Chapter M: M. McCARVER (6)

The large crowd that daily assembles on the wharf on the arrival of the steamer from The Dalles is an unerring barometer of the interest felt in the development of the upper country; and a conversation with the leading merchant of the city convinced me that the trade of the Willamette--where the returns to the merchants are in flour, grain, hides, and fruit,--is small and of minor importance compared to that whence their returns are by daily steamers and in gold dust. The latter is immediately converted into coin and seeks new channels of investment, and is turned over a half-dozen times a year, whereas the former must bide its fortunate market and sales thus delayed from week to week and from month to month. The establishment of a branch mint, either at Portland or The Dalles, is becoming a subject of daily commercial necessity, and should such a branch be established, if the treasurer was allowed, as soon as the assays were made and the value of the certificate of deposit made known, to pay out the coin immediately for these deposits, much time would be saved to the depositor, and much gain and saving to the miner, whereas now, without a branch mint, the miners are forced to sell their dust to speculators, who must be paid for their time; and this payment is kept up till it reaches San Francisco--here from fourteen to twenty days are consumed before the dust is coined--though not more than two days before the value of the deposit by the assayer is determined. The treasurer has always on hand an amount of funds which could be paid out for the deposits made, which deposits, when coined, could replace that paid out, thus benefiting the miner by bringing him directly in contact with the Government, who has eventually to coin his dust, and save him time and "shaving" by the speculator, and to this extent materially benefits the country by distributing and disbursing the money in the very same region where it is dug from the earth. A branch mint for Oregon and Washington, and an authority for the assistant treasurer to pay out at once the value of the deposit as soon as the assay is determined, are two things which, if effected, would materially tend to benefit the miner, and hence the country; whereas now the time consumed in sending the dust from the mines and getting it back in coin must be paid for by somebody, and that somebody ever has been, and, unless these changes be made, will always be the miner. Just as quick as the dust of the miner is returned to him in coin in the minimum space of time and with the minimum "shave"--which in this case would be only the cost of transporting it to the branch mint and back,--then will the capital of the country be in the hands of the greater number, and that number a class of people who are interested in the material interest and prosperity of the country--and thus on [will our] roads, rivers, and works of internal improvement--our schools, academies, and all the elements of social and substantial happiness and wealth be added to and quickened by an impulse that is healthy in itself, and which aims at and desires healthy avenues of investments. Should such a branch mint be established, Portland would doubtless claim the site; but whether it be there, at The Dalles, or Walla Walla, is not a subject upon which there should be any feeling. Let us have it at one of these points; and if there is any one point where arguments could be adduced to determine the matter to the exclusion of the others, that point is at Walla Walla. For it is here whence the greater bulk of gold dust must flow; and if not here, then at The Dalles--the great Golden Gate of the Upper Columbia.

Desiring to see a section of the country through which I had never passed we took the stage from Portland to Sacramento, which at the end of the first day's journey brings us to Salem--where I determined to lay over a day to visit the woolen factory, and observe the characteristics of the place. The ride through the Willamette from Portland to Salem is pleasant and refreshing,--large and well-tilled farms, orchards of great proportions, with their trees ladened with the golden fruit--peaches, apples, and pears, in most profuse abundance; neat and well-trimmed gardens, where the poetry of horticulture bespoke the appreciation of the owners of well-tilled acres. The style of farms, buildings, barns, and outhouses were all in good taste, and indicated the extent of means of the farmers of Oregon. The orchards of Oregon during the past twelve years have proven to be a source of golden wealth; nor is their value in the least diminished by the large amount of fruit being now raised in California. Many have asked where Oregon would find a market for her orchards when California should produce her own fruit, and though it is more than doubtful whether California will ever rival Oregon in the growth of apples, yet if this should prove to be the case, the mining sections of eastern Oregon and of Washington are to-day sending forth a message to all fruits growers to dry, preserve, and can all their fruits, and they offer even to-day a golden market that must forever consume all fruits so preserved; and I have no doubt but that those who will turn their attention to this employment of preparing fruits, either as dried or canned, must always reap a golden reward for their labors. I noticed at several points that attention was already being much given this species of labor, and the future will prove that the mining sections for dried fruits will guarantee an equally lucrative market for Oregon, that California has proven for her in green fruits in times past.

