Colonel Thompson's First Newspaper Venture.
I remained at the home of Mr. Allen a few days, making frequent visits,
you may be sure, to the camp of my friends. I then returned to our camp
at the hot springs. My brother had become quite strong and my other
brother then decided to return to the valley. Left alone, we indulged in
long rambles in the mountains. Taking a pair of blankets each, and
baking up a lot of bread, we would strike out. We never knew where we
were going, but wandered wherever fancy led. These tramps often lasted a
week or ten days. If our bread gave out we simply went without bread
until our return to camp. During one of these trips we ascended one of
the Three Sisters, snow mountains standing together and reaching to the
realms of the clouds. Like mighty sentinels, white as the driven snow,
they constitute one of the grandest sights to be seen on this or any
other continent. To the north of these mountains and in a valley formed
by the angle of the three mountains, we explored the largest glacier to
be found in the United States. In this manner the months wore away until
the approach of the fall storms admonished us that our wandering life
must come to a close, but we had found that which we sought, perfect
health. When we went to the mountains in the spring my brother weighed
84 pounds, and when we reached Eugene City on our return he weighed 165,
nearly doubling his weight. I had also gained heavily, in fact, nearly
50 pounds. I mention this that others seeking that most precious of all
blessings, perfect health, may know how and where to find it--by simply
going back to nature.
Soon after my return to civilization I embarked in my first newspaper
venture. I was employed in the office as compositor and foreman and at
the expiration of the first month had to take the "plant, fixtures and
good will," for my pay. In fact, I was given the office on a promise to
run the paper and keep it alive. I so far succeeded that after a year
and a half I sold out, clearing $1200. The paper, the Eugene City Guard,
is still in existence.
From there I went to Roseburg and started the Plaindealer. In this I had
the moral support and hearty good will of General Joseph Lane, as well
as other citizens of the county. My success was phenomenal, my
subscription list running up to 1200 in two years. But as in all else in
this world, success was not attained without gaining the enmity and
bitter hatred of my would-be rivals in business. Theirs was an old
established paper, conducted by two brothers, Henry and Thomas Gale.
They soon saw their business slipping away and sought to regain it by
indulging in abuse of the coarsest character. I paid no further
attention to their attacks than to occasionally poke fun at them. One
Saturday evening I met one of the brothers in the post office. He began
an abusive harangue and attempted to draw a pistol. I quickly caught his
hand and struck him in the face. Bystanders separated us and he left. I
was repeatedly warned that evening to be on my guard, but gave the
matter little concern. The next morning, Sunday, June 11, 1871, I went
to my office as was my custom, to write my letters and attend to some
other matters before going to church. On leaving the office I was joined
by a young friend, Mr. Virgil Conn. As we proceeded down the street
towards the post office I saw the brothers standing talking on the
street. One looked up and saw me, evidently spoke to his brother, and
they then started toward me. I saw at once that it was to be a fight and
that I must defend myself. Some said I could have avoided a meeting by
turning in a different direction. Probably I could, at least for a time,
but I had started to the post office and there I intended to go. As we
approached the young men, one of them dropped behind, and as I passed
the first one he dealt me a blow with a heavy cane. At the same instant
the other drew a pistol and fired, the bullet taking effect in my side
and passing partly through. Stunned by the blow on my cheek, I reeled
and drawing my pistol fired point blank at the breast of the one who had
shot me. I was then between the men, and turning on the one with the
cane, he threw up his hands, as if to say "I am unarmed." As I again
turned he quickly drew his revolver and shot me in the back of the head,
and followed it up with another shot which was aimed at the butt of my
ear. I felt the muzzle of the revolver pressed against my ear, and
throwing up my head the bullet entered my neck and passed up through my
mouth and tongue and lodged back of my left eye. As I rushed at him he
fired again, the bullet entering the point of my shoulder while another
entered my body. That was his last shot.
I was taken to my home in a blanket and few thought that I would live to
reach it. I was not, however, done for yet, and the next Thursday was
out riding with one of my physicians. The affair created the wildest
excitement, a noted surgeon, Dr. Sharples, coming from Eugene City to
attend me. Throughout the Eastern States there was various comment by
various publications, referring to the affair as "The Oregon Style." I
refer to the matter here because of the many distorted and unfair
stories that have appeared from time to time. It is in no spirit of
braggadocio, but simply to give the facts. That I deplored the affair,
and deeply, too, I freely confess, but only for the necessity which
compelled me to defend my life.
On the following February 1 received an offer to take charge of the
Salem Mercury. Leaders of the party, among them three ex-Senators, the
Governor of the State and many others prominent in the affairs of
Oregon, purchased the paper and plant and tendered me a bill of sale for
the same. Ex-Senator Nesmith, ex-Senator Harding, Governor Grover,
ex-Governor Whitaker, General Joseph Lane and many others urged me to
the step. They argued that I could unite all the factions of the party
in support of a party paper at the capital of the State. To a young man
scarcely twenty-three this was a tempting and flattering offer. I sold
my paper, therefore, at Roseburg and with $4000 in money and good paper,
and a bill of sale of an office costing $2500, started to Salem. My
success there as a newspaper man was all that could be desired. A large
circulation was rapidly built up, and a daily as well as weekly started.
In November of the same year occurred the first outbreak of the Modoc
Indians and a score of settlers and a few soldiers had been killed.
Governor Grover had ordered out two companies of volunteers under
General John E. Ross, a veteran of the Rogue River war, to assist the
regular army in quelling the insurrection. The outbreak, only for the
butchery of the citizens along the Lost river and Tule lake, was not
regarded as at all serious, as a few weeks would suffice to crush or
destroy the savages. But as weeks rolled on and still no surrender, nor
even a fight, the Governor became uneasy, since he could not understand
the delay. Finally, early in January, Judge Prim arrived from Jackson
county and had a conference with the Governor. It was scarcely 9 o'clock
in the morning when Mr. Gilfrey, private secretary to the Governor, came
to my office with a message that Governor Grover wished to see me at his
office at once. When I arrived there I found the Governor, Judge Prim
and General John F. Miller in consultation. The Governor explained to me
that there were stories of needless waste of time, that the Indians had
not been attacked, though there were 450 men within a few miles of their
camp, that hints of graft were afloat. Would I go in company with
General Miller and when could I start? I replied that I would go and by
the eleven o'clock train if General Miller was ready.
Perhaps here is a proper place for a short history of the Modoc Indians;
their long series of murders and massacres--a series of appalling
crimes that have given to their country the name of "the dark and bloody
ground of the Pacific." Of all the aboriginal races of the continent the
Modocs stand pre-eminent as the most fierce, remorseless, cunning and
treacherous. From the day the white man first set foot upon his soil the
Modoc has been a merciless foe with whom there could be no peace. The
travelers through his country were forced to battle for their lives from
the day his country was entered until the boundary was passed. Trains of
immigrants, consisting of men, women and children, worn and weary with
the trials and hardships of the plains, were trapped and butchered. The
number of these victims mount up into the hundreds and constitute one of
the saddest chapters in the annals of American pioneers.