Benton County, Oregon - General County History, 1885

The early settlement of Benton county antedates its existence. Her beautiful valleys and mountain recesses afforded a grand home for the aboriginal tribes. Here they swarmed in numbers, went through the drama of life, birth, consorting and death, with stolid indifference. How far back in the course of time this race extends, or whence came their progenitors, no man knoweth. If, as some scientists state, the very first evidences of the human ethnology appear on the Pacific Coast, why should we doubt that they are not the descendants of this primitive people ? Wars, disease, natural phenomena and other causes may have conspired to destroy the original generation from the face of the earth, or it may have remained for the pale-faced progeny of a kindred, yet far removed race, to perform the final act in the drama of their existence. Be this as it may, the great fact still remains, that when this district of country was first visited by settlers they found it inhabited by a copper-colored people differing materially from those Indians they had been accustomed to encounter to the east of the Rocky Mountains.

What we now know as Benton county, in the year 1845, was occupied by the Klick-i-tats, who, upon the payment of a certain compensation, were the lessees of the Calapooias, the lords of the soil. The latter tribe were not by any means desirable acquaintances, but the former are described as rather peaceful than otherwise, and presented the usual habits and customs characteristic of the " noble red-man."

Here nature had provided for these creatures with a lavish hand ; all they had to do was to reach forth their hands, pluck, eat and live. No vain ambitions lured them on in the great race of life; no baubles of riches enticed them into the hardships of labor, either mental or physical. Theirs only to exist and die. Whence or why they came upon the stage of action, it was not theirs to inquire ; and, " whither are we drifting ?" was a question over which they stopped not to puzzle their dull brains. And who shall say that they were not as happy in their listless life as are we of the higher type who wrestle with the inevitable almost from our infancy to our dotage ? From an ethical stand-point, and viewing the matter through the lenses of education, of course we would say that their lives were worse than wasted ; and when they vanished before the overwhelming tide of civilization, the world was rid of so much putrescence. But it is the old, old, fable of the man and the lion repeated ; seeing a picture of a man, the man remarked to the lion that " there stood the lord of creation." The lion asked, who painted the picture, to which the man replied, " a man did." " Ah !" said the lion, " it makes all the difference in the world who paints the picture of the lord of creation. I would have painted a lion." And so it is in this case : Indian ethics are not our ideas of duty to self or man ; and it is not beyond the bounds of probability that they lived up to the light they had on that subject quite as nearly as do their successors in the land.

The folk-lore of these original denizens of Benton county still remain to us in legendary tales, one of which, as romantic as it is beautiful we give.

Down by the mouth of Alsea bay, where the Pacific waves beat ceaselessly on the shifting bar, the land runs out into a sandy beach. Here and there are hillocks in which lie hidden the canoes of the dead Indians. In each canoe which is buried, the owner, provided with fishing spear and paddle, for the voyage out into the western sea, each little Vessel is set in due rank in the fleet of the dead, all prows pointing to the setting sun, and all alike are covered with the grave clothes of the heaped up sand. Now and again the winter storm will uncover piece by piece these relics of a buried past ; and, once uncovered, the frail sepulchre and its treasures are speedily blown and beaten into dust, and leave no trace. The traveler can but imagine the numbers of these dead tribes by the mounds of clam and oyster shells, many feet in thickness and many yards in extent, which' mark the site of their former camping places. The gatherers of these sea-dainties have long since passed away, and even our first records tell of a time when wars, pestilence, and the gradual pressure on these sea coast dwellers by other tribes displaced from their hunting grounds in the east and south, had already done their work. Tribes formerly numbering hundreds of warriors were reduced to a few families, but each group kept its tribal customs, and maintained a deep, though feeble enmity against equally fallen foes of generations back.

Here and there along the coast, or hanging round the outskirts of the hated homesteads of the white invaders, are yet found Indians of a low and crushed type ? who claim the name but have abandoned whatever savage force or savage virtues their forefathers could boast. When the white men began to settle in the Alsea district nearly a quarter of a century ago, they found there the remains of three tribes; the " Alseas," by the bay and on the coast, a people of fishers; the "Klickitats," who hunted in the woods, and over the mountains to the south, and the "Drift Creek Indians" whose homes were scattered through the heavy timber, round Table Mountain, and on the streams heading thereabouts, to the east and northeast of the Alsea. Though generally at enmity, each with the other, yet there were some times when, feuds laid aside, the hunting tribes visited their neighbors by the ocean in peace, bringing with them the spoils of the chase to exchange for the sea fish and the shell fish of the Alseas. Fires were lighted along the beach and under the headland, the canoes were drawn up side by side on the shore and feasting and jollity went on for day iu and day out together.