In point of natural beauty I do not think that the Willamette Valley compares favorably with the smaller but equally well cultivated valley of the Rogue River; but when we see once a magnificent outlet for all the produce of the farmer, and the absence of such an outlet in the latter, we are forced to prefer a home in the Willamette--where Ceres has erected her temple of large proportions, and where her votaries are annually basking in the sunshine of her smiles, her bounteous plenty. In passing through this rich and exuberant country I could not but regret that the donation law that first opened homes to the first settlers of Oregon was as generous as it was in the largeness of its grant--six hundred and forty acres, in other words, was too large a grant for the full and truly healthy growth of any new country. True, it required a great inducement to turn a pioneer colony toward the Pacific so early as '46 and '47; but I verily believe that one half the grant would have brought as many settlers as double the amount has done. The true index, doubtless, of the prosperity of a country might be regarded the ratio of its population to the square mile; but when we find only one settler to the square mile, the country, from necessity, must be sparsely populated; and this condition must hold for so long a period that detriment on a large scale must be felt. That the donation act has had, therefore, its disadvantages with its advantages no one I think will doubt,--taking the present as the standpoint from which to view the prosperity of the country. This, coupled with the fact that the lands were taken without any regard to the points of compass--thus ignoring our system of land surveys, so simple and yet so beautiful,--I can not but regret that the action of our Government could not have foreseen some of the detrimental results into which its generosity has led it. Of course, it is among the things of the past, but not on that account the less to be regretted. The experience in this matter may not, and, probably, never will find any field for application--for the spirit of all preëmption, homestead, and donation laws, as since passed, has studiedly held two things in view, namely, the minimum amount of land commensurate with the object to be attained by their cession and the most rigid adherence to the points of the compass in their location. In referring to the donation act, I do not cavil at the generous action of a generous government--for I but too well appreciate that it has had the effect to open to our grasp a golden continent, with avenues of trade and with wealth--which has built up a line of battlement of half a million of Freemen; not probably, in looking at the results attained, it might seem ungenerous to object, at this late date, to any of those measures that assisted even in part to bring about this result. But I am rather disposed to believe that the agricultural districts of the Pacific were occupied and filled more in consequence of the gold discoveries and to supply their wants than from the spirit which pervaded the donation acts; for the latter antedating the discovery of gold on the Pacific did not point out the market where the produce of well-tilled fields should be sold. The coincidences of that date, however, were most happy.

At Salem we found the legislature in session, and the excitement incident to the election of Mr. Harding as United States Senator having subsided, the body were moving in such business as looked toward the growing wants of the State. I found in Mr. Harding a plain, unpretending, and sensible gentlemen, and in whom the interests of Oregon will find a true representative. At the invitation of Governor Gibbs I visited the Committee of the State Fair, composed of delegates from all the counties. It was here decided to make Salem the site for holding the annual fairs; a point so central, so well suited in every respect, that there seemed to be great unanimity of sentiment in the matter. The grounds around are open and spacious, and you feel that you breathe the air and tread the ground of a rural city, in making a tour of its extent. It is one of the most beautiful localities I have seen in Oregon--on the right bank of the Willamette, with beautiful shade trees, neat cottages, not cramped or huddled together, but with ample spaces for gardens--with a fine view of the woods, which, in a vista of twenty miles, surround it--and, in the background, with the bold slope of the Cascades, renders it one of the most beautiful sites for a city to be found in Oregon. It is not only the political center of Oregon, but it is also destined to become a point of great manufacturing importance. It is surrounded by fine forests of oak, fir, pine, cedar. The large fields of grain here cluster around it as the center. Its pioneer woolen factory, turning its hundred of spindles, here rears its head, thus attracting toward it every milling interest. The same stream that turns its gristmills, turns its sawmills--and even then the water is not allowed to run to waste, but is again caught and harnessed up to the spindles of industry where the covering of the back of the sheep of yesterday is converted into a covering for your own back of to-day. No one resident north of California can visit the woolen factory of Salem without a feeling of pride and of pleasure; and as he sees the bales of blankets, of clothes, and of flannels, lading the wagons which stand ready to be freighted for every homestead in Oregon, he feels the glow of pride in thus seeing our own looms weaving wools of our own growth, and desires instantly to robe himself in garments that no foreign hand has woven, and from wool grown from flocks no alien hand has tended. Let "Home Industry" be patronized, home products be consumed, and the country will be benefited to such an extent that we shall not have idlers to stir up mischief nor rebels to stir up rebellion in either the North or South. Mr. Rector, the obliging and gentlemanly head of the factory, showed me through the compartments and gave me some valuable statistics relative to its annual growth. His intention is to double this year the number of spindles. The surplus wool, heretofore shipped to New York, will be retained and manufactured at home; thus, our clothes and blankets will all be supplied from wool which all can grow. Mr. Rector finds difference in the wools grown on the east and the west of the Cascades, and preference being given to the latter, as containing more oily or fatty matter, and hence requiring less oiling in the process of manufacturing. That grown to the east of the Cascades is thought to be not only drier but harsher--more dirty--but time and the proper attention to its culture will doubtless bring about changes. New breeds, housing in winter, and dry foothills for grazing, are all advantages which wool growers to the east of the Cascades can have on their side. There are few regions where finer grazing fields are to be had than the slopes of the Bitter Root Mountains; and the freedom from excessive dampness, the pure, fresh mountain springs, are all so many advantages, that I confidently look forward to the day when these many well-grassed slopes shall be covered with fleecy flocks, and when the waters of the many silvery streams that now flow through the Walla Walla Valley, shall be caught and used to turn the wheels of a woolen factory, from which shall be turned out all the fabrics needed to clothe the population destined to find homes to the east of the Cascade Mountains. The clothes made by the Salem factory compare favorably with those imported. One thing certain, there is no cotton in their fabrics. Flannels of every hue are turned out at forty cents per yard; blankets from $4 to $8, according to texture; and clothes from 75 cents to $1.50 per yard, according to fineness. It would be a most happy result if every merchant, farmer, miner, and professional man in Oregon and Washington would determine in his own mind to have at least one suit of clothes made from Salem cloth, and every bed to be covered by at least one pair of Salem blankets. This would be affording a practical proof of our pride in seeing established in our midst these factories, which must eventuate in the profit of individuals. It is much to be regretted that the immense and illimitable mill power at Oregon City is not now turned to good account. The disasters by fire and flood of the Linn City mills have been of such a sad character that the tendencies now are to intimidate capitalists, at least for a time, from embarking in similar investments at the same site. A substantial railroad is being built around the portage at Oregon City, destined to diminish the time and cost of shipment up and down the Willamette. The season for practicable steam navigation to the upper points of the river being over, but little business could be noticed on the part of those engaged in this enterprise.

