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 Edwin Crockett
On the Applegate Trail in 1852, the Rogue River War in 1853, the Fraser River and Idaho mines thereafter.
Crossing the Plains with Ox Train
70 Years Ago
Crossing
the plains with an ox train bound for the California gold fields nearly
three-quarters of a century ago must have been a thrilling experience
to those who dared to brave the dangers prevalent in those days when
the country was but sparsely settled, yet thousands of the sturdy young
manhood of the country lived through such experience, and many have
profited, yet to the present generation there is slight appreciation of
the sacrifices then made and which now in this day make the frontier
and border a haven of industrial and commercial activity and a safe and
happy place in which to abide.Late Edwin Crockett in an Interesting Narrative Tells a Human Interest Story of the Days of 1852; First Bound for the California Gold Fields. Edwin Crockett, then a young man living in an Ohio backwoods home, longed to try his fortunes in the great West. In 1852 he crossed the plains with an ox train. He found his way to California and subsequently followed the gold excitement to various camps, even to old Shoshone country in the Pierceregion. His journey across the plains was not devoid of interest, and in later years while residing in Coeur d'Alene he wrote a narrative of his early experiences. Through the kindness of E. C. Pulaski of this city, a relative of Mr. Crockett, the narrative has been loaned to the editor. Recently in this department we published a letter [below] and part of his narrative dealing with Mr. Crockett's experience in the Pierce camp of 1861. We believe Mr. Crockett's narrative to be a valuable addition to the early history of the Northwest, and we will publish such parts from time to time as seem of most interest. This installment will deal with his start across the plains.--Editor. ----
I was
always the rolling stone of the family, and when the Mexican
War broke out I was but 17 years old but was anxious to go.
My father, who had great control of his children, would not let me
volunteer, although he was somewhat afraid I would take "French
leave," as I was quite anxious to try my fortunes as a
soldier.Then came the discovery of gold in California. I at once had a strong desire to go and try my fortune in the gold fields, where fortunes were said to be made in a day, but the want of money prevented my making the trip at that time, and as Father opposed my going he would not furnish the necessary money for the purpose. Early in the spring of 1852 there was a party gotten up in our own neighborhood for the purpose of crossing the plains with teams to the new "Eldorado." Among the number were several of my young friends in our neighborhood. I told my father I was going if I had to drive team for my passage. He then furnished me with $100 which with about $200 of my own I considered enough to defray the expenses of the trip. Mr. Mead's brother, who had a wagon shop in Lowell, a little town near my home, made us a wagon (Steve Mead, John Church and myself formed our company), which we shipped to Keokuk in Iowa, where we were joined by a large company from Republic, Tiffin and the country around, nearly all being from Seneca County, Ohio. After we arrived at Keokuk we bought teams (ox) and fitted up for the long journey before us, covering our wagons, buying provisions, etc., for some time. In reaching this point we went to Cincinnati by rail, our only outlet by rail at that time, thence by steamer to St. Louis, where we wished to go up the Missouri River to Council Bluffs, but were deterred from attempting the trip on account of the steamer that was about to start from that point being an old and unsafe craft. She was blown up in fact on that same trip in trying to stem the swift current of that turbulent stream. That scored escape number one for us. At St. Louis we took the steamer Kate Kearney, a fast but not very large craft. During the trip she raced with another steamer. They were very well matched, sometimes running so closely together that a person might have jumped from one deck to the other. A dense cloud of smoke rolled from their stacks. The crew were negroes and undoubtedly slaves. On stopping at Quincy, Ill., they gave us some darky melodies, very well sung and with great animation. A part of one of the songs was in praise of our boat, of which I can remember but a few words, "The Kate Kearny, She's a beauty, Ho, I a-a-," etc. Then one old darky, who acted the clown to perfection, pulled off his battered tile for change, holding it up, cocking his eye up to the passengers on the upper deck. A number of coins were tossed into it by the passengers, which would immediately slip through a hole in the crown and fall on the deck. He would pretend to be very much astonished. Turning his head on one side, "like a chicken looking into a pitcher," turning the hat over, and pretending to try to shake the coin out of it until most of the passengers were laughing heartily. On arrival at Keokuk our company, probably over 20 in all, went to a hotel. John Schock, a large, powerful man with a snore like the bray of a "jack" only more horrid, slept in an upper (second story) room. One of his men, a German by the name of George Sipp, slept in the same room with him. He was awakened by Schock's terrible roar of a snore. He thought someone was murdering him and set up such a howl that he awakened everyone in the house. I occupied a room below him and heard him yell out in his broken English: "Murther, murther, dere is murther in dis house; dis house is good for money shteal; I shleeps here no more." The frightened occupants of the rooms rushed out with weapons in their hands, and there was great danger of a real tragedy happening until the matter was explained. One man rushing upstairs with a revolver in his hand actually cocked it on another who was running down the same stairs, supposing him to be the murderer. The story was current for some time that a man had been murdered in the hotel on that night. At last, everything being ready, we started on our long journey. We were quite heavily loaded, having enough provisions in our wagons to last for three months. The roads were very bad much of the way through Iowa. We crossed the state from the eastern side to the western border on the Missouri River, striking it near Zanesville, a short distance from Council Bluffs, and I believe not very far from the present site of Omaha. The Missouri River was high and the crossing hard to make in flatboats, the only means of crossing at that time, and there were perhaps from 500 to 1000 people camped on the bank waiting their turn to cross with their teams, wagons, etc. Here for the first time I saw a number of "noble?" red men and women. One of the latter seemed prepared for a delicate feast, having a dog denuded of his hirsute covering (Boston style) strapped across her back. I supposed that he had been roasted, however; the foam was dripping from his mouth. Shortly afterward I saw them busily cutting up a steer that had died, presumably of disease, as the white people would not touch it. This rather disenchanted me in regard to reds, and that feeling was intensified as I got better acquainted with the habits of the wild Indians. I even went so far as to wonder if Alfarata of the Juniata or Pocahontas of the Potomac ever indulged in roast canines or stale steers, but I did not dare to whisper my sacrilegious thoughts aloud, for I believe about 40,000 F.F.V.'s claim descent from the last-named conglomeration of virtue and loveliness, and his fate would be awful who would breathe one word of discouragement against that mother of chivalry in the presence of her noble descendants. We waited some days impatiently for a chance to go over and get some of our stock over, when we discovered that there was a large flatboat lying nearly buried in the sand on the opposite shore. Just previous to this the ferry boat took five yokes of our cattle, my partner C. Lee and myself, besides lots of corn in sacks, etc., and started to cross the river. The wind was so high and the water at flood stage and very swift and rough so that the waves dashed over the sides of the boat, and it began to sink but a few roads from the starting point. It floated downstream a short distance and brought up against the root of an enormous cottonwood tree that was anchored three or four rods out in the stream. The boat instantly turned up edgewise with the deck upstream. Our oxen were yoked and tied to the boat rail, three pairs on the upper and two with their heads down and tails up. We cut loose those on the upper side, but those with their heads down had to help themselves. One pair soon broke loose from the rail, but the other pair remained under for some time. At last we saw just the points of their noses come to surface some rods below, and they remained with nothing but three or four inches of their noses in sight for eight or ten rods. Then their heads appeared and they swam towards the shore in the usual way, but they became entangled in a treetop about a quarter of a mile below us. Seeing their predicament I threw off my boots and outer garments and in spite of the vigorous protest of my partners plunged into the river and went to their rescue. Just below the tree was a big whirlpool caused by the rush of waters around the tree, and I was in the vortex before I noticed it. Several hundred spectators on the bank, when they saw me drawn into the whirl, set up an awful yell. It seemed to me that every man, woman and child of them made the very loudest noise each was capable of making, and all united in one great sound. It was rather demoralizing, but I kept my presence of mind and being a strong swimmer at length got out of the scrape. My partner Meade, who stood on the shore six feet above me and only three or four rods away, said I went out of his sight in the whirlpool, but I swam down and backed the oxen out of the treetop and swam to the shore which was five or six feet perpendicular height, as the river was cutting it away there. Some men got shovels, dug the bank away and got the cattle out. That was my second escape. After that experience a lot of us concluded to go over and dig up the boat which the changing channel had left high and dry on the bank. After getting the sand out of it and away from the sides we found it a better boat than either of the others and perfectly sound. We got a lot of teams, hauled it down to the river and launched it. We then worked it to the side where our cattle were and ferried them all over safely, although the ferryman threatened to fire on us. We made quite a display of rifles which we carried on the boat so they got no further than to threaten us with destruction. We met with but little worthy of mention, although we saw many wonderful things, such as great rock cliffs, canyons, natural monuments, hot springs, passed what seemed to be a small crater of a volcano and at the same time passed over a crack in the solid rock, perhaps not more than three inches wide, but on dropping a small stone into it you could hear it dropping down a long way. (To
be continued.)
