Lucia Loraine Williams
INTRODUCTION
We would like to use the introduction to the Lucia Loraine Williams letter—which contains quotes from her diary—to describe what we think to be an innovative method of research.
A good part of research is search: that is the seeking out and locating of primary documents in unlikely places. This is where the historian becomes like Sherlock Holmes, a detective seeking evidence. The search for these documents in this series was an experience very close to my heart—both figuratively and literally. In recuperating over a number of weeks after having open heart surgery, I napped in the daytime (still do), which meant I often lay awake at night in the wee small hours. I learned to tune in to radio station KGO, San Francisco, which is a powerful talk station with radio waves reaching all up and down the Pacific coast.
One night on a whim, I telephoned the station and the announcer gave me several minutes to tell of this project of collecting and publishing the diaries and letters of women who crossed the plains in covered wagons. I asked listeners if they had such documents in their possession and to let me know so that they might also be included in our project. As a result of this call and some ten others, we have received ten manuscripts of diaries or letters sent in by persons who are most happy to let us have the use of their precious family treasures. Such documents have been passed on from generation to generation, stored away in dresser drawers or closet corners, taken out only for special family occasions.
The Lucia Loraine Williams letter/diary that follows is one of these. It was written immediately after she arrived in Milwaukie, Oregon, on September 16, 1851.
Word of this document came to me in a letter postmarked Tacoma, Washington, dated October 22, 1979. It was from Mrs. Helen Stratton Felker, who wrote, “I have a diary of my great-grandmother’s.” So as a result of several telephone calls and some letters back and forth, we have this precious record of an overland journey during the season of 1851. It is with deep appreciation to Mrs. Felker that we publish it here.
Now to Lucia’s own life: She was born Lucia Bigelow on April 29, 1816, somewhere in Vermont. This means that she was 35 years old when she crossed the plains with her husband of a few years, Elijah Williams. They had been married in Ohio. Lucia was Elijah’s second wife; the first was Sarah Ann Watson Williams. But let Elijah tell of his married life himself in his own words. There is a letter of his in the Oregon State Library giving a “History of Family,” in which he says, “I took $100 and entered 80 acres of land at Findlay, Hancock County, Ohio … and there I got married to Sarah Ann Watson lived some 9 or 10 years with her and she died and then I married Lucia Lorain [e] Bigelow, and emigrated to Oregon…” He had originally come from Luzerne County, Pennsylvania, when he made the above land claim in 1832.1 Over the years, he read law and became a practicing attorney, and also engaged in business enterprises.
There were two boys who were left motherless when Sarah Ann died: Richard and George. Richard,2 the oldest, had been born in Findlay on November 15, 1836; George3 on April 5, 1839. They were respectively 22 and 15 years old when, they crossed the plains with their father and their new mother, Lucia Loraine, in 1851. They both grew up more to become lawyers,, educated at their parents insistance, in the pioneer Willamette University Law School in Salem, still a dynamic institution.
Elijah and Lucia also began their 1851 overland journey with two small children of their own: John, 10, and Helen, 3.4 The tragedy of the death of little John is told in Lucia’s letter. It is also dramatically described in another primary source, the reminiscences of Esther M. (Mrs. Freeman) Lockhart, which were taken down as a kind of “oral history” and published in a book by a daughter, Agnes Ruth Serigstaeken, the title of which is Destination West! (Binfords & Mort, Portland, 1942). Although Esther Lockhart’s record of the journey is a reminiscence uttered many years after the event, we are making an exception and, with the permission of Thomas Binford, are reprinting the pertinent story of the overland journey as an Epilogue to Lucia Williams’ letter. Esther Lockhart tells about the same series of events and mentions many of the same persons taking part in the journey. However, it is like using binoculars instead of a single spy-glass, in that the double vision gives perspective to the story. The Freeman Lockharts became pioneer settlers on the southern Oregon coast, in the Coos Bay area.5
Lucia and Elijah Williams had another child added to their family on February 15, 1853, in Salem, Oregon. Emmet B. Williams6 grew up to study law at the Willamette University and to become a practicing lawyer in Portland in his later years.
The Williams family settled in Salem where Elijah practiced law and was an active business man. Lucia dedicated much of her spare time to being one of the founders of the First Congregational Church of Salem. In the downtown church building today, there is a stained glass window commemorating her part in the founding of the church.
The Williamses lived in a house that was built right across the street from the state capitol. Mrs. Felker remembers visiting the house as a little girl.7 It was in this house on November 9, 1870, that the daughter, who at age three had crossed the plains, was married to Milton A. Stratton of Clackamas, Oregon.8
The last few weeks of Lucia Williams’ life are told in several editions of the Daily Oregon Statesman newspaper of Salem early in 1874. On Monday, February 2, the following appeared:
In Failing Health—Our fellow citizen, Hon. Elijah Williams, received a telegram Saturday, from his wife who has been for some time at Santa Clara, Cal., for her health, stating that she is not as well as when she left home. Mr. Williams will start by the Ajax [steamship] to-morrow, for the purpose of bringing his wife home if she is well enough to endure the trip.