Once upon a time there was a pretty maiden of the Alseas, whose name was "Calling Quail." None other could more neatly paddle a canoe, or know better how or where to gather the luscious rock oyster or slippery clam. She was kind and gentle as well as pretty, and many a youth of the Alseas sought her as his bride. But she was coy and turned a deaf ear to all her wooers. The summer time was passing and the Klickitats came down the river, their canoes laden with deer meat for the customary feast. The days were yet long and the nights balmy and mild, and the Klickitat hunters sung and danced round the cheerful fire of drift-logs on the beach, with the Alsea maidens looking on. None among the hunters brought a better store of venison, none was better liked among his comrades, none wore more gracefully the trappings and finery of the tribe than young "Wrestling Bear." His very name was a trophy, for it was given him in record of a gallant fight with the great black monster whose skin was now his most valued possession. Poor "Calling Quail's" time had come - she looked and loved. The old story even then was old, and young men and maidens lingered late along the shore, and sat hand in hand in the shadows of the dark pine wood, as they have done ever since men knew that women were fair, and women thought that men were brave.

But the feasting days passed by and the Klickitats returned to the glades and ravines, of their woods. But now and again a canoe, the shape of which "Calling Quail" knew well, would steal down the stream, and just as evening closed in the shadows in the woods grew dark, she would hear the soft, quick whistle of her namesake bird, and then - why she had to fetch water from that little spring which was hidden in the deep dell, among the pines and rushes, from all anxious eyes. Still such meetings were rare, as the elk were in good season, and "Wrestling Bear" must lay in a good store of meat and many hides, and his hunting called him far away into the wilderness. But now it was time for the "Drift Creek" tribe to pay their visit to the coast. Their canoes too came round the bend and drew up on the same sandy beach. Again the big fire burned as night fell, and the Alseas welcomed these visitors also with feasting, song and dance. The Chief of the "Drift Creek" people was more feared than loved; for " Grey Wolf" deserved his name also. For him to look upon what others prized was to desire it for his own, and to desire was to spare no labor, to hesitate at no means, fair or foul, to secure it for himself. Grim and dark, silent and stern, he sought no love and feared no hate. His roving eye fell on poor little "Calling Quail," and he signified to her father that when his people's canoes were once more turned up stream, he would carry her with him to share his home where the broad river had its source away in the glorious solitude of the distant hills.

Even an Indian parent hesitated to trust his daughter to "Gray Wolf's" tender mercies. But from the time of Troy downwards, a maiden's tears, a father's doubts, have no right (as the people say) to stand in the way of a political alliance. The Alseas had but one (public) sentiment about it, and their price of "Calling Quail" having been set and paid, the dark day for the sacrifice being offered up drew near. Well she knew how useless her prayers would be to stop, or even delay the hateful marriage. The last evening^ came and she for the last time took her way to the little spring she loved so well. "Grey Wolf" was not deceived by her submissive mien, and some rival of the dusky maid had doubtless warned him that even if he carried "Calling Quail" away with him on the morrow, a young and active enemy would follow quickly on his trail. She, poor girl, thought she was alone in her journey to the spring, but her jealous purchaser stealthily followed on her steps. At the familiar trysting place of course young "Wrestling Bear" was waiting for his dear, and the meeting was none the less passionate, the parting none the less bitter, because their skins were dark. Night fell on the lovers' vows and kisses, and with renewed hope " Calling Quail " retraced her steps between the rustling bushes and under the heavy pine trees' shade, knowing that when "Gray Wolf's" canoe passed the rapids next day at noon, rescue would be at hand. Alas, that bushes have ears and that the hidden listener was the last one in all the world to be made privy to their plans. "Wrestling Bear " passed away into the darkness, following the little trail by which he was wont to find his way from the nook by the big tree where his canoe was tied. Hark! was that a human cry welling out by unexpected agony? "Calling Quail" shuddered as she caught the echo of it from the opposite hill, standing on the ridge below which the evening fire blazed.

When the next day's sun rose the morning mist lay heavy on river and bay, and the drops quivered on every leaf. "Calling Quail" was stirring early and saw to the morning meal ; the parting words with her companions were all said, and she waited for the first time impatiently, for her hated bridegroom His canoe was packed and she stood ready for the journey. Soon she saw him slowly drawing near; his dark* face was sullen and lowering, and he seemed struck now and again with sudden spasms of pain. "Grey Wolf is sick, he will not go to-day," was all the greeting he bestowed, and turned again to the shelter where he seemed to have passed a restless night. Her heart misgave her as she pictured the impatient waiting of that other canoe, away there in the wilderness, where the river boiled and tore over the big rocks. " How long will he stay for me ?" she thought, " How can I tell him that come I will, even if I have to come alone."

The day wore slowly on, the shadows lengthened and grew darker in the woods and the setting sun threw rays of blood along the quivering waters of the bay. The fire was fed with pine knots for the evening meal, and " Calling Quail " moved with feverish impatience about the camp. " Grey Wolf" lay sullenly in his tyhee. The maiden could rest no longer. " I go to get clams for to-morrow's feast for these hungry men," she said, and hurried down the bank to her canoe. Her paddle seemed to be dashed in a crimson flood as she passed quickly away from the sun-lighted beach up towards the dark beaches of the Alsea.