Wallace Press-Times, Wallace,
Idaho, May 1, 1921, page 5Crossing the Plains with Ox Train
70 Years Ago
Late Edwin Crockett in an Interesting Narrative Tells a Human Interest Story of the Days of 1852; First Bound for the California Gold Fields. (Continued
from Last Sunday.)
The
Indians, Omaha, Pawnee and Sioux, were not hostile, but some of the
Pawnees were thievish, and one lot, a buck with a sword in company with
two boys armed with bows and arrows, played role of robbers until the
buck was shot by an emigrant he was trying to rob. Just previous to his
untimely (?) end he tried to rob a Mr. Stone of our train, and came
near succeeding, having made him take off his coat, while George Terry
sat on horseback only a few rods away with a revolver strapped to his
belt. Some of the men came up and stopped the fun, after which the bold
trio of robbers marched up to the train as if nothing had happened.After striking the Platte or Nebraska River we traveled up the stream some distance and forded it, proceeding most of the way on the north side. One stretch of 200 miles has only one tree (called the lone tree) in all that distance. It was a cottonwood tree about a foot in diameter and stood in the valley of the Platte near Chimney Rock, but a company of vandals from Iowa cut it down the following year and so destroyed one of the most interesting landmarks on the long route. As soon as we saw the tree the young men of the train made a race for it, and the first man there instantly climbed it. Just as he raised his arm to put it over the fork he saw a big snake lying there, and down he tumbled. We drove the snake to the ground and shot him. The tree was covered with names, many inscribed on plates or papers and nailed to the tree. I took the brass plate from a suspender buckle, scratched the names of our company on it and nailed it to the tree. Chimney Rock, near the lone tree, is a monument-like rock in the valley that could be seen at 50 miles distance. I saw but few buffaloes. We saw a party on horseback following some buffalo. They killed a large one near the trail, and we got some of the meat, which was very good eating, very much like any other beef. On Bear River there were a number of hot springs. Several of them had mounds nearby, probably three feet high and ten feet in diameter, where the mineral matter from the water had been deposited for many ages. One soda spring did come to the surface but was boiling down in a hole in the rock like a well. The water was some two feet below the surface of the rock. We could see gas coming to the surface of the water and, dipping some of the water up, we found it a very pleasant drink. With the addition of a little acid and sugar it would be most delicious. While on the headwaters of one branch of the Platte, a swift stream with alternately swift and shallow water and sandy bottom, an accident happened. We had just camped for the night, and I had thrown myself down in a tent to rest after the fatiguing tramp of the day, when a German, who belonged to the train, came running to the tent at full speed and calling my name at the top of his voice. I sprang up and met him. He said a man was drowning in the river. I ran to the water's edge, threw off my coat and vest (I had already taken my shoes off to cool my feet) and plunged into the stream. My partner Church had jumped to the rescue before I had arrived and had nearly reached the drowning man at that time, but Lee threw his arm around Church's neck and drew his head under the water the moment he had reached him. In the meantime the current was carrying them downstream at about the rate of four or five miles an hour. I swam to Church, seized him by the collar and pulled for shore with all my strength. I soon reached the willows at the water's edge, when the men on the bank pulled us out. Lee was pretty well strangled but Church was perfectly cool, although his head was under water some time. He was a brave and generous young man. If he had lost his presence of mind we might have all drowned together. His own partner, who was bathing with him, had left Lee to his fate and swam to the shore. Soon after this we came in sight of the Wind River Range of the Rocky Mountains, or rather the "Wind River Range of the Rockies." Some of the highest peaks in the United States are in that range. It was a magnificent sight. The serrated peaks in their everlasting robes of white formed the finest mountain scenery I have ever met in all my extensive travels on the continent. I have seen many isolated peaks as fine as they, Shasta, Hood, Baker and Mount Tacoma, all magnificent mountains, but they stand alone and unrivaled, but there are many lofty snow-covered peaks in plain sight at the same time in the Wind River Range. Shortly after coming in sight of those mountains we went over the South Pass, the most elevated portion of the California Trail. The ascent was so gradual that we could hardly tell when we reached the summit. We soon descended to Green River, a large stream that takes its rise in the Rockies and runs nearly parallel to the range for some distance. Here we had to stop and build a raft to ferry over with. A train came up and ferried over with their wagon boxes, which had been made for that purpose, and made some very good ferry boats. We left the Humboldt River before getting to the Sink and went on a road which had been abandoned for two or three years, at least had been traveled very little if at all in that time. One night we went across a desert to the Rabbit Springs and found but little water in some deep sloping holes into which several thirsty old cows and oxen tumbled headfirst and had to be pulled out tail first, that useful appendage being a great help in the rescue, for they say a "tail-holt" is always a good hold, but we had to reinforce the tails with stout ropes, as one of the aforesaid tails fairly gave out in the skirmish. It was very hard work to release the bovines from their predicament. We remained at these springs the next day but started near sundown across a sandy desert to Black Rock Springs, arriving some time after midnight without inconvenience. The road was white with bones and strewn thickly with the remains of wagons that told a tale of terrible suffering of travelers who had attempted to cross those barren, burning sands in the heat of the day. We had a written guide and so escaped that danger. About nine o'clock we started on our journey, and in a few hours we reached another powerful hot spring of good water much the same in volume and quality as the Black Rock Spring. The water was near the boiling point. Reed made our tea by dipping the water from our spring, pouring it on the tea and then partly immersing the pot in the water. The spring formed a stream of a rod or two wide and deep enough to swim a steer; indeed, one fell into it some distance below, I was told, and was scalded to death. At this place a German left the train and started on foot for California, because the men who were taking him through, countrymen of his, charged him sixty dollars for the remainder of the trip. He was a little mouse of a fellow with a pale downy mustache, but he seemed resolute. When we told him the Indians would kill him, he said: "I tont care for de Injun. I can vip him mit mine fisht." So he packed up his duds and started on alone. A couple of hours afterwards we started with the train. The day was pretty hot and no water on the road that day. In the afternoon we picked up the Dutchman's coat, then his vest, then his pair of breeches until we had pretty much his whole wardrobe and other worldly belongings, and lastly we found the valiant little Dutchman himself sprawled out over the plain. On coming up to him he called out feebly: "Vater, vater, chim me some vater. " After that he was satisfied to keep with the train. On this route we passed through a canyon for 20 or 30 miles in length with precipitous sides sometimes rising to a perpendicular height of over