The Project Gutenberg eBook, Two Years in Oregon, by Wallis Nash This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Two Years in Oregon Author: Wallis Nash Release Date: February 15, 2011 [eBook #35288] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWO YEARS IN OREGON*** E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries (http://www.archive.org/details/americana) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive/American Libraries. See http://www.archive.org/details/twoyearsinoregon00nashrich Front cover A ship anchored in a bay Anchorage in Yaquina Bay. TWO YEARS IN OREGON. BY WALLIS NASH, AUTHOR OF "OREGON, THERE AND BACK IN 1877." Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, While the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Mountains on whose barren breast The lab'ring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied; Shallow brooks, and rivers wide. L'Allegro. Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile or frown; With that wild wheel we go not up or down; Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great; Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands; For man is man and master of his fate. Tennyson. NEW YORK: D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1, 3, and 5 BOND STREET. 1882. COPYRIGHT BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1881. I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO MY FATHER, WHO, THOUGH SEVERED FROM US BY LAND AND OCEAN, YET LIVES WITH US IN SPIRIT. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. It is my grateful task to recognize the marked kindness with which my modest volume has been received by the public and the press. It is rare that a second edition of a work of the kind should be called for within three months of the first issue, and still more rare that, out of a vast number of reviews by the leading journals all over the country, but one newspaper, and that the one I deemed it my duty to the State of Oregon to denounce (on page 216), has found aught but words of commendation. I desire also to tender my apologies to the esteemed Roman Catholic Archbishop, and to the Sisters of Charity of Portland, for the error on my part in ascribing to Bishop Morris, of the Episcopal Church, the credit of St. Vincent's Hospital. I ought not to have forgotten to notice the Good Samaritan Hospital and Orphanage founded by Bishop Morris. A single remark should be added about the price or value given, on page 70, for seed-wheat as an element of the cost of the crop raised from it. The wheat reserved by the farmer for this purpose, being exempt from the charges and waste incident to hauling, storage, insurance, and sacking, necessary in marketing, is fairly estimated at seventy cents, though the marketed portion of the crop averages eighty-five to ninety cents; the difference being composed, in part, of profit. W. N. Wallis Nash. PREFACE. I send forth this book, as sequel to the sketch published three years ago, with many misgivings—rather as if one who, as a lover, had written poems in praise of his mistress, should, as a two years' husband, give to the world his experience of the fireside charms and household excellences of his wife. Perhaps the latter might more faithfully picture her than when she was seen through the glamour of a first love. Be that as it may, it is true that the questions put from many lands, as to how we fare in this Western country, demand fuller answers than mere letter-writing can convey. I trust that those correspondents who are yet unanswered personally will find herein the knowledge they are seeking, and will accept the assurance that they are themselves to blame for some of the more solid and tedious chapters; as, if I had not known that such information were needed, I would not have ventured to put in print again that which previous and better authors have given to the world. While I have striven to write what is really a guide-book to Oregon for the intending emigrant, others may be interested in the picture of a young community shaping the details of their common life, and claiming and taking possession of a heritage in the wilderness. No one can go farther West than we have done: it is fair, then, to suppose that the purposes of the Western movement will be seen here in their fullest operation. Since 1877 a vast change has taken place in this, that Oregon now shares with older States the benefits of becoming the theatre for large railroad operations. No apology to American readers is needed for the endeavor to show things in a fairer light and different color from those chosen by persons interested in causing all men to see with their eyes. Transatlantic readers may not have the same concern; but even from them I bespeak a hearing in matters which may indirectly, if not directly, touch their interests. But I do not wish to suggest that I write as having only a general feeling that certain things would be the better for a more open discussion than they have hitherto received. My own affairs, and those of many friends, both in Oregon and elsewhere, and, indeed, the successful development of this great Willamette Valley, largely depend on our convincing an unprejudiced public that Nature is on our side in the effort we are making to secure a direct and near outlet to the great world. I only claim in these particulars to be an advocate, but I add to this a full and honest conviction of the justice of the views for which I contend. To turn again to more general matters, I have the pleasant duty of thanking several friends who have contributed to the information here collected. To our shame be it said that there was not, among our English immigrants, one naturalist who could rightly name the birds, beasts, fishes, and insects in our Western home. But I was fortunate in finding an American friend, Mr. O. B. Johnson, of Salem, whose complete and accurate knowledge of these subjects only rendered more easy his kindly endeavors to give me the benefit of all his stores. I wish to acknowledge also the care with which, ever since our visit in 1877, the professors at the Corvallis Agricultural College have kept the records of climate and rainfall, the results of which are now published. I trust that, if any sketches in these pages are recognized as portraits, not one grain of offense will be taken by those who have unwittingly served as models in the life-studio. Or that, if any effect is produced, it may be as good and lasting as that which followed on a fancy picture in the former book, in which many stray touches were collected. Whether the cap fitted, or was pressed on his head by too officious neighbors, I know not; but this I know, that cleared fields, neat fences, new barn, clean house, and fitting furniture, rendered it impossible for me to recognize a tumbledown place which then served to point a warning. These improvements, I am told, the owner lays at my unconscious door. Corvallis, Oregon, April 14, 1881. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. Personal reasons for coming to Oregon—Plans of colonizing—Who came—Who have returned—Who remain—Bowie-knives and revolvers—A sheriff in danger—No tragedy—Our landing at Corvallis—Frail houses—Pleasant welcome—The barber's shop—Its customers—Given names—New acquaintances— Bright dresses—​Religious denominations. 17 CHAPTER II. Where we live—Snow-peaks and distant prospects—Forest-fires—The Coast Mountains and Mary's Peak—Sunset in Oregon—Farmhouses: the log-cabin, the box-house, the frame-house—Dinner at the farm—Slay and eat—A rash chicken—Bread-making by amateurs—Thrift and unthrift—Butter and cheese—​Products of the "range," farm, and garden—​Wheat-growing. 26 CHAPTER III. The land-office; its object and functionaries—​How to find your land—​Section 33—​The great conflagration —The survivors of the fire—The burnt timber and the brush—The clearing-party—Chopping by beginners —Cooking, amateur and professional—The wild-cat—Deer and hunting—Piling brush—Dear and cheap clearing—The skillful axeman—Clearing by Chinamen—Dragging out stumps—What profits the farmer may expect on a valley farm—​On a foot-hills farm. 36 CHAPTER IV. A spring ride in Oregon—The start—The equipment—Horses and saddlery—Packs—The roadside— Bird fellow-travelers—Snakes—The nearest farm—Bees—The great pasture—The poisonous larkspur— Market-gardening—The Cardwell Hill—The hill-top—The water-shed —Mary River—Crain's—The Yaquina Valley—Brush, grass, and fern —The young Englishmen's new home—A rustic bridge—"Chuck- holes"— The road supervisor—Trapp's—The mill-dam—Salmon-pass law—Minnows and crawfish— The Pacific at rest—​Yaquina—​Newport. 48 CHAPTER V. Hay-harvest—Timothy-grass—Permanent pasture—Hay-making by express—The mower and reaper— Hay-stacks as novelties— Wheat-harvest—Thrashing—The "thrashing crowd"—"Headers" and "self- binders"—Twine-binders and home-grown flax—Green food for cows—Indian corn, vetches—Wild-oats in wheat—Tar-weed the new enemy—Cost of harvesting—By hired machines—By purchased machines —​Cost of wheat-growing in the Willamette Valley. 62 CHAPTER VI. The farmer's sports and pastimes—Deer-hunting tales—A roadside yarn—Still-hunting—Hunting with hounds—An early morning's sport—Elk—The pursuit—The kill—Camp on Beaver Creek— Flounder- spearing by torchlight—Flounder-fishing by day—In the bay—Rock oysters—The evening view—The general store—Skins— Sea-otters—Their habits—The sea-otter hunters—Common otter—The mink and his prey. 72 CHAPTER VII. Birds in Oregon—Lark—Quail—Grouse—Ruffed grouse—Wild-geese— Manœuvres in the air—Wild- ducks—Mallard—Teal—Pintail— Wheat-duck—Black-duck—Wood-duck—Snipe—Flight-shooting— Stewart's Slough—Bitterns—Eagles—Hawks—Horned owls—Woodpeckers —Blue-jays—Canaries— The canary that had seen the world—Blue-birds —Bullfinches—Snow-bunting—Humming-birds at home. 91 CHAPTER VIII. Up to the Cascades—Farming by happy-go-lucky—The foot-hills—Sweet Home Valley—Its name, and how deserved and proved—The road by the Santiam—Eastward and upward—Timber—Lower Soda Springs—Different vegetation—Upper Soda Springs—Mr. Keith—Our reception—His home and surroundings—Emigrants on the road—The emigrant's dog—Off to the Spokane—Whence they came— Where they were bound—Still eastward— Fish Lake—Clear Lake—Fly-fishing in still water—The down slope east—​Lava-beds—​Bunch-grass—​The valleys in Eastern Oregon—​Their products—​Wheat-growing there—Cattle-ranchers—Their home—Their life—In the saddle and away—Branding-time—Hay for the winter—The Malheur reservation—The Indians' outbreak—The building of the road—When, how, and by whom built—The opening of the pass—The history of the road—Squatters—The special agent from Washington—​A sham survey. 100 CHAPTER IX. Indian fair at Brownsville—Ponies—The lasso—Breaking-in—The purchase—"Bucking" extraordinary— Sheep-farming in Eastern Oregon— Merinos—The sheep-herder—Muttons for company—A good offer refused—Exports of wool from Oregon-Price and value of Oregon wool—Grading wool—Price of sheep —Their food—Coyotes—The wolf-hunt—Shearing—Increase of flocks—"Corraling" the sheep— Sheep as brush-clearers. 118 CHAPTER X. The trail to the Siletz Reserve—Rock Creek—Isolation—Getting a road—The surveying-party—Entrance at last—Road-making—Hut-building in the wilds—What will he do with it?—Choice of homestead— Fencing wild land—Its method and cost—Splitting cedar boards and shingles— House-building—The China boy and the mules—Picnicking in earnest—Log-burning—Berrying-parties—Salting cattle—An active cow—​A year's work—​Mesquit-grass on the hills. 127 CHAPTER XI. The Indians at home—The reservation—The Upper Farm—Log-cabins— Women must work while men will play—The agency—The boarding-house —Sunday on the reservation—Indian Sun day-school— Galeese Creek Jem—The store-Indian farmers—As to the settlement of the Indians —Suggestions—A crime—Its origin—Its history—The criminals— What became of them—Indian teamsters—Numbers on the reservation —​The powers and duties of the agent—​Special application. 136 CHAPTER XII. The Legislative Assembly—​The Governor—​His duties—​Payment of the members—​Aspect of the city; the Legislature in session—The lobbyist—How bills pass—How bills do not pass—Questions of the day— Common carriers—Woman's suffrage—Some of the acts of 1878—Judicial system of the State—Taxes —​Assessments—​County officers—​The justice of the peace—​Quick work. 145 CHAPTER XIII. Land laws—Homesteads and preëmption—How to choose and obtain Government land—University land —School land—Swamp land—Railroad and wagon-road grants—Lieu lands—Acreages owned by the various companies. 