Supper was ended, and hosts and visitors were gathered round the fire - several times they tried a well-known fishing song, sung by the Alseas when the canoes start for the day '8 work on the placid waters of the hay - but gloom and foreboding seemed, for some unknown cause, to hang over all ; and silence reigned, only broken by the soft lapping of the outgoing tide on the sandy beach, and the murmur of the breakers on the bar. And now, ere the sunlight had quite gone, the moon arose and cast her white radiance over the peaceful scene.

What is that distant song, brought down to them by the rippling tide, and growing clearer as the awe-struck face of each listener is turned towards the southern hills ? It is the death song of the Alseas. Nearer and more distinct it comes, and out from the black shadows of the overhanging trees a canoe glides noiselessly towards the ocean in the west. " Calling Quail " and her young lover are recognized by all. She sits in the bow of the canoe, her arms hang idly by her sides, her face is grave and set, all the time she softly sings that solemn strain. He plies the paddle silently, his clothes are torn and bloody, and the death look is on his face as the pale moonbeams strike on it with an unearthly whiteness. They call loudly to that spectral boat ; they urge them to land but the maiden shakes her head and the canoe speeds swiftly onward towards the bar. Some of the younger ones rush towards their own canoe that they may follow and force them to return. But the old men hold them back, and all listened spell-bound to the sounds, now growing fainter and yet fainter in the distance as " Calling Quail " and her murdered lover pass away out into the Peaceful sea.

It is difficult to determine, who the actual first settler within the present confines of Benton county really was, for there were several claims taken up late in the year 1845, but from the weight of evidence we are prepared to concede that honor to Thomas D. Reeves and Mr. McKissick, both of whom located their claims in the fall of 1845, and at once erected cabins, lived in them during that winter, 1845-46, and became permanent inhabitants of the district. The claim of Mr. Reeves is still occupied by that veteran, while that of McKissick became subsequently the property of E. Hartless, the hill to the west of the farm being known for many years as McKissick's

It may be stated that there are many claimants to the honor of being the first settler in Benton county, but as an absolute fact the memory of our earliest residents are very treacherous, especially in regard to dates, therefore to state unhesitatingly who the pioneer par excellence of Benton county is, would be but laying ourselves open to unfair criticism.

Among those who came upon the heels of the gentlemen just named was the late James L. Mulkey. This worthy man was a native of Virginia, where he was born in the year 1797. After residing for several years in Missouri, where his wife died in 1843, in the spring of 1844, he crossed the plains, meeting with all the difficulties and enduring all the hardships that attended that perilous journey in those days. The winter of 1844-5 he passed at. Umatilla, and as early as possible, in the following season pushed on into the Willamette valley, and halted in Yamhill county. He now commenced to make search for a place on which to permanently locate, and proceeding southward selected the open prairie land bounded on the eastern hand by the Willamette river and overlooked by the rounded crest of Mary's Peak, and the wooded slopes of the lesser foot-hills. One mile and a half to the northeast of where since has arisen, first the town of Marysville, and subsequently Corvallis, Mr. Mulkey chose his claim in the winter of 1845 ; losing no time he erected a log cabin and early in the spring of 1846 brought his nine motherless children - the eldest eighteen, and the youngest six years of age - to make their home. The names of these youthful pioneers are John D., James L., David B., Mary E, (now Mrs. Liggett), Charles J., Margaret I. (now Mrs. Sears), Malinda P., and Albert G. Through life Mr. Mulkey proved himself to be a man of strict integrity ; he served a term in the first Territorial Legislature, representing Benton county, and after years full of usefullness died at his home in 1855.

At the same time that James L. Mulkey took up his claim, his brother Johnson Mulkey also took possession of a tract of land, but it was not until 1847 that he came to reside upon it, for in the meantime he had returned to Missouri to bring his wife and family to their new home on the Pacific.

During the winter of 1845 several claims were taken, notably that of J. C. Avery, on which the southern portion of the city of Corvallis is now built, while the northern part was taken up in the spring of 1846 by William F. Dixon. That year too came Nahum King, who gave his name to King s valley, with his sons Isaac, Stephen and Soloman and his son-in-law Rowland Chambers ; on Soap Creek, Arnold Fuller and David Carson, had located; where Philomath now stands, were Eldridge Hartless, William Wyatt and Wayman St. Clair, while to the south was John Lloyd.

It is thought that the first birth of a white child in what is now Benton county, occurred in the early part of the year 1845. The mother of the infant was the wife of Joseph Hughart, who resided where the town of Philomath now stands, while the first in the county to be called to face the mysteries of the great hereafter was this same lady who did not long survive the birth of her infant.