While in Salem I called the attention of Judge Humason, of Wasco, and of Governor Gibbs, to the importance of establishing a mail line from Walla Walla to Fort Laramie, to there tap the present daily overland mail service, by which means our mails at Walla Walla could be delivered in fifteen days from Saint Louis, and in seventeen days to Portland--this in the summer season--or twenty to twenty-two days in the winter. At present our mails cross the continent to Sacramento, two thousand miles; thence to Portland, seven hundred; thence to Walla Walla, three hundred more; making a total of three thousand miles to travel before we get them; whereas I can guarantee a line by the route indicated of one half the distance and one half the time. I framed a memorial, which Judge Humason would introduce in Congress, for this line; and was promised by Mr. Harding his coöperation to see that the matter was not allowed to pass unnoticed during the coming winter.

Leaving Salem, a journey of twenty-four hours passes us through Corvallis and Eugene City; and through an exceedingly beautiful and rich agricultural country on to Oakland, where the celebrated "Baker Mills" are established, producing, it is said, the finest flour in Oregon. The disasters of the flood were too visible at each and every point, sweeping away bridges and ferries, and destroying property to the extent of thousands of dollars. A large structure across the Umpqua, costing $10,000, was thus carried off--its convenience being now replaced by a ferry. All along the road we passed small parties of immigrants who crossed the Plains this season; some in search of new homes; others to join their friends who years since had preceded them. The Umpqua is a beautiful valley in a high state of cultivation; the school-houses, dotting here a hill, and there a valley, betoken that the education of the youth of the country was not being neglected. Roseburg, the county seat of the Umpqua region, is a gem of a village; streets neatly laid out, and neat, white, frame cottages, giving the place a rare picturesque beauty, where mountain and dale, and the hand of refined culture, all joined in beautiful harmony. The line of telegraph posts extends throughout this entire distance from Portland to Canyonville--the farthest point south where they are as yet erected. It is fully anticipated to have the line from Salem to Portland in working order by winter; as also the line from Jacksonville to Yreka. The posts are supplied and erected by contract by the farmers and others living along the line, at a cost of from $1.25 to $2 per post, and the line when completed will cost $200 per mile. Local intelligence, and the interest which every citizen feels in the reception of intelligence, now bristling with so much import, will cause this line, as soon as placed in good working order, to pay to the stockholders fair dividends on their capital. This link between Canyonville and Jacksonville will be completed during the next season. I saw Mr. Strong in Yreka, and found him pushing ahead the line with all his characteristic energy. He deserves much credit for prosecuting this project thus far to a success that is to bring to our doors daily intelligence from the East, and it is to be hoped that the citizens of the Upper Columbia will move in the same matter as soon as the line is completed to Portland.

A ride of twenty hours brings us into the Rogue Valley and to Jacksonville, a region I regard as one of the most beautiful and picturesque to be found in Oregon. The valley is from twenty-five to thirty miles square, entirely taken up by beautiful farms and under high cultivation; with farmhouses and barns in good keeping with the character of its progress; grist and sawmills erected to supply the wants of its inhabitants, and with inexhaustible forests of timber. Gold mining is here carried on with much success; and it was interesting to see the lines of sluice boxes running through the streets of Jacksonville that turned out as pretty gold as any mine on the coast. Unfortunately for this fine valley, it has no outlet for its produce, and is dependent solely on a home market. Its supplies are brought in by the way of Crescent City, by a good wagon road, at a cost of four to five cents per pound. Oats here are 40 cents a bushel; wheat, 70 to 90 cents; lumber, $15 per thousand; labor from $30 to $40 per month. We observed, in squads, the ubiquitous Chinaman, moving from mining locality to mining locality, fleeing from the kicks of one to the cuffs of the other, with no fixed abiding place to be called his permanent home.