Then on March 2, 1874, there appeared another item, dateline Portland:
Returned,—Hon. Elijah Williams and wife returned by the steamer Ajax, arriving in this city yesterday, from Santa Clara, Cal., where Mrs. Williams has been spending several months for her health; which we regret to learn, has not been so much improved by her sojourn there as her friends had hoped.
Then on Saturday, May 23, there appeared the final sad message:
Died,—In Salem, May 22d, 1874, Mrs. L. L. Williams, wife of Elija [sic] Williams, Esq., aged 58 years. The funeral services will take place at the Congregational Church to-morrow at 10½ o’clock A.M. Rev. P. S. Knight will conduct the services, there at that hour.
THE LETTER OF
LUCIA LORAINE WILLIAMS
Milwaukee, [Oregon] September 16, ’51 Dear Mother:
We have been living in Oregon about 2 weeks, all of us except little John, and him we left 12 miles this side of Green River. He was killed instantly by falling from a wagon and the wheels running over his head. After leaving the desert and Green River, we came to a good place of feed and laid by a day for the purpose of recruiting our teams. On the morning of the 20th of June we started on. John rode on the wagon driven by Edwin Fellows.9 We had not proceeded more than 2 miles before word came for us to turn back. We did so but found him dead. The oxen had taken fright from a horse that had been tied behind the wagon preceding this, owned by a young man that Mr. Williams had told a few minutes to turn out of the road. Two other teams ran also. John was sitting in back of the wagon but as soon as the cattle commenced to run he went to the front and caught hold of the driver who held him as long as he could but he was frightened and did not possess, presence of mind enough to give him a little send, which would have saved him. Poor little fellow, we could do nothing for him. He was beyond our reach and Oh, how suddenly, one half hour before we had left him in health as lively as a lark, and then to find him breathless so soon was awful. I cannot describe to you our feelings. We buried him there by the road side, by the right side of the road, about one-half mile before we crossed the Fononelle, a little stream. We had his grave covered with stones to protect if from wild beasts and a board with his name and age and if any of our friends come through I wish they would find his grave and if it needs, repair it.
Helen10 has been sick nearly all of the way and at the time that John died she was getting a little better so that she could be around a little. It was impressed on my mind that we were not all to get through, but I thought it would be Helen that we would leave for she was continually sick. We think that she had scarlet fever on the road. The night that we passed Ft. Laramie she was very sick. She came out with a fine rash accompanied by a high fever. She would not be satisfied unless I was rubbing her all of the time. Her throat was sore and she vomited blood several times. After she had partially recovered she was tolerable healthy and enjoyed herself well. She could talk to the Indians and throw the lariat with a great deal of glee. An old squaw and a young one with a papoose came and sat on one side of the fire, the papoose tied to a board. (There were snakes) and commenced talking to Helen. She would jabber back and laugh then they would talk and laugh, until they got into quite a spree.
The mother of the papoose wanted to swap her papoose for mine but I told her “no swap.” I believe she would have done it as she seemed quite eager to trade.
After we passed Ft. Laramie I wrote a letter home and sent it to the Fort by a mountaineer calling himself the mail carrier but have since learned he was an imposter and that the others were in pursuit of him, so you may not have received that. I will mention some thing over again covering our journey.
After crossing the mountains our company was so large we separated, making two, one bound for Oregon and the other via Salt Lake. In one company were 14 wagons and 2 carriages. One Baptist preacher from Iowa,11 one family from near Norwalk, O. The gentleman’s name was Lockhart.12 Mrs. L’s sister accompanied them.13 The ladies are sisters Hannah Adams’ stepmother. Judge Oleny14 from Iowa also two other families, one a widow with five small children. They elected Mr. Williams captain in which honorable office he served until we crossed the Blue Mountains and were out of danger from Indians. The first tribe we passed was the Omaha. They are a beggarly set. The next came the Pawnee, they are the tallest, strongest and most savage, also the noblest looking of any of the tribes I have seen. While we were camped at Shell Creek several of them came and stayed with us. They were nearly starved, their hunting excursion the fall previous having not proved successful and most of the warriors—some 300—had gone into the disputed to hunt (between them and the Sioux). The day previous to our arrival at Shell Creek the Pawnees had taken two cows from a company, exacting them to pay for passing through their country and their captain being afraid, dared not refuse. They wanted some cattle of us but did not get any. Smith15 came up and camped with us and Joe Williams’16 company from Ill. Also, several other companies who all united in constructing a bridge over the creek. The next day, the 13th of May, about noon companies commenced crossing. Some 80 wagons all in a heap. The bridge was constructed of brush and logs on the top. We soon swam the cattle and crossed a little before sun down, went through a sea of water on to an island and camped without wood. In the morn the wind arose and blew the carriage over with Helen and myself in it, Mr. Williams standing upon the wheel to keep it down. However, they got us out without serious injury to us, but the carriage top was broken short off for the wheel stood uppermost for two hours. I never saw it blow harder. Mr. Lockart’s wagon started towards the river and 3 men could not stop it until they succeeded in running the tongue into the ground. Mrs. Olney’s bonnet, a leghorn,17 was blown off, the boiler of my stove, tin pans, hats, pillows, buckets etc. Nothing recovered but the pillows belonging to Mr. L. and the cap. All our cattle gone but we succeeded in finding all but one cow that was given to Mr. Williams by the owner of the ferry on the Missouri.
