This history was given to Margaret Davis by her Aunt Kate Sharp Jones in 1968.

It was copied by Doris Robbins, Oct. 1988.

It was recopied by Willard “Jack” Davis (Robbins descendant), Feb. 2001.

Corrections for clarity were made by Donna Forney Clark (Robbins descendant), May 2005.

Layout is by David R. Clark, May 2005.

This is the story of the trip of the Nathaniel Robbins

Family in 1851 to Oregon on the Oregon Trail

GOOD-BYE INDIANA

by Kate Sharp Jones

(History given to Margaret Davis by Aunt Kate Sharp Jones in 1968)


A note written in 1969, from Margaret Davis:

Kate Sharp Jones [is the] daughter of Zobeda Robins [who is the] daughter of Nathaniel Robbins and Nancy Robbins who left Sandcreek Township, Decatur County, Indiana in October of 1851 for the Willamette Valley, Clackamus County, Oregon Territory.

Zobeda Robbins, daughter of Nancy and Nathaniel Robbins, married William Sharp, a driver on this wagon train. They were the parents of Mrs. Kate Sharp Jones. She told me she wrote this about fifty years ago. Since she gave me this in 1968, I feel it was around 1918 or 1920 when she wrote it. Most of the information was related to her by Minerva Hamilton Robbins, widow of James Robbins. After James died, Minerva came to live with Zobeda and William Sharp. From Aunt Kate I presume that Zobeda was the one that always took every one in when they needed help. When my great grandmother Nancy Robbins Barstow died, my grandmother was only two years old; it was Zobeda who took the children into her home. I have heard that Zobeda would sit in her little rocking chair and rock and smoke her pipe.

It was thorough this history of Aunt Katie’s and the knowledge of Stella and Clarence Vorheis of Portland Stella is my mother’s cousin) that I started on my search of my family…. Margaret Davis, 1969

GOOD-BYE INDIANA

by Kate Sharp Jones

(History given to Margaret Davis by Aunt Kate Sharp Jones in 1968)


Early one morning in October, October 1851, the family of Dr. Nathaniel Robbins was seated around the breakfast table. It was to be their last breakfast in the comfortable big kitchen of their Indiana home.

For on this day they were leaving it,---leaving it to join the great Westward Emigration that was slowly winding its way over the mountains, plains and deserts toward the land of great promise: the Oregon Country---where they hoped to find and make new homes for themselves, homes that might in time prove to be even more prosperous and comfortable than the ones they were leaving.

A hearty meal had been prepared that morning by Zobeda and Nancy, the two younger daughters. A good old Hoosier breakfast of griddle cakes with buck-wheat, honey fresh from the hive, sweet potatoes and homemade sausage. Jane, third daughter of the family, hovered around the table, filling the heavy mugs with fresh, sweet milk, urging them all to eat a good hearty breakfast. “Your going to need it,” she said. “There is a long hard day ahead of us.” she warned, though she ate nothing herself. However in spite of her warning, the meal was eaten rather hurriedly and for the most part in silence.

Norval, 17 years old and the youngest boy, ate only a few mouthfuls, then pushed back his chair, and left the table. Taking his hat from a peg near the door, he danced a few steps around the kitchen, whistling a lively tune. “Don’t forget to bring my fiddle,” he called to the girls as he scooted out through the open door.

“What is Norval so excited about?” Nancy Robbins asked, eyeing her husband and suspiciously. “I didn’t notice that he was unusually excited,” he answered her, “Probably in a hurry to get his cattle yoked up.” “Lo you mean to say, you have given that boy permission to drive a team of oxen all the way across the plains?” she asked , looking worried. “I mean to say, he is going to make the attempt, and I think he will succeed very well. He will be a full fledged bull-whacker, by the time we have crossed the great mountains,” he assured her, laughing at her concern.

“Norval is playing a part this morning, with that gay air of his. In fact, I think we all are,” Jane whispered to Amanda. “I don’t think any of us are feeling particularly happy about leaving this old home,” she said, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

Out in front all was noise and hubbub. Ox yokes clanging, the cattle bawling at one another, as they were driven in their places in front of the great covered wagons. The drivers shouting and bantering one another with jokes.