A location for a railroad line from Portland to Jacksonville is eminently practicable, and the citizens of the Willamette will be blind to their own interests if they do not so move in the matter so as to secure to themselves the advantages of the ample provisions made in the Pacific Railroad Bill for a connection between Portland and Sacramento; but south from Jacksonville there will be a severe problem for the engineers to solve, both in the shape of grades and tunnels. The Calapooia range will present an easy problem for solution; but the Scott's [Siskiyou?] and Trinity mountains will not be easily handled. They are high, broad, and broken, and no railroad line can be laid across or through them, except at most enormous cost. But that it is practicable, and will in time be built, I have no doubt. But my views relative to this location as a branch of the Pacific Railroad have been more than confirmed by a detailed view of its geography, and I still insist that a branch of the Pacific Railroad that will benefit Oregon and Washington as such can only be found by tapping the main trunk at or near Fort Laramie, and coming into the Columbia at or near the mouth of Snake River; and thence using the main Columbia to such a point whence freight can be shipped to and across the ocean. I made special inquiries relative to the depth of snow across the Calapooia, Scott's and Trinity mountains during the past winter, and learned that not less than eight feet fell upon these mountains; still the stage coach passed these mountains every day until the freshet suspended the travel; which was for the period of six weeks. The Scott's and Trinity mountains are higher than any mountains crossed by my road from Walla Walla to Fort Benton; and knowing that the question of snow with us is no more difficult than that met and overcome on this and other lines, I am sanguine to believe that a mail line from Fort Laramie to Walla Walla will prove eventually practicable. But the _experimentum crucis_, that will leave no lingering doubt even with the most uncompromising cavalier, will be afforded us, I trust, during the next twelve months; and that will deliver at our doors in Walla Walla the mails direct from Saint Louis in fifteen days. I am but too anxious that this last crowning success should be afforded us; not only to give us increased mail facilities for the present, but to awaken a practical attention to that region where the _isothermal_ and _isochimal_ lines have for ages past presented, and do still continue to present, to us meteorological phases as wonderful in their nature as they are destined to prove useful in their future results.

To those who derive pleasure in seeing the rough, rugged, wild face of Nature, made to wear the smiles of civilization and of progress, and to witness what money and labor can accomplish, I know of no point where they can visit to see these in all their grandeur than across the Scott's and Trinity mountains, which, in point of difficulty and rugged wildness, surpass any mountain region it has ever been my lot to travel, from the Columbia to the Missouri River. Toll roads lead over both of these mountains; one connecting Yreka with Rogue River; and the other, Yreka with Shasta. The road over Scott's Mountain is about twenty miles long, and made at a cost not far from $200,000; and the other, eight miles, made at a cost of $16,000. The mind that conceived the road, and the hand that executed it, were not cast in Nature's ordinary mould; genius of a higher order was Nature's gift to them. Those who invested their capital (for they were both built by private enterprise) are now being well repaid; of this, the long line of wagons and pack trains, freighted from Red Bluff to the northern mines, furnish unmistakable evidence.

A ride over Scott's Mountain amply repays one for all the labor required to make it; and can be made by no one who will not appreciate that bold enterprise that is to-day leveling mountains, leveeing valleys, bridging torrents, and, by the sound of pick and drill, even arousing Nature from her lethargy sleep--deep down in the very bowels of the mountains--throughout the length and breadth of California.

Leaving Rogue River, we pass at once from an agricultural to a wild, mountainous region, which constitutes the mining section of northern California, of which Yreka may be considered the center. It is a place of much trade, built mostly of brick, and presents a bustling appearance. It supports two newspapers, three or four hotels; has a large post office, and, at present, is the northern terminus of the State telegraph line. A cemetery, well arranged in its plan, forms the northern entrance to the city; the number of graves it contains shows that here as elsewhere death has done its work. A day's journey, and we come to Shasta, a mining town of one thousand people, possessing few attractions outside of a business locality. The road, approaching Yreka, winds near the northern base of Mount Shasta, a frowning snow peak, fourteen thousand feet above the level of the sea. Though grand and majestic, it does not compare favorably in either respect with Mount Hood--the father of all snow peaks on the Pacific. From Shasta a ride of a day brings us to Red Bluff--to which point steamers of light draught are still running from Sacramento, but with so many delays and uncertainties that the traveler prefers to continue the journey by the stage. At this point, however, we finally emerge from the mountains of California and enter upon the broad swelling prairie which constitutes the norther portion of the Sacramento Valley--where, though the country is mostly a waste, dotted here and there with clumps of oak, or openings of the same growth, yet where many large and inviting farming sections are had. At Tehama we cross the Sacramento, by a buoy-ferry, and, in a few miles, enter upon one of the most choice agricultural districts the eye ever rested upon--where grain fields are not measured by the acre, nor yet by the mile, but by the league. By a day's drive we passed through the extensive and rich fields of Major Bidwell, where eleven thousand acres of grain were being threshed--where his own mill stood ready to convert into flour the produce of his own fields; where his own mammoth store furnished hundreds of his employés with all the wants of life; where his own energy was opening, with his own means, a wagon road from the Sacramento River to the Humboldt mines; and where his own purse has already paid out $35,000, and backed by a willingness to pay as much more, in order to open up a new market for the exuberant products of so rich a soil as he himself possesses. The center of his large estate is the beautiful village of "Chico," where, in rural wealth as well as in rural simplicity, live an educated and contented peasantry, all more or less supported by the means of this bachelor millionaire--whose residence, on the banks of the Sacramento, is one of those architectural gems hid away amidst shrubs, trees, orchards, and groves, as if to avoid the gaze of him whose residence is of crowded cities and who is almost unworthy to breath the sweet perfume of a region where such bowers grow. May Major Bidwell long live--though bachelor he be--to dispense his bounties to a people who respect him for the liberal and generous manner in which he shares his wealth with those not similarly blest.