On the 28th we came up with Kinney. He had found one-third of his stock. While here we had buffalo meat. We did not like it very well. It is much coarser than beef. We saw herds of them. The antelope and this country abounds with them and is most excellent. Also mountain rabbit. Passed several prairie dog villages. W. and myself went among them but they ran, barking to their houses, which are holes in the ground. They are as large as a half-grown kitten.
[May] 31st. Camped near the Lone Cedar Tree. Received visits from seven Sioux Indians. Prepared supper for them.
1st of June. Passed the Sioux village. Their wigwams are made of buffalo skins (the Pawnees were mud.) They seemed to be a much wealthier tribe than any that we have yet seen. The squaws were dressed in antelope skins, ornamented with beads. The men were also clothed with skins or blankets. They owned a great many ponies. On one of the wigwams were several scalps hung out to dry, taken from the Pawnees. They were friendly. I saw some beautiful bluffs apparently not more than one-half mile off and wished to visit them. W. consented to go with me but said that it was farther than I anticipated. We walked four miles, I should judge, crossing chasms and bluffs before we reached the road and after all did not ascend the one that we set out for. Camped by the Platte. No wood but buffalo chips, which we have used for a long time.
4th. Passed Chimney Rock and camped under Scott Bluffs near two wigwams. They came over to eat with us. I helped to get supper for two Indians. We gave them a knife and fork. They took the knife but refused the forks. They were well dressed in blankets, which a hood to come over the head. They were very careful to take all from their plates and tie up in a corner of their blankets. They belonged to the Cheyennes.
On the 7th we arrived at Ft. Laramie and on the 8th commenced crossing the Black Hills. Some of them were steep. Laramie Peak to the left covered with snow.
9th crossed the Red Hills and camped by a lake.
17th traveled over twenty miles and camped by the Devil’s Hole, or Gate. In the morning two young ladies and myself visited it. The rocks on each side were perpendicular, 400 ft. high and the narrowest place was about 2 ft., where Sweet Water came tumbling through. The road leading to it was crooked and thorny, but we found all kinds of beautiful flowers blooming beside the rocks. It was the most sublime spectacle that I ever witnessed. I must not forget Independence Rock which we passed yesterday. I did not ascend it but read several names of friends. We are in the Sweet Water Mountains which are plentifully besprinkled with snow. The wind which comes is very cold—a shawl is not uncomfortable any of the time, excepting when the air is still. Then it is uncomfortably warm. Gathered several lbs. of Salerates, very nice, from a lake that dried up. We have to take particular care that our cattle do not drink at any of these alkali springs and lakes. Carcasses of cattle are plenty along here. Crossed Sweet Water seven times and passed the Wind Mountains where it blew a perfect hurricane all of the time.
19th. Can see the Rocky Mountains, a distance of some 60 miles. The tops were covered with snow and from here they looked like fleecy clouds. Camped near two snow banks in a beautiful valley.
22nd. [Sunday] Pased between the Twin Mounds and over the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains. We could hardly tell when we were on the summit, the ascent had been so gradual, although we were nearly 8,000 ft. above the level of the sea, but a little to our right are ranges that are covered with snow and nights and mornings we almost suffered with cold. Camped at the Pacific Springs.
25th. After laying by a day on Big Sandy, started on to the desert. At about two o’clock p.m. found it a barren sandy plain. No vegetation except stunted sage. Drove all night. Towards morning found it more hilly until we came down to Green River, which was high and rapid. Paid $10.00 per team for passage.
Then we found several white families living in wigwams. They were Mormons and soon going to Salt Lake. Also, some white men having Squaws for wives. Snake Indians, the most of their tribe with Mourner their Chief, had removed to Bear River a few days previous.
July 1st. [Tuesday] Crossed Bear River through an Indian village and were guided by them across the water. Passed some traders, paid them toll for crossing a bridge over a slough and Thomas Fork. Camped on the Platte. Last night we were awakened by serenades. Five horsemen circled around the carriage, singing Araby’s Daughter. It was a beautiful night. We were surrounded by bluffs in a little valley and on being awakened by their song, seeing the panting steeds and looking around upon the wild country it seemd as though we were transplanted into Arabia. They were beautiful singers from Oregon. Said they were exiles from home. Mr. Williams arose. They sing Sweet Home and several others. Invited us to stay and celebrate the 4th. Said they would make us a barbecue, but we were anxious to get on and the affliction that we had just suffered unfitted us for such a scene. Jo Williams and company remained.
5th Came to the Soda Springs about noon. The water oozed from between the rocks, the surface of which was red as blood. The water was warm. A little farther on we came to the Cold Spring, which was in the bank of Bear River. There were two close together, one in a rock. The water boiled up as it would have done in a cauldron kettle and was very cold. When sweetened it tasted like small beer. I was fond of it. Took a canteen and started on but the gas escaped soon and was not good. There were two white families at this place. A mile farther we came to the Steamboat Spring where the water rises about 2 ft. foaming from the middle of the rock. The water was soda and warm. The rock was also warm for several ft. around the basin. The noise resembled the puffing of a steamboat. Plenty of Snake Indians begging for bread or skirts or any kind of clothing. We could get a pair of moccasins for a bit of bread. At night we camped beyond a pool of soda water which is said not to be good at this place. There were two traders living with squaw wives. I took Helen and called upon them. They were going to Ft. Hall with a band of ponies to sell.