Old Watch, the family dog, was running around in circles, barking and behaving very much like a puppy dog, for only that morning, Norval had patted his head and assured him he was not to be left behind.

Already the neighbors and relatives were gathering in, riding up on their horses, or in wagons or surreys, coming to bid them good-bye, and wish them God-speed.

As soon as she had finished her breakfast, Nancy Robbins arose from the table. “Well girls,” she said,“ There is still a lot to be done before we start. The breakfast dishes must be gathered up and washed. Then pack them up carefully. There is a rough road ahead, and we can’t have them broken.”

“I’ll go to my room and do some more packing;” so saying, she went into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. She gazed around at the white painted walls, at the ruffled curtains blowing in the breeze from the open window. She stood for a moment beside the massive four-posted bed with its pretty blue and white coverlet. All the heavy walnut furniture must be left behind. The wagon would not be loaded down with it. All the quilts, feather mattresses, and pillows made of feathers from the geese she had raised, she was taking.

In this room all their children, excepting the three oldest, had been born. She had nursed them, had coddled them, everyone, until they were old enough to sleep in the trundle beds. Thus, one chapter of her life was closed. Perhaps she was thinking of this as she started her packing.

Out in the living room Jane, Emmeline, and Minerva (James’ wife) was busy rolling up bedding. A step was heard on the porch. Looking up they saw a tall young man in the door-way. Removing his wide brimmed hat he grinned and asked if he could be of any assistance in carrying out the heavy loads. “You sure can,” Minerva assured him, “You are just the man we’ve been looking for.” When he disappeared with his load, she informed the others that he was the new driver their father had hired the night before and his name was William Sharp and Jim had said he was a cousin to Sam Sharp. “If he is as full of pranks and mischief as Sam, we will all have to watch our step, I’m thinking.”

“Well, he will not have much time for playing pranks if he minds his oxen.” Dr. Robbins said, entering the door. “He picked on the two red steers you broke in last,” he said, looking at James. “They are not to well broke in yet, and it will take a man who understands cattle to manage them for a few days.” “He said he could do it though and I think he will.” “He looks pretty capable, and he’s twenty- four years old, he told me. I think the young men will hold out better than the older ones. They may not be as tough to begin with.”

“Did you see the new driver Father hired last night?” Mahala said to Zobeda in an undertone. “He’s not bad to look at, is he?” “Grey eyes, I think, but kind of dark skin.” “I didn’t even look up,” Zobeda answered rather curtly. “I was busy packing dishes.”

Perhaps she was thinking of a boy over at Letts Corners, who had been seeing her home from all the corn huskings, apple parings and other parties they had been allowed to attend.

Oh, well! Both Amanda and Mehala were leaving their beaus behind. The urge to go west with their parents, sisters and brothers was stronger than any sentimental feeling they might have about beaus.

Amanda the oldest daughter was a semi-invalid, and Angeline, the youngest child had been stricken with a fever at the age of three. This had left her a cripple, walking only with crutches. For these two, their father had a wagon especially fitted up with all the comforts he could give them.

Jane was the third daughter and had married John Hamiliton, and was at this time the mother of two children, Cassie and Milton.

William, the oldest son, with his wife (who before marriage had been Melvina Meyers) with their five children; Nathaniel, Margaret, Adeline, Dow, and George had traveled as far as Missouri early in the summer. To travel at a later date would have been too difficult for Melvina, who was expecting another child.

Emmeline had married to Absolum Barnes. She was the second daughter living, and the mother of two boys, Norval and William

James and his wife Minerva (who was a sister of John Hamilton, Jane’s husband) were there with their two girls, Sarah and Nancy Jane.

Sarah was all excited that morning. “Pop is taking all his guns.” she confided to her Grandmother, taking her by the hand. “He says he is going to kill buffalo, Indians and red squirrel.” she said, and when he couldn’t get a red squirrel or buffalo, we would just have to eat Indian. “Would you eat an Indian, Grandmother?” “Hush, child, no,” her Grandmother said, looking rather shocked. “That’s just some of your father’s nonsense.”