157 CHAPTER XIV. The "Web-foot State"—Average rainfall in various parts—The rainy days in 1879 and 1880— Temperature—Seasons—Accounts and figures from three points—Afternoon sea-breezes—A "cold snap"—Winter— Floods—Damage to the river-side country—Rare thunder—Rarer wind-storms—The storm of January, 1880. 164 CHAPTER XV. The State Fair of 1880—Salem—The ladies' pavilion—Knock-em-downs à l'Américaine—​Self-binders —Thrashing-machines—Rates of speed—Cost—Workmanship—Prize sheep—Fleeces—Pure versus graded sheep—California short-horns—Horses—American breed or Percheron—Comparative measurements—​The races—​Runners—​Trotters—​ Cricket in public—​Unruly spectators. 174 CHAPTER XVI. History of Oregon—First discoverers—Changes of government— Recognition as a Territory—Entrance as a State—Individual histories—"Jottings"—"Sitting around"—A pioneer in Benton County—How to serve Indian thieves—The white squaw and the chief—Immigration in company—Rafting on the Columbia —The first winter—Early settlement—Indian friends—Indian houses and customs—The Presbyterian colony—The start—Across the plains— Arrival in Oregon—The "whaler" settler—A rough journey—"Ho for the Umpqua!"—A backwoodsman—Compliments—School-teacher provided for—Uncle Lazarus— Rogue River Cañon—​Valley of Death—​Pleasant homes—​Changed circumstances. 183 CHAPTER XVII. State and county elections—The Chinese question—Chinese house-servants—Washermen—Laborers— A large camp—Supper—Chinese trading—The scissors—Cost of Chinese labor—Its results—Chinese treaties—Household servants—Chee and his mistress—"Heap debble-y in there"—The photo album— Temptation—A sin and its reward—Good advice on whipping—Chung and the crockery—Chinese New Year—​Gifts—​ "Hoodlums"—​Town police—​Opium. 201 CHAPTER XVIII. Life in the town—Sociables—Religious sects—Sabbath-schools— Christmas festivities—Education, how far compulsory—Colleges— Student-life and education—Common schools—Teachers' institutes— Newspapers—Patent outsides-"The Oregonian"—Other journals—Charities —Paupers—Secret societies. 209 CHAPTER XIX. Industries other than farming—Iron-ores—Coal—Coos Bay mines— Seattle mines—Other deposits— Lead and copper—Limestone—Marbles— Gold, where found and worked—Silver, where found and worked—Gold in sea-sand—Timber—Its area and distribution—Spars—Lumber—Size of trees—Hard woods—Cost of production and sale of lumber—Tanneries —Woolen-mills—Flax-works—Invitation to Irish—Salmon—Statistics of the trade—Methods—Varieties of salmon—When and where caught— Salmon-poisoning of dogs—​Indians fishing—​Traps—​Salmon-smoking. 219 CHAPTER XX. Eastern Oregon—Going "east of the mountains"—Its attractions— Encroaching sheep—First experiments in agriculture and planting—​ General description of Eastern Oregon—​Boundaries—​Alkaline plains—​ Their productions—The valleys—Powder River Valley—Description— The Snake River and its tributaries— The Malheur Valley—Harney Lake Valley—Its size—Productions—Wild grasses—Hay-making—The winters in Eastern Oregon—Wagon-roads—Prineville—Silver Creek—Grindstone Creek Valley— Crooked River—Settlers' descriptions and experiences— Ascent of the Cascades going west—Eastern Oregon towns—​Baker City—​Prineville—​Warnings to settlers—​Growing wheat for the railroads to carry. 231 CHAPTER XXI. Southern Oregon—Its boundaries—The western counties—Population— Ports—Rogue River—Coos Bay—Coal—Lumber—Practicable railroad routes—The harbor—Shifting and blowing sands—A quoted description —Cost of transportation—Harbor improvements—Their progress and results—The Umpqua —Douglas County—Jackson County—The lake-country —Linkville—Water-powers—Indian reservations—​The great mountains—​ Southeastern Oregon—​General description—​Industries. 243 CHAPTER XXII. The towns—Approach to Oregon—The steamers—The Columbia entrance— Astoria—Its situation, industries, development—Salmon—Shipping— Loading and discharging cargo—Up the Columbia and Willamette to Portland—Portland, West and East—Population—Public buildings— United States District Court—The judge—Public Library—The Bishop schools—Hospital—Churches—Stores—Chinese quarter—Banks—Industries —The city's prosperity—Its causes—Its probable future—The Oregon Railway and Navigation Company—Shipping abuses and exactions— Railroad termini—Up the Columbia —The Dalles—Up the Willamette— Oregon City, its history—The falls—Salem—Its position and development—Capitol buildings—Flour-mills—Oil-mills—Buena Vista potteries—Albany—Its water- power—Flour-mills—Values of land— Corvallis—The line of the Oregon Pacific Railroad—Eugene, its university and professors—Roseburg—The West-side Railroad to Portland—Development of the country —Prosperity—Counties of Oregon —Their population—Taxable property—Average possessions—In the Willamette Valley—​In Eastern Oregon—​In Eastern Oregon tributary to Columbia and Snake Rivers. 252 CHAPTER XXIII. The transportation question—Its importance—Present legal position —Oregon Railway and Navigation Committee's general report—That company—Its ocean-going steamers—Their traffic and earnings—Its river-boats—Their traffic and earnings—Its railroads in existence —Their traffic and earnings—Its new railroads in construction and in prospect—Their probable influence—The Northern Pacific— Terminus on Puget Sound—Its prospects—The East and West Side Railroads—"Bearing" traffic and earnings—How to get "control"— Lands owned by the Oregon Railway and Navigation Company—Monopoly —How threatened—The narrow-gauge railroads—Their terminus and working—Efforts to consolidate monopoly —The "blind pool"—Resistance —The Oregon Pacific—Its causes, possessions, and prospects—Land grant and its enemies—The traffic of the valley—Yaquina Bay—Its improvement—The farmers take it in hand—Contrast and comparisons —The two presidents—Probable effects of competition—Tactics in opposition—The Yaquina improvements—Description of works—The prospects for competition and the farmers' gains. 