6th [Sunday] Lockhart and Rexford,18 the Baptist preacher remained in Camp to recruit their cattle. The rest of us moved on to a creek. Plenty of willows for fuel and fish. We bought some salmon trout of an Indian for a couple of pancakes.
8th. Traveld twenty miles, most of the way sandy. Camped on a branch of Snake. Two Indians came to camp. Mr. W bade them stay all night as they looked rather suspicious. About midnight one of them arose cautiously and crept in the direction of one of our horses. On seeing the guard was watching him he laid down again. This time he tried again but with no better success.
9th. Arrived at Ft. Hall, a desolate place and filled with thieves. We saw one man (emigrant) that had lost nine horses. He offered $100 reward. The Indians brought four back. He then offered as much more. The Indians then started again. In all probability they were the ones that took them. The white men (traders) are worse than the Indians. We heard of a great many emigrants who had lost horses and one company who had lost twenty-four head of cattle near this place.
10th. Heard that Lockhard and Rexford wanted us to wait for them. Accordingly laid by near a pond where was excellent grass. At night they came up, minus two horses. One they recovered belonging to a hand. The other belonged to Mr. R. which he did not recover, making the second that he had lost. The first was taken from him while in Canesville.
11th. On starting found that two head of stock were staggering from the effects of alkali which they had eaten with grass. The ground in some places was white with it under the grass. Mr. W. fed one fat pork and lard and left it with a couple of men. The other cow soon fell. He gave them alcohol and left it. At night the ox was driven in but the cow was dead. The last one that gave milk.
14th. [Monday] Drove tweny-two M. Camped on Spring Run. An Indian half breed19 camped within a few rods of [us] with several horses, going to Oregon. On one side of us was quite a patch of rushes, six ft. high. At night there seemed to be considerable fuss in the rushes. A duck was scared up, the mules were frightened and ran the length of their lariat. From the rushes our guard kept up a vigilant watch. In the morning one of Indian Dick’s horses was gone. His squaw and papoose started on with us, but he went in pursuit of his horse.
16th. Dick, the Indian came up. He had recovered his horse. Said he traced his horse behind the bluffs where he saw his with three more American horses and three Indians. One of the Snakes shot an arrow at him which he dodged. He then shot another which he also dodged. It was then Dick’s turn, who fired his rifle loaded with three balls. One of the Indians dropped. The others ran. He seized his horse and another one and started back, but an Indian shot the other horse. He belongs to the Nez Perces and hates the Snakes as bad as a white man does.
17th. Last night at twilight we had quite a fright. Dick camped by us again. Williams was at his fire when he discovered four Indians creeping along the brow of the hill. Dick caught his rifle and ran crouching about two hundred yards and fired. One of the Indians hallowed in a manner that I never shall forget and they all ran. Our folks ran back to camp for weapons. Those that had no rifles armed themselves with axes, clubs or anything that they could get hold of. We did not know but there was a body of them at hand thought best to be prepared for the worst. We were unfortunately camped near a thick body of willows on the other side of which was a small creek whose banks were rather steep. Mr. W. told myself and children to get into a wagon and lay down in the bed. I was preparing to do so when Mrs. Rexford sent for me to come and stay with her. We did so and sat watching the willows for a long time. Several times we thought we heard splashing and saw an Indian peeping out of the willows, but alas! sadly to the disappointment of some who wished to have a round with them, we were not disturbed again.
18th. Traveled about fifteen M. over a sandy bottom and camped on Snake. Descent to water 100 ft. On the opposite bank was a boiling spring. Powell’s20 company camped at the same place. They had a horse stolen last night. Fired at an Indian without effect.
[July] 28. Came to the Hot Springs. There was a little stream or drain running across the road about one-half mile from the spring. It was such a beautiful water that several of our comany alighted to drink but on a near approach they were satisfied with jerking their hands away. Some complained of burning their lips and those that were at first deceived tried in their turn to deceive others. Camped near. Visited the springs. There we found the water hot enough for cooking. The ground a few feet from the spring was covered with saleratus and those of the company who were short of the same replenished their storage.
31. Camped on the Snake, Indians came with salmon to sell. I let them have Helen’s apron with a needle and thread and bought salmon enough for several meals. I wish you could eat with us. Certainly never tasted any fowl or fish half so delicious.
Aug. 1st. [Friday] Last night J. Williams came up and camped on one side. On the other a very large Hoosier company. The night before the Hoosier company camped on Rock River (the banks of which are very steep and high.) Some five or six Indians came into camp in the morning to sell salmon. While they were trading one of the Indians jumped on to a valuable horse and made toward the bluffs. The Indian then showed fight and some twenty or more came up the river bank and dared them to fight. Williams had a man from Ill. that had [been] shot the week before in the same place where we came so near to fight. This young man was on the last guard standing before the fire. An Indian shot him through the body and he fell and rose three times. Cried “O God! I am shot.” Think of leaving him at Ft. Boise.