At last all seemed to be ready. The last loads had been placed in the wagons. Malley, Zobeda and Nancy walked together down the hard beaten path to the old well, in the far corner of the yard. It was shaded by the huge branches of a sycamore. They drew a fresh bucket of cold sparkling water, and drank from the gourd dipper. They thought of how they had often inwardly rebelled at having to carry heavy pails of water along this path. “Well, we shall never have to carry another pail of water from this old well.” Nancy said, and Nancy was crying.

Out in front twenty-two white covered wagons stood waiting in line. The cattle, sleek, young, full of life were mooing at one another and getting restless. How little they knew of how they would reach the end of the long journey ahead, tired, weary, with drooping heads, and feet worn out and bleeding.

With the short quick stride that had never failed her, Nancy Robbins walked down the winding stone path to the gate. Turning, she gazed for a moment at the big white house, with its wide porch and balcony,--then at the sun flowers and hollyhocks along the paling (rail) fence. The air was sweet with the scent of the wall-flowers around the house, primrose, sweet pinks and pansies lived either side of the path. Her flowers! She had planted them and tended them all summer.

Her face wore a look of sadness as she turned away. Stepping through the gate however she chuckled and said, “Well hold on to the critter, while I get into this contraption.” This contraption was a hack, shiny and new, with a wide comfortable seat, and a fancy but durable top. A span of young bay mares were hitched in front , prancing, tossing their heads and eager to be off. “We might as well take the lead,” Dr. Robbins said, as one of the drivers handed him the lines, and he climbed in beside his wife, whom he had already assisted to her seat. “We will probably be bringing up the rear, by time we have reach the Missouri.” “The horses never hold out as the cattle do, on a long trip.” “Right now the mares need the exercise.” “Put that pillow to you back and tuck the lap robe around you.” “It may be cool driving this forenoon.” he said to his wife, and then spoke to the mares.

“WESTWARD HO!” Somebody shouted from the long line of wagons behind them. Down the long winding road toward the creek, they drove. At their right were the fields of corn,--ripe and ready for harvest. At their left the grooves of black- walnut, and sugar maples, and the old sugar camp. How they would miss that, Nancy was thinking, and all their own sugar, syrup, and molasses, made at home.

The geese left the water as they neared the creek, waddling up the banks on the farther side, with much squawking and flapping of their wings. Nancy watched them sadly, her geese, she had raised great flocks of them every year. She had made stacks of feathers, in the loom house now. She had left them for Margaret, cousin John’s wife. They would be moving in tomorrow. She thought of the old loom house with its big comfortable fireplace. It was there they had woven all their coverlets, bed spreads, table cloths and toweling, besides yards and yards of cloth, heavy and durable, for their everyday work clothes. It was there they had spun all the yarn for knitting the socks and stockings for the family. How they would every manage without all this, she couldn’t even try to imagine. And thus on the first day of their travels her thoughts kept turning back to the life she was leaving behind.

The three younger girls, Nancy, Zobeda and Malley (Mahala), had saddled and bridled their own mounts. This, their father had told them they would have to do, when he presented each of them with a brand new saddle, bridle and riding outfit. The little mare Zobeda was to ride had been given to her only the evening before by her Uncle John Robbins. “Take her out and ride her, Zobeda,” he said, “She is your, and she will never throw you, nor hurt you.” “Her name is Julie.” Julie proved the truth of his words in more than one instance. She leaped over ruts, crevices and badger-holes, as though she had been especially trained for the protection of her rider. As the three girls rode away, old Meg, the plough mare, thrust her head over the barn-gate and whinnied plaintively. She watched with mournful eyes, until they waved a good-bye and disappeared from view around the turn of the road. She was to old to stand the trip and would still be useful to cousin John in cultivating the long rows of corn.

It was with many misgivings, Dr. Robbins had said goodbye to his friends that morning. Grandmother Beasley, who had been a very good patient of his for many years cried as she took the hand he extended. “What will we do now, when we get sick?” she lamented. “We will just have to die, I suppose.” “Oh no!” He assured her, laughing at her fears, “Just send for Dr. Bill, he will pull you through. Maybe better than I could.”