a hundred feet, and so narrow that in many places there was barely room to pass through. We left the main traveled route and struck off in a northwesterly direction on a new road. Three or four wagon trains only had preceded us on this route. It led through the territory of the hostile Modocs, a small tribe, but the most daring warriors of any tribe in the United States. A party from Yreka, California met us there. This was some time before we got to Tule Lake, around which the tribe lived. The Californians had come out to act as guides for the immigrant trains and to warn the people of the danger of Indians. Two of them, a rancher whose name I do not recall and Tom Hays, joined us as guides and were of great service to us. We had to pass along the lake for some distance, the road being between the lake and the bluffs, so the Siwashes had a pretty good chance at us. The lake was quite shallow for some distance from the shore so that it afforded a perfect cover for the wily redskin. Hays, who was riding in front of the train, discovered a lot of them in the tules beside the road. He instantly sprang from his horse and brought his rifle to aim, but the Indians disappeared at once. The column halted for the rear wagons and men to come up. Just then we saw two men coming over the hill on our right half a mile distant. Some thought they were Indians. I was on horseback and rode out to reconnoiter and discovered they were two of our own men, Lee and Barnes. I told them of their danger and they ran to the train. If we had not seen them they probably would have fallen victims to their carelessness. It was fortunate for us that the Indians were only armed with bows and arrows, with one exception, and that their chief had been killed two or three days before in a fight with a train, both guides being wounded. The chief had a gun then. Our boys did a lot of shooting, but the Indians did not come to close quarters and could only reply with the one gun and a lot of shooting off of mouths, neither of which was very effective. I did not consider their war cries very terrifying. They did not follow us up very far, and usually we camped on the borders of the lake without disturbance. (To
be continued.)
Wallace Press-Times, Wallace,
Idaho, May 8, 1921, page 7Nearing the California Gold Fields 70 Years Ago
Some days before we got to the
lake nine mounted men with pack animals passed us. They were attacked
by the Indians, and only one escaped. We saw the mangled and bloody
remains of some of them beside the road. They were horribly mutilated.
Two days later we got into Shasta Valley, passing Shasta Peak, an
extinct volcano, and one of the loftiest mountains in the country. Hot
sulfur is still found at the summit. We camped in the valley and at once
began trying to make ourselves as respectable in appearance as
possible. While sitting on a bank mending some of our clothes something
tickled my leg below the knee. I thought it was an ant and slapped my
pants thinking to kill the intruder. A few minutes later a scorpion
popped out of a small hole in the knee of my pants. In an instant I
gave him a quick blow with my hand and sent him out of sight in an
instant. That was the last encounter I ever had with that kind of a
thing.Continuance of Narrative of Late Edwin Crockett--Had Scant Success at Prospecting--Fought in Rogue River Indian War--Was with General Lane. As soon as possible we sold our outfit and went prospecting. We were offered five dollars per day and board to work in the placer mines, but under the advice of some old miners with whom we had become acquainted we refused the offer, unfortunately no doubt. We prospected on Indian Creek. Some of my first prospecting was on a little mountain gulch where the bedrock was bare. I picked up $2.50 out of the bedrock with my jackknife. We never made it pay, although my partners took one piece of gold just below the point where I had prospected that weighed three ounces. We built a cabin here intending to prospect Indian Creek, but left and went to Greenhorn Creek, three miles from Yreka, where I spent the winter in a tent. There were nine of us partners on Indian Creek. One Sunday when all were in the cabin, I took an ax and went to chopping a large fir tree that stood beside the cabin, but leaning away from it at quite an angle. When it fell, breaking of the uncut wood made a loud noise. I called to my partners as loud as I could yell to look out, etc., as if it was falling on the cabin. The loud cracking of the wood gave them a terrible fright, and you may be sure they did not mind the order of their coming, but all tried to get out at the same time with the result that some of them came out heels over head. Some of them talked of whipping me, but I told them that I only wanted to stir up their stagnant blood with a little lively exercise. At this place one of the partners, Mr. Moore, an old miner, took sick and had to send for a doctor, who charged him $90 for the trip. He had to travel 14 miles. We greenhorns thought the fee exorbitant, but Moore said it was much less than he had expected to pay, as he had known doctors to charge $150 per trip on such occasions. There was one thing that happened while I was staying at that place that seemed little short of miraculous. There was a large fir tree standing near the cabin. One day we saw a large squirrel run up the tree. Four of us got our guns and took different sides of the tree hoping to get a sight of him. He was perfectly concealed because of the thick foliage which extended on all sides for thirty or forty feet. We were about to give up the hunt when one of the partners, Grimes of Missouri, standing under the branches near the trunk of the tree, said he would scare the squirrel up for us. He raised his revolver and fired up through the branches at random. Down came the squirrel, shot squarely through the body. None of us knew what part of the tree that animal was located, which made the feat all the more astonishing. About this time while returning from a prospecting trip on Indian Creek I heard a gun discharged several times. Following up the sound I found an Indian buck and boy. The men had been firing at a squirrel in the top of a tall tree probably 150 feet from the ground. I had an excellent old-fashioned rifle with me and at the first shot brought down the squirrel, hit squarely across the throat, though I had aimed at his body. I gave the game to the Siwash. While were living in the cabin Tom Hays, my former guide and later my partner, brought a bottle of whiskey from town on the plea of needing medicine. Several of our party were fond of it. I was afraid to have the stuff brought out and used in the camp, and moreover if it was to be used for that purpose (medicine) I would add a beneficial element to it. So I poured a lot of painkiller into it, which I knew to be very good in stomach troubles. Tom took a hearty swig of it, gasped for breath a spell, then threw the bottle as far as he could send it. But he didn't seem a bit grateful for my favor, and that was the last whiskey in the camp while I was there. The winter of 1852 and 1853 was a hard one around the mines at Yreka. The only means of communication with the outside world was by pack trails, one running north to Jacksonville, Oregon and one to the Sacramento Valley on the south, both over mountain ranges which were made impassable by heavy snow. We had an insufficient supply of provisions in the mines and had run out of flour, salt and other necessary supplies. Flour sold at one time at $2.50 per pound. A hardware man, Mr. White, brought in some salt on his back, traveling over the mountains on snowshoes, and sold it out at $1 an ounce. Most of us had to do without those articles, but we had plenty of potatoes, beef, cabbage, etc., but it was rather dry feed without salt. The spring of 1853 found me working a claim on Greenhorn Creek, but after we worked on it for four months, and just as we struck the lead, I sold out