branches are pruned off and the fit and vigorous remain

to blossom and bear fruit.

The effective and beneficial work of Delegate to Congress is in the

various departments of the Government, and in the various committees of

both houses of Congress. In a new country, rapidly filling up with

people, post-routes and post-offices must be provided. On the

established lines there is a constant and pushing demand for an increase

of service. When I was elected, the daily mail stopped at Tacoma, and

Seattle had only a weekly mail. One of my first efforts was to increase

this Seattle service to a daily mail. I had some difficulty in

accomplishing this object, because the postal authorities claimed that

the revenues of the Seattle office were not large enough to warrant such

increased service. I got it increased, however, to a daily service. I

had not so much difficulty in getting a daily service from Seattle to

Victoria and way-ports. Everybody on Puget Sound knows that Port

Discovery is about six miles west of Port Townsend. Port Discovery was a

milling town visited largely by foreign vessels and many American ships,

and a large volume of business was done there. There was a stage running

daily, from Port Townsend to Port Discovery and back, and it had only a

weekly service. I asked for a daily service, but it at first was

refused, and I notified the people interested of the result. A Mr.

Young, the manager of the Port Discovery Mills, stated to me in a letter

that, inasmuch as the Government was very poor and the people of Port

Discovery were rich, they, out of the abundance of their wealth, would

pay the additional cost, if I would secure the assent of the Government

to allow the contractor for the weekly service, to carry the mail daily.

I showed this letter to the Postmaster-General, and he, after reading

it, said: "Judge, I think the Government can stand the increased

expense, and those people shall have a daily mail;" and he ordered it.

A Delegate, in order to wisely and intelligently, as well as promptly,

discharge his duties, ought to be a lawyer, and well acquainted

especially with the land-laws of the United States and other laws

pertaining to Territories. He is constantly called upon to push

land-claims to patent, and in this respect he becomes the attorney,

without fee, of the people of the Territory. There is a large volume of

such business, and he must examine the papers in order to understand the

status of the case and to advance it for patent. Representatives from

the older States have but very little of such business to demand their

attention, and to consume their time.

When I was elected, I do not think there was a single lighthouse, or fog

signal, or foghorn, on the waters of Puget Sound, and I secured the

establishment of quite a number of them.

I forced the loosening of the grasp of the Northern Pacific Railroad

Company on large quantities of the public land, and I did much to secure

the passage of the law returning to purchasers one-half of the

double-minimum price ($2.50 per acre) paid by them, which was exacted on

the ground that the land so purchased was double in value by virtue of

its proximity to a railroad line. This is a brief and imperfect synopsis

of some of the results of my efforts as Delegate.

A Delegate has not even the unit of political power--a vote on any

measure; he can therefore form no combination to further friendly

legislation in the interest of his Territory. The Delegates from the

different Territories, however, were regarded as quite an influential

body of men, and were usually able, by scattering through the House, by

use of personal persuasion, by attendance before committees and

receiving favorable reports, to get a part, at least, of what they

desired for their Territories.

While a member of the House of Representatives I was much interested in

the study of its members and its mode of operation. The popular opinion

is that it is a calm and deliberative body. This is true as a general

rule; but there are times, and they are not infrequent, when the House

is anything else than a sedate and deliberative body of men.

General Benjamin F. Butler had a seat back of me, and frequently, when

he desired to speak, asked me to change seats with him for a time--my

seat being nearer to the Speaker of the House and a fine place wherein

to stand and from which to be distinctly heard. On one occasion it was

announced that Butler would deliver a speech on the financial question.

I offered him my seat for the purpose. The House was full. Butler was

cross-eyed and near-sighted. He commenced the delivery of his speech by

reading from a manuscript. Every eye was turned towards him. He always

commanded the attention of the House when he spoke. In the delivery of

his speech he had to keep his manuscript close to his face and to move

it to the right and to the left on account of his being cross-eyed. He

did not often speak from manuscript. This was his first attempt to do so

at that Congress. The spectacle was so novel that many members began to

laugh and to interrupt him by asking him questions. He threw the

manuscript on the desk, stepped out into a space nearly in front of the

Speaker, and gave the points of his speech without the aid of his

manuscript. He was frequently interrupted, especially by the Democrats;

and he suggested to me the idea of a lion at bay, shaking off and

striking at his opponents with caustic wit and scathing repartee. On

another occasion, a gentleman from Maryland, a large and portly man, who

was Chairman, I think, of the Committee of Foreign Affairs, arose to

introduce and briefly to explain the provisions of a bill reported from

his Committee. This gentleman was quite deaf, and like all deaf persons

spoke in a very low tone of voice; in fact, he could not be heard six

feet away from him; but he had, no doubt adopted Demosthenes' idea that

gestures were the levers of eloquence; and his arms would go up and down

and to the right and to the left, and his eyes sometimes rolled upward

and then downward to the floor. Someone cried out: "Is this a pantomime

performance, or a public speech?" Then others gathered around him, and

all kinds of remarks were made concerning the performance. The Speaker

finally compelled the Members to take their seats; whereupon the Member

ceased his motions, and probably his speech, and resumed his seat. This

gentleman came to Congress with a great reputation as an orator.