From Tehama the ride of half a day brings us to Oroville, a city well named, for situated as it is on the Feather River, it is in the heart of a rich mining country, where the miners have worked like so many beavers, and where the water of the Feather River is made to run in pipes and reservoirs into lakes for hundreds of feet above the level of the river, at the site of the town. This river is crossed by a ferry. A steamer is said to have once landed here from Sacramento, but such occurrences I regard as rare. The river is rapid; boils and surges over a rocky and rugged bed, and joins the Sacramento at Marysville--to which point a night's ride brings us--continuing to pass through a rich agricultural region, under a state of high cultivation. Marysville is a large, prosperous city--houses, mostly of brick--at the junction of the Yuba and Feather rivers. Thence on to Sacramento, (a journey of eight hours' staging,) the road is over a level, agricultural district, throughout which the piles of drift timber and the absence of fences, in many places, and the presence of boats and bateaux, all told that the water had been here supreme not many months past; barns with their roofs a mile distant; houses without any; outhouses and dwellings with a watermark up to the second story--and in many localities no dwellings at all, where commodious and comfortable tenements had been--all told of the presence and the power of the waters of Sacramento when charged with fullness on its way to the ocean. It seems to me that a system of high levees is the only thing to reclaim hundreds of acres of fine swamp land along the Sacramento, and to prevent the repetition of these disastrous results, which made the people poor and retard the growth of the State. Sacramento is already surrounded by a high levee which may protect it another season; but the levee should begin at Marysville and extend to Sacramento. It will, of course, be expensive, but it will repay the labor in the end.

Between Marysville and Sacramento we passed the large and magnificent claim called "Sutter's Ranch," though not under a high state of cultivation. The old pioneer is now poor, but his friends are sufficiently zealous in his behalf to see that his wants go not unsupplied. One can not pass over this region and at the same time observe how rapidly the Sacramento River is being obstructed by the immense deposits of sand and sediment which its current is daily bringing down, thus forming bars and deltas destined not only to intercept but probably to suspend at no distant day navigation to its upper waters,--without feeling the pressing importance of a railroad connection between Sacramento and the more northern regions of California. Already are parties out viewing and prospecting a road through Noble's Pass, where it is proposed by some to carry the Pacific railroad line.

That California will be covered with a network of railways is only a question of time, and that time determined by the low rates of interest that will cause capitalists to become interested in these great works of internal improvement. Local trade and travel must always be great, and must always increase so long as gold shall be mined, and that period seems to be illimitable.

From Sacramento we took passage on the fine steamer Antelope, for San Francisco, which in six hours and at a cost of $5 brought us to the end of one section of our journey. There are no opposition steamers on now and hence the monopolists command the river. The signs of the devastation of the flood marked the entire distance from Sacramento to the bay of San Francisco. But here and there we found the inhabitants raising their dwellings a story, and by levees and other improvements trying to reclaim their fields, as well as to defy the freshets of coming years. No one can pass over this exceedingly interesting region from Portland to Sacramento without feeling a thrill of pride and of pleasure to see what American energy and American capital have accomplished during the past fourteen years of its occupancy; and to picture in imagination what the next fourteen years may produce, would almost render oneself liable to such an unjust criticism that I would forbear to enter upon a theme so pregnant with interest; suffice it to say, let those who have not made the trip, make it at least once and see for themselves pleasant homes and well-tilled fields, grand mountains, useful rivers, forests of orchards, and oceans of grain; miles of sluice boxes and tons of gold; and the beauty of a region redolent with the songs of thrift and industry--and if they be not well repaid for all the fatigues of a mountain journey, the fault will certainly be theirs, and not the bounty of generous nature, who with lavish hand has spread so many pictures of the grand and beautiful--nor yet the fault of the inhabitants by the wayside, who by culture and improvement have framed these pictures in gilded and golden casements, and where contentment and happiness are the visible garments in which everything would seem to be enrobed.

INDIAN WARS OF SOUTHERN OREGON.

ADDRESS OF HON. WILLIAM M. COLVIG DELIVERED AT THE REUNION OF THE INDIAN WAR VETERANS, AT MEDFORD ON SATURDAY, JULY 26, 1902.