271 CHAPTER XXIV. Emigration to Oregon—Who should not come—Free advice and no fees—English emigrants—Farmers— Haste to be rich—Quoted experiences—Cost and ways of coming—Sea-routes—Railroads— Baggage —What not to bring—What not to forget—Heavy property— The Custom-house—San Francisco hotels —​Conclusion. 293 Appendix. 305 TWO YEARS IN OREGON. CHAPTER I. Personal reasons for coming to Oregon—Plans of colonizing—Who came—Who have returned—Who remain —Bowie-knives and revolvers—A sheriff in danger—No tragedy—Our landing at Corvallis—Frail houses —Pleasant welcome—The barber's shop—Its customers—Given names—New acquaintances—Bright dresses—​Religious denominations. After visiting Oregon in the year 1877, and traveling with three or four companions through its length and breadth, I ventured to publish in England on my return a short account of our seeings and doings. While the reception of this book by the reviews generally was only too kind and flattering, one paper, the "Athenæum," distinguished me by a long notice, the whole point of which lay in the observation that it would be interesting to know if I, who had been recommending Oregon to others, were prepared to take my own prescription, and emigrate there myself. Now, although it would not perhaps be fair to make all physicians swallow their own medicines, regardless whether or not they were sick, and although I certainly was not in any position rendering emigration necessary, or in the opinion of any of my friends and acquaintances even desirable, yet I did not like it to be possible to be PLANS OF COLONIZING. accused rightly of recommending a course so serious as a change of dwelling-place and even of nationality, without being willing to prove by my own acts the genuineness of the advice I had given. And this, among other motives and inducements, had a strong influence in overcoming the crowd of hesitations and difficulties which spring up when so great a change begins to be contemplated as possible. And it is no more than natural that now, having had two years' experience in Oregon, I should desire to have it known if it be necessary to recall the general advice given in the former book, advocating, as undoubtedly I then did advocate, Oregon as a desirable residence. But, as this involves my putting into some kind of literary shape our experiences for the past two years in this far Western land, it is better to begin by some general relation of our plans. When I undertook to come out with my wife and children and see to the settlement and disposal of the tract of land we had purchased, as one result of my visit in 1877, I was applied to by a good many fathers to take some superintendence of their sons, who desired to emigrate to Oregon. Next, one or two married couples expressed a wish to join us. Then several acquaintances, who were practical mechanics, had heard a good report of Oregon, and desired to accompany us. And I was busy in answering letters about the place and people to the very moment of sailing. I was not at all willing to have the company indefinitely numerous, not having graduated in Mr. Cook's school for tourists, and knowing something of the embarrassments likely to attend a crowd of travelers. We found our party of twenty-six fully large enough for comfort. We were kindly and liberally treated by the Allan Steamship Company, the Grand Trunk Railway of Canada, and the Chicago and Northwestern Railway; but our lines did not fall to us in pleasant places when we experienced the tender mercies of the Union and Central Pacific. Our party was broken up into different cars, and our strongest portmanteaus were shattered by the most atrocious handling. It was a serious question if we should try to found an English colony here, in the usual sense of the word. That would have involved a separate life from the American residents; it would have fostered jealousy here, and we should have committed numberless mistakes and absurdities. We should have had to buy all our experience, amid the covert ridicule of our neighbors. And I was confident that many members of our party would have played at emigrating, and treated the whole business as picnicking on a large scale. Moreover, I was not sure that, even if we succeeded in transplanting English manners, customs, and institutions, they would take hold in this new soil. The fact was always before my eyes that the country was only thirty years old, in a civilized sense, and I doubted the wisdom of trying to transport thither a little piece of the old country. I believed the wiser course to be to plant ourselves quietly among the Oregonians with as little parade and fuss as possible, and to let our own experience dictate to others whether to join us or not. It has been our practice throughout to answer freely, and as fully as possible, the many letters of inquiry as to place and people that we have had, but to offer no advice; leaving those who were thinking of coming out to take the responsibility on themselves of deciding to come or to stay away. Under this system our numbers have grown to upward of a hundred, and now rarely a month passes without additions. Of course, a process of natural selection goes on all the time. Not every one who comes remains; but we have every reason to be satisfied with the representatives of the mother-country who are making Oregon their permanent home, and the same feeling is shared, as I am confident, by the original residents. Shall I try to describe what sort of people we live among here, a hundred miles from Portland, the chief city in the State? OUR LANDING AT CORVALLIS. A town, surrounding countryside, and two people on horseback riding outside of the town. Corvallis, 1880. What the notions of some of our party were you will understand when I mention that all I could say could not prevent the young men of the party from arming themselves, as for a campaign in the hostile Indian country, so that each man stepped ashore from the boat that brought us up the Willamette with a revolver in each pocket, and the hugest and most uncompromising knives that either London, New York, or San Francisco could furnish. As ill luck