Elizabeth Wood
INTRODUCTION
Elizabeth Wood is a person to whom we draw tantalizingly close without really reaching her. She traveled west as a single woman at age 23,1 a most unusual occurrence.
So far all we know of her early life comes from the 1850 Federal Census of Illinois (Tazewell County):
Elias Wood 27 m farmer b. Ohio
Emily 24 f ”
Nancy 25 f ”
Elizabeth 22 f ”
Now, there are two possible ways to interpret this data: One would be that Ellas and Nancy Wood were husband and wife, and that the other two women were Elias’ sisters living with them. The other would be that the four persons were a brother and three sisters. The second interpretation seems to have more logic to it, but history is often disdainful of logic.
The source of our Elizabeth Wood diary is the Quarterly of the Oregon Historical Society for March, 1926. It had been submitted by a young scholar named David Duniway, who had been perusing the old files of Illinois newspapers. He had located the diary in the Peoria Weekly Republican of January 30 and February 13, 1852. David Duniway later became the highly respected Archivist of the State of Oregon. The published part of Elizabeth Wood’s “Journal” covers the trip from west of Fort Laramie to somewhere in the country of the Walla Walla Indians in eastern Oregon, June 29 to September 15, 1851. So our record is truncated at the beginning and at the end.
The first mention of Elizabeth in Oregon is in marriage records in the Marion County Courthouse in Salem:
MORSE—WOOD REV. W. B. MORSE & ELIZABETH WOOD, M 23 JUNE 1853 IN THE CITY OF SALEM; THOMAS H. PEARNE, M.G. [MINISTER OF THE GOSPEL]
William B. Morse was a Methodist clergyman who had been assigned to the Puget Sound Mission of the Methodist Church the previous March, immediately after the formation of the northern part of the vast Oregon Territory into Washington Territory. He was serving the tiny seedling churches at Whidby Island and Port Townsend.
Kate Blaine, wife of a ministerial cohort of the Morses, remembered the following:2
Middle of March, 1854, Rev. Wm. B. Morse came to Seattle during the winter of 1853-4 and during his residence here, continued to supply the work of Whidby Island. Mrs. Morse gave birth to a baby about the middle of March 1854. Rev. Morse also did what he could at Port Townsend and Port Gamble.
A year later in a letter written on March 2, 1855, Kate Blaine reported the addition of a second child to the William Morse family:3
I have suceeded admirably, not only doing all my housework, washing and all, but I have managed to keep my sewing done up, and in addition to all this, I am helping take care of a sick neighbor. Sister Morse, the wife of the minister who formerly lived on Whidby Island, but is now here studying with Mr. Blaine, was confined last week. I was present at the party which consisted of a woman experienced in such matters, and myself. No doctor, I tell you I was thankful for what knowledge I had acquired of such matters by reading and otherwise. She got along very well. I stayed with her the first night; since her husband has taken care of her and the child night and day, with what assistance I can render. I have washed and ironed and baked some for them and wash the baby. I closed school for two or three days on her account, which, together with the time I lost while at Steilacoom, puts me back nearly two weeks in my school.
According to the conference minutes of the Methodist Church, the Morses were stationed at “Whitbys Island and the Skagit Mission” in 1855.4 They were stationed at Seattle from 1856 through 1858.5
We learn that they had moved to California by 1860, when they were stationed at Petaluma according to the Methodist paper, The Pacific Christian Advocate, in its issue of October 6, 1860.6
Over many years later the Morses served Methodist churches in northern California. There is a fascinating letter in the Oregon State Archives in Salem dated many years later regarding their experience:
Cloverdale, Cal. May 8th 1901
Recorder of Marion County Oregon Salem, Oregon
Dear Sir:—At the request of Rev. W. B. Morse I write you in regard to the recording of the enclosed marriage certificate. The original certificate was lost and Rev. Morse tells me that the record of the marriage was destroyed by fire many years ago. Within the past year he has secured a new certificate from the minister who performed the marriage ceremony which he wishes to put on record. Rev. Morse [is] an old war veteran, and he wants the document recorded believing it will facilitate matters in getting a pension for his widow when he is gone. Please put it on record and then return to me with your bill of cost and I will immmediately forward you the money.
Very truly yours
I. B. Lewis Notary public in and for the Co of Sonoma, State of California
Recorded Aug. 16, 1911 U. S. Boyer, County Clerk.7
The final word on Elizabeth Morse is to be found in the San Diego Union newspaper for July 14, 1913, under the headline: DEATHS
MORSE—In this city July 12, 1913, Elizabeth Morse, grandmother of Miss J. M. McCabbe of this city; a native of Illinois, aged 85 years.