2. Reached Fort Boise. Quite a pretty place situated on the other side of the Snake. Did not visit it.
5. W’s company came up. That young man considered to be dying. He had hopes of getting well, poor fellow! I did not go to see him.
6. Camped on Burnt River. W’s company came up. The young man is dead and burried. He had one brother with him.
7. Left a cow that gave out. Traveled about twenty-five miles. Country improving.
8. Came to Powder River. The sand and mud were full of shining particles which some took to be gold. There were some so eager to wash gold that they could not eat. It is called the Grand Rond. It resembled an enchanted valley. As we wound around the hill before descending into it found plenty of Cayuse Indians.
10. Moved at the foot of Blue Mountains. Paid an Indian three shirts for passing over a few miles of new road and avoiding a hill. Plenty of pine timber. Camped at the first creek. No food. A gentleman from Puget Sound, Oregon stayed with us. Going to meet his wife from whom he had been absent about three years. An Indian, also to whom I gave supper. He ate a plate of beans and one of bread, an apple dumpling, meat & c & c.
11. Powell’s daughter21 was brought into camp dead. We passed them at noon and inquired for her. They thought she was a little better. She left a husband and two children, the youngest a few weeks old. She was confined on the road. Powell is a Baptist preacher.22 In his company are twelve wagons and all connected save two. Bought potatoes and peas of Cayuse Indians (squaws.) This tribe dresses like white people.
13. Parted into three companies on account of grass being scarce. Are out of danger from Indians now. Two Indians moved with us. One of them showed how he had killed a Snake Indian. His arrow was bloody. Told where he shot him and how he tore off the scalp. I could not help but shudder. We are alone.
14. Camped on the Umatilla. Found traders. One old gentleman married to a young squaw. She called at the carriage. I took Helen and visited her wigwam. Also several others. We found a Mr. Johnson23 from Iowa, Presbyterian preacher. He had been staying by for a few days in order to recruit his cattle and in hopes to hear from his cattle that went of in a stampede with Kinny’s.24 He has a wife and several children Two young women grown appear well.
[August] 17. [Sunday] Camped on John Day River.
[August] 25. [Monday] Started on to the Cascade Mountains. Bad road. Camped on a muddy creek. No feed but plenty of browse, maple and alder.
26. Left an ox. Commenced raining. Cold—very cold. We are near Mt. Hood whose top is covered with snow and above the clouds. Two other lofty peaks, one on each side of Mt. Hood, are equally as white and apparently as tall. Towards night found a patch of bunch grass. Turned out but the cattle would not eat it. Yoke up again and started on. Arrived within a mile of the prairie. Several bad hills to descend. I took H. and walked, got mired. W. had gone ahead to find a camp. Word soon came from him to come back to the carriage. One of the wheels needed repairing. Could get no further. Unhitched the mule and oxen and left the wagons on the other side of the slough. Drove them to the prairie. It was raining and I could not see to return to the wagons, so kept on to where there were several companies camped. I was cold and wet. Helen was not well. I drew near the fire and seated myself on the root of a tree. I looked around and discovered two families that had traveled with us a few days. Their names were Allen25 and Sanders.26 Mrs. Sanders was the old man’s daughter. They shook hands with me and sat down to their supper, never inviting me. H. was crying for bread but I tried to quiet her. Soon a lady from another wagon came to me, gave me a seat before the fire and went to get me some supper. Mr. W came up at that time and thinking that I was going to fare hard, asked Mrs. Woodard27 to give me some supper. Said he would pay them. They gave me a cup of tea and some bread and c. but my heart was full and I could not eat. The husband of this lady, a fine looking man came up and introduced himself as Mr. Chandler.28 We had often heard of them en route. He is a Baptist preacher, formerly president of some college in Indiana and going to Oregon City to found some college or school. They are fine people. Mrs. Allen let us have a tent, cloth and pillow to make our bed in the rain, but Mrs. Chandler went to work and made us as comfortable as she could under a tree. It rained all night and W. got up before day and made a fire close by the bed. Mrs. C. gave us some breakfast. The next day we were able to return their kindness in some measure. Their horses gave out and could not pull their carriage. He helped them up several hills, took Mrs. C and 2 children into our wagon. They are Vermontans. Allens are from the reserve.
[August] 27. [Wednesday] I cannot describe these mountains. They have been a scene of suffering. The snows set in next month and falls to the depth of 50 ft. The road is strewn with bones of cattle, horses, wagon yokes and in short a little of everything. Descended one hill where we had to tie trees behind our wagons. Crossed Laurel Hill, the worst hill of all. I never could give you a description of it, if I should write all night so will close my narrative soon.
Sept. 1. [Monday] Camped within a mile of a house. Bought some potatoes at $1.00 per bushel. Had several calls from white men.
Sept. 2. Came in sight of a house. H. clapped her hands, laughed and called me to see. It was a long log house with a stick chimney at one end and soon we saw another house painted white. She then changed her mind. Called that a house and the log house a steam boat. “Ma Ma we will go in and live in that house, and see there are chickens and pigs.”
Sept. 3. Arrived at Milwaukie. Went into a house to live again. The first one that I had been in since we crossed the Missouri. H. nearly nearly wild with joy. Did not want to camp out again.
