"Early History of Thurston County, Washington; Together with Biographies and
Reminiscences of those Identified with Pioneer Days." Compiled and Edited by
Mrs. George E. (Georgiana) Blankenship.  Published in Olympia, Washington, 1914.
p. 164.
 
MARGARET (WHITE) CHAMBERS
 
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 hut 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 hare before the gaze of the pitiless sun. We saw
some graves that had been made secure by heavy stones that had 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, compared 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 with 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 yon 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 he 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. Boss 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 sometimes 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 gat 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 we 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 tin;  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 scars 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 16, 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 nest morning the boys returned to their home to see how things
looked. The old Indian was as tine 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.

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Submitted to the Washington Bios. Project in May 2007 by Diana Smith.
Submitter has no additional information about the person(s) or family mentioned
above.