The remains were to be embalmed and “forwarded to Sacramento for funeral services and interment.”8
THE JOURNAL OF ELIZABETH WOOD
We have received for publication, a long correspondence, or rather a journal, of a trip to Oregon, kept by Miss Elizabeth Wood, of Tazewell County, who went out with the emigration last season. It is very lengthy, though perhaps one of the most faithful graphic accounts of the adventures “by flood and field” to that far-off country of any that has been sent us for publication. Accounts of “Trips to Oregon” have been so often published that they are now getting to be an old story and do not possess the interest which they did but a short time since when emigration first commenced to that region; and the following is inserted more for the reason that it is the communication of a young lady, while most of the contributors of this nature have been furnished by the other sex. We omit all that portion of it relating to the journey from the States to Fort Laramie, where we commence the journal and coninue it over the mountains (Peoria, Illinois, Weekly Republican, January 30, 1852.).
June 29.—This morning we start with a company of 25 wagons, and commence the ascent of the Rocky Mountains; we go up some very high hills, called the Black Hills, which are very handsome to look at, as they have shelves of rock around them, between which are cedar bushes growing, which adding to the beauty of their appearance and looking as if they were fashioned by the hand of art. The water is so bad here, and the milk from our cows so strongly impregnated with alkali, that I have substituted coffee as a beverage. The ground is white with alkali, and the cows get it by feeding in the grass. This substance made some of our company sick before they knew what was the matter.
July 4.—We have been traveling among the hills and the monotony has been relieved by the ever varying beauty of the scenery and the pleasantness of the weather. Today we traveled till noon, and then stopped to get a Fourth of July dinner and to celebrate our nation’s birthday. While making the preparations, and reflecting at the same time of what the people of Morton and Peoria were doing, and contrasting my situation with what it was this day last year, a storm arose, blew over all the tents but two, capsized our stove with its delicious viands, set one wagon on fire, and for a while produced not a little confusion in the camp. No serious injury, however, was done. After the storm was over, we put up the stove, straightened up the tent and got as nice a dinner as we had upon the “Glorious Fourth” in Morton last year. We then took care of our game, consisting of 5 black-tailed deer, 1 antelope and 3 buffalo. Last of all we went to hear an oration delivered by Mr. S. Wardon.9 For your amusement I will give a description of my dress for the occasion: A red calico frock, made for the purpose in the wagons; a pair of mockasins, made of black buffalo hide, ornamented with silk instead of beads, as I had none of the latter and a hat braided, of bull-rushes and trimmed with white, red and pink ribbon and white paper. I think I came pretty near looking like a squaw.
July 5.—We found a squaw, which we suppose had been up a tree,* perhaps alive, as it was lying at the foot of one, and had been, probably, placed there several months previously. She had $5. worth of beads about her.
July 6.—Every week we find different soils, different weeds and different grass. Here the grass is parched up with the sun, and looks as if nothing could live upon it; but it almost as good for the cattle as oats. We find wild pepper, camomile, and a great many things I didn’t expect to see. We are now a hundred miles from the fort [Laramie], and we find three cabins with white folks living in them. It seems strange to meet any person living here, away from civilization, among the Indians, wild beasts, and the Sand Hills, where nothing can grow for man’s sustenance.
July 7.—We have got where the horny toads are, and they are very poisonous.10 They resemble the toad, except that they have a tail as long as one’s finger and horns upon each side as thick as saw teeth.