at less than the claim had cost me. Not long after I had sold out on Greenhorn Creek I went into the Rogue River Valley, where the Indians had been hostile and were murdering people, burning houses and committing other depredations. At Jacksonville, I volunteered and was mustered into the United States service, in the Yreka (Cal.) company, Captain Goodall commanding. My first service was under Lieutenant Ely, of our company. The Indians had shot two men on a trail in the valley, and some twenty of us were detailed to watch for and ambush the murderers in the night. At midnight we divided into two parties and laid in ambush near the road, but no Indians appeared of course. Eleven of us were watching around a big pine tree. While preparing to leave in the morning a little, short, fat Dutchman, with a stern like that of an old-fashioned Dutch sloop, lost his hat and was flying around the tree at a great rate crying, "Vere ish mine hat? Vere ish mine hat?" The rest of the crowd were laughing heartily, for the fellow had first sat down on a big piece of pitch and after warming it up nicely had changed his base and sat down on his hat. The consequences were very amusing to the grim warriors around him. The lieutenant finally relieved his mind by jerking the thing loose and handing it to him. On another occasion we went with our command expecting to surprise the Indians in their camp at night. Our command consisted of over 100 mounted men. Near where we expected to surprise the Indians we had to cross the Rogue River by a deep ford. In crossing one of our lieutenants, Dyer or Darrow by name, got frightened and fell from his horse. He stood there in deep water yelling at the top of his voice for somebody to help him out. "Oh for God's sake help me out," was his cry. The guide rode into the stream, threw his lasso to him and snaked him out. The next day we bought a very large horse for $250 to make sure that another such accident should not overtake him. I think his agonized yell could be heard for two or three miles. Of course we found no Indians. Their camp was abandoned. From this point 22 men were dispatched to hunt for the Indians. They came upon them in force some miles distant and after retreating for a short distance sent back two men to notify us of their discovery. During the absence of the detachment we had changed our positions, and it was well on toward the afternoon before the messengers came up with us. We immediately moved to reinforce the detachment. When near them we heard firing. We hurried our pace and on coming up we learned they had been surprised and surrounded and all would have been killed but for our timely arrival. As soon as our main body appeared the Indians beat a hasty retreat and we did not follow them. Three of our men had been killed and some wounded in the action. We only found one dead Indian, a grim savage whom they had not found, as they always remove their dead when possible to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy. Some days later, under the leadership of our guide, a nephew of a former governor of Kentucky, we followed the Indians into their mountain fastness. On the second day out we came upon their camp, taking them by surprise. They had scouts out, but these scouts were watching the Oregon volunteers who were some distance from us in the valley and did not come up with us until after the fight was over. Following the report from our scouts as to the close proximity of the camp, Captain Rhodes, of the "Humbug" volunteer company, was sent in on the left, and we marched down the trail goose fashion (Indian file). We could hear the Indians talking and making other noises, evidently entirely unconscious of our presence. No advantage was taken of that circumstance, and we marched in the order described within 100 yards of their camp before we were discovered by the "Siwashes." The trail was parallel to a narrow valley thickly covered with trees and brush, and we only came in sight of their camp on turning a sharp angle in the trail to the left. They gave a muffled whoop, and in a few minutes the firing began. Captain Alden, of the regulars, commanding the detachment, led on the trail and was followed by his first sergeant and seven United States soldiers, all the regulars in the command. Captain Armstrong of Yamhill County, Oregon, was with him also. Then came our Captain Goodall, as big a blowhard and coward as I ever knew. I placed myself next behind him on the trail, and he was the first man that bolted, and that as soon as we came in sight of the Indians. Captain Alden led us forward until quite near the camp and took a position two or three rods to the right of the trail behind a large tree. He had an old-fashioned horse pistol and a double-barreled shotgun, one barrel of which was discharged, but he was hit in the neck with a rifle ball which passed through a part of his lungs and came out at the shoulder, disabling him when the firing first began. Three of us stood together near the trail, and among the foremost of the men were Captain Armstrong, Sergeant Barber and myself. Armstrong, who was an old Indian fighter, dropped his gun and placing his hand on his breast, he turned towards where Barber and I stood and said with great difficulty, hardly able to articulate: "I am struck here." He kept turning slowly towards us until he fell on his right side dead. He never moved after falling. His head rested against a tree which was about a foot in diameter. Barber had the sleeves of his overshirt shot through, as it was rolled up on the upper arm. I laid down at once, placing my gun between Armstrong's head and the tree. On looking to the right I saw Captain Alden lying behind a tree some three rods from me, apparently dead. About two rods to the left was young Bradley, shot through the head. The ball had passed under his felt hat and spattered it with blood in front and rear. He was a preacher's son and a very fine young man. Behind some brush at my left and rear lay one of our best and bravest men, Scarboro of Illinois, shot in the left breast. I lay there for some time watching to the front when an Indian sprang up behind a big tree in plain sight of my position, not over fifty yards distance. He was shaking his gun and yelling. The performance was not to my liking, so I took a shot at him, which stopped his noise very suddenly. (To
be continued.)
Wallace Press-Times, Wallace,
Idaho, May 15, 1921, page 3Battling Against Redskins in Rogue River During '50s
On looking around I saw that our
men had fallen back from the front and that I was alone with the dead
and wounded. After attempting to load my gun, which I could not do
without much exposure, I ran back to the rear and laid down behind
another small tree, but lost my ramrod, which I had left loose in my
gun barrel. From this point I looked backwards and saw Henry Flesher,
alias "Dutch," looking from behind a big tree. He was an old companion,
and I motioned him to come to me, as I wanted his ramrod to load my
gun. He ran to me, thinking I was wounded. I took his rod and finished
loading my gun. In the meantime he watched for Indians from the shelter
of the tree. He saw one raise from behind a log then fired at him.
Remarking that this was no place for us, he ran back to his former
position behind a big tree, leaving his rod with me. Not long after,
thinking of making a "masterly retreat," my position being a little too
much exposed, I looked to the rear and saw Flesher taking several steps
sideways and then make for the rear. He was shot through the side and
had an arm broken by the Indian who had flanked the party on the right
where he occupied high ground. There, sometime afterwards while I was
running back, the same buck arose to try a shot on me when one "Bill"
Lewis, who had seen him fire from that point before and had his gun
pointed in that direction, brought the redskin down before he could
shoot. Lewis several times afterwards told me he had saved my "pelt."