Probably he had been such in former years, but his deafness had

destroyed his powers in that regard.

I was in the House at the time that James G. Blaine, then a prominent

candidate for the Republican nomination for President, annihilated J.

Proctor Knott, who was Chairman of the Committee on the Judiciary. A

report had been made by that Committee on a matter referred to it; it

seriously reflected on Blaine's honor and integrity as a man and as a

member of the House of Representatives. It seems to have been the intent

of the majority of the Committee who joined in the report, and who were

all Democrats, not to bring up the report for hearing, but to let it

stand as damaging evidence against Mr. Blaine, in order to prevent his

nomination, or to defeat his election, if nominated. Blaine and his

friends determined to expose its animus and falsity on the floor of the

House, so that the refutation would go with the charge. To make this

vindication, however, it was necessary for Blaine to obtain the floor;

this would be opposed and was opposed. In the parliamentary conflict

for the floor which ensued, Blaine's superior knowledge and tact

succeeded, and he was recognized by the Speaker. I never saw a more

forlorn look of disappointment, and of sullen resignation, than that

manifested in the countenances of many of his opponents, when the

Speaker announced that the gentleman from Maine was entitled to the

floor. Blaine was pale, and all aflame with indignation. His voice,

although at first a little tremulous, soon became clear and ringing. His

sentences were compact and parliamentary. He accused that great

Committee of darkening its former reputation by making a report for

political purposes. He further accused them of the deliberate

suppression of evidence that completely exonerated him, he drew from his

pocket a certified copy of such suppressed evidence, read it to the

House, and waved it in triumph amid the uproarious applause of his

Republican colleagues, and of many Democrats. He spoke in this vein for

about thirty minutes. When he closed, his friends were joyous, and his

enemies dismayed. Among the first, personally to congratulate him, was

Ben Hill of Georgia, a distinguished member of the then extinct

Confederate Congress.