July 25.—Since last date we camped at the ford where emigrants cross from the south to the north side of the Platte. On the south side there are a great many graves, as if whole families had been swept off at once, and the wreck of every description of property taken out by the emigrants. We stopped near the Red Buttes, where the hills are of a red color, nearly square, and have the appearance of houses with flat roofs. We have left the Platte, which we followed for 500 miles; traveled over the Sand Hills, where the wind blew the pebbles against my face almost hard enough to fetch the blood; camped by a spring almost cold enough to freeze your face and hands if you washed in it; passed over the sage plains; came to the Sweet Water River, and it did look sweet, too, after traversing a country of nothing but sage, without a spire of grass or a drop of water. We also passed Independence Rock and the Devil’s Gate, which is high enough to make one’s head swim, and the posts reach an altitude of some 4 or 500 feet. We found dead oxen, of which our company lost several, and any amount of wagon wheels, strewed all along the road. One of the strangest sights to me, in the month of July, was the snowy mountains, covered with their everlasting snows. On Saturday, July 19, we reached the top of the mountains, and found the roads as level as the streets of Peoria. Passed the Pacific Springs, and commenced the descent, which was here so gradual as barely to be perceptible. Came to bad roads after a while and found worse hills going down the Rocky Mountains than when ascending. We had hills to climb so steep we could hardly get up, and so sidelong that we have to tie a rope to the underside of the wagon, let it extend over the top, and then walk on the hill above and hold on to the rope. When we gain this summit, we then have to go down one a great deal steeper; everything that is not tied in the wagon falls out, and it would be amusing for a disinterested person to stand at the top with a spy glass and witness the descent of a train down one of these terrible looking hills. You would see the women and children in advance seeking the best way, some of them slipping down, or holding on to rocks, now taking an “otter slide,” and then a run till some natural obstacle presents itself to stop their accelerated progress, and those who get down safely, without a hurt or a bruise, are fortunate indeed. Looking back to the train, you would see some of the men holding on to the wagons, others slipping under the oxen’s feet, some throwing articles out of the way that had fallen out, and all have enough to do to keep them busily occupied. Often the teams get going so fast down hill it is difficult to stop them to double lock, and when, at a still steeper place, there is no stopping them at all, the driver jumps on the near wheel ox and the whole concern goes down with a perfect rush until a more level place is reached. So you see we have some “hair breadth” escapes, and a jolly time of it if we could only think so.
July 29.—The road goes between high hills and rocks, and we have to drive over rocks so large it seems as if the wagons would break, and they would if they were not good ones. If we were the first that ever went along here, I should think we had come to the end of the road, for we can see but a short distance before us, and it seems as if the high mountains ahead had to be climbed but could not.
August 2.—Cold weather; the leaves on the trees are killed with frost.
(To be continued)
[From the issue of February 13, 1852.]
JOURNAL OF A TRIP TO OREGON
The long financial report which we published in our last crowded out the continuation of Miss Wood’s “Journal of a Trip to Oregon,” commenced the week before. We continue its publication this week, and will give the conclusion in our next.
Oregon, August 3.—Snakes and grasshoppers rule here; of the former I mean the Snake Indians instead of the genuine serpent—This morning, by way of variety, we were treated with an Oregon blow, the wind coming in such furious blasts that we had to hold the plates fast to the tables, and make our repast the best way we could. Though it is now August, “dog days” with you, yet here it is quite cold and “winter is coming.” The weeds are as dry and brown as they are in Illinois quite late in the fall.—One of our company is doubling his money on his goods. Cloth that can be bought for 16 cts. in Peoria he sells for 75 cts. per yard; coffee 50 cts. per lb., and tea that cost him five bits a pound he readily sold for $2. As money-making is the “order of the day,” I engaged in some profitable speculations in a small way, and realized quite a handsome profit comparatively to the cost of the articles sold. For instance, I disposed of a worn and faded dress to the Indians for $3.50, which was purchased when new, in Peoria, at 10 cts per yard—other things in the same proportions.—Here the roads were so bad, as we went over the steep hills and clambered over the rocks, I could hardly hold myself in the wagon. Sometimes the dust is so great that the drivers cannot see their teams at all though the sun is shining brightly, and it is a great relief to the way-worn traveler to meet with some mountain stream, meandering through a valley, after traveling for miles over these rough and dusty roads, through a country where every blade of grass has been dried up, with the drouth that generally prevails here at this time of year, except in the bottoms along the river banks, where we can yet get feed for our cattle.—One day we only made seven miles through a very deep sand.—On Wednesday, August 6th, we passed Fort Hall; met a company of Indians, moving; they had their ponys packed with their goods until one would suppose nothing else could be got on them; but on the top of their “plunder” the little papooses were tied, to keep them from falling off. Some of the ponys were rode by the squaws, with a papoose lashed to their backs, and in some cases one or two at their sides, or if one, something else to keep up the equilibrium. There were about 20 families of these Indians, seeking for winter quarters.