Sept. 27. [Saturday] You will see from the date that I have been a good while writing. I cannot tell you much about the country as I have seen naught, but this place is situated on the Willamette. Steamboats and vessels from the salt water come here but cannot go to Oregon City at all times. We are eight miles below the city and six from Portland and has the best harbor in the world. It is 18 months old, has three taverns and three stores. Provisions are high. Butter from .50¢ to 1.00, chickens $1.00, wheat $1.00 per bushel, beef .18¢ per pound. Labor is high though not as high as formerly. From $2.00 to $10.00. A girl can get $1.00 per day. Most of the house girls, however, are men and boys. Girls are foolish that they do not come to Oregon Territory to marry. There is no end of bachelor establishments. Several in this place who board themselves and others hire a cook. Tell Mrs. Marian that I have a rich merchant picked out for her. Jane Wilson too.
The soil is very productive. They raise three crops from once sowing cabbage, three years from one stump. I saw some stumps the other day that had five heads on one stalk. Our stores have not come yet. Mr. Smith is expected daily. It is a great place to make money. Everything will count. I could have taken a school this winter from $5.00 to $8.00 a quarter, but would not.
Sold one set of harness for $50.00 that had been used considerable. One wagon for $150.
Ordinarily it would be against our policy to publish reminiscences written long after the fact of any one of the overland journeys. However, such a reminiscence told by Esther M. Lockhart gives her version of exactly the same journey described by her friend, Lucia Loraine Williams, and in such a way as to add depth and understanding to the event. She tells page by page the same journey and person by person of individuals described in the Williams story. Due to these special circumstances, this time we are publishing a reminiscence recorded long after the fact. That is what the story, Destination West!, is all about.
Late in life, Esther Lockhart told her daughter, Agnes Ruth Lockhart Sengstacken, of the journey. Agnes’ written version of the events described was published in 1942 by Binfords & Mort Publishers of Portland. Today it would be called an “oral history.” The Lockhart story parallels much of what Mrs. Williams described in her letter. Many of the same persons are named, and another spotlight is thrown on them and on the events of the journey.
We have selected, with the permission of the publisher, certain passages of Esther Lockhart’s reminiscences that relate to the 1851 crossing. Besides giving insight into certain practices and episodes not touched on by Lucia Williams, Esther Lockhart comments with added depth on events told of in the letter, especially the accidental death of little 10-year-old John Williams.
The selections below are taken from pages 35 to 67, inclusive.
It was Christmas Day, 1851, in Ohio. My little house was full to overflowing with relatives who had come from near and far to share the holiday festivities with us. Nobody knew when we would all be together again on another Christmas day, for Freeman and I, with our year-old daughter, were going far away. It was sometimes difficult for me to realize that we were about to make such a momentous move. But it was actually true. We had decided to go west, to cross the plains to Oregon Territory. It had all come about rather suddenly. Some of our neighbors who had gone to California following the gold rush of ’49, had now returned for their families…
From the first my husband was eager to go. At that time he was twenty-seven years old, with an adventurous, somewhat rebellious spirit that often chafed under the restrictions placed upon the younger men by the stern, staid, old-fashioned settlers of his neighborhood and time. As my brother Isaac had said before he left New York state for Ohio, Freeman declared that there were fine opportunities for strong, willing young men in that great western country. He said he was weary of slaving through the hot summer to save money that must be spent during the long, cold winter that followed. Besides, this would take him away from farming, which he despised…
Finally, after many vexatious delays, our arrangements were completed and we left our home on March 18th, 1851, bound for a destination more than two thousand miles away. “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread!” I had many a heartache for the dear home and friends we were leaving. Although we had not forgotten our New York days, I had grown to love my adopted state, and to me it was and ever will remain “Dear old Ohio.”
My baby daughter was but fifteen months old, and I did not know how she would stand the long, hard journey. My unmarried sister, Laura, had chosen to cast her lot with ours. So I was not entirely alone. At Council Bluffs we were to join a large emigrant company, bound for Oregon Territory…
When we were within a mile or so of Council Bluffs, we noticed a man walking briskly toward us. As we reached him, he halted, addressing us by name and saying that we were expected. He then climbed into our wagon and introduced himself as Hiram Smith, our captain.
He gave us all the news concerning his company, told of his arrangements for the trip and his desire to be off soon. He made my heart glad by telling me that his niece, Harriet Buckingham, my old friend and schoolmate at Miss Flanders’ Academy, was to make the long journey with us. Her spirit longed for adventure, too, it appeared. This was to be Mr. Smith’s third trip across the plains. Years later Miss Buckingham became Mrs. Samuel A. Clarke, of Salem, Oregon. Mr. Clarke was famous as a writer and historian. We found Council Bluffs a tented city, literally, and not a very large one at that. Not a house of any description was to be seen. About a hundred tents and nearly as many covered wagons gave the place a picturesque, if primitive, appearance. Here we remained for a week, waiting for a few belated fellow-travelers, adding to our supplies and trying to get everything in perfect condition before starting into the wilderness. While we waited at Council Bluffs for our captain to conclude his arrangements, I spent some enjoyable time observing the different characters and personalities that came under my immediate notice. The entire scene might have been well described as kaleidoscopic. It was all new and strange, and it thrilled me with its novelty and picturesqueness. A certain glamor of romance hung about this party of Argonauts, going forth valiantly into untried and unkown lands so far away.