In 1847 the tide of immigration continued; Hon. A. L. Humphrey, located near where Monroe now is ; J. M. Currier, Isaac and John Foster in what is now Willamette precinct ; Oscar F. Clarke and Luke Mulkey in the vicinity of Marysville ; Francis Writsman and Drury Hodges on Soap Creek; while the well-known Belknap settlement was founded.

In this year too, December the twenty-third Benton county was created with boundaries fitted for a State, extending as they did to the California line. It received its name in honor of Colonel Thomas H. Benton, a distinguished citizen of Missouri, of whom many an anecdote is related. Among others we give the following :

It was the opinion of this popular citizen-soldier that Solon Robinson's chief merit, like that of Sampson, lay in his hair. " Fellow-citizens," said Col. Benton once in a. speech at St. Louis, "the editor of the New York Tribune, Horace Greely is the whitest man I ever saw. His hat is white, his coat is white, his pantaloons are white, he has white hair, and a white face, and I think his liver is about the whitest thing about him. The assistant editor of the Tribune, fellow-citizens, is Solon Robinson. Solon Robinson is an Irishman - everything about him is red. He has a red face and a red head, and - " just then the speaker caught sight of a couple of red-headed double-fisted Irishmen standing near, who looked pretty much as if they would a little rather swallow him than not - " But, fellow-citizens/' he continued, " I mean no disrespect to my Irish friends by speaking of a red-headed Irishman. Indeed, I may say, as a compliment to any such who may chance to be here to-day, that I never 8ri w a red-headed woman in my life that was not virtuous, or a red-headed man, with a single exception, that was not honest; and it is my deliberate conviction, fellow-

It is not our purpose in this place to follow settlement by settlement in Benton county, but to give a list of these farther on in this chapter ; suffice it to say that the immigration year by year swelled the county's population. True that in 1848 and 1849 no marked addition was made, in fact owing to the universal hegira to the California gold mines its strength was materially decreased. Some went, never to return ; others drifted thence back to the Atlantic States only to return again after a series of years to find a populous county where they had left a wilderness. The "glorious days of '49 "have much to answer for. Do you see yonder old man, bent with years, and his keen grey eyes looking far iuto the past. As he watches the ponderous log now crackling with merry noise, he sees behind a dark speck harmonizing with his dreary thoughts. As he gazes into the dancing flame his life passes in review before him ; first his mother's joy, then her hope, and afterwards her mainstay. Suddenly he is led captive by the seductive cry that comes from the Pacific shores and echoes back from the rocks of the Atlantic coast, " there is red gold for the winning ! " Amid the entreaties of home, the wail of a mother's heart went up and begged of him to stay ; but no, in a few years at most a fortune will be made, there will be enough for all, and to spare ; and what has been the result ? Hard work, bad luck, ill health and lost hope ! But this is not all that he sees. There is he with rakish air, who spends his dust with that insojwiant air of " easy come and easy go, " who, when his back is turned is forgotten by his erst awhile boon companions. There is he, the father of a family, who has left loving wife and children in a little home in some Eastern State, who toils with unceasing vigor to reach the goal that will take him back to those he loves, with sufficient for them and others besides - long his cherished desire ; and so passes by this panorama of human life, each having their own thoughts, good, bad and indifferent, and still the boisterous jest and rollicking song goes on, and still the sparks fly from the burning log, and hour gives way to hour and dark to dawn.

In continuation of the settlement of Benton county we now produce a list of the pioneers from 1846 to 1860 inclusive. It has been found utterly impossible with the time at our command, to verify the dates of actual settlement except in a very few instances. The names have been chiefly obtained from a careful examination of the county records, and we give them in the years in which these citizens were called upon to perform some official act, after the organization of the county.

1850. - A. G. Hovey, Charles Johnson, J. A. Bennett, Obadiah C. Motley, Isaac W. Winkle, John Sylvester, B. W. Wilson, Alfred Writsman, W. H. Johnson, Frederick A. Horning.

1851. - James Gingles, Richard Irwin, Levi E. Penland, Henry Penland, D. Carlisle, William M. Pitman, George Murch, E. A. Abbey, A. M. Raiuwater, James

None but those who have actually " crossed the plains " by what an old pioneer has termed the "ox-express," can ever be able to realize the hardships suffered, dangers encountered and fatigue endured on that six months and more of daily plodding. At length, weary, anxious and foot-sore, the long looked for haven of rest was reached, and after climbing forbidding mountains, penetrating dark forests, clambering over rough ravines, and ferrying rushing torrents, a feast for the eye presented itself as the fertile prairie of the Willamette valley was espied from the far-off height of a crag or mountain pass. And what was it like ? For mile upon mile and acre after acre, tall wild grasses grew in wonderful profusion - one great, glorious green of wild waving verdure - high over the backs of horse and ox and shoulder high with the brawny immigrant. Wild flowers of every prismatic shade charmed the eye, while they vied with each other in the gorgeousness of their colors and blended into dazzling splendor. One breath of wind and the wide emerald expanse rippled itself into space, while with a heavier breeze came a swell whose rolling waves surged over the foot-hills, beat against the mountain sides, and, being hurled back, were lost in the far away horizon. Shadow pursued shadow in one long merry chase ; the air was filled with the hum of insects, the chirrup of birds and an overpowering fragrance weighted the air. The river's bank was clothed in its garment of green foliage, while, the dark green forest trees lent relief to the eye. The impenetrable jungle of to-day, at this time was not, the smaller growth being kept low by Indian fires, while the timber land presented a succession of tempting glades open to movemeuts on foot or on horseback.