On reaching the rear where Flesher was shot, I found Charles Abbey in a
sitting position, his gun, a U.S. musket, lying across his lap. His
front was covered with blood flowing from a ghastly wound across his
right temple. I tried to arouse him but he was unconscious. I left the
place and went into a slight ravine some rods to the right where there
were several other persons. In a short time I heard a noise in the
brush at the left and asked the boys what it was. One person said it was
Indians, but I told them we had a wounded comrade there. On raising up
and looking I saw Abbey attempting to arise to his feet and I ran to
his assistance. With my help he got to his feet and went to the rear,
but the wound was mortal and he died a few days afterwards.Intimate Details of Famous Fight in Oregon Country Told in Crockett Narrative--Quits Fighting and Goes Back to Prospecting for Elusive Gold; Prospected on Fraser River. Shortly after I took my place at the front, Captain Alden came staggering out. When I saw him I ran to his aid. His first sergeant also went to his assistance, and one of us on each side supported him to a place of safety. When we reached the rear we found General Joseph Lane there, wounded slightly through the fleshy part of the left shoulder. I also found two of my friends wounded and uncared for. I proposed to stay and minister to their needs but General Lane requested me to go to the front again, stating there were plenty there to take care of the wounded. I told him they were there to take care of themselves rather than of the wounded. When I asked for something with which to sling Flesher's broken arm, General Lane hurriedly took a large black silk handkerchief from his neck and gave it to me for the purpose. Flesher later returned it to me and I sent it to my father in Ohio as a keepsake. I went to the front again but the fight was over, the Indians having withdrawn from the field. General Lane made an agreement for a treaty with the Indians and we camped for the night near the battlefield. On the following day we moved our wounded to the valley on stretchers, the hardest work I ever performed. We had to pass over the mountain, and it was necessary to keep our stretcher level. I helped carry Abbey, who I judge weighed 200 pounds. He was a young man, a lawyer by profession, the only son of a former mayor of Quincy, Illinois. At the time he was a candidate for county attorney, the only one nominated. The night we reached the valley it was very cold for that season of the year, September I think, and coming into camp about dark I found General Lane lying alone with scarcely any covering. He said he was cold and that the men often stepped over him, dragging their big spurs across his body. I built a protection of sticks and brush beside him and loaned him my blanket, thinking I could use some saddle blankets, but it was so cold that all of the saddle blankets were in use and found one old ragged blanket which gave me small comfort. I became so chilled during the night that my liberality caused me an illness of two weeks. The ladies of Yreka sent out a nice flag as a token of regard for our work. When the presentation was made we had speeches from General Lane, another, a major of the regulars and others, but much the best speech was from our own Captain Goodall, who could talk even if he couldn't fight--or wouldn't. I got $20 for my services, having been out over a month, but the owner of the old mule I rode got four dollars per day for his services. After returning I went to mining, but made scarcely any money at it. I bargained for a claim on Humbug Creek, but when I got back with the money, $250, the man had sold it to other parties, though I had complied with my agreement to the letter. The parties who secured the claim took out $6000 in gold. I worked hard for little pay and finally got possession of five claims in different localities. I could have sold one of them for $2000, but it promised big pay so I held on. It petered out on my hands as did all the rest but one, and that paid less than any other claim on the gulch. I was out of luck. About this time I tried to help a friend by loaning him some money. I went his security also and came out about $900 behind on the affair as he went back on me. He had taken me in. I was then flat broke and in debt. Just about that time the Fraser River mines were struck and I went to San Francisco and boarded a steamer for Victoria, Vancouver Island. I had but very little money after paying my fare, but I found an old schoolmate, John Montgomery, aboard the vessel who furnished me with what was necessary to carry me through. I took a steamer and went up the Fraser River to Hill's Bar, where I built a log house for a company, receiving $80 for my work. This enabled me to buy provisions for the winter. Through the fall and ensuing spring I earned some $200. With this money I bought a claim, but it did not pay me so I tried a trip up the river. The trail was too rough for pack animals so we packed ourselves with provisions. My load was fifty pounds of flour and also some personal traps. We fashioned a sort of a saddle which made our loads carry more easily. The first day we made between 20 and 25 miles. The river ran between rocks with seldom much that could be called bottom land. The mountains were usually quite close to the river from Fort Yale up as far as we went. There were plenty of fleas in the sand bars along the river, where the Indians frequently camped. Anyone who has slept with fleas will appreciate what an old Yankee said about them on the occasion of his camping on one of the bars. "I don't mind the bitin' of the critters so much, but it is the gittin' up and sitting down that bothers me," he said. We went up nearly to the forks of the Thompson River and prospected the bars, but the Indians were numerous and seemed inclined to be hostile. While I was whittling a piece of wood to fit in a rocker, using a big jackknife, a young buck came up and made a grab for my revolver. I instantly struck his hand and accidentally cut it with my jackknife. He sprang back a couple of paces and drew a dagger which was half as long as his arm. I had no chance to draw my revolver as he could have struck me while in the act, so I held my jackknife in my hand and faced him steadily, telling him in jargon not to strike. He stood facing me for a moment then turned on his heel and left. We could find no paying prospect at this point and soon went back to Hill's Bar. After spending two winters on Fraser River I heard of diggings (mines) about 200 miles or more in the interior and in a wild part of the country. I started for the new diggings on foot and alone, carrying a gun, ammunition, blankets, cooking utensils and provisions for the journey. It took me eight days to make the trip. The first night out I camped near a lake in the mountains said to be about 5000 feet above sea level. I was on an Indian trail, the country being uninhabited except for Indians. I saw white men only twice on the trail, and then for only a few moments. I camped wherever night overtook me. The last night of my journey I camped on Okanagan Lake, and being out of provisions I went to an Indian dry house and found a few dried fish. On biting into one I found too much life in it, in fact it was fairly squirming with life. A Siwash might enjoy such a feast, but not me. The thought of it makes me squeamish even yet. On the journey I had shot a few birds that pieced out my "grub." After stopping a spell at the new mines with the prospects slim, I took up my line of march for Walla Walla, Washington, 200 miles away. We arrived there late in the fall of 1860. After staying there for some time and about broke, having about $50 and a pony left, I found employment. A farmer wanted some rails split in the Blue Mountains. He lived near town, but the camp in the mountains was probably 15 miles from two Wallas and was about eight miles from the nearest farm house. Here I remained several months. Some other parties went to the mountains with me but soon left on account of the deep snow. They went to their homes in the valley. I had no home but the mountain cabin, so had to stay there alone. I did each day what I could at making rails. I had plenty of beef and flour so got on very well. There were plenty of wild animals roaming around the mountains, such as marten and lynx, and on one occasion I saw a cougar track. One day I saw a marten on the corner of the cabin gnawing on some of the spoiled beef that was hanging there. He ran off and I followed, hoping to catch him, but he got into the bushes and made his escape. In April I went to Walla Walla and settled with the man I had worked for. He owed me $100 for rails but had no money, so I had to take trade, mostly groceries. In the meantime my partner, Montgomery, in company with two other persons, had gone into the mines on Rhodes Creek, a branch of the north fork of the Clearwater River, and had taken four claims (one for me). So I loaded my ponies (I had one of my partner's ponies with me) with flour, bacon, etc., and joining a pack train started for the mines, 130 miles away (May 1861). When we got near the mines and in going over the mountains, we encountered two feet of snow, but there was a well-beaten trail through it. I found my partner preparing for work whipsawing and prospecting. On getting to work the claim paid us from the start. Montgomery and myself were old miners. He acted as foreman and I kept the books and dust, being treasurer and bookkeeper. Both the other partners went into other lines of business. One went to packing and the other into saloon business. Both were located at the little town of Orofino, a mile below us on the creek. We hired a good many men, having as high as 24 at one time, and all worked hard, especially those working on the bedrock. No green hand ever stood that work over a week, and usually not for a day. The men worked 11 hours each day and Montgomery and myself worked from a half to an hour longer, but our work was lighter than theirs. Wages were $4 with board and lodging for those who worked on bedrock and $3.50 for those who worked on surfacing, removing non-paying dirt. We worked the claim 50 feet wide by 600 feet in length and seven and one-half feet average depth. We took out $23,000. Our expenses were $7000 that season. After getting to the upper end of the claim we sold it to some of our hands who made $8 per day during the winter on the unworked ground along the sides of our first work. I proposed to Montgomery to buy up all the flour and other provisions we could get and wait for a raise in prices, as no provisions were to be had there in winter. He said we had better go and see our mothers, as both of us had made several raises and had gone broke again. He would not take any risk of missing a visit to his people, so we left for home. In six weeks from that time flour had doubled in price from 16 to 32 cents, and before the close of the winter it reached $1 per pound. We went to Portland and from there to San Francisco; thence by way of Isthmus to New York and home in Ohio, where I had intended to enlist, 1861, but the last call for volunteers had been filled and I married instead. (The End.)
