DOWN THE HILL
AND
ACROSS THE RIVER FERRY
By Ethel Cochran Shinn
Land! Land! Land! Thousands of men and
women came west in the middle of the 19th century in
search of a piece of land of their own. The well-known writer of
that time, Horace Greeley, recognized the obvious with his famous
saying "Go west, young man." Both of my parents were part
of that great movement of young people that left the established
communities of mid-America to find a new life in the west.
In 1869 my mother's family left their home in
Indiana and joined a caravan of wagons on the famous Oregon Trail to
the Pacific Northwest. The leader was J. B. Hunt, mother's
step-mother's father. The group settled central Washington and
created a little village named Huntsville, Today it is only a group
of houses and a grain elevator between Dayton and Waitsburg. In our
growing up years my mother never spoke of the trip across the plains
or any of the hardships. To her, a girl of nine, it was just the way
of life. After a few years her father moved the family to Colfax--searching
for better land. Education was important to mother. She attended
school in the newly formed Academy at Huntsville and also one in
Colfax and started her career as a teacher in the rural schools of
Whitman County.
My father, John Cochran, came west from Tennessee
in 1880. He was 23 years old and others from his family had already
left Tennessee in search of a place of their own in the Pacific
Northwest. He, his older sister Texie Kittrell and her infant son
Edgar, went from Chattanooga to San Francisco on an emigrant train
via St. Louis. The seats on the train were slats. Each traveler
carried their own bedding that consisted of cloth mattresses filled
with corn shucks. They warmed their food on a stove at the end of
the coach. The trip took eleven days. At San Francisco they caught
the coastal ship, Oregon, for Portland. After negotiating the
shifting sand bars at the entrance of the Columbia they boarded a
steam boat to Celilo where they portaged over the rapids and boarded
another steamer, the D. S. Baker to Wallula. At Wallula they boarded
a narrow gauge railroad to Walla Walla. The train was slow the
tracks were 4 x 4 inch sawed rails with strap iron nailed on top for
the car wheels to roll on. Eventually they arrived at Colfax by
stage. The roads were rough and dusty. There were ropes on the front
seat to hold so they could keep their balance when the coach hit the
chuck holes. At Colfax there was a family reunion. Pleas Kittrell,
Texie's husband, Sam McCroskey, a brother-in-law, and father's
brother were all in Colfax.
Father and his brother, Billy, worked at many jobs--haying, threshing, or anything that would give them a little
money. In 1881 the railroad was built from Texas Ferry on the Snake
River to Colfax and that provided short time jobs for many men.
Father and Uncle Billy tried farming, but most of the good land had
already been homesteaded and neither had money to buy land. Father
got a permit to teach grade school--but the term at the Draper
School was only 12 weeks long and that wasn't enough to support a
person. In those days the teacher stayed at the homes of their
students.
On December 16, 1883 my father and mother, Emma
Pickard, were married in the Bethel Church four miles east of
Colfax. They had both been teachers in Whitman County, but that
occupation did not pay enough for a family to survive. The next
years were very unsettled as they tried to find land that would
support themselves and their increasing family.
I was born September 26, 1887 on lieu land near
Colfax, Washington. It was called lieu land because it was being
farmed "in lieu of title." Father was farming part of the
land deeded to the railroad by the Federal Government as part of the
western expansion movement. The railroad did not discourage people
who farmed their land--the crops provided something for them to
haul.
I was the second daughter of John and Emma
Cochran. Other children followed in two-year intervals--we were a
wonderful and happy family.
In the early years we did not stay in one place
very long. Father rented and attempted to buy land, but he spent
much of his time working for other farmers.
In the fall of 1897 night overtook John Keith who
was traveling on horseback to Doumecq plains in Idaho, where he had
a homestead. He asked John Cochran, a farmer along his route (my
father), to stay overnight with the family. After listening to Mr.
Keith extol the virtues and the beauty of the Doumecq plains, Father
decided to accept his invitation to visit it.
When he returned home, he told his family it was
a nice looking place. A few families lived on the plains, but there
was no school. There was good grass for cattle. The land appeared to
be rich enough to farm, but at this time very little of it had been
cultivated. It was a high country, irrigation was not possible, but
it was not arid. The country had recently been opened for
homesteading.
Since Father did not own any land in the Palouse
country, the decision was to go find a nice place and file on 160
acres of land. He decided to move his family and stock to
Cottonwood, Idaho for a year while he located and started to improve
a homestead on Doumecq plains. He had some cattle and horses. The
cattle were mostly milk cows and calves. The horses were gentle
enough to lead with halters.
In April 1899 Father and the family prepared to
move from Colfax to Cottonwood in a freight wagon and a hack. A
generation had passed since Mother came west on the Oregon Trail,
but a team and wagon was still the only convenient way to move in
this part of the country. The horses and cattle would be driven--there
was no railroad trains or trucks to move them. In fact, all freight
was shipped to Camas Prairie by horse driven freight wagons. (Later
that year, when the family was established in Cottonwood Father made
a living for the family by hauling freight from Lewiston for the
store of Goldstone and Creelman in Cottonwood).
But back to the moving and the preparation it
required--the packing and sorting began. There was a wagon to carry
the household goods and whatever farm stuff Father owned. The
freight wagon was drawn by four horses. Mother could drive the hack.
It had two seats. Robert, a six-month old baby, was to lie in a
large clothes basket between the two seats. He did not want to stay
in the basket, but it served as a wonderful catch-all for
sun-bonnets, diapers, sacks of cookies, and many other things. Omie,
Inez, and Zenna would be with her most of the time. Edna (age 13),
Ethel (age 11), and Mary (age 9) would take turns, two at a time,
driving the stock.
There weren't many household goods to pack--a
cook stove, a heater, a homemade table, chairs, rocking chairs, and
likely a child's small rocker, and the beds. There were foot
pieces, the head pieces, and the two sides and slats for each bed.
There were no springs. Each bed had a straw tick and mattress. The
straw was emptied for the trip and would be filled when the journey
ended.
And then there was the BOX. It was four feet
tall, 2 ½ feet wide and about 3 feet long. The BOX had a slant top.
It would hold the quilts, clothes, pillows, and any household things
that needed protection. Most of the clothes were packed in the two
trunks.
In those days little girls did not wear jeans,
but had to be modest little children with dresses below knee length.
They wore heavy under skirts, the woolen skirt was fastened to a
cotton waist which buttoned down the back. Long legged stockings
were properly supported to prevent sagging and there were ankle
height shoes that buttoned with the aid of a button-hook. Each child
kept that important tool in a private place where she could get at
it--usually in her pocket. The underwear had long legs and long
sleeves, so the stockings were difficult to pull on and adjust
smoothly even for the older girls--the little ones had to have help
from a sister.
Each girl had a sunbonnet, three pretty pink ones
and three blue ones, with a stiff front pieced down over the ears
and a full back, ruffled across the front and strings to tie them
on. It was not popular to let the sun tan the white feminine skin. A
lady had a delicate look. Unfortunately, the girls, at times, forgot
the delicate look and the bonnets would hang down the back by the
strings tied around the neck. The two braids of hair or "pig
tails" would fly out behind.
There were also books to pack--they were very
important to the family. Mother was a scholar and a reader. Father
read a great deal and all the children were encouraged to be
interested in books.
Mother made many usable quilts. Father's family
lived in Tennessee and in his childhood they spun the thread from
wool. They had a loom and wove the cloth to make their clothing.
Father had counterpanes, wool blankets, and quilted quilts that his
mother had sent to him after he came to the west. They were very
fine work and Mother treasured them.
Some of the children had personal boxes, and no
one was supposed to look in them but the owner. One of these boxes
was smuggled onto the wagon. The box was not discovered by Mother
until we were well on the way. She did not approve and said,
"Something we needed could have been put in that spot." (A
lot of personal belongings are lost in a move--especially when
everything goes in a small wagon). The culprit's head bowed in
shame, but inwardly the heart was very light and there was a
pleasant feeling of having it on. The box contained nothing useful,
but it was one thing the child could call her own.