A ludicrous scene occurred in the House, when the bill making a large

appropriation for the re-building of the various edifices formerly

constituting William and Mary's College, in the State of Virginia, came

up for consideration. These buildings were alternately in the possession

of the Union and Confederate forces during the war, and were destroyed

by fire while the Union forces were in possession of the ground upon

which they stood. Most of the members of the Democratic party favored

this bill. A few opposed it. The Republican members generally opposed

the appropriation, but there were some who favored it. It was

understood that when the bill came up for final passage, but one speech

would be made in its favor, and that was to be made by Mr. Loring, of

Massachusetts, a Republican. Mr. Loring had a national reputation for

finished and eloquent orations. When the time arrived the House and

galleries were full. Mr. Loring arose and partly read from a manuscript

his great oration. He stated in a clear and comprehensive manner what

the laws of war formerly were, and how they had been modified by the

generous principles of Christianity and of civilization. He stated that

now as recognized by every Christian and civilized nation, churches,

hospitals, institutions of learning and other eleemosynary institutions

were exempt from the ravages of war. He spoke in eloquent terms of the

sacred walls within which poets, philosophers, statesmen, lawyers, great

divines and warriors, if not born, received their inspiration and were

qualified for their grand missions. He was listened to, throughout, with

breathless attention. When he closed, at the expiration of a little over

an hour, he was greatly applauded. I thought it the finest oration I had

ever had the pleasure of hearing. The Republicans were anxious to break

the magnetic spell of his oratory, and to get a little time for the

sober second thought, of the members to assert itself. Conger, of

Michigan, had the ability to crowd more sarcasm, wit and scathing

repartee into the same length of time than any other member of the

House, and he was chosen by the Republicans to break the magnetic spell

of Loring's great speech. He arose, and after complimenting the

honorable gentleman from Massachusetts on his great effort, stated that

some of the buildings constituting the College, while in the possession

of the Rebel forces, were used as stables for their horses, that their

floors were covered with excrement of such animals, that other buildings

were used as hospitals for the sick and wounded, and that their walls

were besmeared with blood and filth; and he sneeringly remarked, that

these were the sacred walls that so inspired the eloquence of the

honorable gentleman from Massachusetts. After indulging in other bitter

declarations of the same character, he ceased--having spoken for about

thirty minutes. The Virginia members were very much excited. One of

their number, by the name of Good, arose to reply to Conger. Good

possessed the ability to open his mouth and, without seeming effort or

preparation, to pour forth a volume of sweetened wind or a volume of

scathing philippics. He denounced the honorable gentleman from Michigan

for preaching a gospel of hate and vengeance, which had heretofore

well-nigh wrecked this glorious Government, which if persisted in, would

keep open the wounds and sores that under a more liberal and generous

spirit were fast healing. He indulged in more of this kind of

denunciation, and finally, in a supreme effort of indignation, consigned

the honorable gentleman from Michigan to ruined towers and castles and

crumbling walls, where he could be fanned by the damp and dismal wings

of bats, and listen to the hooting of owls, forever. Conger, who had not

resumed his seat, but stood calmly gazing at the honorable gentleman

from Virginia, exclaimed, with a piercing and ringing voice, "I hear

them--even now." This remark was received with roars of laughter, joined

in by Democrats as well as Republicans. Mr. Good tried to proceed; but

when he did so, someone would exclaim, "The owls are hooting again,"

and poor Good resumed his seat.

I have noticed that some pungent remark, or sarcastic repartee is often

more effective than a set speech. All remember Butler's reply to

"Sunset" Cox, when the former was frequently interrupting him. With a

motion of his hand over his bald head, he exclaimed to Cox: "Shoo, Fly!

don't bother me." It was taken from one of the popular songs of the day.

It hurt Cox's prestige and lessened to some extent his power. Cox was

physically a small man, and the application carried with it an

expression of contempt. Holman, of Indiana, on account of his objections

to all bills making appropriations of money, got the name of being "the

watchdog of the Treasury." Towards the end of his term an amendment was

offered in which a near relative was much interested. The familiar "I

object" was not heard, and the amendment went through with his support;

whereupon a member sitting near exclaimed:

"'Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark

Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home."

In a more recent case, a gentleman from Indiana, in his indignation

against a gentleman from Illinois, called the Illinois member "an ass."

This was unparliamentary language, and the Indiana gentleman had to

apologize and to withdraw the remark. The gentleman from Illinois arose

and said he did not know what was the matter with him that he should

always so excite the ire of the gentleman from Indiana; the gentleman

from Indiana replied: "If you will inquire of some veterinary surgeon,

he can probably tell what is the matter with you." This was perfectly

parliamentary and a complete exterminator.

Many people suppose Congress to be an assemblage of orators. This is a

great mistake. In point of ability its members are eminently

respectable, and many of them distinguished in their particular line of

business, profession or thought. Most of the set speeches are delivered

from manuscript. The matter is well considered and in most cases clearly

stated; but the delivery is often dull, listless and without animation.

This is particularly true of speeches founded on a dreary array of facts

and statistics. While the logic of such facts or figures may be very

convincing, yet in the hands of most men their presentation is very

uninteresting. Few men can present statistics in an interesting and

captivating manner. Garfield must be considered as pre-eminent among

that class of men. I have heard him make a speech of over an hour in

length on financial questions in which he not only presented a

formidable array of statistics, but held his auditors spell-bound to its

conclusion. It may be said of the orators of the House that though they

are great advocates, they are not constructive statesmen; they are

orators and nothing more; they are good to show the reason for a

provision and skillful in their defense of it from attack. Conkling, one

of the most brilliant speakers in the Senate, although a member of that

distinguished body for many years, is not the author of any beneficial

act of legislation. The career of such a man will be brilliant, but it

will be brief. It is the constructive statesman who succeeds in writing

his name permanently in the legislative history of his country. Most of

the legislation benefiting the people, or putting their rights on deeper

or broader foundations, has originated with the silent workers in

either House of Congress.

To show the listless and inanimate manner in which some speeches, truly

great in their logic and in their facts, are delivered in the House, let

me state an incident. A gentleman from New York, who came to Congress

with an established reputation as a public man, arose to address the

House on the necessity of a more liberal and reciprocal trade-treaty and

tariff, with the Dominion of Canada. In the expectation that he would

address the House on the evening that was set for general debate, the

House was full when he arose, and every eye was turned towards him. He

read his address from manuscript. His voice was indistinct and it lacked

in volume. After reading two or three pages from the manuscript before

him, he seemed to be unable readily to decipher it--it having been

reduced to writing by his clerk. He halted, stumbled and misread

portions of it, and then re-read it to correct his mistakes. The members

commenced quietly to leave their seats and to retire to the cloak-rooms.

