The following was written out long hand in pencil
on "foolscap" by my great grandmother when she was about 86 years
old.
I could edit it as she would have if she'd had the time, but she was
busy
to the end of her 94 years. I've left it as much like she wrote it as I
can read it. Elsewhere I hope to find more complete recollections
of the crossing of the plains.
The Hill Family in 1852 and 1853
by Ann Haseltine (Hill) Russell
Isaac & Elizabeth (Fine) Hill, with 6
children,
(3 boys & 3 daughters) in family are Pioneers, in every sense of
Oregon
Territory of 1849 & 1852. Isaac Hill & oldest son Lagrand
Henderson Hill crossed the plains in 1849 to dig gold in Cal. but
coming
the northern route, came to Oregon & spent that winter in Astoria
&
Clatsop Plains working on a mill at Clark River, wages $8 per day &
board. (Lodging, being their own blankets on Mother Earth) Early
in the year as traveling thru mud permitted Father started horse-back
for
gold digging to Yreka Cal. where his sister Mrs. Kelley had gone the
fall
before, leaving Lagrand at Astoria (in the settlements where a boy
should
be). After prospecting in Yreka diggings some days, crossed over
to Humbug Creek, with his brother George Hill & nephew Isham Keith
& 2 other men. located claims on Humbug Creek where they dug
virgin gold averaging $50 per day to each of the co. of 5 men.
But Father had passed throu Rogue River Valley,
not dareing to have his gun out of his hand fearing an attact of
Indians,
still the Rogue R.V. was so impressed on his vision of a home in the
beautiful
valley, that he left gold diging in 1851 & recrossed the Plains to
bring his family from Tenn. to settle as near his ideal valley as was
safe
to live by the tretirious RR indians, which had held at bay all
setters,
intending to secure one of the first Donations Claims of 1 mile square,
when it could be settled by white men, so having a buck-skins vest to
fit
his body, full of pockets to hold gold dust, which he wore under his
shirt,
he started with 2 mules for "the States" going the southern route by
Salt
Lake arriving in St. Louis Mo. in the fall. he had his gold coined,
ordered
wagons made to order for crossing the plains (one bed in the shape of a
boat to use crossing over ferryless rivers) he makeing further
arrangements
for the 6 mo. journey of continual wilderness camping. he came on
to Tenn. to spend the winter and get his family ready to go to Oregon
early
in the year & such a geting ready to go to the "jumping off place
of
the World" Father & brother John & Cicero made light
boxes
of popular, the length to fit wagon boxes, to dig sassasafras roots
&
peel off bark & dry. (a large flour sack full) & all other
things
unmenshionable while mother & us 3 girls made heavy canvass sacks,
same length of boxes to fill with dried peaches & apples (4 of each
kind) "as it would be the last we might ever see." then sunbonets and
aprons
"never tare" dresses, stocking & socks knitting, filling boxes with
takeable things, giving friends untakebles. Entertaning Oregon
questioners,
comeing for Father tell over & over of Oregons future developement
&ct. O the joy of it! then the friend sympathizers needed
entertaining
while handkercheifs to dry tears were in demand. but Feb. 1852
turned
the joyous father's face Oregon ward, his wife & others not viewing
prospects as he saw it. only put our kercheifs in our pockets
&
started. loaded wagons leading the 13 miles to Tenn. river, where
we boarded a steam boat to take us N. Mo. where father's sister lived
&
where we spent a mo. freezing in southern clothes & father &
boys
out buying cattle & horses. then we went into town to a
brother's
of Father, Claiborn Hill, where the wagons had been brought from St.
Louis,
tent makeing for both families, wagon covers &ct of the heavest
duck,
for 10 wagons began. but you must imagin, (it cant be discribed)
what sewing by hand on the 100s of yards of that heavy stiff duck meant
to feminine fingers: but again, the starting day did come, amid another
tear shower of my aunt and cousens, mingled with their friends & a
no. shed behind the house by a reminder of the past, who was starting
to
the "jumping off Pacific Coast" on her 14th Birth-day, which was only
remembered
by herself. I see that procession starting yet, a little nook in
my brain has retained it. the awkward of drivers, learning to use
the long 8 or 10 ft. whips to guide or propel the unbroken oxen.
