ANDREW CHAMBERS
Had the pioneers who built up this country, and through whose labor and enterprise Washington has grown from a beautiful wilderness into a land of homes and cultural advantages, only taken the time and trouble to write down the history of their early trials, adventures and hardships, and— in many instances—final success, as did Andrew Chambers and his wife, Margaret White Chambers, the work of compiling these reminiscences would have been reduced to the mere collection of the sketches and presenting them in book form. But too often, although these men and women realized their experiences were unique in the history of the world, and the days they might tell of were a closed chapter in history which could never be repeated, owing to the march of civilization, the task of actually writing down any record of events seemed too formidable or were put off to a later time—which time never came.
But the children of the honored couple whose stories are given in connection with this article, were insistent with their parents, and aided them in every way possible to put their reminiscences in lasting form. Well they did so, too, for now both Mr. and Mrs. Chambers are gone to their last rest, leaving only cherished memories.
The histories give a completer and more vivid description of the life of those days than would be possible to obtain in any other way. Of a high order of intelligence and with a natural eloquence, the writers of the sketches were enabled to present the pictures of those wild days with a charm and clearness that no words of the writer could add to, so the reminiscences of Mr. and Mrs. Chambers are given word for word as they have written them.
Mrs. Chambers dictated her sketch to her youngest daughter, Nora, and the other daughters were so pleased with their mother's story that they had it preserved in the form of a booklet.
The ten daughters of whom the mother speaks of so lovingly, were: Elizabeth, now Mrs. J. H. Hunsaker. of Everett; Eliza, now Mrs. R. T. Grainger, of Puyallup; Addie J., now Mrs. G. N. Talcott of Olympia; Ella, who was Mrs. H. Raymond, but who has been dead for many years; Rheta, now Mrs. C. L. Denny of Seattle; Selma. who died about ten years ago; Margaret, now Mrs. Win. Calhoun, of Seattle; Estelle and Edith, both of whom died in infancy, and Nora, now Mrs. W. T. Ho.skins, living at present in Sacramento.
Mr. Chambers realized the wishes of his wife as expressed by herself, and ended a long and honorable career by passing away peacefully in the old home on Chambers' Prairie. He died in April, 1908. Margaret White Chambers survived her beloved husband a few years longer, but sank to rest in December, 1912. Husband and wife sleep side by side near the scenes of their many trials, joys and sorrows, in the family plot in Masonic cemetery, near Olympia.

Andrew Chambers' Story
My father's reading Lewis and Clark's Journal was the means of our crossing the plains. We started the first of April. 1845. Our company consisted of my father, Thomas M. Chambers, mother, Letitia Chambers, five brothers. James W., David J.. Thomas J.. Andrew J. (myself), John and McLain. and two sisters, Mary Jane and Letitia. My brothers, James and David, were married, and their wives, Mary and Elizabeth, accompanied them. We started from Morgan County, Missouri, and crossed the Missouri River on a ferry at St. Joe. This place marked the last of the settlements. From this point we traveled the old emigrant road up the Platte River. Our journey led us through what are now the states of Missouri. Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Idaho, Oregon and Washington. Then this was a wilderness with only the old tracks of emigrants that had passed that way in 1834-5. We crossed the Kaw River about forty miles from St. Joe on a ferry; after that we forded all the streams to which we came. The first day that we saw buffalo was on the South Platte River and it was buffalo as far as the eye could reach. Who camped and killed fifteen that evening. It took two days to jerk all the meat we wanted.
Buffalo and antelope were plentiful for twelve or fifteen hundred miles. Hunters sometimes put a handkerchief up on a stick and the antelope came around to see what it was, and often we killed them by shooting from the wagons. We had to go out to the edge of the hills to hunt buffalo, except the first day we saw them, of which I have spoken.
Opposite Ash Hollow we crossed the Platte River, which, though wide and shallow, was difficult to ford on account of the quicksands. "We passed near to Chimney Rock, which rose like a great chimney from the level country. We could see this land mark for a number of days and passed it within five or six miles.
At Fort Laramie. on the North Platte River, measles broke out in our family and we had to lay by fifteen days. We had overtaken other west-bound wagons on our journey and our party now comprised thirty wagons. While being detained here about one thousand wagons passed us and- most of our company joined a party and left us at Laramie.
From Fort Laramie we traveled to Fort Hall, in Idaho. We had tried traveling with large and with small companies and found that we got on much faster with small companies, but it was very hard to stand guard with only a few in the party. We fell in with a company of fifty wagons. Their teams had been scared by the Indians and had got in the habit of stampeding. They stampeded one day while we were with them. It was a terrible sight to see fifty teams running, each team of three or four yoke of oxen—about three yoke of cattle was an average team. There was no way of holding them except to hang on to the yokes and call to the cattle. It was an anxious time for the women and children in the wagons. One ox fell and broke his neck. This was the last day we traveled with them. After leaving Fort Laramie we had fallen in with the wagons of what remained of our old company. This was all that saved us from the stampede on that day.
This event recalls the first Indians we saw. Father was captain of the company. He ordered the wagons into two lines, the women and children to stay in the wagons, except those able to carry guns. I can recollect seeing mother marching along carrying a rifle. All the horses and cattle were driven into the enclosure made by the wagons to protect them from stampeding. We never stopped, but marched along in two lines, with the wagons and the horses and cattle between them. Father stepped out to meet the chief, who was coming towards us. The Indians seemed friendly, but wanted tobacco. As soon as father gave one tobacco another would step up and say "Me big Chief, too." Father gave them all that he had in his pouch. There was a large camp of the Indians and it appeared that this was a war party and that they had been out to fight other Indians. They were now on their way home.
