Chapter X: Capt. Henry Roeder on the Trail

Capt. Roeder came by steamer to Portland and thence made his way to Olympia overland from the mouth of the Cowlitz River. This was in the winter of 1852. The story of this journey is best told in the words of the veteran pioneer himself, who has narrated his first experiences in the then Territory of Oregon as follows:

"In company with R. V. Peabody, I traveled overland from the
mouth of the Cowlitz, through the mud to Olympia. We started
early in December from Portland. It took us four days to walk
from the Cowlitz River to Olympia, and it was as hard traveling
as I have ever seen. Old residents will remember what was known
as Sanders' Bottom. It was mud almost to your waist. We stopped
one night with an old settler, whose name I cannot now recall,
but whom we all called in those days 'Old Hardbread.' On the
Skookumchuck we found lodging with Judge Ford, and on arriving at
Olympia we put up with Mr. Sylvester, whose name is well known to
all the old residents on the Sound. I remember that at Olympia we
got our first taste of the Puget Sound clam, and mighty glad we
were, too, to get a chance to eat some of them.

"From Olympia to Seattle we traveled by Indian canoe. I remember
distinctly rounding Alki Point and entering the harbor of Elliott
Bay. I saw what was, perhaps, the first house that was built,
where now stands the magnificent city of Seattle. This was a
cabin that was being erected on a narrow strip of land jutting
out into the bay, which is now right in the heart of Seattle. Dr.
Maynard was the builder. It was situated adjoining the lot at
Commercial and Main Streets, occupied by the old Arlington just
before the fire of 1889. The waters of the Sound lapped the
shores of the narrow peninsula upon which it was built, but since
then the waters have been driven back by the filling of earth,
sawdust and rock, which was put on both sides of the little neck
of land.

"After a few days' stay here, Peabody and I journeyed by Indian
canoe to Whatcom. We carried our canoe overland to Hood Canal. On
the second day out we encountered a terrible storm and put into
shelter with a settler on the shore of the canal. His name was
O'Haver, and he lived with an Indian wife. We had white turnips
and dried salmon for breakfast and dried salmon and white turnips
for dinner. This bill of fare was repeated in this fashion for
three days, and I want to tell you that we were glad when the
weather moderated and we were enabled to proceed.

"We were told that we could procure something in the edible line
at Port Townsend, but were disappointed. The best we could
obtain at the stores was some hard bread, in which the worms had
propagated in luxuriant fashion. This food was not so
particularly appetizing, as you may imagine. A settler kindly
took pity on us and shared his slender stock of food. Thence we
journeyed to Whatcom, where I have resided nearly ever since."

Capt. Roeder told also before he had finished his recital of an acquaintance he had formed in California with the noted Spanish murderer and bandit, Joaquin, and his tribe of cutthroats and robbers. Joaquin's raids and his long career in crime among the mining camps of the early days of California are part of the history of that state. Capt. Roeder was traveling horseback on one occasion between Marysville and Rush Creek. This was in 1851. The night before he left Marysville the sheriff and a posse had attempted to capture Joaquin and his band. The authorities had offered a reward of $10,000 for Joaquin and $5,000 for his men, dead or alive. The sheriff went out from Marysville with a cigar in his mouth and his sombrero on the side of his head, as if he were attending a picnic. It was his own funeral, however, instead of a picnic, for his body was picked out of a fence corner, riddled with bullets.

"I was going at a leisurely gait over the mountain road or bridle
path that led from Marysville to Rush Creek," said Capt. Roeder.
"Suddenly, after a bend in the road, I found myself in the midst
of a band of men mounted on bronchos. They were dark-skinned and
of Spanish blood. Immediately I recognized Joaquin and
'Three-Fingered Jack,' his first lieutenant. My heart thumped
vigorously, and I thought that it was all up with me. I managed
somehow to control myself and did not evince any of the
excitement I felt or give the outlaws any sign that I knew or
suspected who they were.

"One of the riders, after saluting me in Spanish, asked me where
I was from and whither I was traveling. I told them freely and
frankly, as if the occurrence were an everyday transaction.
Learning that I had just come from Marysville, the seat of their
last outrage, they inquired the news. I told them the truth--that
the camp was in a state of great excitement, due to the late
visit of the outlaw, Joaquin, and his band; that the sheriff had
been murdered and three or four miners and others in the vicinity
had been murdered and robbed. It was Joaquin's pleasant practice
to lariat a man, rob him and cut his throat, leaving the body by
the roadside. They asked me which way Joaquin had gone and I told
them that he was seen last traveling towards Arizona. As a matter
of fact, the outlaw and his band were then traveling in a
direction exactly opposite from that which I had given.

"My replies apparently pleased them. 'Three-Fingered Jack'
proposed a drink, after asking me which way I traveled. I said,
'I would have proposed the compliment long ago had I any in my
canteen,' whereat Jack drew his own bottle and offered me a
drink.

"You may imagine my feelings then. I knew that if they believed I
had recognized them they would give me poison or kill me with a
knife. I took the canteen and drank from it. You may imagine my
joy when I saw Jack lift the bottle to his lips and drain it.
Then I knew that I had deceived them. We exchanged adieus in
Spanish, and that is the last I saw of Joaquin and his associate
murderers."