Father dodging here & there adviseing all at same time, my cousin
Lizzie
& me siting together in a wagon watching for fun, saw plenty, but
was
mingled with dread of being a victim to jump out quick if our team
acted
up. Now imagine again the Iowa mud. a croud of friends in
tears.
feet planted to shoe tops in mud - the long whips cracking the gee-haws
& pardon faint voises of men the "Betsy, you ride
here."
"Polly this is your wagon, a soft seat for you." "Hass behave or
you will be left." & "well John, I want to be." then Mothers
heart jumps as father leads off amid good bys & backward last
glances
of an old family home. can you see it? was Oregon worth
it?
Oh, did I heare some late comer say Yes? That was the starting,
the
gatereing the cattle on the way, bought by brother John & put in
pastures
on the road side. camping and cooking in the mud on our way to
the
Mo. river may have been fun to read about, the camping on that river
bank
with over 1000 others waiting for 3 flat bottom row boats to cross us
over.
was not fun for us to experiance, which ended by us leaving my dearest
brother John's body in its roleing sandy bottom. to be covered
there
from our sight for ever. John drowned when the boat load of
cattle
sank. with holding to its railing, they called to him to "cling
to
the boat." from the shore knowing he could not swim &
expecting
the boat to float when the weight of the cattle was off. but it
sank
to the bottom. John went with arms around the railing.
could
you have left him there? after fruitless efforts to drag the
river
& find him and us all on this side? we had to go on .
cattle
was scattering, many already lost, we left him & the river, but not
our heart aches & tears wet our pillows many nights. wakeful
long lonely nights. the sight of a river gave me a chill, as we
journeyed
farther & farther from that fated spot. & when it was
nessesary
to lift the wagon bed a foot, I always felt I was my Mothers
nurse.
I saw how heart-broken & prostrated she was & tried to console
her by repeating fathers vision of this grand valley in the "by &
by."
Mother only saw her 3 young daughters in a wild country & Indian
neighbors
½ mile away & mountains all around us - thousand miles from
any friends & I had to retreat out of sight behind the cabin
to shed silent tears myself. The Hill Butte looked so near &
looked like it might tople over on me as the siting sun light crawled
up
to its racky crown. I felt so burried and no use to complain
(which
I never did, but just laught at the rediculess things that hapened - to
make it seem better for poor mother. Father's vision of to-days
development
would have kept him joyous if mother's vision could seen past savage
Indian
camps. us girls lived in expectation of returneing to Salem to
school
in the fall - but disappointed in that - was our one united regret of
us
sisters - but none of us allowed our parents to know of our counsells
together
siting by our cousens new made grave. the brave boy the Indians
shot
down while aiming to save the life of a comrad in battle. I think
of the name of Isham P. Keith deserves honor classed with herows to
him.
however was given the first honorable Soldiers burial in S. Oregon -
Virgin
soil broken in the Hill cemetery. only armed soldiers &
comrads
ventered to witness the sad rites - as danger of being attact by
Indians
prevented his aunts & cousens to dare attend or his heart broken
mother
comeing over the Siskiyou trail from Yreka - today the moss covered
tombs
honor the first marked grave in Rogue River Valley - and 70 years later
was visited by 90 relatives who feels it a priviledge now to visit the
sacred spot where the Donors of land also lay. Issac &
Elisabeth
Hill. 17 other Indian victims lay in there in unmarked graves
save
2 - but of late are cared for by Pioneer friends & their children.
No books to read, no papers to get the news since
leaving
Salem. My Kirkham grammer & a New Testament Grandfather Fine
gave me, was my only treasured books that crossed the Plains.