On much of our way, wood was very scarce. We always sent a party ahead of us to find wood, grass and water. We found buffalo chips plentiful for at least a thousand miles and often we had to use them altogether for fuel. On the Sweet- water, in Wyoming, we caught a great many nice fish.
From Fort Hall, we traveled to Fort Bridgers. which was about 200 miles north of Salt Lake. A man by the name of Bridgers was located here and carried on trade with the emigrants and with the Indians. From here we went to Salmon Falls on the Snake River, and here we met a few Indians, but they were friendly. Until we crossed the Rockies through the Devil's Gate, we traveled up hill and up stream, but after we crossed the Snake River, the waters flowed westward, and .we could almost see where the divide came.
From Salmon Falls we traveled two or three days down the river before we crossed. We found a place where there was an island in the river. We crossed to the island first and then went diagonally across the rest of the river, which was about three-fourths of a mile wide. We always took horses and rode across the rivers we had to ford and found out exactly where the wagons ought to go. The fords were always thoroughly prospected before the teams were driven into the water. We found at this crossing the deepest part was eight or ten feet wide, and deep enough to swim the cattle, the rest of it averaged about two feet deep. We blocked up the wagon beds as high as the standards would allow to keep our goods dry and hitched on ten or twelve yoke of cattle to the first wagon. The other wagons were fastened together, one behind the other. There was a chain attached to the tongue of the wagon following and that in turn to the hind axle tree of the forward wagon. The drivers went to the lower side of their teams to keep the cattle braced up against the current and to keep the direction slantingly up stream. They had to hold on to the bows of the yokes to keep themselves braced up, too. By the time all the teams were in the water, the lead teams were in shallow water and we were finally safely over, without wetting any of our goods.
Shortly after this our oxen began to give out. We became uneasy for fear we could not travel across the mountains, which were before us, on account of snow. To be caught on the east side of the mountains meant almost certain death. We began to break in the cows. We started across the plain with about twenty milk cows. By the time we reached The Dalles, in Oregon, we had about all the cows broken in. They were lighter on their feet and traveled much better than the oxen. We didn't know at that time that we could have saved our catties' feet by providing ourselves with shoes and nails before leaving the States.
Three or four days before we came to Fort Boise, we were camped on a creek and when supper was ready and each one had set down to his place on the ground, an Indian, standing there, knelt down at the place intended for a man named Smith. As soon as Smith finished washing himself, he knocked the man over with a stick and took the place himself. Sticks which the Indians had used for digging roots or for some other purpose, were lying around plentifully. The Indians looked very sullen after this, and next morning one of our horses was gone—stolen. We traveled on as though nothing had hap- pended for two days and came to a place where we thought it advisable to rest the cattle for a day, there being good grass and water there. James Chambers, Smith and myself concluded to ride back that evening to the place where we had lost the horse, and it might be we would find an Indian camp and do something terrible. Smith wanted to kill an Indian. We rode all night and when we reached the place another party of emigrants were camping there and we found an Indian there, riding on the horse which was stolen. Smith felt all the time that his act had been the cause of our losing the animal and he was very anxious to straighten things out by killing an Indian. Brother James went around the camp one way and I, another. I came upon the Indian on the horse and I caught the horse. Immediately Smith insisted on shooting the Indian, but some of the campers interfered. They contended that we were out of the way and that if we killed the Indian his friends would come and take revenge on them. They also argued that this, maybe, was not the Indian that stole the horse and they urged us to make the women in camp feel easy by releasing the Indian. After considering for some time we decided to let the Indian go and give him something to recompense him for being nearly scared to death. He was so badly frightened that great drops of sweat came out on his face. The next thing to consider was what to give the Indian. As it was coming on to the fall of the year, mother had supplied us well with shirts. I had enough to last me two years and I had on two at this time. They agreed that I must pull off one of my shirts and give it to the Indian. So I did, and all parties concerned, except myself, were well pleased, the Indian most of all.
Prom Boise we traveled to Grande Rounde and after we passed the valley and came down off the Blue mountains into the Umatilla valley we saw lots of Indians. Mary Jane, my sister, was then a comely girl,, about sixteen years of age. Indian chiefs offered my father fifty horses and a hundred blankets for her. They didn't care whether the girl was willing or not. They wanted a white "klootchman." This was their custom, to pay for their "klootchman." Mary Jane was frightened and she never showed herself when the Indians were around.
When we were within a few days' journey of The Dalles, and after we had crossed the Des Chutes River, two horses were stolen from us. We went back from Fifteen Mile Creek to a village near by and called on the Chief. He said he would have the Indians bring in the horses. We waited about his tent, keeping guard, until an Indian came in with the horses. They claimed that the horses had been stolen by some bad Indians and that a good Indian brought them back and that he ought to have pay for it. We had become accustomed to paying, «:> we were prepared to give a shirt. This satisfied them.
Our trip had not been a pleasure trip, for from the time we left St. Joe each one of us had to stand guard about once a week and from the time we left, Fort Boise each one had to stand guard half the night every other night and after having had measles, this was no fun.
On October 15 we arrived at The Dalles. On account of the lateness of the season, we selected a place for winter quarters. This was on a creek about two miles from the Methodist Mission.
Here in November, we built huts for the family and large corrals of logs in which to keep the horses for their safety at night. We watched them during the day. Our cattle were at large. We looked after them to prevent their straying too far. We drove them together several times each day. Several parties left their stock in our care during the winter.
As soon as the family was in its winter quarters, father and I went down the Columbia River and up the Willamette River for a winter's supply of flour. This was about the 20th of November. At Oregon City we bought a skiff and about 1.000 pounds of flour. A young man by the name of Scrog- gins and myself, started out to take the flour to the family.