I was first invited to deliver an address of welcome to the Indian war veterans, who meet here to-day; but within the past few days I was informed that an historical sketch of early days in southern Oregon, including an account of the Indian wars, would be my part in the programme of exercises.

My knowledge of the subject is not very extensive. I lived in southern Oregon as early as 1852, but was only a boy, not old enough to take part in any of the stirring incidents which I remember of those days. I see before me faces that recall events long past, and which left pictures in the album of memory that time will never efface, and you will pardon me if I refer to one of those personal recollections.

In 1855 my father, Dr. Wm. L. Colvig, and family lived in a log cabin on the South Umpqua River, near Canyonville. One bright, clear day in October of that year, myself and brother, on returning from a trip in the "cañon," saw standing, in an exhausted condition, a white cayuse pony before the door of our home. The horse was covered with blood. Everything seemed quiet about the place. We rushed into the house and saw a man lying on his back, full length, upon the puncheon floor. His clothing was partially removed. His body was covered with blood. Father was kneeling over him on one side and mother on the other. They were dressing his wounds. He had nine separate bullet holes in his limbs and body. Doctor Colvig had his case of surgical instruments at hand, which consisted of a butcher knife and a pair of scissors. The knife was the one we had used to cut meat when crossing the plains. Mother was preparing bandages by tearing up some of our old "hickory" shirts. Well, they patched Uncle Bill Russell--called "Long Bill" in those days--up in pretty good shape. I see him here to-day, but I don't think that he is looking for a fight with Indians. At the time of which I speak, he had been shot by the Indians about five miles from my father's house but succeeded in riding to our door. His companion, Weaver, had a close call, but escaped unhurt.

The Indian wars of southern Oregon were stubborn contests. It is a natural law that the fittest survive, and wherever civilization in its advance meets barbarian force, the latter must give way. When they meet there is an "irrepressible conflict," the details of which we can not always reconcile with the Golden Rule. The tribes who took part in these several wars in southern Oregon were the Rogue Rivers, Modocs, Klamaths, Shastas, and Umpquas. The only honest acquisition of the Rogue River Indians was their name. On account of the thieving and treacherous habits of the people of that tribe, the river which flows through the valley was called by the early French trappers "Riviere aux Coquin," the river of rogues. The Oregon legislature in 1853 sought to change the name, and did name it Gold River, but, as the boys say, "it didn't take."

It will be impossible for me to do more than mention a few of the more prominent incidents, and I can not be very accurate in regard to dates and other matters pertaining to that period, as my information has been gathered from many sources, some of which are not very authentic.

It may be of interest to know that on December 27, 1850, Congress passed what is known as the donation land law, which gave to every American citizen over the age of eighteen years, if single, one half section of land; if married, one section of land, one half of which was the absolute property of the wife, the other half of the husband. There were no settlers in the Rogue River Valley prior to New Year's day, 1851. In the spring of 1851 a man by the name of Evans constructed a ferry across Rogue River, just below the town of Woodville. During the same spring a man by the name of Perkins also established a ferry on that river. The first donation land claim was located by Judge A. A. Skinner, an Indian agent, in June, 1851. This claim is the Walker farm, near Central Point. Upon it he built the first settler's house ever built in the valley. Chesley Gray, his interpreter, also located a donation land claim in June, 1851. It is what is known as the "Constant Farm," near Central Point. The following named persons filed donation land claims prior to February, 1852: Moses Hopwood, on Christmas day, 1851; N. C. Dean, at Willow Springs, December, 1851; Stone and Poyntz, at Wagner Creek, December, 1851; L. J. C. Duncan, Major Barron, Thomas Smith, Pat Dunn, E. K. Anderson, and Samuel Culver had made their locations prior to February, 1852. I do not pretend that these were all, but the entire number of claims taken up to that time did not exceed twenty-eight.

In December, 1851, James Clugage and J. R. Poole located the first mining claim in southern Oregon, at a point near the old brewery in Jacksonville. They had been informed by a couple of young men who were passing through the country that they had found gold near that place. Immediately after this discovery became known in California and by the incoming immigrants to Oregon, there was a rush made to the mines of Jacksonville. Old man Shiveley, the discoverer of Shiveley Gulch, above Jacksonville, inside of eighteen months had taken out over $50,000, and since that time, from the best statistics obtainable, the mines of southern Oregon have yielded about $35,000,000 in gold.

During the winter of 1852 flour was sold at $1 per pound, tobacco at $1 an ounce, and salt was priceless. Jacksonville was laid out as a town in the summer of 1852 by Henry Klippel and John R. Poole.