(This completes the narrative
describing the experiences of Edwin Crockett in the Northwest during
the early days. Mr. Crockett had continued his narrative through his
experiences in the Civil War, into which he finally found his way, and
the detail in which he writes of his experience during that period
would satisfy the most ardent lover of that character of history.
However, this department is dealing largely with pioneer history of the
Northwest, and the Civil War material is omitted. In the above
concluding chapter and in some previous chapters Mr. Crockett has
mentioned the names of many of his associates of the early days whose
names are familiar in the early history of the Northwest. His partner, John Montgomery, was the discoverer [sic]
of the Tombstone camp. Grimes, who is mentioned, undoubtedly was one of
the first men in the Boise basin country, while Moore, also mentioned,
was also one of the first in that camp, both having had creeks named
after them in the Boise country. The names of some of his comrades in
the Rogue River war are not unfamiliar to many pioneers of the
Northwest, especially that of General Joe Lane. Montgomery is still
active and resides at Boise. He has a son at Pierce at the present time
and in Wallace resides a granddaughter. We are greatly indebted to E.
C. Pulaski for the use of the manuscript.--Editor.)---- Wallace Press-Times, Wallace, Idaho, May 22, 1921, page 7 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
PIONEER PASSES AWAY
Edwin Crockett, aged 78, one of the earliest pioneers of the West,
passed away at his home from the effects of pneumonia, after a short
illness.
Mr. Crockett was born in the state of Maine in 1829, and at an early age his parents moved into Ohio. His life, until recent years, has been that of an active frontiersman. Marrying young, he crossed the plains by ox team and settled in Yreka, California, where he took an active part in the suppression of the Indian outbreaks. Later, when the Civil War broke out, he returned to the East and enlisted in the 65th New York Volunteer Infantry, in Company F, following the movements of the war to its close, when he again crossed the plains. During the battle of Cedar Creek he was severely wounded. Since returning to the West following the war, he lived in a number of the western states and came to Coeur d'Alene when the town was first located, and has lived in the city or vicinity since. He was a member of the G.A.R. and took an active part in the affairs of that organization. He is survived by his wife and sister, Mrs. James Reid, and six children, Mrs. Samuel Vesser, Mrs. James Casey, and James, Edward, Charles and William Crockett. Following his death, the remains were taken to the Coeur d'Alene undertaking parlors to be prepared for burial. The funeral will be held at the Presbyterian church under the auspices of the G.A.R. and W.R.C. The interment will be made in Forest Cemetery with military honors. Coeur d'Alene Press, Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, February 27, 1907, page 1 Death of Edwin Crockett.
Edwin Crockett, well known by many of the older residents of Henry
County, died at his home at Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, February 26th, 1907,
and from the Journal of that
city we glean the following of the deceased: Mr. Crockett was born in
Rockland, Maine, February 20, 1829, and with his parents removed to
Seneca County, Ohio, about 75 years ago, where he grew to manhood. In
1852 he crossed the plains to California, with an ox team, where he
engaged in mining and fighting Indians. During the autumn of 1861 he
returned to Ohio, and in 1862 married Miss Jessie Reid of Damascus
township, Henry County. In 1864 he joined the 65th New York Volunteers,
serving until after the war closed. Later on he removed to Idaho, where
he resided until death came. He leaves a wife, two daughters, four
sons, and many other relatives and friends.
Daily Sentinel Tribune, Bowling Green, Ohio, March 23, 1907, page 1 CROCKETT.--At Coeur d'Alene, Idaho, April 26, 1907, Edwin Crockett, aged 78. Comrade Crockett served in the Indian and Rogue River wars, and in many of the principal engagements of the Civil War. He belonged to the 65th N.Y., and was severely wounded at Cedar Creek. He was a man of more than usual intelligence, physical strength and courage, and is survived by a widow and six children. "Mustered Out," The National Tribune, Washington, D.C., April 4, 1907, page 7 LETTER TELLS OF EARLY DAYS IN THE TERRITORY
Written in Nez Perce Country, at Camp Near the Present Site of Orofino, in the Year of 1861.
One of the earliest of the pioneers to invade the territory of Idaho is
the quest of precious metal, the late Edwin Crockett has left behind
him interesting information concerning mining operations in Nez Perce
County half a century ago. Letters written by him from a mining camp
near Orofino in 1861 to his sister in Ohio are in possession of Forest
Ranger Pulaski of Wallace, who is a nephew of Mr. Crockett.
Mr. Crockett was a "forty-niner" in California and was a pioneer in many mining camps of the West. During late years he made his home at Coeur d'Alene city, where he died at the advanced age of 78 years, about two years ago. In the following letter written by Mr. Crockett he details in interesting manner the cost of early mining operations, the camp life of the placer miners and the manner in which they received news of the election of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States: Rhodes Creek, (Orofino),
Dear Sister:Nez Perce Mines, W.T., June 8, 1861. I have delayed this for some time in the hopes of receiving a letter from home before writing one. I have had none from there since last July. We have been quite busy since my last letter preparing to work the claim, and have already washed some. I think it will pay us $8 to the hand when we get fairly open. Our drain race is nearly finished. The head of it is 10½ feet deep and it is about 1000 feet long and will cost us near $500 when completed, as we have nearly $200 worth of sluices and over $150 worth of other improvements. We have a good house 15 by 20 feet, with the roof projecting 6 feet over one end for a wood shed. The lumber in our floor is worth about $50 per 100 feet. We have just got a new clock and are now prepared to live fast or slow according to time. We work 11 hours per day. Anglo-Saxon energy has made its mark here. Improvements are going on with hurried strides. The present occupants of the country have done more here than the "Red Men of the Forest" have through all the countless years in which they and their "fathers" have lorded it over the soil. At the time I wrote you last there was just the germ of a little town at the mouth of this creek where it joins a larger stream, the Orofino, one and one-quarter miles from here. Now there are some forty houses there, stores, two meat markets, two blacksmith shops, one book and stationery store, etc. How Placers Paid.