Father stayed down the Willamette in Tulatin plains all winter, looking for a place in which to locate. When we reached The Dalles, James and his wife left their stock with us, their oxen had given out. and went on and father remained with James and his wife until Spring.
Scroggins and I started with plenty of provisions for our trip, which we calculated would be about seven days. On account of stormy weather, we were seventeen days. Below Cape Horn on the Columbia River, we had to lay by in one place for two days. Cape Horn is a rocky spur of the Cascade range, two or three hundred feet high and almost perpendicular.
This was the hardest seventeen days' work I ever did. It stormed almost all the time. We had the flour in sacks of 100 pounds each and we loaded and unloaded these sacks sometimes as high as eight or ten times a day. The wind would stop blowing for a time and by the time we got loaded and ready to start it would begin again and we would be obliged to unload, the river was so rough we did not dare to risk becoming swamped with our heavy load. The wind blew either up stream or down stream. The family needed the flour badly, and we were anxious to get to them with it. Some days we would not go over a mile after working hard all day and then the wind would apparently abate, when we could not avail ourselves of the calm. Our supply of provisions were soon about all used up except the flour. Flour and water, without even salt, was not very good to keep up our spirits, as well as strength. We mixed the flour and water together in the top of a sack and made the dough into long strings, which we wrapped about a stick. We set the stick by the fire and baked the dough, which tasted pretty good after a hard day's work. We varied this with noodle soup made of water and flour. We were three days making the five miles of rapids and seven miles of portage. The last day on the rapids our boat took a sheer and the one on shore had to pull so hard against the current that the boat filled with water. In the face of this calamity I thought the family would starve. I was twenty years of age but in my anxiety. I cried. This was the first, last and only time I cried while crossing the plains.
We finally got the boat to a safe place and baled it out. We were sure the flour was ruined. We took the sacks out and let the water drain off, reloaded and proceeded on our journey.
That night we built a fire and dried the sacks and found that the flour was not much hurt. We were lucky to find two white men and three Indians to help us carry our boat over the portage. Four days of travel up the river brought us to our winter home. We found all well and anxious for our return.
As I have said, father remained down the Willamette the winter of 1845, with Brother James and wife, looking for a place, and the middle of January, 1846, he and James came back to The Dalles to help build a boat to move us. There were plenty of boats then on the Willamette for emigrants who wanted to pass on down to the valley, but a very short time after we arrived at The Dalles they had all been taken off for the winter.
James was a boat builder. We selected a place close to the river to build our boat, where there was good timber. We chose two large trees for the purpose of making gunwales, the trees being about three feet in diameter. Then we picked out smaller trees for making the plank. We hewed out the timber the proper length and squared it. This we lined on both sides the thickness we wanted to make our planks. We chose a place on a side hill to make a saw pit. It was so arranged that one man could stand underneath the log and one man on top of it. Then the squared logs were put in place and we ripped out enough plank for a bottom and a false bottom and for the sides of the boat. We used the old whip saw which is now on exhibition in the Oregon Historical rooms at Portland.
This old whip saw told its own story, when in 1894, a gentleman asked it to tell of its adventures:
"I started for Puget Sound from Missouri in 1845 and. after passing through the trials and incidents of an overland journey of six months, reached The Dalles Oregon, where, with the assistance of four men, I sawed timber enough to construct a boat 16 feet long and fifty feet wide. On February 1, 1846, the boat was loaded with myself among the passengers and we moved down the Columbia to the Cascades. At the Cascades I took passage in a wagon around a five mile portage. Our boat was the first boat ever sent over the Cascade Falls. The craft was secured and proceeded to the mouth of Sandy River. From that point my travels varied, sometimes by land and sometimes by water, up one stream and down another. Finally, in the Spring of 1848, I reached Puget Sound, after a tedious journey behind an ox team. In the three years of my travels my master always found me of service. But during forty-seven years, after I reached what was to be my home, I remained undisturbed and unthought of in my master's tool house on Chambers Prairie. On April 26. 1894, the flames destroyed my home and I was ruined and defaced almost beyond recognition."
We had no nails and the boat was put together entirely with wooden pins. It resembled a scow of today. Its capacity was large enough to carry fifteen head of cattle at a time in crossing a river and to store all of our wagons when they were taken apart, and all of our plunder that we had brought with us across the plains, as well as those members of the family who were not on shore driving the cattle.
When we got the boat ready and launched we loaded our effects, wagons and plunder and all the ox yokes and proceeded on down the Columbia River. When we collected the stock to make the start our cattle were in good condition. The snow rarely stayed on the ground on the southern slopes of the hills and the cattle had opportunity to do well. But not so with the horses. The Indians had managed to steal most of them during foggy weather when it was pretty hard work to guide them. We did not have more than three out of a lot of horses whose manes and tails had not been cut off. The mutilated animals looked horrible to us. There was always some "good Indian" to help me hunt the stolen horses. It appeared the Indians did not want the horses except to have a big ride on them and get their manes and tails. They made ropes out of the hair.
Our boat had long oars and when we started two mer attended to these. Brother James usually steered the boat and Father and David were ashore most of the time. We let the boat run with the current as great a distance each day as we could drive the cattle. Then we tied up and resumed our course next morning. We traveled on the north side down the river bottom until we came to Shell Rock, a place where the hills came right up to the river's edge. We could not drive over this rock, neither could we swim our cattle around it. Consequently we were obliged to ferry all our effects, and the cattle, to the north side, and traveled down that side until we came to the Cascade Falls. At this point we unloaded our wagons, put them together and loaded our plunder into them, hitched on the teams and started out to make our way to the lower end of the Falls.