would have it, just as we arrived, the sheriff had returned to town with an escaped prisoner, and had been set upon by the brother, and a pistol had been actually presented at him. I should say in a whisper that the sheriff, worthy man, had proposed to return the assault in kind, but had failed to get his six-shooter out in time from the depths of a capacious pocket, where the deadly weapon lay in harmless neighborhood, with a long piece of string, a handful or so of seed- wheat, a large chunk of tobacco, a leather strap and buckle, and a big red pocket-handkerchief. So I fancy he had not much idea of shooting when he started out. But the incident was enough to give a blood-color to all our first letters home, and I dare say caused a good many shiverings and shudders at the thought of the wild men of the woods we had come to neighbor with. The worst of it was, that it was the only approach to a tragedy, and that we have had no adventures worth speaking of. "Story, God bless you! I have none to tell, sir." Still we did know ourselves to be in a new world when we stepped ashore from the large, white-painted, three-storied structure on the water that they called a stern-wheel river-boat, and in which we had spent two days coming up the great river from Portland. It was the 17th of May, just a month from leaving Liverpool, that we landed. The white houses of the little city of Corvallis were nestled cozily in the bright spring green of the alders and willows and oaks that fringed the river, and the morning sun flashed on the metal cupola of the court-house, and lighted up the deep-blue clear-cut mountains that rose on the right of us but a few miles off. When we got into the main street the long, low, broken line of booth-like, wooden, one-storied stores and houses, all looking as if one strong man could push them down, and one strong team carry them off, grated a little, I could see, on the feelings of some of the party. The redeeming feature was the trees, lining the street at long intervals, darkening the houses a little, but clothing the town, and giving it an air of age and respectability that was lacking in many of the bare rows of shanties, dignified with the title of town, that we had passed in coming here across the continent. The New England Hotel invited us in. A pretty plane-tree in front overshadowed the door; and a bright, cheery hostess stood in the doorway to welcome us, shaking hands, and greeting our large party of twenty-six in a fashion of freedom to which we had not been used, but which sounded pleasantly in our travel-worn ears. The house was tumble-down and shabby, and needed the new coat of paint it received soon after—but in the corner of the sitting-room stood a good parlor-organ. The dining-room adjoining had red cloths on the tables, and gave a full view into the kitchen; but the "beefsteak, mutton-chop, pork-chop, and hash" were good and well cooked, and contrasted with, rather than reminded us of, the fare described by Charles Dickens as offered him in the Eastern States when he visited America thirty-nine years ago. The bedrooms, opening all on to the long passage upstairs, with meager furniture and patchwork quilts, the whole wooden house shaking as we trotted from room to room, were not so interesting, and tempted no long delay in bed after the early breakfast-gong had been sounded soon after six. Breakfast at half-past six, dinner at noon, and supper at half-past five, only set the clock of our lives a couple of hours faster than we had been used to; and bed at nine was soon no novelty to us. The street in front was a wide sea of slushy mud when we arrived, with an occasional planked crossing, needing a THE BARBER'S SHOP. RELIGIOUS DENOMINATIONS. sober head and a good conscience to navigate safely after dark; for, when evening had closed in, the only street- lighting came from the open doors, and through the filled and dressed windows of the stores. Saloons were forbidden by solemn agreement to all of us, but the barber's shop was the very pleasant substitute. Two or three big easy-chairs in a row, with a stool in front of each. Generally filled they were by the grave and reverend seigniors of the city—each man reposing calmly, draped in white, while he enjoyed the luxury, under the skillful hands of the barber or his man, of a clean shave. At the far end of the shop stood the round iron stove, with a circle of wooden chairs and an old sofa. And here we enjoyed the parliament of free talk. The circle was a frequently changing one, but the types were constant. The door opened and in came a man from the country: such a hat on his head! a brim wide enough for an umbrella, the color a dirty white; a scarlet, collarless flannel shirt, the only bit of positive color about him; a coat and trousers of well-worn brown, canvas overall (or, as sometimes spelled, "overhaul"), the trousers tucked into knee-high boots, worn six months and never blacked. His hands were always in his pockets, except when used to feed his mouth with the constant "chaw."—"Hello, Tom," he says slowly, as he makes his way to the back, by the stove. "Hello, Jerry," is the instant response. "How's your health?" "Well; and how do you make it?" "So-so." "Any news out with you?" "Wall, no; things pretty quiet." And he finds a seat and sinks into it as if he intended growing there till next harvest. We all know each other by our "given" names. I asked one of our politicians how he prepared himself for a canvass in a county where I knew he was a stranger this last summer. "Well, I just learned up all the boys' given names, so I could call them when I met them," was the answer. "I guess knowing 'em was as good as a hundred votes to me in the end." It was a little startling at first to see a rough Oregonian ride up to our house, dismount, hitch his horse to the paling, and stroll casually in, with "Where's Herbert?" as his first and only greeting. But we soon got used to it. But the barber's shop was, and is, useful to us, as well as amusing. The values and productiveness of farms for sale, the worth and characters of horses, the prices of cattle, the best and most likely and accessible