This creek will, at a low estimate, produce $300,000, or $1000 to each
claim holder. One and one-half miles above us they have taken out over
$300 to a single string of sluices. Another company took out $1400 in
five days with two strings of sluices. Our claim does not prospect
"big" at the lower end where we are at work, but we have found a very
good prospect at the upper end, so that we are very well satisfied with
our claim. The other creeks prospect well, but none of them as well as
this. We hear of new diggings being struck on the south fork of the
Clearwater. This creek is certainly equal in average pay to any similar
California stream I ever knew.This climate, so far, has been very pleasant; it rains frequently and is quite cool. We have snow before our door at this date, June 8. Prices Were Up.
The following will give you an idea of the price of tools and cost of
mining: Shovels, from $5 to $8; picks the same; pans $2, tin camp
kettle holding about as much as a common milk pail $4, handsaw $5.
Flour is from $17 to $20 a hundred, beans from 20 to 25 cents a
pound, butter from 75 cents to $1, No. 1 sugar $35 a hundred.Wages are from $3.50 a day to $5, with board. Blacksmiths, etc., charge enormous prices for work, whipsawyers make $20 a day and sometimes more. Rubber boots have been as high as $24 and common miners' leather boots $15. We hope to have things cheaper now, as we have a wagon road in from Snake River and the steamboats come to the forks of the Clearwater, some forty miles from here, where they intend to build a town called Lewisville, for Capt. Lewis, of Lewis and Clark's expedition. Wild, Cold and Dreary.
John Montgomery is with me. He saved the claim for me after the creek
was all taken up. A man met me on the trail as I was coming up and told
me my brother was in the mines anxiously expecting me. Montgomery got
afraid the claim would be jumped and went out to meet and hurry me in.
It was a wild, cold and dreary country when they got in here, with snow
3 and 4 feet deep on the level and storming nearly every day, and it
was but little improved when I got here a month later. They were among
the first on this creek. About 30 men wintered here. They had been
about 5 months without any news from the outside world and were greatly
rejoiced to see newcomers."Hurrah for Abe Lincoln."
"Who's President?" was one of the first questions asked. When told that
Lincoln was elected one enthusiastic individual shouted. "Hurrah for
Abe Lincoln." "O, d--n it," said another fellow in a tone of
disappointment, and so they met the announcement with pleasure or
dissatisfaction, according to their individual political views on the
subject.The tobacco chewers had run out of the weed and were most crazy for the want of it. They had pared the bark from young cherry trees and used that as a substitute. I believe I told you in my last letter that this is a very heavily timbered country. The underbrush is also quite thick all over the mountain. Describes the Country.
Now I will try to give you some idea of the geography of the country as
it was given me by a mountaineer. The two forks of the Clearwater head
very near each other with a high ridge between them. It is about sixty
miles from here to the pass between the head of the streams. This is a
mountain country and much elevated, which may account for its being so
cold here. My informant told me he could stand on the pass and look
down 100 feet nearly perpendicular on the headwaters of the north
branch of the Clearwater, and facing right about could see 25 miles
down the narrow valley of the southern branch.It takes a month for the news to get here from the States. I have often wished I were back there to help my Uncle Sam under difficulties. I hope you will not be disturbed by existing difficulties. We are all excited about the news of the secession and get 3 or 4 papers a week. I wish one of the boys was out here with me. We have hired a Dutchman to cook for us at $65 a month and board, with the privilege of taking in laundry, by which he can make $25 more. Give my love to all at home and remember that I am anxious to hear from you. Idaho Press, Wallace, Idaho, February 6, 1909, page 3. Reprinted from the same type in the Idaho Press of April 15, 1909 Like a Voice from the Dead, Letter Tells of Early Days
Gold Diggin's on Rhodes Creek in Pierce Region in 1881 Recalled by Aged Letter Written to Home Folks by Prospector Who Was There; Camp Was Then Known As "Nezpercy Mines." Refers to Lewiston as "Lewisville." By D. W. GREENBURG.
The early history of the great Northwest is filled with much romantic
interest, and there are now but few of the "trail blazers" left to
recount tales of their experiences during those trying times. As a
result it is with interest that snatches of information of that period
are eagerly grasped and the later generation is thus given some idea of
the privations, the hardships, the success or failure, the joys or
sorrows that befell those who made the way safe for a future
civilization.
The awakening of Idaho came with the discovery of the famous gold placer beds of the Pierce City district in 1860 by and named in honor of Captain E. D. Pierce. Idaho was embraced within the boundaries of what was then known as Washington Territory. The story of the discovery of gold at Pierce has often been told, but few in these late years have enjoyed first-hand information of conditions in that camp as it was then, and especially from one who experienced some degree of success in his efforts. Edwin Crockett, an uncle of E. C. Pulaski, of Wallace, was one of the first among many who found his way to the Pierce district. Crockett was a native of Maine, born in 1829, moving with his parents to Ohio in 1831. When he was 17 his father restrained him from participating in the Mexican War. He longed for an adventurous career and in 1849 was fired with an ambition to seek the California gold fields. Yet his parents held him in leash for several years, finally acceding to his request. In 1852 he crossed the plains with an ox train, bound for the California mines. His experiences were thrilling and following his arrival at his goal, he shared all of the hardships and disappointments that fell to many during those days. For a number of years afterwards he experienced the varied fortunes of a prospector and miner, moving hither and thither as new gold camps were discovered, threading his way at times to the most remote regions. He was a participant in the Rogue River Indian outbreak in Oregon, mined and trapped in the Fraser River country of British Columbia, worked in the fastness of the Blue Mountains, trod the Columbia River trails to the old Hudson Bay fort at Colville, finding his way into Walla Walla. In 1861 he learned of the Pierce gold excitement. Determined to seek his fortune in the new fields, he joined a friend who had preceded him there and during the first season's work made a "cleanup" and then returned east to his Ohio home, participating in the Civil War. He returned west in the early eighties and with Mr. Pulaski was one of the first to enter the Murray country. In later years he resided at Coeur d'Alene City, passing away there about 10 years ago. His sister, to whom he wrote frequently while in his early ventures in the West, was wedded to the late James Reid of Coeur d'Alene, once prominent in public affairs in Kootenai County. During his leisure moments before his death, Mr. Crockett devoted a great deal of his time to writing a narrative of his experiences, not for publication, but in the interest of his immediate family. This narrative came into possession of Mr. Pulaski as well as a number of letters written to members of Mr. Crockett's family sent from some of the early mining camps of the Northwest. Among his letters is one written to his sister in Ohio, disclosing some facts of historical interest during his days on Rhodes Creek, the scene of Capt. Pierce's discovery. Accompanying his letter is a pencil tracing of the principal landmarks of the region, showing the location of the various camps, the rivers, and calling attention to the fact that down the river a town was to be started and would be called "Lewisville." Age and handling have all but erased the marks of this sketch. It is interesting to note that the Pierce district was known then as "Nezpercy Mines," a fact which seems not to have been chronicled by any historian, so far as known. His letter is a valuable contribution to the history of the discovery of gold in Idaho and is as follows: Rhodes Creek, (Orofino),