Everything had been removed from the boat and the sides boarded up. Brother James and two men who were willing to take the risk, went aboard. James acted as captain and the other men stood at the oars. We had several small boats so we took her out in the river and gave her a start, heading her straight for the falls. She went over, shipping only a nominal number of gallons of water. It was in February that we made this run with the first flat bottomed boat ever to pass over these five miles of rocks and rapids.
Having gotten safely over they returned, after tying up. to help us with the teams and stock. We had to blaze a trail to go through and prospect a road. We were obliged to go back about a mile from the river and pass through an Indian graveyard. In this graveyard the dead were all buried in houses, and we had to drive carefully between them. It was an ancient burying place, for the houses were all decaying. I think it could not have been used for many, many years.
After traveling about six miles we came again to the river just below the lower falls. We re-loaded the boat and proceeded as before. The drivers took the cattle along by the river until we reached Cape Horn. Here we were obliged again to leave the river and travel out into the country and around this high promontory. We had to drive very slowly and it was hard work. On this trip we took a little flour, salt and enough bread to do us the first day out. After that we tied up the calves so that we could get milk enough to make noodle soup with milk, flour and salt. It was nearly three days before we reached the river again. At the mouth of Sandy River we found the scow and the folks waiting for us. Here we unloaded again and ferried our stock across to the southern side of the Columbia, at the mouth of the Sandy. From this point we drove the cattle across the country by Oregon City to Milk Creek, near Molalla, where father had selected a place for us.
After ferrying the stock across at the mouth of the Sandy. we re-loaded the boat with our effects and ran down the Columbia to the Willamette and up the latter river to Oregon City. Here we sold the boat for $50. We put our plunder in the wagons and moved out to the place selected for our future homes, and set to work to build houses in which to live.
The citizens of Oregon were of the opinion that Uncle Sam was slow in extending protection to his people on the Pacific Slope, and they formed a provisional government and elected Abernathy governor. The representatives passed laws saying that a married man and his wife could take up 640 acres—a mile square—of land; a young or single man, half that amount, and that this could be selected any place, so that it did not interfere with other claims. Wheat was made legal tender for small debts at one dollar a bushel.
Oregon City, being located at the Falls on the Willamette River, the Hudson Bay Company had a flour mill and a store there. Up the Willamette, the old servants of the company had settled, and taken up a great many of the choice parts for fifty or sixty miles. One prairie, called "French Prairie." was settled by Canadian French, and most of the settlers had native wives.
The first settlers here cut hazel brush and made withes with which to bind their wheat. At this time the sickle and the reap hook were used. Then the cradle came into use and they learned to make bands of the wheat, oats, or other grain that was out.
After putting in one Spring crop and garden in the Molalla, we built a barn. I then went to Tualatin Plains, west of Oregon City, and stopped with Brother James and family. He had married a Mrs. Scoggius, who had a family of five children, throe sons and two daughters. I. together with these children, went to school for one term. The oldest son was one of my best friends, and it was he who helped me to take the flour up the Columbia to my folks. Tualatin Plains, twenty miles from Oregon City, was settled principally by Hudson Bay men, English and Scotch. This was a fine section of the country. Plenty of wheat, was grown here, and newcomers could get plenty of work by taking pay in wheat, at one dollar a bushel. The wheat could be taken to Oree;in City and sold to the company, and taken out in trade at the store, and a receipt would be given for the remainder. This receipt could be used in trading with other parties for anything wanted, and they, in turn, could go to the store and get goods and groceries with it. There was very little money in the country, so people were obliged to use wheat and these receipts as a means of conducting business transactions. The emigrants to this country had spent mostly all their money for outfits and a great many, even then, were very poorly provided for provisions for the trip.
After school closed I stayed with my brother, James, and helped in the harvest. The barns were built of logs, two houses and a space of thirty feet between them, the roof including the three. The center was used for a threshing floor, and ten or twelve horses were used to tramp out the wheat. The farmers would furnish us horses and board and give us one bushel in ten to thresh out and fan the wheat, and. sometimes. they allowed us a team to take the wheat to market. While I was helping my brother that harvest. I did the threshing and my brother and Young Scoggins hauled in the sheaves. We threshed eighty or ninety bushels a day.
One of the oldest settlers came to my brother and wanted help. James told him I could go and wanted to know how much he would pay me per day. The old settler said he would give me three pecks of wheat a day. James told him I might remain at home and play, before I should work at that price. I told my brother to make a contract with him to cut and shock his wheat, and Scoggins and I would do the work as soon as we finished James' crop. He made the contract at three bushels an acre and board.
We went, and put in thirty acres for him. We put. up three acres a day, and the old gentleman was highly pleased with our work. His wheat was getting very ripe and shattering out so that he proposed for us to cut and bind in the forenoon and haul in the afternoon, and he would pay just the same per day for the hauling. That was nine bushels a day.
It was hard for him to keep help. One harvest was all that help would stay with him. Some of his help told that he recommended to them to eat the peelings off of baked potatoes. He said it was healthy and helped to fill up. I think he was correct about its being good for the health, if he followed his own advise, for he lived to be 104 years old.
The Winter of 1846 we spent in looking for a new location, thinking to better ourselves. We went to the mouth of the Columbia River and looked over Clatsop Plains, then south to the Umpqua country, but we did not find anything to suit us.
Father said he had started for salt water, and so in the Spring of 1847, after we had put in the crops, we came over to Puget Sound to look at that portion of the country. We spent two months looking around. At Newmarket, the present site of Tumwater. at the falls of the Des Chutes River, we found M. T. Simmons and family, and five or six other families and nine or ten young men. They had settled here in June, 1845. They were putting up a sawmill. They already had a flour mill, a very small concern. The burrs were only eighteen inches in diameter and no bolting cloth was in use. Some of the families had sieves that were used to take out the coarse bran.