As he was a member of the Committee on Commerce, and had shown me many

favors, I took a vacant seat near him. When the chairman announced that

his time had expired, I arose and moved the chairman for the extension

of his time for twenty minutes. The chairman said he heard no objection,

and he extended the time of the gentleman from New York for twenty

minutes more. While on my feet I looked around and saw there were not

over eight members in the House, that they were all engaged in writing

at their desks, and that the chairman was reading a newspaper. The next

morning the speech appeared in the Congressional Record, and every one

spoke of it as a very fine argument in favor of the policy advocated by

him.

My judicial career may be briefly stated. My district was the Third. It

was bounded on the south by the southern boundary of Pierce and Kitsap

Counties; on the east by the dividing ridge of the Cascade Mountains; on

the north by the northern line of the Territory, which was the

International boundary line; and on the west by the Pacific Ocean. I

held two terms of Court annually at Seattle, Port Townsend, and

Steilacoom. There was quite a volume of admiralty business. This was

attended to whenever it arose, in term-time and out of term-time, in

order to meet the convenience of suitors. No appeal was ever taken from

my decrees in this class of business. I made it a point to clear the

docket of all accumulated cases at each term. Homicides were quite

frequent in the district, and I rarely held a term of Court without

trying some person accused of murder in the first degree. There were

frequent convictions for manslaughter, and for murder in the second

degree, and sentences were imposed by me in accordance therewith. There

were four convictions for murder in the first degree, and three

executions. The facts and circumstances attending the fourth case

deserve a more extensive statement. Before I make such a statement let

me say, that while many appeals were taken from my judgments and rulings

in criminal cases, I had but two reversals charged against me in a

period of between six and seven years on the Territorial Bench. I hope

no one will detract by implication from the honor of that record, by the

insinuation that I was Chief Justice of the appellate tribunal for most

of that time.

After the furor of "fifty four, Forty or Fight," had somewhat subsided,

the Treaty of Washington, entered into between the United States of

America and Great Britain, adopted and extended the line of division

between the Dominion of Canada and the United States along the 49th

degree of North Latitude to the waters of the Pacific Ocean, as the

northern land boundary of the United States; thence west by the

principal channel or waterway to the center of the Strait of Juan de

Fuca; thence along said center line to the Pacific Ocean. Now, it was

found that there were two principal channels or waterways from the 49th

degree to the Strait of Juan de Fuca. These waterways were the Canal de

Haro and the Rosario Straits. The Canal de Haro was the most western and

northern waterway; the Rosario Strait was the most eastern and southern

waterway. San Juan Island and other smaller islands were situated

between the two. If the Rosario Straits were adopted as the true line,

these intervening islands belonged to Great Britain; if, on the other

hand, the Canal de Haro was the true line, the islands belonged to the

United States. By agreement of the high-contracting parties, the German

Emperor was chosen as arbitrator to determine the location of the true

line mentioned in the Treaty.

In 1859 an informal convention was entered into between the

high-contracting parties by which the laws and civil officers of both

nations were excluded from the territory in dispute; the islands in the

meantime were to remain in the joint military occupation of the two

nations. Hence, there was a British military post, and also an American

military post, on San Juan Island, fully garrisoned. This informal

understanding had not the dignity or force of a treaty, and was

therefore binding on the courts only as a matter of policy and comity.

It was binding only in the court of honor. Such being the facts, a man

by the name of Charles Watts, an American citizen, foully murdered

another American citizen near the military post of the United States.

Watts was arrested by the Federal military authorities and held in

confinement. There was a good deal of feeling and excitement over the

matter. When I went to Port Townsend to hold Court, I issued a warrant,

directed to the United States Marshal, to arrest said Watts and to bring

him to Port Townsend for indictment and trial. He was readily delivered

by the United States military authorities to the United States Marshal,

and brought to Port Townsend. He was indicted by the grand jury for

murder in the first degree, and tried and convicted at that term. He was

sentenced by me to be hanged until he was dead. An appeal was taken from

the final judgment in the case to the Supreme Court of the Territory;

and, upon hearing, a majority of the Supreme Court, consisting of Judges

Greene and Kennedy, reversed the judgment on the ground that the Federal

side of the Court had no jurisdiction. To the general reader, it may be

well to state that the Territorial Court had all the jurisdiction of the

District and Circuit Courts of the United States, and such jurisdiction

constituted what was called, the Federal side of the Court. It also had

all the jurisdiction arising under the Territorial laws, and the common

law suited to the conditions; and this constituted the Territorial side.

Watts was indicted and tried on the Federal side of the Court, and the

Supreme Court held that he ought to have been indicted and tried on the

Territorial side of the Court--hence the reversal. I delivered a

dissenting opinion which, as the case assumed a national importance, I

give in full: