MRS. JOHN G. PARKER

Have yon ever opened a long-forgotten desk and taken out n packet of letters tied with faded blue ribbon, and caught the sweet, evanescent perfume of rose leaves and violets which have been put away by hands which have long since finished their earthly tasks? Such were the sensations of the compiler of these reminiscences when journeying back to the days of long tr.go with Mrs. John G. Parker. Sweet and full of girlish romance were the memories evoked of conquests, triumphs and innocent coquetry of this belle of Olympia of the early '50's, although the dear old lady could also tell of hardships and privations that would undoubtedly crush a girl of modern days.

In Mrs. Parker's words will her story be told, for they were more eloquent and expressive than any at my command, but the reader will miss the inspiration of watching the delicate color come and go in the faded but still lovely face, of listening to the gentle voice thrill and tremble over the exciting or sorrowful portions of the narrative, of being taken lack to the actual  scenes and experiences of those days that are no more.

"When I was a young girl of a little less than sixteen years of age, living in Saline County, Missouri, my father, Gilmore Hays, decided to leave the old homestead and take his family out to Oregon, as all this section of the country was then called. Father had been out West before and knew that the land was full of richness and opportunities for amassing wealth such as would never be found in the more settled country. There were six boys in our family and father thought they would stand a better chance to get on in the world when the time came for them to branch out for themselves in the new country. Father's enthusiasm spread to a lot of our kinsfolks and they decided to join our train and cross the plains with us.

"I can't tell now just how many wagons there were in hue when we pulled out for our start for the long journey over the Oregon Trail. But the ones whom I am able to recall were the family of Dr. N. Ostrander, Uncle Frank Yantis with his family, George Scott and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Hillory Butler, my father's brother Isaac Hays, Rev. Lapsley Yantis and many others.

"The first stages of the trip were full of pleasure and delight, especially to us younger members of the train. Although the greater part of the wagons were drawn by yokes of oxen and perforce the travel was slow, we younger ones had each our own pony and would ride far in advance of the train, pick out a good camping place where there was wood, water and grass for the animals. Here we would dismount and the young men proceed to collect piles of wood for the camp fires in the evening while we girls would skylark around, pick flowers and rest beneath the trees by the side of the beautiful streams which we frequently were fortunate enough to find for our camping place. When the wagons would pull in towards evening it was a hurry-up to get supper, turn out the stock and then all hands gather around the enormous campfires where merry jest, songs and cheerful companionship banished every thought of homesickness or foreboding. We had several violins, a banjo and many fine voices in the party, so music was enjoyed almost every evening.

"I must tell you about my pony. She was the fastest animal in the train, a perfect beauty and a great pet, and an animal of more than ordinary intelligence. So speedy was she that the hunters always borrowed her when they wanted to run down a buffalo to replenish our supply of fresh meat. One day I was in a pet towards the other girls in the train, Sarah Yantis and her sister, Mrs. Pullen, (these girls were afterwards Mrs. G. C. Blankenship and Mrs. Dick Wood). I told them to ride on and I would wait for the wagons, letting my pony eat by the road side. As soon as they had disappeared along the trail I dismounted and sat down in the grass. That pony would scarcely eat a mouthful so intently and she watch, looking all around for possible danger. When the wagons came on up and father saw me there alone he scolded me good and hard and said the horse showed a good deal more sense than I did. But some way I was never in the least afraid of the Indians and thought the tales I heard of their cruelty and treachery were mostly imaginary. I was to learn better a few years afterwards during the Indian war in Washington.

"Well, all went merry as a marriage bell until we reached Fort Laramie. Here was the parting of the ways. Uncle Lapsley Yantis was a Presbyterian minister and as good a man as ever trod the earth, and he was strong for whatever he considered to be the right, and to travel on the Sabbath day was not right according to his views. Father was also a good man but he was more practical and had different ideas from Uncle Lapsley. He reasoned that even if the train did lay over and not travel on Sundays that the emigrants would probably not observe the day any better than those who pushed on toward their journey's end. The women would bake, wash, etc., and the young folks get into various kinds of mischief, but most weighty argument of all, the cattle would become so scattered in a whole day's and two nights' layoff that, in his judgment, it was better to keep going. The leaders couldn't agree, so the train was divided, some going on with father and the remainder staying with the Sabbath keepers. Was it a judgment from God that as soon as the decision was made and we began to fail in Sabbath observance dire calamity befell us? It certainly looked so. Soon after the separation we overtook an emigrant wagon in which was a sick boy. Mother offered her services to the parents of the lad and did what she could do for them in the way of nursing and simple remedies to relieve the lad's fever. Little did she suspect the nature of the disease she came in contact with. About ten days after encountering the sick boy she was taken down with a raging fever which soon developed into a severe case of black measles. Soon nearly all the young people of the train were inflicted with the dread disease. Of my six brothers one after another died till three graves were made along the roadside. But before Brother Henry died mother, too, was taken. Henry seemed to be getting over the measles and we hoped for a time he might be spared us. One night, after convalescence had set in, we were sitting around the campfire, no longer gleeful and singing, but oppressed with our dreadful sorrow. Henry was well enough then to eat some ham which I had cooked for supper. After eating he complained of a terrible thirst and kept drinking water. Soon cramps set in and he was dead before morning. I thought father would go crazy at this terrible last blow.

"We reached Salmon Falls in Idaho before mother died, and although I did not know of it till a year afterwards when I again met my cousin, Sarah Yantis, in Olympia, I must tell of her resting place. We had to roll the body in a blanket— there was, of course, no way to make even the rudest coffin, and after the mortal remains of our dear mother had been covered the best we could, father took off a piece of the end board of the wagon and wrote her name, Naomi Hayes, on it. Then we had to go on and leave her there.

"Well, when Uncle Lapsley's train came along several days after we were on our way, they espied a newly made grave beside the road and on going to it read mother's name. Mrs. Yantis, who was very delicate and suffering from the hardships of the trip, had become very ill on the way. When she knew that her old friend was buried there she lost all hope, and although the train made a couple of stages further on their way, the poor lady was unable to stand the shock and sank to rest. Her last words were 'Take me back to sleep beside Naomi.' Her broken hearted husband and children respected these last words and retracing their way to where mother was laid, buried her there and beneath mother's name wrote 'Ann Yantis.' And there they sleep side by side. Ah. it was a hard and bitter time.

"After the death of my third brother father decided that the time had come to do something, so he had one of the lighter wagons emptied of all but our actual necessities for light camping and hitching the freshest of the mules to the wagon, started my brothers, myself and some other women and children of the train on as fast as the animals could travel. He hoped we could reach The Dalles and so on to Portland before winter set in.

"When we reached The Dalles we women and children were put on flat boats and floated down to the Cascades. Here we were obliged to walk across the portage to the landing and then take a little steamboat on down to Portland.

"At this place I was met by an uncle, Andrew Cowan, who took me home with him and I spent the winter very comfortably with my uncle and aunt.

"Portland was then a mere village with a two plank side-walk extending along the few blocks which were built up, and mud, mud everywhere. It was certainly the muddiest, dirtiest place I had ever seen at that time.

"When father finally reach The Dalles with the ox teams he bought a good many of the emigrants' cattle and turned them out on the ranges in the vicinity. But the hard luck with which he had been followed throughout the latter part of the journey still pursued the poor man.

"One of the coldest winters on record for that region set in and the cattle were caught by the heavy snows. The beasts were weakened anyway with their thousands of miles travel and in no condition to withstand the rigors of the climate. There was no hay or feed to be bought for any price so almost the entire drove perished. This almost bankrupted father and was a severe blow to the high hopes of wealth and prosperity he had entertained when he started from Missouri. Four of his family left back on the plains, his money spent for the cattle and four helpless children on his hands. For I was little more than a child in years and having always lived on a plantation with servants to do everything about the house and mother to depend on, you may be sure I was very incapable and inexperienced.

"Came the Spring of 1852 and father was restless and wanting to go on to the promised land—Puget Sound—so chartering a flat boat to take us up the Cowlitz river after we left the steamboat at Monticello landing, we were again on our way.

"The memory of that trip will be with me as long as memory lasts. The flat boat, loaded with our very few household effects, was poled up the Cowlitz, but there was no room on the boat for us women and the children, so there was nothing to do but walk along the trail. This trail was through, in many places, brush so dense, that we crawled on our hands and knees to get along at all. In other places we were in mud well up to our knees.

"In addition to this I had to carry my little brother, Robert. The poor little fellow was only three years old and had never become very strong from his attack of the measles the summer before. I, too, was weak and sick and in my mind thought I was not long for this world, and I must say, I didn't care much, life seemed so full of trouble and hardship. When we reached the Cowlitz landing we were met by mule teams which had been sent down from Olympia to haul our freight. The wagons were so filled and the roads in such a condition that I still had to walk across the country past where Chehalis now is and on to Mound prairie. My companion on this dreary jaunt was Mrs. Hillory Butler, who with her husband was also coming to the Sound with us. She was very kind and good to the motherless girl and helped me carry my little brother. Turn and turn about we plodded all those weary miles through knee-deep mud, hot, tired and discouraged.

"Coming out on Mound prairie we spied a cabin in a clearing. The eternal feminine asserted itself even under those distressing conditions, so before going to the house Mrs. Butler and myself stopped beside a stream of water flowing by and wading up to our knees, washed the bottoms of our skirts off the best we could, they being literally caked with mud, straightened our hair and then proceeded to the house where we proposed to ask shelter for the night.

"In the door of the cabin stood the fairest sight I have ever seen. It was my own dear cousin and chum, Sarah Yantis. Imagine the greetings received. Although over fifty years have passed over my head since then and I have changed from a pretty, young girl to a great-grandmother, I still recall the thrill of rapture with which I rushed into Sarah's arms and listened to her dear voice once again. When the train was divided Uncle Frank Yantis with family had remained behind and on reaching Portland had proceeded straight on to this section of the country. He had taken up a donation claim out on the prairie and was comfortably settled.

"We rested there visiting with Uncle Frank's family for a while and then came on to Olympia.

"Our first place of refuge on reaching this place was with a bachelor who had a comfortable log cabin a couple of miles from Newmarket—now Tumwater. This man's name was Benjamin Gordon, or Old Ben, as he was commonly called, and he was very good to us all. Aunt and Uncle Andrew Cowan had come to this section of the country with us and for quite a while we all lived in Mr. Gordon's cabin, the Cowans, all the Hays children and father, when he was at home. There was a garden around the place and we had all the milk and butter we wanted from Mr. Gordon's cows.

"I began to grow strong and well again and life opened up many fair promises. The young men from around the country began to find their way to the cabin and I had a great deal of attention and admiration. There were only four young ladies within a radius of many miles, Sarah Yantis, Charlotte and Lucy Barnes and myself. The young men used to come out to the cabin Sunday afternoons in considerable numbers. Those who had riding horses would ride and those who had not would walk and seem to think nothing of the miles traveled over the trail to spend a few hours in my company. There was generally a generous supply of buttermilk on hand and the boys made the excuse that it was for this cooling drink they had come. They were a brave lot of lads, gallant and stalwart. I felt an interest and friendship for everyone of them. Ah, me. where are they now? All, all gone.

"The young man who used to come most frequently to see me was young Benton Moses, who afterwards married my dear friend. Sarah Yantis. One Sunday when Mr. Moses arrived on his usual afternoon visit he was accompanied by another young man whom he introduced as John Parker. I will never forget the appearance of this youth that day. He had a beautiful riding horse, which he managed with splendid skill, but it was his getup which made the lasting impression on me. Mr. Parker had a trading store in Olympia and carried principally articles for barter with the Indians. From this stock he had selected a pair of riding leggings which came to the knees, on his feet were beaded moccasins and on his head was a queer looking Scotch cap. He made a great impression on my young fancy even at this first visit. Afterwards, when he became a regular visitant at father's house, Mr. Moses used to tell with much glee how he inveigled Parker to the cabin with tales of the nice fresh buttermilk to be had. but said never a word about the young lady who would pour the buttermilk for him. Mr. Parker at that time was extremely bashful and had never called on a young lady before.

"By this time father had taken up his donation claim, which is, as near as I can tell now, was situated where the road makes its first turn in going towards the Hays school house after passing the Masonic cemetery. I kept house for him and the children the best I could. Tom Prather, who was a distant relative, lived with us part of the time, and it was he who taught me about all I knew about cooking and general housework. He was always good and kind to all of us and his unfailing friendship has been one of the brightest remembrances of my life.

"Olympia then was merely a collection of shacks,, with only two or three places of business of any kind. Mr. and Mrs. George Barnes were about the only married couple here when I first arrived, although others soon came. Mr. Parker's store was opposite the Pacific House, which place was afterwards kept by Col. Cock, whose young wife became one of the warmest of friends to both myself and Sarah Yantis. We girls used to go in to stay all night at their hotel and Mrs. Cock was so good to us, throwing many a pleasant time our way.

"About the only amusement we young folks had in those days was horseback riding. There were no roads and, of course, no buggies or other means of conveyance. The young men used to come out to our house riding one horse and leading another for me. Later I learned that they generally borrowed Mr. Parker's horse for me to ride on. But that was before we had met, after that event it was always John who would come. He had sent to San Francisco for a side saddle for me, probably the first article of that description in the Northwest. One of those three-horned affairs such as girls used to ride. Sarah could ride a man's saddle with perfect ease, sitting straight as an arrow and graceful as a reed, but I wanted a side saddle. I never saw a woman ride astride in those days and we would have thought it a very immodest thing to do. Times have changed in many ways since I was e. girl.

"But I must tell about my wedding. I had lived on the homestead about two years, keeping house for father and doing the best I could with what I had to do with. Mr. Parker had kept coming to see me. and although we were not really engaged, I thought we would be married some time. But there was nothing definite. Father began to grow restless again and wanted to go back east once more. But what to do with me and the boys? He talked of it for several weeks, and I could see he was moody and uneasy. My cousin, Sarah, had come from her father's home, still on Mound Prairie, to f-pend a few days with me and we were planning to take a horseback ride one day in company with Mr. Parker and Mr. Moses, who were coming out from town a little later. Father had gone on out to do some burning on the land he was clearing up in the far lot, so I was surprised when he came back to the house and said 'Rushe, get me some hot water for shaving and put me out a clean shirt.' 'Why. father,' I said, 'are you going to town?' 'No,' he replied, 'I am going to attend your wedding.' 'My wedding?' I gasped. 'Yes, your wedding. You might, as well be married one time as another. Parker wants you and I want to go east.' I was almost dumb with astonishment and chagrin. I asked Sarah what I had better do and she very strongly counseled me not to listen to such a proposition. I was almost distracted. I didn't know what to do. I knew I loved John and knew that he loved me, but I had no wardrobe and was not ready to be married. I sat down by the fireplace brooding and thinking, when Mr. Parker arrived. He saw at once something was the matter and asked me if I was sick. I told him I was not and he would have to ask father about what was the trouble. He went out in the yard and had a long talk with father and then came in and asked me to sit on the steps of the doorway with him to talk matters over. He said he wanted to marry me more than he ever had wanted anything on earth, but he had hoped to get in a little better financial shape before asking me to cast my lot with his. He told me he was a poor man and in debt—a former partner in an express venture had absconded with $5,000, for which loss Mr. Parker became personally responsible. 'But, Rushe.' he said, 'if you are willing to undertake the life I can offer you now I will love and cherish you forever.' And so I agreed. Mr. Parker then rode back to town and returned with Judge Landers.

"I got ready the best I could and Sarah helped me. My best dress was a black silk which I had made with a low cut neck and short sleeves. I thought I looked quite nice in that dress and so did John. Tom Prather cooked our wedding dinner and, besides Sarah as attendant at the wedding, was Uncle Frank Yantis. We stayed at father's house the first night and the next day took our deferred horseback ride to Mound Prairie and that was our wedding trip.

"Afterwards we went to housekeeping in a little cottage and there in the course of time our first child was born, our daughter Helen, now Mrs. Herbert McMicken.

"Father then went back east, but returned by the time of the Indian war in 1855. He organized the first volunteer troops in the Northwest for the defense of the settlers, and was honored by being made commander of the united volunteer troops before the war was over.

"My cousin Sarah by this time was married to young A. Benton Moses and was living in Olympia also. When the Indian war broke out Mr. Moses was one of the first white men to lose his life by the Indians. He was killed out on Connell Prairie while in company with a small body of men who were going to join the volunteers. The others were obliged to flee for their own lives and leave the poor lad there on the prairie. He was wounded but not killed outright. When he fell from his horse he begged his companions to save themselves and sent a loving message to his young girl bride. A few days later Tom Prather and a small company of men went out and brought the body back to Olympia.

"Never will I forget the tragedy of that funeral. Besides Mr. Moses there were the bodies of Lieutenant McAllister and Col. Miles, who were also killed at the same time. These bodies, placed in rude coffins, were placed in one of the two wagons in the settlement. In the other wagon rode Sarah. Mrs. Cock and myself, the men walking in a procession behind the wagons. Our wagon was without springs of any kind and such as are used to haul dirt in. There were no seats and only some boards laid across the bed. Several times these boards slipped off and let the mourners down in the bottom of the wagon bed The day was dark and dreary and the road but little more than a rough trail. It was a terrible experience. To do honor to the brave boys who had lost their lives in the attempt to protect others, the citizens decided that a military funeral was proper, so music must be included. This consisted of a drum and fife. As we wended our way nut to the graveyard over and over again did this drum and fife sound out the strains of 'The Girl I Left Behind lie.' That was the only tune they could play and they did the best they could, but I thought Sarah's heart would surely break. The graveyard was the one out on the road leading to what is now Little Rock, near Belmore. Here the three graves were made close to the road, side by side. And here soon after was laid the remains of Chas. H. Mason, the first Secretary of the Territory, a gallant young man of good family, who died of fever when only 29 years of age. I think the Thurston County Historical Society could do no better work than mark the last resting place of these heroes of the Indian war.

"But enough of these sad reminiscences. I will now tell about when the first State ball was held in "Washington. It was in the nature of a housewarming, when Governor and Mrs. Stevens moved into the Governor's mansion, which the Executive officer had built soon after the arrival of his family from the East. This very same house is still standing on the block now owned by Mr. Hazard Stevens, on Eleventh street, between Main and Columbia. It was considered quite a palatial residence when it was completed, and the invitations to attend the housewarming were eagerly accepted by Olympia society. Almost every one was present. Sarah and I with our beau attended. The night was dark and the trail rough, so lanterns were hung every few feet in the branches of the trees to guide us to the mansion. There was a dance following the reception and then a big supper. The dance was held in the parlor of the house and if room was scarce the jollity and good fellowship made up for all shortcomings. I think I can say that in the long and brilliant line of legislative balls and receptions that has followed this initial one. there has never been more genuine happiness and enjoyment than was the share of Governor and Mrs. Stevens' guests that night.

"My husband at that time kept the Gold Bar store and when the question of finding some place where the first meeting of the Territorial Legislature could be held, my father suggested using the room above his store. This suggestion was adopted and the place made in readiness for that historical event.

After a few years Mr. Parker went to steam boating. building and operating, I think, the first steamboat on Puget Sound, The Traveler, on the run between Olympia and Victoria. Later he was owner and captain of the Messenger, going to Seattle from this place. It took two whole days to make the trip down to Seattle and return, providing the tides were right and they had no breakdowns. Then for several years he was on the Alida, between the same ports. We went to San Francisco and staid there for ten years, but finally returned to the Sound.

"My dear husband died in Olympia on October 2, 1908. and is buried out in the Masonic cemetery.

"Besides Mrs. McMicken our children are: Gilmore Hays, Maude, now Mrs. Anderson of Tacoma, Herbert and John G., Jr., both of Seattle. Gilmore Hays died quite recently."

Submitted by Barbara Ziegenmeyer

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