At the present site of Olympia there was was only one man, by the name of Smith. His log cabin stood on the ground where the Huggins hotel is now. We finally staked out claims on what is now known as "Chambers Prairie." Then we returned to our homes in Oregon to make preparations to move to the Puget Sound region in the Fall.
Early in the Fall of 1847, we hired two boats of Dr. McLoughlin, and four Kanaka boat men. We loaded our effects, wagons, ox yokes and bedding, on the boats at Oregon City. We went down the Willamette to the Columbia River, down the Columbia to the mouth of the Cowlitz and up the Cowlitz to Cowlitz Landing—thirty miles.
It was fine boating until we came to the rapids on the Cowlitz River. That was hard work and slow traveling. We had to use the tow line a great deal and go from one side of the river to the other to take advantage of the eddies and shallow waters, so that we could use the long poles and push the boats up the stream. Our boats were heavily laden and for about fifteen miles we used the poles and tow line, the water being too swift to use the oars.
There was a great quantity of salmon in the river. We had all we wanted, and cooked it Indian fashion. This was t'> dress the fish, run a stick through it and place the stick in the ground close to the fire, and as the fish cooked, turn it St that it would bake evenly. We always left the scales on till it was cooked. After working hard all day, it was fine—we thought, delicious.
We arrived at Cowlitz Landing after twenty days of travel, the only accident on the trip being the loss of a rifle. a considerable loss in those days, too. In making the trip to Cowlitz Landing, we started the hands with the stock, horses find cattle, to cross the Columbia. All were ferried over at Fort Vancouver; then they were driven down the river to Lewis River, where they were ferried over this stream, following down the Columbia to the mouth of the Cowlitz. They were then driven up the Cowlitz and swam across the south fork. When they reached the Cowlitz Landing, they swam the stock to the north side of the river and waited for the boats. This landing is at the lower end of Cowlitz Prairie, which prairie was settled by the Canadian French and is a fine farming country. The Hudson Bay Company and the Catholic Mission each had fine farms there. We rented twenty acres of land from the Catholic Mission and a like number of acres from John R. Jackson, and put in a crop of winter wheat.
When the crop was in, we left the stock needed to haul our wagons to the prairie (Chambers), which we had selected for our future home, and started to drive the remainder of the stock through. We drove them over Mud Mountain, or Mud Hill—all the first settlers traveled this way, and we crossed the Des Chutes about two miles above Tumwater. There was an Indian trail from Bush Prairie to Chambers Prairie.
Then we went back to Saunder's Bottom and completed the wagon road around Mud Hill. This hill is east of Chehalis. There was one family living there at that time. We prospected and blazed out a road. We found trees on the banks of a creek that suited us for making a bridge. We built the bridge and cut out the wagon road through Saunder's Bottom— a distance of three miles. The creek's source was from Mud Mountain and the banks were steep and muddy and could not be crossed without a bridge. We then came to New Market, one of the first settlements at Tumwater. The men of this settlement turned out and all helped to cut a wagon road to Chambers' Prairie, a distance of three and a half miles. The old settlers here were glad to see new comers and they were ready and willing to help us. What they had they were willing to share with us. They were much pleased when they learned that we had sieve wire, for they had no bolting cloth for their small grist mill. They thought it a fine thing to have sieve wire so they could take the bran out of their flour. On the prairie we built a log house of two rooms, the smaller we used for a kitchen and the larger was curtained off into bed rooms. We then went for the family and brought them over. We stayed a few days, visiting Mr. Simmons' family.
We crossed our wagons on boats, when the tide was in, below the lower falls of the Des Chutes. When the tide was out we drove our work cattle across Budd's Inlet and then drove out five miles to our future home. The fifteenth of December, 1847, we took our first dinner at our home on Chambers' Prairie.
Here our stock had plenty of grass and wintered well, so they were fat in February. We butchered a fine beef and had plenty of tallow to make candles. Mother had brought enough candle wicking to do several years. The candles were a great improvement on the old iron lamp in which we had to burn hog's lard. This lamp was made with a short spout for the wick to lie in and one end of the wick came out of this spout to burn. The handle at the other end of the lamp was so arranged that it came up over the center of the lamp, so as to hold the lamp level. A cotton cloth, twisted, served as a wick. Father put up a milk house, and, in March, commenced to make butter, and in April, to make cheese.
Brother Thomas and I took up claims adjoining, and we milked the cows, morning and evening, for our board. We built a log house of one room on our claim. We made it a five-cornered house, the fifth corner being for the fireplace. In May we dug two troughs and started a tan yard, on a small scale. We used the troughs for vats, and alder and hemlock bark, for tanning purposes. We dried the bark and pounded it fine. We burned oyster and clam shell and used the lime to take the hair off the skins. We made sole leather out of beef hides, and for the upper leather we used deer and cougar hides. By the first of November we had our leather ready to make shoes. We brought a kit of shoemakers' tools with us and father and I made the shoes. We brought with us a number of lasts of different sizes. For sewing we put a number of strands of shoe thread together—the length we wanted—and we twisted and waxed this string, tapered the ends and put a hog bristle on each end for needles. It was a nice piece of work to put the bristles on so they would stay. This we could do to perfection. If they came off they could not be put on again.