William Kirkpatrick, a life long friend of his, had taken up the study of medicine, and to him he had given many of his books. When just a boy in his teens, Nathaniel Robbins had taken up the study of medicine. On Sunday afternoons, when other boys were out playing ball, and horse-shoes, he was at home studying. For years before leaving Indiana he had been a familiar figure, riding or driving over the country-side, visiting his patients and ministering to their needs. Amanda, the oldest daughter, who wasn’t strong often accompanied him on the long drives, and sometimes helped out as a nurse where she was needed. At the time he left Indiana, Nathaniel Robbins was the owner of the largest medical library in the state. Nearly all of these books he gave away, intending to retire from the medical profession, upon reaching Oregon. In this, however, he failed, for in ministering to his own family, it was soon learned that he was a doctor and his services were sought far and wide over the country. In those days doctors were as scarce as hens’ teeth.

Upon reaching Jerico, they were joined by Jake (Jacob) Robbins and his family, which then consisted of his wife Sarah and four boys; Harvey, Levi, Oliver, and Martin. His outfit was a sizeable one and when he joined his Uncle's party; it made a caravan of twenty-eight wagons or more, [consisting of] each of the Robbins’ boys, who were married, [and] also the son-in-laws [who] had their own outfits, consisting of three or four wagons.

Jake or Jakey as he was then called, was a nephew of Nathaniel’s. He worked for his Uncle Nathaniel when he was only thirteen years of age. By the time he was fifteen, he had earned enough to buy a heifer and a filly. The filly was from a blooded Kentucky mare. From her he raised some valuable colts, and sold them for a good price. he worked for his Uncle until he was twenty, then bought a place of his own, built a cabin and planted an orchard. On 23rd of March in the spring of 1833 he married Sarah Spillman. When a small boy Jake Robbins lived in the neighborhood with Abraham Lincoln, also worked with him in later years. The Robbins family though not directly, was closely related with the Hanks family through the marriage of Elizabeth (Betty), a sister of Nancy Robbins, to William Hanks, who was a cousin to Abraham Lincoln. Uncle Billy and Aunt Betty Hanks, often visited with the family of Nathaniel Robbins.

[ Note: This last part is what got me on the wrong track of the name of Nancy Robbins. -- Margaret Davis]

As they neared Jerico they saw “Little Jake” and his family driving down the long lane from their home to join them, on the main high-way. “Here they come.” said Jim to his wife, Minerva, “And here we are just a pack of them darn fool Robbins, starting out to explore the world.” “And with their poor meek, humble women trailin' after them.” Minerva answered, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, but looking very sober. Like all true pioneer women, she knew she would trail along with her man to the far corners of the earth, if he choose to go. Years later, Minerva, age 90, in a reminiscent mood one day confided to me, that the first time she ever set eyes on Jim Robbins, was at a camp meeting back in Indiana. He was riding around on a big gray horse, with a water-melon, under his arm. Riding up to a table, that was set underneath the sycamore trees, he laid the melon on it and proceeded to carve it. “Now all you girls,” he said, “Range yourselves around this table, and you will get a slice of the best water-melon raised this year in Decatur County.” “I know because I raised it myself.” “And remember, the prettiest girl gets the biggest slice of melon.” “I know I wasn’t the prettiest girl, but I did get the biggest slice of that melon,” she said, a mischievous smile lighting her wrinkled face. “From that day on, I saw Jim Robbins most every Sunday afternoon.”

They encountered very little rough road in traveling from Indiana to Missouri, and the trip was made in less time than they had expected. The most unpleasant part of that trip had been the heavy clouds of dust that followed them for days at a time. Along the main highways the dust was a foot deep in places. Sol Bigsby, the biggest driver in the company, said, ”The women folks when they alighted from the wagons at night reminded him of a bunch of old setting hens shaking the dust out of their feathers.”