places for fishing, and deer-shooting, and duck-hunting—all such matters, and a hundred other things useful for us to know, we picked up here, or "sitting around" the stoves in one or other of the stores in the town. Another good gained was, that thus our new neighbors and we got acquainted: they found we were not all the "lords" they set us down for at first, with the exclusiveness and pride they attributed to that maligned race in advance; while we on our side found a vast amount of self-respect, of native and acquired shrewdness, of legitimate pride in country, State, and county, and a fund of kindly wishes to see us prosper, among our roughly dressed but really courteous neighbors. There was a good deal of feminine curiosity displayed on either side, by the natives and the new-comers. When we went to church the first Sunday after our arrival, there were a good many curious worshipers, more intent on the hats and bonnets of the strangers than on the service in which we united. We heard afterward how disappointed they were that the stranger ladies were so quietly and cheaply dressed. We could not say the same when callers came, which they speedily did after we were settled in our new home—such tight kid gloves, and bright bonnets, and silk mantles! It was a constant wonder to our women-folk how their friends managed to show as such gay butterflies, two thousand miles on the western side of everywhere. We found here, in a little town of eleven hundred inhabitants, all kinds of religious denominations represented—Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Roman Catholics, Methodists North, and Methodists South, Evangelicals, and Baptists—but very little rivalry and no rancor. I shall have something more to say about the religious life later on, but I think I will reserve the description of our home, and of those of some of our neighbors, for a fresh chapter. CHAPTER II. Where we live—Snow-peaks and distant prospects—Forest-fires—The Coast Mountains and Mary's Peak— Sunset in Oregon—Farmhouses: the log-cabin, the box-house, the frame-house—Dinner at the farm—Slay and eat—A rash chicken—Bread-making by amateurs—Thrift and unthrift—Butter and cheese—Products of the "range," farm, and garden—​Wheat-growing. You might look the world over for a prettier spot than that on which this house stands. Just a mile from Corvallis, on a gently rounded knoll, we look eastward across the town, and the river, and the broad valley beyond, to the Cascade Mountains. SUNSET IN OREGON. FARMHOUSES. Their lowest range is about thirty miles off, and the rich flat valley between is hidden by the thick line of timber, generally fir, that fringes the farther side of the Willamette. Against the dark line of timber the spires of the churches and the cupola of the court-house stand out clear, and the gray and red shingled roofs of the houses in the town catch early rays of the rising sun. The first to be lighted up are the great snow-peaks, ninety, seventy, and fifty miles off—a ghostly, pearly gray in the dim morning, while the lower ranges lie in shadow; but, as the sun rises in the heavens, these same lower ranges grow distinct in their broken outlines. The air is so clear that you see plainly the colors of the bare red rocks, and the heavy dark, fir-timber clothing their rugged sides. Ere the sun mounts high the valley often lies covered with a low-lying thin white mist, beyond and over which the mountains stand out clear. For some weeks in the late summer heavy smoke-clouds from the many forest and clearing fires obscure all distant view. This last summer fires burned for at least fifty miles in length at close intervals of distance, and the dark gray pall overlay the mountains throughout. Behind the house, and in easy view from the windows on either side, are the Coast Mountains, or rather hills. Mary's Peak rises over four thousand feet, and is snow-crowned for nine months in the year. The outlines of this range are far more gently rounded than the Cascades, and timber-covered to the top. Save for the solid line of the heavy timber, the outlines of the Coast Range constantly remind us of our own Dartmoor; and the illusion is strengthened by the dark-red soil where the plow has invaded the hills, yearly stealing nearer to their crowns. Mary's Peak itself is bare at the top for about a thousand acres, but the firs clothe its sides, and the air is so clear that, in spite of the seventeen miles' distance, their serrated shapes are plainly and individually visible as the sun sinks to rest behind the mountain. Such sunsets as we have! Last night I was a mile or two on the other side of the river as night fell. Mount Hood was the first to blush, and then Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters in turn grew rosy red. From the valley I could not see the lower Cascades, but these snowy pyramids towered high into the sky. One little fleecy cloud here and there overhead caught the tinge, but the whole air on the eastern side was luminously pink. Turning westward, the pale-blue sky faded through the rainbow-green into the rich orange surrounding the departing sun; and the westward mountains stood solidly and clearly blue in massive lines. One great peculiarity of the Oregon landscape, as distinguished from an English rather than a New England scene, is in the number of white farmhouses that catch the eye. We see many from our windows. I suppose it is that the roads are so bad in winter that the farmers must live on the farms, instead of in the English-village fashion. So it is that you may travel by railroad up and down this valley for two hundred miles between farmhouses every quarter or half mile all the way. Nearly every farmhouse has its orchard close by; but one big barn is all the out-buildings they boast, and farm-yard, in the English sense, one never sees. Our own house is not a fair specimen, because of our large family and its corresponding habitation; but the regular farmhouse is by no means an uncomfortable abode. There are three kinds: log-cabin, box-house, frame-house. The first, by far the most picturesque type, is fast becoming obsolete, and on most of the good farms, if