Thoughts
or Things in my head - surely worked fast in those days, longing for a
friend's face - no photos those days, old deguereotypes were very rare
- not one in our family. Oil painted liknesses, requiring days of
sitting still, was the expensive & tiresome style. Do you
wonder
that I was so hungry to hear a Church Bell in S. Oregon that
instead
of $5.00 to start a subscription to buy a bell, I would gladly have
paid
$500.00 then to have its call to "come, come, come and worship with
us?"
as the bell is calling to service, our Pioneer bell, so are my
thoughts,
are of a "thank you" of a merciful God, that led us through the perils
on the Plains, through 2 Indian wars & gave me strength &
willingness
to help Oregon become a good place for white folks to live - a place
for
schools, for churches & a place where apples grow big & red
&
luscious - where peace reigns. no fear of blizzards. nor quakes.
nor fears.
And then the Things in my head said. "Tell
those
dear High School girls about how girls of their age 70 years ago did
and
felt?" Of course a book not a chapter could not contain all the
happenings
of interest in a Pioneer life of 72 years in Oregon. Can the dear
High School girls see a green valley. bunch-grass waving like a grain
feild,
not a road nor fence. one batchelor's cabin, near the pack trail
& the ford of our nameless creek. and an Indian camp here
&
there, and Nob Hill an Indian burying-ground. where braves and
"worthless
squaws" together with their flint arrows & stone mortars are still
being exhumed by us ruthless road pavers! I know our eyes must
help
to imagine correctly. I can only give a "pen picture" of how
Ashland
once looked, as I saw it. The cabin of A.D. Helman & Eben
Emery
stood below the ice plant, where they "batched" neither can you imagine
the joy felt when in mid summer we saw 2 women & one carrying a
child,
lopeing their mules on the road by our house. next day Father
heard
they were Mrs. Emery and Mrs. Helman coming to live in the cabin we saw
by the creek. Father also heard that Mrs. Helman was a good
musician
- which delighted him he had been a music teacher and loved to
sing.
Soon after this the Indian War of 1853 broke out. which brought
the
settlers together at Fort Wagner - (Talent). the evenings were
usually
spent by gathering into one corner of the Fort and singing songs from
memory
or from father's hymn book. Father always led the singing, Mrs.
Helman
assisting, or singing alone sometimes - but as a rule every body
sang.
for we soon became as one family, in spirit - all on a level & all
with the same hopes and fears. Father brought a number of cheeses
from home & would cut one & put out for all to help them selves
& when it was gone, another one would take its place. The
volunteers
could fill their pockets too on starting after the Indians, that were
in
ambush, killing every white man they saw. Those brave volunteers
fought for our homes so nobly without a thought of recompense from
Government.
Only a few ever received any rewards - did not expect any. only
to
save this contry for the white setlers. But after 30 or 40 years
& most of them were dead a pension of $8.00 per mo. was given to
all
who were lucky enough to find living witnesses to prove their volunteer
service in Indian Wars. And some widows were lucky in filling out
the yards of "red tape" and receive $12.00 per mo. Some of the
widows
of the officers of the Oregon Militia now are allowed $20.00 per
mo.
This causes a feeling of rebellion to us who saw those Pioneer men go
so
bravely to face the foe, to save our lives & homes. no man
could
do more than they did, they equipped & furnished their own arms
&
supplies - (bread and bacon was all) dropped work any hour &
shouldered their gun, jumped on their horses & off to the scene of
danger at once. The volunteers did the fighting while the U.S.
Soldiers
were waiting for orders from Astoria to come horese-back - to move
after
Indians who had killed men 10 days before & were 100 miles away
perhaps.
that volunteers has driven back & some times fought hard battles
&
many killed - The U.S. boys were furnished every thing needed &
paid
& receive $50. & 60.00 Pension who rested in camp at the same
time
our volunteer men did the fighting. I am glad they are rewarded -
they obeyed orders after receiving them. But, to us who witnessed
those things, I claim those volunters are entitled to the same reward
as
the regulars are. If either merits more, it is the Oregon
Settlers
who raised their own State Military & did most of the fighting in
Southern
Oregon
Last updated by William P. Russell onSaturday, 08-Sep-2018 09:40:11 MDT