They knew not, neither did they seem to care, what adventures awaited them there, but they looked forward with eager anticipation to whatever might befall. It seemed as though all sorts and conditions of people had gathered in that little crude border settlement, all animated by the same purpose, “Destination, West.” It was a motley assemblage, indeed. I never tired of watching it, studying it, wondering about it. It fascinated me. Despite the diversity in tastes, temperaments, education and character, there was no friction among the crowd. Everybody was good-natured, though some of the women I met were sad and lonely, grieving for the home and friends they had left and fearful of the uncertain future that lay before them.
As a rule, however, all were satisfied and eager to get started westward. Some, like ourselves, were going because of the opportunities offered them for acquiring wealth and honors. Others, who had suffered from ill health for years, and to whom life had become a burden, expected to regain health, if not on the journey itself, surely after reaching the far west, with its reputed mild and healthful climate. Still others had wearied of the hot, disagreeable summers and the frigid winters and longed for more congenial climes where existence might be a little more comfortable with less exertion. Some were actuated merely by the spirit of adventure. Life was too prosy and tame in their old environments. They wanted more action, more diversity, more thrilling experiences with man and beast.
I especially enjoyed the evenings, for it was then that the actual spirit of the company seemed manifested. Campfires burned cheerily in the darkness, groups of congenial people sat aroung the blaze, the men “swapping yarns,” the women usually quiet and serious, sometimes knitting industriously in the half light, the children hiding and playing in the gloom before their early bedtime. The sound of many “fiddles,” banjos, flutes and jewsharps made music on the air. Occasionally the gay laughter of some happy young people would ring out between the pauses in the music and the story-telling and remind us that youth was ever carefree and light-hearted. The sun beat down fiercely at Council Bluffs almost every day while we were there, though we had frequent heavy showers of rain.
Our “slatted sunbonnets” were comfort and a protection as well. Most persons today probably do not know what a “slatted” sunbonnet is, for they are among the things of the past now. For the long, hot, dusty trip across the plains, with its variable weather, the women were advised to wear sunbonnets. Many of them wore sunbonnets at home, especially in the rural neighborhoods. The sunbonnet kept the head from direct exposure to the heat and dust, protected the face and neck from tan, sunburn and freckles. They were a boon to women with delicate skin, like my own. These head coverings were by no means beautiful in those days. They were usually made of gingham or seersucker or other serviceable materials in some inconspicuous shade of brown or gray, though many were made of black. Rarely did we see any bright colors, even on rosy-cheeked young girls. Flaming colors would not have been considered modest then. These sunbonnets came well over the face, the entire front portion being made of a double thickness of cloth which was stitched tightly in strips an inch or less in width and as long as the front part of the bonnet itself. This was ordinarily about eight or ten inches. In these small stitched compartments, always of uniform width, thin strips of light wood were inserted. This made the entire front very pliable, so that it might be folded up between every strip. Naturally, these strips or “slats,” were removed when the bonnet was laundered, which was not very often. A cape of the material used for the bonnet extended around the lower portion, thus protecting the neck and the upper part of the back. These old-fashioned sunbonnets may not have been beautiful, but they were a godsend to women on that long journey…
We now traveled for hundreds of miles close beside the North Platte River, over wide, treeless and grassy plains where our cattle kept in fine condition. In many respects the North Platte River is an interesting stream. It waters, or drains, a large territory, but it is shallow and full of dangerous quicksands. In many places it is nearly a mile wide, and only a few inches deep, so shallow that it will not even float a canoe. It looked very beautiful when we first saw it, where it joins the broad Missouri, with here and there a small green island and the great plains stretching away on either side as far as the eye could reach.
As we approached nearer its source it seemed as though we might venture to walk upon it, so thickly was its surface incrusted with sand. But woe to the unfortunate creature that was tempted to set foot upon it! The treacherous quicksands would quickly clutch him in their powerful grasp, and without immediate and very material assistance, he could not hope to escape that deadly foe.
One night, while we were still following the devious course of the North Platte, we camped on a grassy rise of ground with the silvery river flowing serenely along just below us. We slept soundly until nearly morning. Then we were suddenly awakened by a furious storm of wind and rain. Looking out, we discovered to our alarm, that we were on an island, with madly-rushing waters swirling all around us. Immediately, all was confusion in the camp. Women and children were screaming, dogs barking and whining, horses whinneying in fright, cattle bellowing and men shouting orders. It was evident that we were experiencing one of the tornadoes for which that region has since become famous.