not pulled down, is degraded into woodhouse or piggery. But to my eye there is something rarely comfortable in the low, solid, rugged walls of gray logs, with overhanging shingled roof; the open hearth, too, with its great smoldering back-log and wide chimney, invites you to sit down before it and rest. By the side of the fireplace, from two deers' horns fastened to the wall, hangs the owner's rifle—generally an old brown veteran—with bullet-pouch and powder-horn. Over the high mantel-shelf stands the ticking clock, suggesting "Sam Slick, the clock-maker." Curtained off from the main room, with its earthen or roughly-boarded floor, are the low bedsteads of the family, each covered with its patchwork quilt. A corner cupboard or two hold the family stock of cups and plates, and the smell of apples, from the adjoining apple-chamber, pervades the house. Round the house is the home-field, generally the orchard, sown with timothy-grass, where range four or five young calves, and a sow or two, with their hungry, rooting youngsters. The barn, log-built also, stands near by, with two or three colts, or yearling cattle, grouped around. The spring of cold, clear water runs freely through the orchard, but ten yards from the house-door, hastening to the "creek," whose murmur is never absent, save in the few driest weeks of summertime. Snake-fences, seven logs high, with top-rail and crossed binders to keep all steady, divide the farm from the road, and a litter of chips from the axe-hewed pile of firewood strew the ground between wood-pile and house. Here and there, even in the home-field, and nearly always in the more distant land, a big black stump disfigures the surface, and betrays the poverty or possibly the carelessness of the owner, who has carved his homestead from the brush. But as the farmer prospers, be it ever so little, he hastens to pull down his log-cabin and to build his "box" or more expensive "frame" house. In each case the material is "lumber." By this is signified, be it known to the DINNER AT THE FARM. BREAD-MAKING BY AMATEURS. uninitiated, fir boards, one foot wide, sixteen feet long, and one inch thick. The "box" house is built of boards set upright, and the cracks covered with strips of similar board, three inches wide. The "frame" house is double throughout, the boards run lengthwise, and there is a covering outside of an outer skin of planking. With the box or frame house comes the inevitable stove. The cooking and eating of the family go on in a lean-to room, and the living-room is furnished with some pretensions, always with a sewing-machine, and often with a parlor-organ or piano. Muslin curtains drape the windows; a bureau is generally present, and chromos, or very rough engravings, hang on the walls. The political tendencies of the owner betray themselves. General Grant, with tight-buttoned coat and close-cut beard, or President Lincoln and his family, show the Republican. Strangely enough, General Lee, with a genial smile on his attractive face, is affected by the Democrats. The followers of the greenback heresy delight in Brick Pomeroy, with clean-shaven, smug, and satisfied look. It is not the fashion to carry provisions with you on journeys in Oregon. When meal-time draws near, and hotels are many miles away, you ride boldly up to the nearest farm, dismount, throw your horse's rein over the paling, and walk in. The lady of the house appears, from the cooking department at the rear, and you say: "Good-morning, madam; can I get dinner with you?" Unless there is grave reason to the contrary, she considers a moment, and then answers, "I guess so," with a hospitable smile. The next question is as to your horse, which one of the children leads into the barn, and then fills out a goodly measure of oats, and crams the rack with hay from the pile filling the middle of the barn. While your hostess adds a little to the family meal, you turn over the newspapers in the sitting-room, generally finding a "Detroit Free Press," or a "Toledo Blade," or a New York "World" or "Tribune," or a San Francisco "Bulletin" or "Chronicle," besides the local weekly. If you want books, you must take to the "Pacific Coast Reader," the last school-book, which you are sure to find on the shelf; unless you chance on a "Universal History," or the "History of the Civil War," or the "Life of General Jackson," or the "Life of General Custer," or a collection of poetry in an expensive binding, all of which signify that the book-peddler has been paying a recent visit. Then your hostess returns, saying, "Will you come and eat?" If you go into the back room—where, generally, the master of the house and you, the visitor, and perhaps a grown-up son, or a farming hand, sit down and dine, while the mistress and her daughter serve—you will not starve. In front of you is a smoking dish of meat, either pork or mutton, salted, cut into square bits and fried; rarely beef, more often venison, or deer-meat, as it is called here. By it is piled up a dish of mashed potatoes, and a tureen of white, thick sauce. A glass dish of stewed apples, or apple-sauce, and one of preserved pears or peaches, and a smaller dish of blackberry or plum jam, complete the meal, with the constant coffee, and generally a big jug of milk. The bread is brought you in sets of hot, square rolls, fresh from the stove. It is not always that you can get cold bread, and a look of surprise always follows the request for it. Generally, a good supply of white beans, boiled soft, and with a slice or two of bacon, is an important item. Apples, and the best of them, too, you can have for the asking—too common to be offered to you. This régime applies to breakfast, dinner, and supper, with but slight variations. I forgot, though, the saucer of green, sharp, vinegary gherkins, which the Oregonians seem not to know how to do without, and also the honey, and trout, which are the frequent and welcome additions to the meal among the hills. My wife and I dropped in once to a dinner of this kind. We were sitting, cooling ourselves on the veranda, watching some pretty, black Spanish chickens scratching among the scanty rose-bushes in front. The