After they reached the Missouri line, the fall rains set in, turning the dust in the roads into a lob-lolly of black sticky mud. “Missouri mud is the stickiest mud in the world, Old Sol warned them, but it’s a mighty fine place to live,” he said. “I know I was born there, and lived there fifty years of my life.” The wagon wheels sank to the hubs in the worst places and had to be pried out with rails and poles.

WINTER IN MISSOURI

Nathaniel had a cousin, Johanathan (Jonathan?) Robbins, who owned a sugar plantation, and he had invited them to spend the winter at his place. ”You can’t travel in the snow,” he told them, “and if you winter here you will be able to make the rest of the journey before rough weather sets in the fall.” This invitation, Nathaniel had been very glad to accept. By the time they had reached Cousin Johanathan’s place, early winter had frozen the mud until it held the heavy wagons. The night they drove into his place it was bitterly cold and snowing. Black faced Negro boys, wearing broad smiles, seemed to be waiting at every corner, anxious to be of assistance where ever they could. Cousin Johanathan was a slave owner and most of the work done on his plantation was done by Negroes. He never referred to his Negroes as slaves, however and they were all greatly attached to him. “You all go in and eat supper and warm yo’selves and we’ll look after the animals.” the Negro boys told them. Unused to the service of this kind and being somewhat ‘set in their ways’ the older men preferred to do their own holstering. The younger men, however, tired, cold and hungry, were glad to accept the Negro offered help.

Cousin Johanathan’s big house with the candle lights blinking from every window, looked way more inviting to them, than a camp-fire beside the covered wagons. The cattle and horses were soon watered and driven into the long sheds where they were to be housed and fed during the winter. Nathaniel bought several hundred tons of fodder that winter to feed his teams.

The warmth from the huge fire-places together with the excellent supper cooked and served by the colored servants was a treat never forgotten by any member of that party. After supper they were all assigned to the cabins they were to occupy for the winter. Johanathan insisted upon Nathaniel, his wife Nancy and the two invalid girls, Amanda and Angeline occupying a part of his own house, which was large and roomy, with several fire-places. William and Malvina were living in one of the larger houses near to Johanathan’s. All were comfortable and warm and it was in Missouri that winter a sixth child was born to Malvina and William, a daughter, and she was named Meliasa. A middle aged Negro mammy did Malvina’s work and washing at that time. She told funny stories, and sang Negro songs as she worked. “I’se never so happy as when I’se working,” she declared. One day she laughingly told them, “You know these Missouri boys say they think Indiana furnishes some mighty purty girls.” She refused pay for her services, and upon leaving William and Malvina presented her with a heavy linsey-woolsey dress and Nathaniel and Nancy gave her a bright colored wool shawl and a pair of Sunday-go-to-meeting shoes. “I’ll be wearing these to meeting every Sunday, ” she told them, her face wreathed in smiles. “And don’t you forget it, I’ll remember you all in my prayers.”

It was bitterly cold that winter in Missouri, and the snow, two feet deep in places lay until spring. The neighbors were friendly and they enjoyed lots of sleigh riding, and attended all the apple parings, corn huskings etc. always ending with a dance which everyone took part in. Nancy Robbins could never see the girls idling away their time, she brought her spinning wheel into the house and spun yarn to keep them knitting while there was nothing else to take up their time. They pieced and quilted several quilts for Cousin Johanathan’s wife, and some for themselves. Thus the winter days passed quickly.

THE SACRIFICE

After spending this comfortable winter in Missouri, they were off to an early start in the spring. Ahead of them lay the treacherous mountain roads, the swollen streams they must ford, the alkali regions in Nebraska and the Indians. Whole companies of emigrants who had gone before had been massacred by Indians, and many died of cholera. Also they had to guard against the great herds of buffalo that roamed the plains. A stampede of these great animals meant certain annihilation, unless they succeeded in turning them. These animal furnished much of their meat, also their fuel, where wood was not to be had. Hunting buffalo was quite a sport for the men folks. When a young animal was killed, the tender juicy steaks were cooked in the Dutch oven, furnishing a treat, greatly enjoyed by all.