Food had to be packed and prepared for campfire
cooking. The flour was in a fifty pound sack in the wagon. The salt
was also in a fifty pound sack. It was for family and stock when
they needed it. Potatoes, onions, and carrots in sacks were all
piled in a box in the end of the wagon. Sides of bacon were wrapped
in paper and several sides and a ham or two, all smoked to preserve
them, were packed in boxes. Some were for use along the way and the
rest for when we reached our destination. Home made jelly, jams, and
a can of syrup were among our foods. There was a strong box for
dishes, cutlery, kettles, and whatever was needed at each meal. They
were in a handy place to set out three times a day.
A family at Elberton had asked to travel in
Father's caravan move to Cottonwood. Their name was Boggs, Dave
Boggs. They had a girl named Ethel and a small baby. Of course,
Father said it would be all right to come along. Charley Pickard,
Mother's half brother was to drive their wagon as Mrs. Boggs
couldn't drive a team that far. They had some cattle, too. They
brought the cattle to Father's the day before the trip was to
start and Uncle Charley was on time with their wagon-load of
household goods. The Boggs had not arrived at noon as scheduled. At
1:00 P.M. on that spring day in April 1899, Father and his caravan,
Uncle Charley, and the Boggs cattle started the journey to
Cottonwood, Idaho. Our neighbor, Dick Hill, helped get the cattle
and horses started down the lane. The wagon and the hack followed--they
were always behind the stock. By 6:00 p.m. the caravan had traveled
about 5 miles. A camp was set up in a church-yard. The stock was put
in a field nearby. The beds were laid out in the church ante-room.
No meal was cooked that night, as a lunch had been prepared before
leaving. Uncle Dick ate, too, and then started back to his home. All
said a tearful good-by. He was an old friend and the children called
him Uncle Dick, although he was no relation.
After several days of travel and nights of
camping, the town of Colton came into sight. Everyone was now weary
and the novelty of the trip was wearing off, but the cattle had to
be driven. The Boggs had caught up with the caravan a day or so
after we were on the road. They hastened past the wagons to see how
their cattle were doing. Mother was a bit critical of them, as we
girls had been doing all the driving. She felt the Boggs were trying
to get their cattle driven with no cost or work for themselves--which
they were. As for we girls, our job was to drive the cattle and
there was no resentment.
There seemed to be no place to camp in Colton,
and there was some traffic--although it wasn't called traffic
then. Father got the stock into a field. There was much movement
around Colton so the family stayed in the hotel that night. There
was not room for all of us in one room. Mother hesitated to put the
small girls alone in a strange town in a hotel room. She got the
small ones to bed in her room and then came to see if all was well
with the older ones. As she left she said, "Be sure to lock
your door. The key is in the door, just turn it over. See if you
can." Edna tried and it locked easily. Some of the girls were
so frightened at having to lock the door that they hung onto Edna,
the oldest and the bravest. The door had never been locked at home
and the children had never been left alone at night. Locking the
door seemed to separate them from Mother. However, tired children
will sleep and soon all was forgotten and they slept.
One of the young mares had a colt on the trip and
that slowed the travel, but father was running short of money so he
sold her and the colt for $20. Father had been a horse trader in
earlier years and knew horses pretty well. Today that seems like
very little money, but in 1899 it was probably a fair price for an
unbroken mare.
The next day the drive was from Colton to the top
of the Lewiston grade. Here we spent the night with beds spread
outdoors on the ground and the smaller ones in the hack or wagon.
The original pack had 12 loaves of bread, but by
the end of a week it was all gone. Father cooked flapjacks over the
campfire. He entertained the children by telling them the knack of
campfire cooking. One needed two or three smooth rocks, set just so,
and the fire built between them. Then he could set the frying pan on
the rocks over the fire. The pan had to be very hot to properly cook
the flapjacks--it was moved from side to side so the cake could not
stick. Then suddenly the cake would be thrown into the air and come
down on the other side. Sometimes Father's aim was bad or slow and
only half of the serving landed in the pan. Father usually did the
campfire cooking. Mother usually cleared and packed the food while
father got the team ready and the stock on the road.
It took several days to get from Colton to
Lewiston. It was April and the narrow roads were muddy and full of
ruts. The caravan consisted of heavy wagons pulled by four horses,
the sometimes unruly animals being herded by three young girls, and
the hack carrying four small children, one only six months old. When
we reached the top of the hill the Clearwater River and Lewiston was
visible, but we were separated by 7 difficult miles. The road was
narrow. If two vehicles met they each gave half of the road to pass.
Father, and the other men, drove the four horse loads of goods down
the steep grade with heavy dependence on the foot brake. The driver
held the brake ratchet down with his right foot while he handled the
lines of the four horses in his two hands. Mother was afraid. With
several small children, a baby, and a steep grade with a canyon on
one side, she didn't know if she could do it or not. All the girls
were kept in the hack to ride down the hill. The road was rough--there
were rocks and deep ruts in the soft places. The hack pushed heavily
on the horses. Mother had to put her feet on the brake to hold it in
place. No doubt the children had things to say as, "Would we
roll down the hill if Dolly (the horse) walked too close to the
edge?" or "Would you stop if I fell out, I'm holding
tight?"
One wagon and one hack were taken down along with
the stock. The animals were put in a corral and most of the party
camped at the river that night. One of the men went back the next
day to bring the rest of the party down the hill.
We laid over at the river edge another night and
planned how to get the cattle over the Clearwater River and what to
do with them on the other side.
It was early spring and the river was high in its
banks. In fact, it was running over the south dock and onto the
city-street. In the morning the men got on saddle horses to drive
the stock on to the north side pier. Side fences were put up to
guide the way on to the ferry. On the south side of the river, it
seemed the ferry boat docked in the middle of the river--the pier
could not be seen. The ferryman seemed to know where to stop, maybe
he touched the pier which was below the water level. He put the
apron down and opened the gate. The cattle were not anxious to go
off into the water, but with riders behind them they were gently
crowded off. When one animal found a footing on the pier the rest
followed.
After finding a corral to hold these animals the
men returned to put the wagons across. The first wagon and the hack
went over very nicely. The second wagon drove onto the ferry with a
nervous man holding the lines of the four horse team. When the gate
was opened the driver was standing with a four-horse whip in his
hand to encourage the leaders to do their part of the pulling and
also to persuade them to go down into the water. After a bit of
fooling around, the leaders made a plunge, dragging the wheelers and
the wagon with a quick jerk down onto the pier and into the water.
Then the coupling pole came loose. The front wheels were in three
feet of water and the hind wheels were on the ferry boat.
The coupling pole is the tie that holds the front
and rear wheels together and the wagon bed up off the ground. A
broken coupling can fall to the ground and if an attempt is made to
travel it will stick in the earth and hike the middle of the wagon
in the air while the team and front wheels travel on. In this case,
the coupling pole did not drop--probably the heavy load in the
wagon kept it even. With an excited man and a handy whip the team
pulled the wagon to dry land.
After crossing the river we spent a day near the
ferry landing while Father had a shop repair the wagon. There was
time for we children, who were big enough to leave Mother, to wander
around downtown Lewiston and peek in the door of the shops. We were
amazed at all the activit--none of us had ever been to this big a
town After all these years, I remember watching a man buy a big loaf
of bread in a store and sticking it under his arm as he walked
toward home. We had never seen bread that was baked outside the
home.
When it was time to move on Father got help to
drive the horses and cattle across what is now the Orchards and
Lower Tammany and down to Webb Creek. From there we went up the
Fountain grade, to Craig Mountain, and on to Cottonwood. When the
family reached Cottonwood we rented a cabin near the Catholic Church
and stayed there for about a year. It was near the school and that
was important--five little girls were ready to go forward with
their education.
In November 1900 the family moved again-- this
time to Whitebird where a new school had been organized. In the
spring, after the three or four month school term ended, the family
prepared to move to the new homestead on Doumecq plains. They
planned to cross the Salmon River on the Remington Ferry, but when
they got there other problems emerged--but that is another story.
The author wrote this story about 1968. It has been filed in family archives since that time.
© JECFA 1968
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