We made our shoe pegs of maple and dog wood, well seasoned, sawed the length and size we wanted the pegs to be. We split off slabs the thickness to make square pegs, and shaved the slabs to make the pegs sharp at. one end. We used a stick with a notch against which we held the slabs and sharpened first one side and then the other. A strip of leather with a slit in it was fastened to the shoe board. We took two or three of the sharpened slabs and held them with the left hand against the leather which served as a lever for the knife, and, with the point of the knife, held to place by running it in the slit in the leather, we split off the pegs.
The crop we put in on Cowlitz Prairie turned out well, and we hauled it over early in the Fall, or enough of it to plant and to keep us until we grew our first crop on Chambers' Prairie
The winters of 1845-6 and 1846-7 were very mild and pleasant. We made rails to fence in land to protect our crops. We raised plenty of wheat, potatoes, peas and other vegetables. We had wheat coffee, and pea coffee, and we could always change from one to the other. Boiled wheat and milk made an extra dish for supper.
Father and mother were highly pleased with this country and they thought there was no place like it; fat beef off the range in February, and plenty of oysters and clams for the digging. One beef would give us sixty pounds of tallow, and in those days tallow was an important item.
That same spring of 1848, we built the log barn which stood over half a century and finally had to be burned on account of its being unsafe for the stock. It was built similar to those already described, except that this barn had five apartments, two for hay and grain, one for stalls, one for wagons, and one for threshing. It was a long, narrow barn, and all under one roof. The clapboards were put on with wrought nails from England, the sheeting was of logs, put on the right distance apart to use four-foot boards.
Thomas and I had been looking forward and calculating to return to Missouri in two years to see our girls that we had left behind us. In 1848 mother received a letter from our old home, telling about what had taken place since we left and among the news was the marriage of a certain young lady, and this had the effect of making me contented to remain on Puget Sound.
This was a sensible decision, for, during the winter of 1847, Indians broke out and massacred Dr. and Mrs. Whitman and many others at the Mission, near Walla Walla. The people of Oregon raised a company of Volunteers to subdue the Cayuse tribe, the only hostiles. They succeeded in bringing the leaders to justice. We, on Puget Sound, did not know about the trouble until it was all settled. The Indians here were friendly and they were glad to have the Bostons—as they called the Americans—come. About this time gold was discovered in California, and Thomas and I got the fever to go, as Brother James was there.

Mrs. Chambers' Story As Told By Her Daughter Nora
I left my childhood home in company with my three brothers, my sister-in-law, two nephews, and a niece, on April 1st, 1851, to cross the continent with ox teams.
My only sister took the road leading to Louisville the same morning, having been married to Presly M. Hoskins one week before. I can see the wagon yet that carried her goods. as it slowly turned down a hill that we used to travel so much to school and church together. Oh, how sorrowful a day that was! We crossed the Wabash River at Terre Haute, about 25 miles from our home in Sullivan County, Indiana, traveling across Illinois to Missouri, landing at St. Joe on the Missouri River on the 9th day of May. Here we stayed a few days to rest our jaded teams. The roads were frightful, the poor oxen would almost mire down in many places.
When we crossed the river into the Indian Territory, I felt as if we had left all civilization behind us. My sister- in-law was sick, my niece much younger than I, consequently all the cooking and planning fell on my shoulders. None but those who have cooked for a family of eight, crossing the plains, can have any idea of the amount of food consumed.
There isn't much fun cooking with sage brush almost as dry as straw. Sometimes the cakes, flapjacks, were black with the ashes blown over them. To throw them away and bake others was out of the question, for the next lot would have been the same, besides we had to be very saving of provisions. When we were all well we had jolly times, but my sister-in-law was sick almost all the time, which was a great source of anxiety to us. At times we almost despaired of her life.
I used to think, when traveling over those rocky roads, often seeing the skulls and bones of fellowmen bleaching in the hot sun, so far from home and loved ones, that if we were spared to reach a land of civilization, I could see my dearest loved ones laid away with a tear. Oh, the thought of leaving a loved one so far away was perfectly agonizing.
Often we would see parts of quilts that had been wrapped around the form of some dear one laid away, but both body and quilts had been dug out by the wild animals and the bones laid bare before the gaze of the pitiless sun. We saw some graves that had been made secure by heavy stones that ha:l been placed upon them so that the wild beasts could not roll them off. We had one funeral in our train, a little boy, and how sad it was to drive away and leave the new-made grave!
One of our sorrows was the loss of our faithful dog, which had accompanied us from home. The poor beast perished when we were crossing the desert. My sister-in-law was very ill we did not know that she would live through the day. We had hauled water enough to last for two days, but had to use it very sparingly. I remembered, after we missed the dog, of seeing him coming along behind the wagon with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Poor fellow, if he had been taken in and given a little water he would have been saved. Except for the sickness in our family, we had an excellent trip, com pared with some. We had no trouble with Indians only some scares. One night the guards came in and reported the Indians had frightened all the stock and they had run off. Of course. we prepared to defend ourselves as best we could. The wagons were put around to form a circle, the tongue of one wagon resting on the back of another. Then the women and children were put into as few wagons as possible and one man sat in front of each wagon Avith his gun ready to shoot if an Indian put in an appearance. We were greatly rejoiced when morning came and no sight of an Indian anywhere.
Sometimes we would lay by all day to give the oxen a little rest when the weather was so warm. Then we would start out just at night-fall and travel all night. In this way I missed the sight of Court House Rock, although we had seen it in the distance for several days, rearing up like an immense old building. Chimney Rock, too. was quite a curiosity. We could see it for days and it looked so close at hand that three or four days before we reached it some of the company started to go to it but came into camp in the evening, tired out with walking a whole afternoon carrying their guns. The shape of the rock was very much like a chimney standing alone, way out on the plains with no other rock near it.