I will now speak of the Indian wars in which the people of southern Oregon were engaged. The first recorded fight between the Indians and whites in any portion of southern Oregon occurred in 1828, when Jedediah S. Smith and seven other trappers were attacked by the Indians on the Umpqua River, and fifteen of the whites were slain, only Smith and three of his companions escaping. The next fight of which we have any account was in June, 1836, at a point just below the Rock Point bridge, where the barn on the W. L. Colvig estate stands. In this fight there were Dan Miller, Edward Barnes, Doctor Bailey, George Gay, Saunders, Woodworth, Irish Tom, and J. Turners and squaw. Two trappers were killed, and nearly all were wounded. Within my recollection, Doctor Bailey visited the scene of this fight, and pointed out to my father its location. In September, 1837, at the mouth of Foots Creek, in Jackson County, a party of men who had been sent to California by the Methodist mission to procure cattle, while on their return were attacked by the Rogue River Indians and had a short, severe fight, in which several of the whites were badly wounded and some twelve or fourteen of the Indians killed. In May, 1845, J. C. Fremont had a fight with the Indians in the Klamath country; it may have been a little over the line in California. Four of Fremont's men were killed and quite a large number of the Indians. Kit Carson was a prominent figure in this battle.

As before stated, a few bold adventurers had located in Rogue River Valley as early as December, 1851. During the spring, summer, and fall of that year there was a considerable amount of travel through the valley, by parties from northern Oregon going to and returning from the great mining excitement of California. Fights between these travelers and the Indians were of frequent occurrence. On the fifteenth day of May, 1851, a pack train was attacked at a point on Bear Creek, where the town of Phoenix is now situated, and a man by the name of Dilley was killed. On June 3, 1851, a party of Oregonians, under the leadership of Dr. James McBride, had a severe fight near Willow Springs with Chief "Chucklehead" and his band. Chucklehead and six other Indians were killed; several of the whites were severely wounded.

About this time Maj. Phil Kearny, afterwards General Kearny, who was killed at the battle of Chantilly in the Civil war, happened to be passing through the valley on his way from Vancouver to Benicia, California, with a detachment of two companies of United States regulars. He remained a short time and assisted in punishing the Indians for the numerous depredations committed by them during the year. He had several fights while in the valley, in which about fifty Indians were killed. One of these fights was on Rogue River, near the mouth of Butte Creek, where Captain Stuart, of the United States army, received an arrow wound from an Indian, who was also wounded. The arrow penetrated the captain's body, and he died the next day at the camp on Bear Creek, near Phoenix. The camp thenceforth took the name of Camp Stuart, and Bear Creek in all government records is called Stuart's Creek. The captain's body was buried at a spot where the wagon road crosses the mill race in the town of Phoenix. Some years ago his remains were taken up and sent to Washington, D. C., to be buried by the side of his mother. Captain Stuart's last words were, "Boys, it is awful to have passed through all the battles of the Mexican war, and then be killed by an Indian in this wild country."

At the massacre of emigrants at Bloody Point, Klamath County, in 1852, thirty-six men, women, and children were murdered. Capt. Ben Wright and twenty-seven men from Yreka and Col. J. E. Ross and some Oregonians went out to punish these Modocs. Old Schonchin, who was afterwards hung at Fort Klamath in 1873, at the close of the Modoc war, was the leader. Wright gave them no quarter. He and his men, infuriated at the sight of the mangled bodies of the emigrants, killed men, women, and children without any discrimination--about forty in all; and it is said that they asked for a "peace talk," whereupon a roast ox was prepared. Wright poisoned it, gave it to the Indians, and then rode away. [This story is now generally discredited.--EDITOR.]

I can not give you the names of all who were killed in Rogue River Valley during the years 1851, 1852, and 1853. I will mention some that were killed in 1853. In August of that year Edward Edwards was killed near Medford; Thomas Wills and Rhodes Nolan, in the edge of the town of Jacksonville; Pat Dunn and Carter, both wounded in a fight on Neil Creek above Ashland. In a fight with the Indians on Bear Creek, in August, 1853, Hugh Smith was killed, and Howell, Morris, Hodgins, Whitmore, and Gibbs wounded, the last named three dying from their wounds soon after.

These murders, and many more that could be mentioned, brought on the Indian war of 1853. Southern Oregon raised six companies of volunteers, who served under the following named captains, viz, R. L. Williams, J. K. Lamerick, John F. Miller, Elias A. Owens, and W. W. Fowler. Capt. B. F. Alden, of the Fourth U. S. Infantry, with twenty regulars, came over from Fort Jones, California, and with him a large number of volunteers under Capt. James P. Goodall and Capt. Jacob Rhoades, two Indian fighters of experience. Captain Alden was given the command of all the forces. The first battle of the war was fought on the twelfth day of August, 1853, and was an exciting little fight between about twenty volunteers under Lieut. Burrell Griffin, of Miller's company, and a band of Indians under Chief John. The volunteers were ambushed at a point near the mouth of Williams creek, on the Applegate. The whites were defeated with a loss of two killed and Lieutenant Griffin severely wounded. There were five Indians killed and wounded in the battle. On August 10, 1853, John R. Harding and Wm. R. Rose, of Captain Lamerick's company, were killed near Willow Springs. On the sixteenth of August, 1853, Gen. Joseph Lane, afterwards United States senator from Oregon, and a candidate for vice president in 1860, came out from his home in Douglas County and brought fifty men with him, to take part in the war. General Lane was a man of large experience in Indian warfare and in all military matters. He had commanded an Indiana regiment in the Mexican war and enjoyed a well earned reputation for bravery. On the day that General Lane arrived what is known as the battle of Little Meadows was fought. Lieutenant Ely and twenty-two men met the Indians near Evans Creek, in the timber, and a short, but deadly conflict took place. Seven whites were killed inside of an hour; Lieutenant Ely and three men wounded. They left the battlefield in charge of the Indians--at least, in the popular phraseology of that day, "they got up and got out." On August 24, 1853, the battle of Evans Creek was fought. In this fight the Indians did not fare so well, twelve of them being killed and wounded. One volunteer named Pleasant Armstrong was killed and Captain Alden and Gen. Joe Lane were each wounded. During the summer of 1853 several men were shot by Indians in Josephine County. In the fall General Lane patched up a temporary peace, which lasted till 1855.