Dear Sister:Nezpercy Mines, W.T., June 8, 1861. I have delayed this for some time in hopes of receiving a letter from home before writing one. I have had none from there since last July. We have been quite busy since my last letter preparing to work the claim, and have already washed some. I think it will pay us eight dollars to the hand when we get fairly open. Our drain race is nearly finished. The head of it is 10½ feet deep and it is about 1000 feet long and will cost us near $500 when we get it finished. We have near $200 worth of sluices and over $150 worth of other improvements. We have a good house 15 by 20, with the roof projecting six feet over one end for a woodshed. The lumber in our floor is worth about $50 ($20 per 100 feet). We have just got a new clock and are just prepared to live fast or slow according to time. We work 11 hours per day. Anglo-Saxon energy has made its mark here. Improvements are going on with hurried strides. The present occupants of the country have done more here than the "redmen of the forest" have through all the countless years in which they and their "fathers" have lorded it over the soil. At the time I wrote you last there was just the germ of a little town at the mouth of this creek where it joins a larger stream, the Orofino (a somewhat larger stream) one and one-quarter miles from here. Now there are some forty houses there, many of them stores, 2 meat markets, 2 blacksmith shops, one book and stationery store, etc. This creek will, at a low estimate, produce $300,000, or $1000 to each claim holder. One mile and a half above us they have taken out over $300 to a single string of sluices. Another company took out $1400 in five days with two strings of sluices. Our claim does not prospect "big" at the lower end where we are at work, but we have found a very good prospect at the upper end, so that we are very well satisfied with our claim. The other creeks prospect well, but none of them as well as this. We hear of new diggings being struck on the south fork (of Clearwater). This creek is certainly equal in average pay to any similar California stream I ever knew. The climate so far has been very unpleasant. It rains frequently and is quite cool. We have snow before our door at this date (June 8). Price of mining tools, etc.: Shovels from $5 to $8, picks the same, pans $2, tin camp kettle holding about as much as a common milk pail $4, hand saw $5. Flour is from $17 to $20 a hundred, beans from 20 to 25 cents per pound. Butter from 75 cents to $1 per pound. China sugar No. 1, $35 a hundred. Wages are from $3.50 to $5 with board a day. Blacksmiths, etc., charge enormous prices for work. Whipsawyers make $20 a day and sometimes more. Rubber boots have been as high as $24 and common miners' leather boots $15. We hope to have things cheaper, as we have a wagon road in here from Snake River and the steamboats come to the forks of the Clearwater, some 40 miles from here, where they intend to build a town to be called Lewisville for Capt. Lewis, of the Lewis and Clark expedition. John Montgomery is with me. He saved the claim for me after the creek was all taken up. A man met me on the road as I was coming in and told me my brother was in the mines anxiously expecting me. Montgomery got afraid the claim would be jumped and went out to meet and hurry me in. It was a wild, cold and dreary country when they got in here April 12 (evidently 1871--Ed.) with snow three and four feet deep on a level and storming nearly every day, and it was but little improved when I got here on the 15th of Mar. (evidently means May--Ed.). They were some of the first on the creek. About 30 men wintered here. They had been about five months without any news from the outside world and were greatly rejoiced to see the newcomers. "Who's President?" was one of the first questions asked. When told that Lincoln was elected, one enthusiastic individual shouted. "Hurrah for Abe Lincoln." "O, d--n it," said another fellow in a tone of disappointment, and so they met the announcement with pleasure or dissatisfaction, according to their peculiar political views on the subject. The tobacco chewers had got out of the article and were most crazy for want of it. They had pared the bark from young cherry trees and used that as a substitute for the "weed." I believe I told you in my last letter that this is a very heavily timbered country. The underbrush is also quite thick all over the mountain. Now I will try to give you some idea of the geography of the country as it was given to me by a mountaineer. The two forks of the Clearwater head very near each other with a high ridge between them. It is about 60 miles from here to the pass between the head of the streams, so I was told. This is a mountain country and much elevated, which may account for its being so cold here. My informant told me he could stand on the pass and look down a thousand feet (nearly perpendicular) on the headwaters of the north branch of Clearwater, and facing right about could see 25 miles down the narrow valley of the southern branch. But I must bring this to a close. . . . Apparently while holding the letter for the mail carrier several days and having space on the page, he then sketched his vision of the geography of the country. He also added several postscripts as follows: We are about 175 miles from Walla Walla by the trail on the north side of Clearwater but not so far by the new wagon road on the south side. About 160 miles from the Agency in Bitterroot Valley, 240 from there to Benton. It takes over a month for the news to get here from the States. I have often wished myself back there to help my Uncle Sam under difficulties. I hope you will not be disturbed by existing difficulties. We are all excited about the secession news and get three or four papers a week. I wish one of the boys was out here with me. We have hired a Dutchman to cook for us at $65 a month, with the privilege of taking in washing, by which he may make $25 more. Crockett wrote but a brief paragraph or two of his experiences in the Pierce country in his narrative written later in life, and while in the main offers nothing new of particular interest, it is in these paragraphs he relates the result of the season's cleanup in that camp. His friend, John Montgomery, who had previously staked out his claim for him, had also braved the wild and undiscovered sections of the Pacific Coast and Pacific Northwest in quest of fortune from the soil and was the original discoverer of the Tombstone (Arizona) camp. [He was not.] Crockett does not mention the names of his other three partners at Pierce, neither does he write by name of others mining at Pierce. In his narrative he says: . . . I went to Walla Walla and settled with the man I had worked for. He owed me $100 for rails. (He had been engaged in splitting rails in the Blue Mountains during the winter of 1860-61.--Ed.) He had no money, so I had to take trade, mostly groceries. In the meantime my partner, Montgomery, in company with two other persons, had gone into the mines on Rhodes Creek, a branch of the north fork of Clearwater River, and had taken four claims, one for me. So I loaded my ponies (I had one of my partner's ponies with me) with flour, bacon, etc., and joining a pack train started for the mines, 150 miles distant. This was in May, 1861. When we got near the mines and in going over the mountains we encountered two feet of snow, but there was a well-beaten trail through it. I found my partners preparing for work, whipsawing and prospecting. On getting to work the claim paid us from the start. Montgomery and myself were old miners. He acted as foreman and I kept the books and dust, being treasurer and bookkeeper. Both the other partners went into other business, one to packing and the other into saloon keeping in the little town of Orofino, a mile below us on the creek. We hired a good many men, having as high as 24 at one time, and all worked hard, especially those working on the bedrock. No green hand ever stood that work over a week, and usually not for a day. The men worked 11 hours each day and Montgomery and I from half to an hour longer, but our work was lighter than theirs. Wages were $4 and board and lodging on bedrock and $3.50 on surface work, removing non-paying dirt. We worked the claim 50 feet wide by 600 feet in length and 7½ feet average depth, taking out $23,000, and our expenses were $7000 that season. After getting to the upper end of the claim we sold it to some of our hands who made $8 per day during the winter on the unworked ground at the sides of our first work. I proposed to Montgomery to buy up all the flour, etc., which we could get and wait for a rise in prices, as no provisions could be had there in the winter. He said we had better go and see our mothers, as both of us had made several raises and had gone broke again. He would not take any risk of missing a visit to his people, so we left for home. In six weeks from that time flour had doubled in price from 16 cents to 32 cents, and before the close of the winter was $1 per pound. We went to Portland, from there to San Francisco, thence by the way of Isthmus to New York and home to Ohio. . . . Wallace Press-Times, Wallace, Idaho, March 13, 1921, page 6 |
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