—One morning at the break of day I was awakened by a disturbance among the cattle, which had got frightened at the barking of a dog. They run against the wagons, broke the wheels and tongue of ours, and bawled and pitched around till they finally got loose and run off in an estampede. For a while all was confusion in the camp, and we expected to lose some of the cattle. They kept on running until something in the distance frightened them back again, and they returned as furious as they went, when the men with great difficulty managed to stop them. The captain ordered all the dogs to be killed, and in obedience to his commands, our faithful “Tray” was shot. Some of the company were not disposed to comply with this sanguinary, though I believe necessary, decision of the captain’s, and threatened retaliation in case their dogs should be killed. So, after repairing, we started on our journey with the expectation of having another run-a-way scrape; an expectation which was shortly realized. We had not gone far when the train commenced running. I was on the pony, and he did not seem disposed to lag behind, but made every exertion to come out “first best” in the race; as I had nothing but a man’s saddle I jumped off, after getting in advance of the train, and you may imagine my position with the whole train coming towards me, and the clouds of dust so thick that I could not see them. The last I did see of them they were running three or four teams abreast and making as much confusion as only such “critters” can when they get frightened. Cattle here are as different from what they are in the states as day is from night; and I think a little as Mrs. W—says, that they are paying up for the abuse they received at the start. They have been maltreated, cursed and hallooed at all the way, but now the men durst not speak loud to them they are so easily frightened.—We are waiting for our cattle to be found; hunted till the afternoon, and have lost our best yoke. The two Wilson families11 lost so many they had to join teams and go on with one wagon. While hunting for the cattle one of the company was shot at by an Indian, who missed his mark. This afternoon we traveled four miles to another campground and had another frightful runaway before stopping. The dogs, now, are all killed; but the cattle get frightened at any thing, and sometimes at nothing. We dare not ride in the wagons, for the cattle are perfectly wild—and I believe the people are too, for they don’t know what they are doing.—Saturday the 9th, started and drove all the loose cattle ahead; the men, women and children also go ahead of the teams, or far enough behind, so as not to frighten the cattle. In this wild region we cannot milk our cows any more than so many untamed antelopes. Perhaps they smell the wild animals, or scent the Indians; though the dogs frightened them in the first place. Dogs are of no use on this road, “no how,” and I would advise all who emigrate to Oregon to bring none of these animals with them; ours is not the only company who have had to kill them off. After experiencing so many hardships, you doubtless will think I regret taking this long and tiresome trip, and would rather go back than proceed to the end of my journey. But, no, I have a great desire to see Oregon, and, besides, there are many things we meet with—the beautiful scenery of plain and mountain, and their inhabitants, the wild animals and the Indians, and natural curiosities in abundance to compensate us for the hardships and mishaps we encounter. People who do come must not be worried or frightened at trifles; they must put up with storm and cloud as well as calm and sunshine; wade through rivers, climb steep hills, often go hungry, keep cool and good natured always, and possess courage and ingenuity equal to any emergency, and they will be able to endure unto the end. A lazy person should never think of going to Oregon.—Our cattle, by treating them kindly and speaking to them gently, are beginning to get a little tame, and we can now venture to ride in the wagons.—Here we have very little grass, and have great difficulty in finding enough for our stock; what there is, is dried up, but the cattle eat it.
August 15.—We have found some good grass, and the cattle are into it up to their eyes; it looks like timothy, off at a distance, just ready to mow.—At one place here we have had to drive our cattle down 2000 feet to water; in doing this we were obliged to leave a cow, which had no strength to walk after the fatigue of going down and up this mountain of a hill.—Again, there is no grass, but the soil is of an ashy nature, very mellow and consequently dusty, and produces nothing but sage brush.—On further we came across warm springs (not the boiling springs) oozing out of the top of the ground; a cold spring is near by. On the opposite side of the river from us is a spring flowing out of the wall of a rock, large enough to turn a mill; it is a very beautiful stream, clear as crystal, and runs so rapidly that it looks white as ice as it flows over the rock, and roars like a mill race. We got some salmon of the Indians here.—Monday the 18th we passed the Salmon Falls, at which place Capt. Taylor’s12 company caught up with us; one of his women had got her arm broken going down a steep hill, where the road was only wide enough for a wagon, at the side of which was this woman. I wonder she was not smashed to pieces.—
Tuesday, 19th—This morning we expected a fuss with the Indians; one shot from across the river and killed a cow, and then snapped his gun many times at the men, some one of whom had killed the Indian’s dog. This, in my opinion ought not to have been done. It is not always that the Indians are the aggressors; when they are it is well enough to chastise them, even with severity, but it is certainly a wrong policy, and results in much mischief, very often to unoffending people, to molest these ignorant and revengful savages even by killing a dog.
August 21.—We forded the Snake River, which runs so swift that the drivers (four to a team) had to hold on to the ox yokes to keep from being swept down by the current. The water came into the wagon boxes, and after making the island we raised the boxes on blocks, engaged an Indian pilot, doubled teams, and reached the opposite bank in safety. It is best in fording this river to engage a pilot.—The “Telegraph Company,” as we call them, who passed us in such a hurry on the Platte, have left their goods and wagons scattered over the mountains. We find them every day. Their cattle have given out, and I have seen several head of them at a time which had been left dead at the different camping places on the road. We drove too slow on the Platte, and the “Telegraph” hurried too fast, and while our cattle are comparatively strong and in good condition, and will enable us, if we have time before the setting in of winter, to reach our destination, theirs are so worn out from hard usage that it is doubtful if they get through at all this season. We have met some “packers,” and they inform us that we are too late to cross the Cascade mountains this season.