But with what frowns of fortune did not these heroic pioueers and their no less heroic wives have to endure before they reached the place whereou they should pass the remainder of their days. The difficulties encountered by all were somewhat similar, therefore let us give to the reader the experiences of a few as gathered from the Corvallis Gazette dated December 31, 1880:

One popular official of the county says : " I was but a little shaver then, in 1845. We came by way of The Dalles. There was my father, Nahura, his name was, and my four brothers, all older than I was, and there were Watson and Chambers, and their families, in the company. We crossed the plains and got with the wagons as far as The Dalles. There were thirteen wagons in the crowd and we rafted them and the cattle and all the rest of it down the Columbia. A pretty big raft it was - all made of green fir timber we cut down, and tied together with slighter trees laid across and pegged d)wn. It took us about all the morning to get out into the current and all the afternoon to get back to shore again ; and then we came to the Cascades. We had to just put the wagons together and cut a road for six miles, round the portage, till we could take to the river again. Then we got boats and came down the Columbia and up the Willamette, past where Portland stands. There was no Portland then. I forget what the town near by was called. Then we got to the Tualatin Plains, where Forest

Grove station is now, and there we camped for that first winter. All the lot of us crowded into one little log cabin. Oh, we lived pretty well. There was a little grist mill near by, and the folks had raised a little wheat and some potatoes and peas. I tell you, it was rough ; we had no meat all that winter. The next spring we came into King's Valley and took up the old place.

" Indians? I should think there were ! About two or three hundred Klickitats were camped in the valley. Good Indians they were ; tall and straight as a dart. When we came in and camped, the Chief, Quarterly, his name was, came to my father and said:

"We have come to settle down and farm and make homes for ourselves/ replied my father. 'Well/ said the Indian, 'you can if you don't meddle with us; we won't hurt you."

No more they did; we never had a cross word from them. The country did not belong to them; it belonged to the Calapooias and the Klickitats had rented it of them for some horses and clothes, and what-not, for a hunting ground. There were just lots of elk and deer and the bunch-grass grew waist high. The Indian ponies were as fat as butter, and good ones too.

"The Klickitats had regular lodges - sticks set round in a circle and tied together at the top and covered over with those rush mats. Good workers they were, too. I remember very well, one day, the Klickitats came running in to say there were ever such a lot of Calapooias coming to attack them and they sent off all their squaws and children to the hills, and then drove all their horses down to our camp. Strange, wasn't it, they should think their stock safer with five or six white men? There must have been several hundreds of these Calapooias. That did not come to anything that time; they patched it up with some presents of horses, beads and other things. What are left of those Klickitats are all up north now, on that Reservation on the Columbia. Good Indians they were. The Calapooias and the Klickitats had their big fight just before we came into the country. It was just by the Mary's river bridge, where they had it out. It was quite a battle. The Calapooias got the best of it, for they outnumbered the Klickitats two to one. Yes, it was pretty rough in those days, you bet!"

Such is the graphic account of the journey to and first settlement of Nahum King, whose name is handed down in that of the fertile valley, where he lived and died.

Let us now tell the story of how one of her most respected clergymen left his eastern home to cast his lot with the other pioneers in Benton county.