The war of 1855-56 was preceded by a great many murders and depredations by the Indians in different parts of southern Oregon. I will mention a few: ----. Dyar and ----. McKew, killed while on the road from Jacksonville to Josephine County on June 1, 1855. About the same time a man by name of ----. Philpot was killed on Deer Creek, Josephine County, and James Mills was wounded at the same time and place. Granville Keene was killed at a point on Bear Creek, above Ashland, and J. Q. Faber was wounded. Two men, ----. Fielding and ----. Cunningham, were killed in September, 1855, on the road over the Siskiyou mountains.

On account of these various depredations Maj. J. A. Lupton raised a temporary force of volunteers, composed of miners and others, from the vicinity of Jacksonville, about thirty-five in number, and proceeded to a point on the north side of Rogue River, opposite the mouth of Little Butte Creek. There he attacked a camp of Indians at a time when they were not expecting trouble. It is said that about thirty men, women, and children were killed by Lupton's men. The major himself received a mortal wound in the fight. This fight has been much criticised by the people of southern Oregon, a great many of them believing that it was unjustifiable and cowardly. Two days after this affair a series of massacres took place in the sparsely settled country in and about where Grants Pass is now situated. On the ninth day of October, 1855, the Indians, having divided up into small parties, simultaneously attacked the homes of the defenseless families located in that vicinity. I will name a few of those tragic events. On the farm now owned by James Tuffs, Mr. Jones was killed, and his wife, after receiving a mortal wound, made her escape. She was found by the volunteers on the next day and died a few days afterwards. Their house was burned down. Mrs. Wagner was murdered by the Indians on the same day. Her husband was away from home at the time, but returned on the following day to find his wife murdered and his home a pile of ashes. The Harris family consisted of Harris and wife and their two children, Mary Harris, aged twelve, and David Harris, aged ten, and T. A. Reed, a young man who lived with the family. Mr. Harris was shot down while standing near his door, and at a moment when he little suspected treachery from the Indians with whom he was talking. His wife and daughter pulled his body within the door, and seizing a double-barreled shotgun and an old-fashioned Kentucky rifle, commenced firing through the cracks of the log cabin. They kept this up till late in the night, and by heroic bravery kept the Indians from either gaining an entrance into the house or succeeding in their attempts to fire it. Just back of the cabin was a dense thicket of brush, and during a lull in the attack the two brave women escaped through the back door and fled through the woods. They were found the next day by volunteers from Jacksonville, our late friend, Henry Klippel, being one of the number. Mrs. Harris lived to a good old age in this county. Mary, who was wounded in the fight, afterwards became the wife of Mr. G. M. Love, and was the mother of George Love of Jacksonville and Mrs. John A. Hanley of Medford. David Harris, the boy, was not in the house when the attack was made, but was at work on the place. His fate has never been ascertained, as his body was never found. The Indians stated, after peace was made, that they killed him at the time they attacked the Harris house. Reed, the young man spoken of, was killed out near the house.

On October 31, 1855, the battle of Hungry Hill was fought near the present railway station of Leland. Capt. A. J. Smith of the United States army was at that battle, and a large number of citizens soldiery. The result of the battle was very undecisive. There were thirty-one whites killed and wounded, nine of them being killed outright. It is not known how many of the Indians were killed, but after the treaty was made they confessed to fifteen. The Indians were in heavy timber and were scarcely seen during the two days' battle.

In April, 1856, after peace had been concluded between the whites and Indians, the Ledford massacre took place in Rancherie Prairie, near Mount Pitt, in this county, in which five white men were killed. This event was the last of the "irrepressible conflict." Soon afterward the Indians were removed to the Siletz reservation, where their descendants now live and enjoy the favors of the government which their fathers so strongly resisted.

The war in Rogue River Valley had now virtually ended. "Old Sam's" band, with an escort of one hundred United States troops, was taken to the coast reservation at Siletz. Chiefs "John" and "Limpy," with a large number of the most active warriors, who had followed their fortunes during all these struggles, still held out and continued their depredations in the lower Rogue River country and in connection with the Indians of Curry County.