Everything that was not securely fastened down blew into the water. All the tents were thrown to the ground. Our blankets, pillows, mattresses, tubs, buckets and tin pans floated away and were rescued with difficulty. Several serious accidents were narrowly averted. The carriage in which Mrs. Williams and her three children rode was overturned and its occupants slightly injured. My sister, my baby and I were in our wagon. Suddenly it was caught by a fierce blast and whirled rapidly down the incline. Just as it was about to plunge into the eddying waters, it was caught and held by several strong men. Later, an old lady who was badly frightened came over to our wagon and asked permission to ride with us for awile. She said, “It looks like you gals never git scairt. You jest set thar with your sewin’ or your knittin’ just as though nothin’ had happened.” Of course we could not refuse her simple request to ride with us for the remainder of the day. Gradually, the high waters receded. The wind calmed down and the sun shone out warm and bright and we partially dried our wet clothing and bedding. Horsemen rode through the water to ascertain its depth. Although it reached the hubs of our wagon wheels, we resumed our journey about two o’clock that afternoon. We could not afford to linger longer than was absolutely necessary…
In the company I recall five families that associated together intimately and thoroughly enjoyed each others’ companionship. These families were Judge Olney’s Mrs. Olney had been a friend of my old Norwalk principal, Miss Flanders—Hiram Smith’s, E. N. Cooke’s, Elijah Williams’s and our own. Though for many, many years our paths have been widely sundered, as long as memory lasts, I shall look back with keen pleasure to the months we spent together in that wild and practically unknown wilderness. And it was truly a wilderness. We were linked together not only in ties of comradeship and congeniality, but also by the common danger that surrounded us all.
In our company was a certain Methodist minister, a Mr. Allen, brother of the young clergyman who had been obliged to leave us at Weston because of health. All along there had been considerable discussion, for and against, about traveling on Sundays. No decision regarding this matter had yet been reached. Originally, the general desire and intention had been to travel seven days a week, if possible, and thus shorten the time consumed in making the long journey. From the first, Mr. Allen had strenuously objected to the Sunday travel. Finally, the question of resting on the Sabbath was submitted to the entire company. By a large majority vote, it was decided to make no stops except those necessary for repairs, accidents or other unforseen circumstances. As a result of this decision, Mr. Allen, with his wife and children and several other families of the same opinion as himself, withdrew from our company and we saw them no more during the journey. However, it is interesting to know that Allen’s party, though resting every Sunday, reached Oregon Territory two weeks earlier than we did, with all their cattle in fine condition, while ours were either starving or dead…
We crossed successively the Little and Big Sandy Rivers, and when we were about twelve hundred miles from Council Bluffs, the families of Hiram Smith and E. N. Cooke left us for Salt Lake City. Mr. Smith took with him four big wagon loads of merchandise to sell to the Mormons. He had already shipped forty thousand dollars’ worth of goods around the Horn, bound for the same destination. It would be well-nigh impossible for me to express how deeply we regretted losing these two families and how we missed them continually. Separation from them was really a personal grief, as we had become greatly attached during the long months of our association. Much later, these two families came on to Oregon, where they lived for years, being considered among the most highly respected people in the state. Upon Mr. Smith’s departure from our company, Elijah Williams was elected captain, and a very excellent leader he made, too.
In respect to evil happenings, our company was singularly fortunate. Only one tragedy threw its dark shadows over us during the whole trip and that was caused by an accident in our own ranks. Elijah Williams, our newly-elected captain, had with him his wife, three young sons and a little daughter. He had brought his carriage along for the family, and ordinarily they all rode in this vehicle. On this particular day, however, Johnny, a bright lad of ten years, had asked and obtained permission to ride in the baggage wagon with the driver. This was considered quite an adventure by the boys, something not quite as prosy as riding day after day in the more comfortable carriage. Just exactly how the dreadful accident occurred, we never knew definitely. The supposition was that the driver fell asleep, the day being very warm, and that the oxen, finding themselves unguided, took fright and ran away, throwing little Johnny out of the wagon. We were traveling just ahead of Mr. Williams’ wagon that day, and as the team ran wildly past us, the driver, his face white with terror, cried out, “I’m afraid Johnny’s killed!”
The entire train was immediately stopped. We were the first to reach poor little Johnny, and we saw at once that he was beyond earthly aid. The heavy wagon wheels had passed directly over his forehead and face, and death must have been instantaneous. The innocent victim never knew what had happened to him and when Mr. Williams, who was an extraordinarily devoted father saw the lifeless form of his child he was beside himself with grief and anger. He ran for his gun and was about to shoot the unfortunate driver when four men overpowered him and took his weapon away. Later, when reason and calm judgment returned to the distraught father, he was thankful he had been restrained from committing a heinous crime.
The driver was broken-hearted over the tragedy. He did not recover from the effects of this deplorable accident during the remainder of the journey. A rude casket was improvised from a large trunk belonging to Mrs. Williams, and the body of the dear little lad who had been a merry companion a few hours before, and loved by everybody, was tenderly buried near the scene of the accident. After some hymns had been sung and a few prayers said, a wooden marker was placed at the head of the grave. The parents wished this to be done, as they felt that we were now in a neighborhood where the Indians would not disturb such places. On the headstone was written the little lad’s name, his age and the brief circumstances attending his death. Then, with many regretful tears for the promising young life so suddenly and cruelly cut short, we drove sadly away, leaving him alone in the wilderness, in his last long sleep. For many days we could not forget this agonizing experience. It hung over us like a black shadow. It took all the joy out of our lives, it had been so sudden, so unnecessary, so full of all that was sad and tragic.