" You never heard of our Presbyterian colony, did you ? Well, I had just finished my theological studies and had got married. It was in 1851, when the law had been passed, giving each settler in Oregon a half section of land, or three hundred and twenty acres, and a half section more for his wife. I had heard Oregon was a very healthy place and had fine laud, so I put an advertisement in the paper a year ahead, that in the spring of 1852 I intended starting for Oregon from ray home in Pennsylvania, and would be glad for any Presbyterian to join me and found a colony there. I had about eighty answered who agreed to go, but about forty dropped off. Some twenty more came in later, so we started about sixty strong. When we left St. Joe, in Missouri, we had twenty wagons and sixty persons in the crowd. I had a nice car- riage with four mules, for my wife, and a half-share in a wagon and ox-team. We left St. Joe, in May, 1852, and arrived in Oregon four months and a half afterwards. We laid over for Sunday every week but one, and I preached every Sunday in the journey but that one, when we were crossing an alkali desert and to push on through. There was the heaviest emigration to Oregon that year there ever has been. I have many times stopped on some hill on the emigrant trail and counted a hundred wagons and more ahead, and a hundred or more behind us. We carried no feed with us and it was terribly hard on stock, for the grass was so eaten dowu. It was harder on the oxen than it was on the mules. I brought all my mules safe into Oregon, but only one ox out of our team. When some of a man's oxen gave out he would leave them there and cut his wagon in half and leave the hinder half behind and come on with the front as a cart. We had no special adventures on the way; no trouble with Indians. We came into Oregon by way of Boise City, Umatilla and The Dalles. The last sixty miles my wife and I walked nearly all the way, for the mules gave out when they came to climb the Cascades, and we made very slow time of it. What a blessing it was when we came down this side of the Cascades and stopped at Foster's, a few miles east of Oregon City. It was a big farm and sort of hotel; there would be a hundred men there some nights. We got milk and butter too. There was one old lady in the party who fancied some butter and her son went and bought some for her, but she did not like to eat it; she said it tasted of silver too much. We traveled up this valley and settled down about three miles from Corvallis, Marysville it was called then. There were just twelve houses in the place, two of them were stores. When I had taken up land, the first thing was to build me a house; so I set to work and cut down a few fir trees and split out shingles. Then I set to and got up the house. I built round ray wife as she camped in the middle of it. This valley was all open then. A man could drive seventy miles from Salem to Eugene. All this oak brush has grown up since; it was hardly knee high then. There were flour mills at Salem, Milwaukee and Oregou City. The fail I got here they were shipping flour to San Francisco and selling it at six dollars a barrel; and that same winter we were paying twenty-five dollars a barrel for it here. Coffee was half a dollar a pound, bacon half a dollar, butter a dollar and beef a quarter of a dollar. The next fall, in 1858, we organized the Presbyterian church here with seven of the persons who had left with me the year before; so, you see, we have grown since that day. I did very well with my farming. One year I recollect, bacon was too cheap in the valley so I loaded up two wagons with my bacon and went off to Yreka, three hundred miles south of this, and came back with seven hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket. The first thing, and the best thing, I did when I started was to buy five cows for one hundred dollars each. The valley looks different to-day, I can tell you.".

Yes, I came round the Horn, I had been whaling in the Pacific for some time and landed at Frisco. One day as I was strolling round I saw a great big placard on the wall, with letters two feet long :

" There were four of us in iny party and we made up our minds to go. We were all young and active and did not mind roughing it. You see, a few years in a whaler will fit you for most anything. There was a pretty rough lot on board that schooner, about a hundred and thirty, all told, some for the Umpqua and the rest going on to Portland.

"After knocking about at sea for a few days, we made the Umpqua and the 'old man* ran in and anchored just under the north beach. As I put my hand on the cable, I felt the anchor drag, I told the mate how it was and he went and told the ' old man. ' Up he came, but he wouldn't believe it at first. But in another minute we should have been in the breakers and nothing could have saved us. The ' old man ' shouted to set all sail and I ran to the helm. Just then we saw a little boat coming out past us, and they halloed to us as she went by 'You'll be on the beach inside of three minutes ! " I tell you ; it was touch and go. I could see the channel pretty well and I just steered her by the look of the water, we just shaved a big rock by three feet or so, and ran up the river. Presently we anchored again and went ashore, we got a little Indian canoe and pulled up the river. The country looked pretty rough. It was the fall of the year and the nights were cold. When evening came we could'nt find any house. My mates set to build a fire and camp and looked to go supperless to bed. But I had got the cook on board the schooner to boil me a bit of salt junk, and I put it up in my old sack with some hard-tack. When I opened my sack you should have seen my mates smile ! Next day we pulled up the river. About mid-day we saw a man comiug down with a raft of lumber. One of our mates said, ' If that's not Mr. Young of Rock Island, Illinois, I'm much mistaken ? One of the fellows called out, " How are are you Mr. Young ? " "Who knows me " came gruffly back from the man on the raft. So we pulled across to him and made ourselves known. He was very civil to us and took us to his camp and gave us a good supper. Next day we went up the river.

"About the diggings? Bless you, there weren't any. It was all a plan, we were in for it now and so we just made up our minds to stop in Oregon. The country all down south there pleased us. It looked so fresh and green in the valleys; but, I tell you, the mountains were no joke. We heard about the Willamette valley and traveled on north to find it. Two of my mates stayed down on Rogue river for the winter, but I, and one other, went north.

"When we got up into where Monroe City is now, there was a log house ; Doc. Richardson lived there, just as we came to the house he came out and stood outside. I tell you he was a picture. He was a great big stout fellow about fifty, with a red face. He was dressed in buckskin hunting shirt with fringes and long buckskin leggings, and his old rifle lay ready in the hollow of his arm. When we stepped up to him, " Well young men, and what do you want ? " said he. " We should like to stop here, and get some dinner," says I ; " what a beautiful place you've got here, sir," I went on, " and if you'll allow me to say so, I just admire you as a specimen of a backwoodsman." " What !" says he, " What on earth, you young whipper-snapper of a son of a gun, do you mean ? " and he stepped up to us and was going to lay hold of me by the collar, and I thought I was in for it, for he was far too big for me to make much of a fight.