farmer's wife came quickly out and addressed me: "Have you got your revolver?" I stared for a moment, thinking of tramps, and bears, and I know not what. "I never carry one on horseback," I answered. "Oh," said she, "I would have had you shoot the head off one of them chickens, for I've got no fresh meat." Inwardly I congratulated ourselves that our dinner did not altogether depend on my skill with that common, but, to my mind, very unsatisfactory weapon. One of my friends bought out an Oregonian farmer, and paid him for stock and lot, including some fine fowls. Dropping in to dinner two days afterward, he found a smoking chicken on the board. I suppose he eyed it askance, for the farmer observed: "That's one of your chickens I killed by accident. I saw some wild-geese feeding on the wheat, and fetched the rifle, and that there foolish rooster got right in the way of the bullet." If any friends of yours think of coming out, send them to the school of cookery, I implore you. It is the greatest possible quandary to be in, to be set down with flour, water, and a tin of saleratus or baking-powder, and to have to make the bread or go without. Then, to convert chickens running about your house into food for man is not so easy as it looks; nor is cooking beans or potatoes a matter of pure instinct, I assure you. Shall I ever forget riding up at nearly three in the afternoon, to one of our Englishmen's farms, to find the proprietor standing, coat off and sleeves turned up, before a huge, round tin of white slush? When he saw me come in, he lifted out his hands and rubbed off the white dripping mess, saying: "I'll be hanged if I'll try any longer; since eleven o'clock have I been after this beastly bread! Can you make it? Is WHEAT-GROWING. this stuff too thin or too thick, or what?" It is true that he makes fine bread now; but if you could but know the stages of slackness, heaviness, soddenness, flintiness, that he and his friends passed through, you would see that I was giving a useful hint, and one that applies to the feminine emigrant quite as much as to the masculine. Another thing strikes us out here, namely, the waste that pervades an average Oregon farmer's household. Does he kill a deer? He leaves the fore half of the creature, and all the internals, in the wood where he killed it, taking home only the hind-quarters and the hide. If he kills a hog, the head is thrown out, to be rolled round and gnawed at by the dogs; the same with a sheep or a calf. Half of them will not even take the trouble to have butter, letting the calves get all the milk, but just a little for the meals. You rarely see eggs on the table, though there may be scores of hens about. You will hardly believe that large quantities of butter and cheese are imported into this valley, both from California and from Washington Territory, and cheese even from the East, though there can not be a finer dairy country than this, if they would but look a little ahead and provide some green food for the cows for the interval between the hay-crop off the timothy-grass and the fresh growth of the same from the autumn rains. It is still more inexcusable among the hills, where the grass keeps green all the year round. The exclusive devotion to wheat is what will very shortly and most surely impoverish the country; and therefore it is that, in the interests of Oregon, I am so anxious that many farmers should come here who are familiar with mixed farming, and will apply it to our deep, rich, stoneless soil, and will thus avert the inevitable consequences of wheat, wheat, wheat, continuously for fifteen, twenty, ay, and thirty years. It is not that other crops and other pursuits do not answer here. Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive and multiply. Oregon valley wool ranks among the very best. The Angora goat takes to Western Oregon as if it were his native home, and produces yearly from three to four pounds of hair, worth from sixty to eighty cents a pound. Beans, peas, carrots, parsnips grow as I have never seen them elsewhere. Swedish turnips have succeeded well in this valley, and nearer the coast the white turnips I have seen nearly as big as your head, and good all through. I saw a large heap of potatoes the other day that averaged six inches long, and perfectly clean and free from all taint. Carrots we grew ourselves that weighed from one and a half to two pounds all round. Barley thrives splendidly, with a full, round, clear-skinned berry. Oats I need hardly mention, as the export of this cereal is very large, and the quality is undeniable. The common red clover grows in a half-acre patch in my neighbor's field waist-high, and he cut it three times last year. We have the humble-bee (or, at any rate, a big fellow just like the English humble-bee—for I never handled one to examine it closely) to fertilize the clover. The white Dutch clover spreads wherever it gets a chance. But the temptation to grow wheat is very strong. It is the staple product of the State, and hardly ever fails in quality. The farmers understand it; their system of life is organized with a view to it. A thousand bushels of wheat in the warehouse is as good as money in the bank, and is in reality a substitute for it. There is a clear understanding of what it costs to plant, harvest, and warehouse, and it involves the lowest amount of trouble and anxiety. Therefore, Oregon grows wheat, and will grow it; and men will grow nothing else until the consequences are brought home to them. CHAPTER III. The land-office; its object and functionaries—How to find your land—Section 33—The great conflagration—The survivors of the fire—The burnt timber and the brush—The clearing-party—Chopping by beginners— Cooking, amateur and professional—The wild-cat—Deer and hunting—Piling brush—Dear and cheap clearing—The skillful axeman—Clearing by Chinamen—Dragging out stumps—What profits the farmer may expect on a valley farm—​On a foot-hills farm. By the time we had been here about a month and had settled down a little, we set about clearing a tract of wild land called section 33, situated nearly twenty miles away. You will ask, What does section 33 mean? Or...