August 25.—Palmer’s company13 found a dead man, shot through the heart, supposed to be one of the returning packers.
Tuesday, 26th.—A poney was stolen by the Indians last night. We are now camped with three companies, and an encampment of Indians is near us; but we are not afraid of them when they come in sight. It is only when they keep out of sight, and hid in some secret place, near enough to see us, that they are to be feared or will commit mischief, if they can. The Indians we have met with here are more savage, cunning and treacherous than any we have yet seen. At one place they had cut a road through the willows, so that they could come up to camp after night undiscovered. The willows were not cleared quite up to the road, but a short space was left to hide in ambush, so that the enemy could attack us by surprise. They know where we have to camp, and often see us when we are not aware of it. If a company is large enough they are too great cowards to attack it, but watch an opportunity to steal.—Our captain has at last resigned,14 and had sufficient cause for so doing. It is our desire to travel with a captain, and not with a tribe whose insubordination will not allow of one.—Here we find balm of giliad trees, which when dry, make very good fuel. Some of them are large enough for saw logs, and it is very pleasant to see trees again after traveling hundreds of miles over the sage plains. We have forded Boisee River, passed the Fort of that name, and the second time forded Snake River, which we have left never to return, and on Thursday the 4th of September pitched our tents upon the top of a high mountain; but away up above us are mountains still higher. These are the Wind River Mountains. Here we left Dr. Perkins,15 of Indiana. His team gave out, and he waits for another company.—This is a dismal morning, as it has been raining; the hills are very slippery, and before us is a mountain that looks as if it could not be climbed. We are at one of those places where the way cannot be seen twenty steps ahead, but as we proceed openings are found to let us through, and where others have been we can go. It is snowing in the mountains while it is raining in the valleys. Here we got a pheasant for dinner; their size is between the turkey and common fowl, and they resemble the prairie chicken, only their breasts are black. Monday the 8th we descended a very steep hill, which took an hour to get down, into a valley called the Grand Rounds. This valley is one of Nature’s beauty spots, and at the foot of the hill we were met by a great many Indians waiting to see the emigrants. This valley is very fertile, its area is about 10,000 acres, fenced in with very high mountains, covered with fine trees. Its fertile soil produces several kinds of luxuriant grass—blue grass, timothy, clover, red top, and “broom corn” grass, that looks like oats, only the head is not heavy enough. As we ascended the high hills upon leaving this delightful valley, we found that the trees, which looked like bushes before, were of the very largest and tallest growth. Some of them I was told would make 300 rails, and they would, evidently, the best kind of saw logs. A large number of Indians followed us here, for the purpose of trading with the emigrants. They will exchange a good pony for a good cow, or give a squaw for a pony! or a pony for $100. The hills here are all covered with fine timber. Some of them are awful steep, however. We went up one today and it took twenty-two head of cattle to haul up one wagon, and there was not much in the wagon either. Emigrants will therefore see the necessity of kind and careful treatment of their teams at the outset and indeed through the whole of this long journey, to reserve their strength for these difficult places. We came up here with Mr. Noosam,16 who is keeping a journal, with the intention of having it published for the benefit of the future emigration. It is the best guide I have seen, shows the road much better than Palmer’s,17 gives more in detail the particulars, and its statements are to be relied upon.
Sunday, September 14.—This is a beautiful, clear day, and we are traveling over as nice a rolling prairie as I have ever seen and along a clear and beautiful stream of water. There are no sloughs like those in Illinois.
Monday, 15th.—Pleasant weather and good roads; passed a tastefully built frame house, the first we have seen. Mount St. Elias is in the distance, and is covered with snow, so you can imagine somewhat the beauty and grandeur of the scene. We are now among the tribe of Wallawalla Indians, the same who murdered Dr. Whitcomb [Whitman] and family. You have doubtless heard of the circumstances before. While we are getting supper tonight a squaw is near us engaged in picking vermin off from her papoose’s head, and eating them, and while she is engaged in this dainty repast, I will repair to my tent and write to friends at home and far away.
(To be continued)
NOTE. [by David Duniway]—Contrary to the promise to print the conclusion in the next number of the Republican, it did not appear then nor in later issues of the paper.