The more I tried to explain that I was really in earnest and that the last thing in my mind was to wish to insult him, the angrier he got, and I didn't know what to make of it. As good luck would have it the door opened and the old lady came out. She just looked, and then she said, " Old man, let me speak to these young men." 80 she told us to come in and asked us our names, and where we came from. I explained to her that I had no idea of insulting the old gentleman. " Oh, well/' said she " don't mind him. And now what can I do for you - you seem nice quiet young men." So we asked her if she had any milk, and she went and got us each a big bowl of bread and milk, and, I tell you, sir, I thought it was just the nicest meal I ever tasted. Then the old man came in and sat down ; he wouldn't speak at first, but by degrees we made friends. The end of it was, they invited us to stay with them, but wejust came on.

" The next house we came to was Starr's settlement. There were a lot of ladies quilting. We went in to ask if there were auy claims to be had. " Are you married ?" asked one of the ladies. " No ma'am," said I ; " Well then we don't want you," said she, " got plenty of bachelors already. - Stay, are you a school teacher ?" she added. I thought for a moment if an old whale man dared venture on school teaching ! I thought, may be, it would be a little too strong. " No ma'am," said I, at last, " but my friend here is well qualified." " Oh, well," said she, " he can stay and take up a claim ; we have got one of three hundred and twenty acres here, we have been saving up for a school teacher ; but, as for you, young man, you can just go right on up the valley." So, on I went, to where Corvallis now stands. There were just four or five log cabins and a few people and a little stock. Bu% I tell you, you should have seen this valley then ! Grass up to your waist for miles - it was a fine country - you could ride just where you liked. There was no brush till you came right to the timber on the hills. You see, the Indians used to burn the grass every year and the brush did not grow up till these fires were stopped. I took up a good claim and built me a cabin, and as I was a pretty good carpenter, I got all the work I wanted."

" Well, I guess it was in 1846 that we came, the old lady and I, from Illinois, across the plains. We had a pretty good ox-team and we got through safe. There were lots in the company when we started, but they got to quarreling and making a fuss, so I left them, with one or two more - anyday rather fight than fuss. So I thought we'd just take our chance with the Injuns, though they were pretty bad crossing those plains. We were near six months on the road. We came by Klamath lake and by Rogue river. The worst piece on the whole journey was the Rogue River canyon - you know where it is, about eight miles long, and the stage road wasn't made then. You go through it now, I hear, at a sharp run with the California stage ; but in those days you just had to clamber along the bottom of the canyon how best you could. No one ever got through without leaving some of his cattle there. In some of the worst places it was so bad when we crossed, that you had to walk for a quarter of a mile at a time on the dead bodies of the oxen and mules that had died there. It was a place you seemed never to get to the end of, and it was the only way too, for you couldn't cross those mountains any other road.

" We just thought lots of this valley when we got through. The old lady and I, we took up our claims in King's Valley, just the nicest kind of a place, with lots of grass and a nice river. You had all the timber you wanted on the mountains close by and just lots of deer, and elk. Lovely ? Well, it was kinder lovely, but we had lots to do and the time passed away very quick. The country settled up soon enough and we had all the neighbors we wanted. The Injuns here didn't give us much trouble. The Calapooias would thieve a bit but fifty of them would scare from five or six of us settlers, with our rifles ; and the Klickitats were good Injuns and never troubled us any. Those were good old times !"

These are the tales of the pioneer and in simple language tell of how they journeyed and settled in the county, how they found it and what occurred after location of claims. Here did they plant homes in which the sublime influences of civilization should be fostered. In the twinkle of an eye the woodman's ax was heard reverberating in an hundred echoes from out the surrounding pines. Houses sprang up as if at the tap of the magician's wand on every hand, fences commeuced to inclose fields that gave earnest of a rare fertility ; schools were built, roads constructed, and the Indian departed, his occupation being gone.

The fact has been already mentioned that Benton county was created in 1847 with a southern boundary extending to the California line ; in the year 1851 the present southern line was established and the county curtailed to its present area. In the year 1846 the town of Marysville was laid out by J. C. Avery and bore the name until 1853, when it assumed that of Corvallis. In 1851 the county seat was established at that point, and still continues such ; while in 1855, she bore the honors of the Capitolian Crown, for some months. Here the first school was established in the year 1850, and taught by A. G. Hovey.