We passed some very beautiful rocks very much like the ones in Yellowstone Park. On some of the smooth ones there were hundreds of names, each one higher than the last, the writers having climbed up to see who could write their name the highest.
The Devil's Gate is a queer freak of nature and quite a curiosity. There is just room for a wagon road between the high rocks on either side.
We passed what was then called Steamboat Springs. The water was thrown up into the air several feet high. Then there were the hot springs, some beautiful waterfalls and many, many other strange and beautiful things that I do not recall at this late day.
The most unpleasant part of the journey was through the alkali district. It was white as far as you could see. In some places a thick crust or scum was on the top of the earth. Our hands and lips were sore from the alkali in the air. We would be so covered with dust as we traveled along that at night-fall we could not tell our nearest neighbor, as all looked alike.
Cows, as a general rule, stood the trip much better than oxen. We brought one yoke of young cows that we milked at the home place, and more faithful creatures I never saw. They worked every day until August. Coming through the Blue Mountains, one of the poor creatures gave out, laid down and refused to get up, so we had to leave her and travel on. Our hearts were sad when we took a last look at one so faithful. We learned afterwards that a party coming along after us found her quite refreshened after her rest and brought her on through with them, which we were very glad to know. These two cows gave us plenty of milk until we reached the alkali country, when the feed was so poor that they had no milk for us.
Besides losing our cow in the Blue Mountains, we had another remarkable event—the birth of a son to Mr. and Mrs. Ross. (They and their son now reside in the Puyallup valley.) We laid by for half a day and then traveled on as if nothing had happened. Mrs. Ross and the child got along nicely.
The next event of importance was the crossing of the Rocky Mountains. It was a tiresome, tedious journey, and our cattle, after traveling so far, were very much fatigued. For days it was up, up all the time and the road was often very winding. The five girls that were in our train would some times take what we called a "cutoff" and come out on the road a long distance ahead of the wagon. These five girls were Elizabeth White, now Mrs. D. R. Bigelow of Olympia; Jerusha White, now Mrs. A. W. Stewart of Puyallup; Millie Stewart, now Mrs. Dr. Spinning of Puyallup; Margaret White, now Mrs. Andrew Chambers of Olympia, and Mrs. Durgan of Olympia, whose maiden name I have forgotten.
One day, as we could see the road quite a distance off, we set out on one of our trips, which proved to be much longer than we had any idea of. We were climbing hills, tramping over rocks, through deep ravines and scattering timber, all the afternoon.
About as blue a time as we had was when our cattle were poisoned every one lying down and groaning like sick people. Luckily for us, my brother had taken along a much greater amount of bacon than was needed, so we had enough fat meat to let the entire company have some. The men sat up all night and cut the meat into such sized pieces as they could put down the throats of the animals. Consequently, our teams were saved and we were able to resume our journey the next afternoon.
The trials and troubles of such a journey can never be realized. I think if the people had realized the dangers and privations attendant upon such a trip they would never have undertaken it.
I shall never forget the first herd of buffalo I saw. Such a number of them—perhaps a hundred. We often saw smaller herds traveling towards water. The first meat was a great treat, we had been so many months without fresh meat. The boys in our company killed three in one day and we laid by a day and a half and dried some. We made a scaffold of sticks and hung the strips of meat on the sticks, then built a fire under the meat.
After this, when Ave wished to have a change from the dried meat, we would put grease in the pan and fry the meat slightly. I can tell you it tasted good after having lived for months on salted meat.
I shall never forget how good the first new potatoes tasted. We got them in Powder River Valley.
One sees the most beautiful wild flowers in crossing the plains—flowers of every hue and shade and acres of them.
How I regret not having pressed and keeping some of the beauties, but that is a little thing to regret doing, compared with the many things we look back and see as we journey on through life. So much occurs to us that we wish we had done.
Glad, indeed, was I when we reached The Dalles, on the Columbia River, for I knew we were nearing our journey's end and nearing civilization once more, where we could have the privilege of church and schools.
While getting supper that night I suffered a burn, the sears of which I will carry to my grave. As it was very sandy here, and high winds prevailing, we dug a trench to build our fire in. As I was putting something over the fire to cook, the sand gave way under my foot and I came down with my hand in the hot sand and ashes, burning it to a crisp. I could act the lady for several weeks after that.
On the morning of September 36. we took passage on a little steamer that plied between The Dalles and the Cascades. It had just been built and this was its first trip.
"We remained over night at the Cascades, and there my brother purchased a flat boat and we loaded into it and started for the mouth of Sandy River, quite a distance from the Cascades. My two brothers, with two nephews and the rest of the men, drove the cattle down the trail along the Columbia, and a hard old time they had of it, too.
When we reached Sandy we found quite a nice farm house and a good garden of vegetables, which looked inviting after our six months' diet of dried beans, rice, bacon, dried apples and peaches. Although we had so much to be thankful for. as we had an ample supply, and some to spare, which was more than some could say. Some were very scarce of provisions, but none were in want in our train.
Here (at Sandy) we camped on the banks of the Columbia, while my brothers took a contract for building a ferry boat for the man who lived there, a man named Parker.
It was perhaps two weeks before our men with the cattle arrived, and we were very glad to see them once more.
The boat being finished, we ferried across the Columbia and found a very nice settlement on the river bottom after crossing over. My brother and his wife stopped here to take care of the stock, as there was an abundance of good pasturage to be had very reasonably. My other brothers and two nephews, my niece and myself went to a little town between Portland and Oregon City—Milwaukee. There we rented a house and went to school for the winter.