When Nahum King settled in King's Valley he brought with him a number of short-horn cows, having had the misfortune to have a very fine bull of that breed killed by Indians on " the plains," and this, the parent stock from which has since sprung the excellent beeves for which the county has since become noted, were added to by James Watson in the following year. In 1859, Sol. King, the present able Sheriff, with Moses Wright, imported twenty-eight head more, and still further established the reputation of Benton county as a cattle raising district. These were among the earliest introductions of improved cattle into the State, and certainly no better have been brought by any one. These importations, though far from profitable to these gentlemen, have been of incalculable benefit to stock breeders throughout the country, and scarcely a herd of cattle can be found within miles where the impress of this improved blood may not be detected.

The first flouring mill in the county, as well as south of the Ricreal (La Creole) river, was what was known as the Hubbard Mill, on Beaver creek. Precisely what year it was erected is not now remembered, but it was prior to the year 1850. It was a very primitive affair, being capable of grinding the grain ; it possessed two run of stones of very commonest order, had no bolt-cloth, while the meal as it came from the burrs was carried up stairs and run through what served as a bolt, by hand, one man feeding the meal with another turning the wheel. In the same year, or thereabouts, L. D. Gilbert erected a saw mill on Muddy creek, while about the same time, or in the year following Joseph White erected a like establishment on Long Tom river, where now stands the town of Monroe. The first stores were opened by J. C. Avery, and Hartless & St. Clair, in Marysville; while in 1851, Silas Belknap, was selling goods on his donation claim not far from Monroe.

It is interesting to note what the prices of ordinary articles for household purposes were in the Willamette valley in those early days. They show a wonderful difference from those which obtain at present. Apples, dried, fifty cents per pound ; green apples, ten dollars per bushel ; butter, seventy-five cents per pound ; cheese, fifty cents per pound ; candles, sperm, one dollar ; candles, tallow, fifty cents ; flour, per barrel, fifteen dollars ; wheat, per bushel, two dollars ; white sugar, twenty to thirty cents per pound ; nails, eighteen to twenty cents ; cooking stoves, seventy to one hundred and thirty dollars ; lumber eighty to one hundred dollars per thousand feet.

In the year 1853, when the town of Marysville became the city of Corvallis, it was one of the principal shipping points for the southern mines. Large pack trains were almost daily loading in her midst with flour, bacon, etc. ; money was plentiful and times lively. But the scene was changed ; the mines ceased to pay, or at least ceased to draw such large supplies from the Willamette valley. Improvements in Corvallis came to a stand-still. Benton, although one of the finest agricultural and grazing counties in Oregon, was regarded by many as being too far from Portland, or the ocean, to ever amount to any importance. Farmers seemed to partake of this feeling. Their farms, barns and temporary dwellings fell into decay, or were mortgaged for a cayuse pony or a little ready cash to assist them in following up some mining humbug. When not chasing a golden will-o'-the-wisp, they employed themselves principally in whittling and depended upon the accidental raising of Spanish calves and colts for the support of large families. The consequence was a few capitalists owned section upon section of land, large numbers of families were forced to seek other locations, which depleted the population, retarded progress, stopped the plough, the erection of school-houses and of churches. Some of the best farms and orchards in the county were marked with dilapidation and ruin.

Just at this time a faint ray of hope seemed to dawn. Some Rip Van Winkle discovered that the Pacific ocean washed the western boundary of the county ; that an Indian canoe could descend some of the little creeks until they wended among the hills and gradually widened out into the " deep blue sea."

and find a safe anchorage. The coast portion of the county was held as an Indian Reservation and had hitherto been regarded as worthless. A few settlers rushed to Yaquina bay and a clash occurred between them and the Indian Department. A compromise was effected and a narrow strip thrown open to settlement by the whites. Since then the Bay has been increasing in importance. First a military road was opened, next after much delay a survey of a harbor was made, with satisfactory results, and soon the snort of the iron horse will be heard as he goes through the mountains and valleys, not long ago the resort only of the Indian and the wild beast.

u I care not who writes the history of a nation, if I can see its advertisements," remarked Sir Isaac Newton. There is no doubt that he was right. Historians cannot be trusted to write the simple truth, for even if they are wholly unprejudiced, they are nevertheless constantly deceived by the authorities upon whom they rely. The students of advertisements, or indeed newspaper matter generally, on the other hand, learns the wants and habits of a people from the most trustworthy source. Had the old Romans advertised in a manner worthy of intelligent people, we could learn from the advertising columns of the press of the period more of the real daily life of Rome than any quantity of able German historians could now teach us. To the newspapers of Benton county, journals that have ever striven for the weal of the State generally, and for the districts in which they are published especially, are we indebted for most of the information that will appear in this chapter. Without them our task would have been laborious indeed, to them therefore do we tender our most hearty acknowledgments.

At the date with which the epoch now under consideration opens the prospects of Benton county had undergone a change for the better. Her merchants were doing a safe business; her farmers were out of debt, generally; her manufactories were in successful operation; her mechanics were ail employed; her hope for an abundant harvest were well grounded; and money, for all legitimate purposes, was plenty and easy.

Much has been written upon the subject of retrenchment, and the time is ever present when such a theory might be put in practice. From the date of the first white