We soon made some pleasant acquaintances, as all were newcomers and it was a small town. We attended singing school and some few dancing parties, only to look on. I had never seen nor heard a violin before, nor seen any dancing. My people were all very strict Presbyterians and we were never allowed to indulge in such amusements.
In September of the same year my brothers decided to come to Puget Sound to see if they liked the country better, as we were not favorably impressed with Oregon. As they were pleased, they returned for us and we all came to this part of the country, Chambers' Prairie, Thurston County, in October, 1852.
We spent the winter at the eastern extremity of the prairie, on the place where the widow Collins now lives, but which was owned by Mr. Nathan Eaton at that time. My brothers did the first fencing he had done on the prairie. They put in grain on shares and looked around for claims. My two brothers and a nephew took donation claims adjoining each other.
The latter part of the winter of 1853 my brothers split and sawed all the lumber for their houses, as saw mills were unknown in this section in those days. We had puncheon floors. For fear you will not know what that is, I will tell you. It is a floor laid with split logs, the flat side being uppermost. The logs were of cedar and the floor was nice and white when scrubbed with sand and cold water. We girls used to be very proud of our white floors. I think it was in April, 1853, that we moved into our new home. We girls were the housekeepers for my brothers and nephews. My married brother lived a mile from us, on the place where Mr. Stralehm now lives.
That summer was a very dreary one for us, as we had never been where there were forest fires before. We feared that the fire might come on us at any time as the grass on the prairie was very thick and dry. For days the sun hung like a ball of fire in the heavens. When the rain came and cleared the smoke away all was again pleasant and we soon forgot our disagreeable times.
Our housekeeping for my brothers was of short duration, as my niece decided to become somebody's else housekeeper. On the morning of September 22, 1853, she was married to A. W. Stewart, a young man who had crossed the plains with us.
After her departure I made my home with my brother and his wife until January, 1854.
On the 18th of that month I was married to Andrew J. Chambers, and came to reside in this house. We have spent our lives here since then, and, by the laws of Nature, we haven't many more years to live, but hope we shall live them here, where we have seen our greatest joys and sorrows. I must say that I had never known what true happiness was until I was married, as I had never known the love of father or mother. I found great happiness in a loving, affectionate husband. I only hope that all my daughters may be as happy in marriage as their mother. We have raised a large family of girls (that we are more than proud of) ten in number, seven of whom are still living to cheer our declining days.
The Indian war of 1855-56 was a trying time for the new settlers. About this time I had a bad scare. Although the Indians east of the mountains were on the war path and we heard all kinds of rumors of their intention to take our section of the country, the Sound Indians were apparently friendly. An Indian lad who had worked for us told us we were in danger, but we paid little attention to him, although I was frightened and uneasy.
A brother of my husband's lived a mile from us, on the place his father had settled in 1848. This brother and a young: man who lived with him were sitting out in front of their cabin, in the twilight, one evening within hearing of the Indian camp. As they understood the Indian language and heard their names mentioned, they listened and heard an old Indian say, as he passed his finger over the sharp edge of a knife he had bought from John Chambers: "Little did John think he was selling me the knife to kill him with." Then they talked and planned how they could execute their bloody work, and about this time the boys made tracks for our house, so scared that they even left their guns. How well I remember that night! When we heard the gate open and shut, Mr. Chambers sprang out of bed and grasped his gun. I tell you, those boys made tracks when they heard him, for they knew he had his revolvers and gun ready. As soon as they could speak they called to him, and I can tell you we were relieved when we heard who it was. Oh, how I shook! Just like one with the ague.
Then the men sat up on guard and run bullets all night, as that was the only kind of ammunition we had in those days.
Early the next morning the boys returned to their home to see how things looked. The old Indian was as fine as he could be, and wanted to be very gracious. He had told John Chambers some time before that he had come to camp by him and was going to live and die by him. The old hypocrite! When he saw the boys he asked them where they slept. They replied: "In bed." "Not here," he said. Then they asked him how he knew. He said they were in the house for some medicine for a sick child, which was another story.
Very soon we heard of men being waylaid and shot, and the country was all excitement. Shortly the people began to gather into forts to protect themselves. The fort for this part of the country was on our place and is still in use as a barn. There were block houses on each corner. At one time there were thirty-two families in this fort. There were any number of children and dogs, and, consequently, any amount of music, especially of evenings. We had many startling events, of which I well remember one. My husband was lieutenant of the company of volunteers within the fort, so he was ordered by the captain of the company to take a number of men and make a scout through the neighborhood and see if there were any Indians prowling around. They mounted their horses about five o'clock one afternoon and rode away toward Yelm Prairie. Shortly afterwards the command was given for every man to get his gun and stand in readiness, as the Indians might attack the fort at any moment, as they had undoubtedly attacked the men who had gone on the scouting expedition, for they had heard the report of several guns in the direction they had gone.
Such a commotion! My feelings can better be imagined and described, but time told us our fears were groundless.
That was a long night. Not a wink of sleep for me. Morning came, but no signs of Indians. The men were out two days and never saw nor heard an Indian. How rejoiced I was when I saw my good husband again!
There was one man in the company who used to give us a scare by firing his gun while on guard. The orders were not a gun was to be shot unless at an Indian. Knowing this, imagine yourself, sitting by the fire, with everything quiet, and then hear one shot after another! The old man always said he saw Indians.
The war broke out in October, 1855, and ended in June. 1856. The last battle was fought east of the mountains.
There is a great deal more that I could write, but time will not permit me.

Source: Early History of Thurston County, Washington: Together with Biographies and Reminiscences of Those Identified with Pioneer Days By Georgiana Mitchell Blankenship Published by s.n., 1914

Submitted by Barbara Ziegenmeyer

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