It was when they reached the alkali regions of Nebraska, this pioneer family was called upon to make their great sacrifice. It was there the dreaded cholera, mercilessly and without warning took the lives of three of the daughters,--Emmeline, Mahala and Amanda. Stunned and bewildered by this terrible blow, the family set about making the best preparations they could for their burial. A huge box was fashioned from one of the wagon beds, and lined with soft white blankets. In this they laid them side by side. It was a bright and sun shiny day, flowers bloomed all over the prairie and the birds were singing everywhere, while a sad and brief service was held and they were all laid to rest beside the wagon trail. Taking his grief stricken wife aside Dr. Robbins said, “Nancy, I feel that I alone am to blame for all of this. I'm sorry we ever left our comfortable home in Indiana. Whatever we find or what ever we may gain by going to the Oregon Country, will never be worth the lives of three of our children.”

It was a sad disheartened party of emigrants, that turned their heads of their cattle westward once more and drove away that starlight night. The three girls, young and happy, who only a few days before, had been the life of the party, expectantly looking forward to a life in the new country, were left buried, on that lonely prairie in Nebraska.

Two days later, Absolum Barnes, Emiline’s husband, succumbed to the dreaded malady. When he realized he could not recover he begged to be taken back where he could be laid to rest beside his wife. Not having the heart to refuse, Dr. Robbins, agreed to his request. Afterwards, though, he realized he could not keep this promise without risking the lives of all the party, some of whom were already suffering from light attacks. Also the cattle had refused to drink of the bad tasting water. They were thirsty and becoming restless and hard to manage. So Absolum Barnes was laid to rest beside the trail, two days travel this side of the others.

Then followed long weeks of travel over the dusty plains, Clouds of yellow alkali dust, fanned by burning prairie winds, stung their hands and face and the bad tasting alkali water, offered little relief to their parched throats.

THE FIRST STAMPEDE

At long last, after, what had seemed like endless weary days, a streak of green timber appeared far off toward the western horizon This meant fresh water for both men and beast. After a few more days of travel the cattle were becoming more and more restless and hard to control. At last the leaders, a pair of sleek young steers, raised their heads, sniffed a few breaths of the cool, damp air and decided to make a run for it. The others quickly followed. many of the wagons were overturned; some on their sides, and some completely. The one in which Zobeda was riding with the two little orphaned boys, Norvel and William Barnes, was one that turned completely over. They escaped, however, with only a few minor scratches and bruises. It was during this stampede that seventeen year old Norval proved his metal. He ran in front of his cattle, whipped and lashed them about their heads and held them until they quieted down. His was the only team that was held back. Three year old Nancy Jane, daughter of James and Minerva, watch this performance from the back of her father’s wagon. “Just look at old Ginger, a twisting his tail,” she cried, her eyes shining with the excitement. Ginger was a great brindle ox. It took several days to repair the wagons and get started again. The knowledge acquired by William Sharpe, who had taken up wagon-making as a trade proved to be great help to them at this troublesome time.


FORDING THE SOUTH PLATTE

They had reach a small creek or tributary of the Platte River. Scouting ahead some of the men found a spring of clear sparking water, the first good water they had had in days. The cattle drank from the creek, and after eating their fill of fresh green grass, all around them, lay down in the shade to rest. Every member of the train, drank of the good water. Then the copper kettles were filled, and when the water was warmed, [they] bathed their tired bodies. From that day on the ailing ones improved and there was no more cholera. The next day was spent in doing up the family washings and it looked as though every bush and clump of green grass for a half mile around was decorated with wearing apparel.

Dr. Robbins, William and James had gone scouting that morning, as far as Ogalalla where they were to ford the Platte River. This undertaking was looked forward to with apprehension by the women folks. Some of the emigrants who had gone before them had met with disaster. It was nearly a mile across at this place and although the water was shallow the road-bed was narrow, with narrow, deep holes at the sides. Some of the cattle refused to enter the water and had to be whipped and goaded into the stream. Only one of the teams tried to turn in mid-stream, the one Jim Robbins was driving. They turned halfway and started down stream into deep water. “How he managed to get them turned back, he said, he never just knew.” Minerva said, “I was just petrified, and couldn’t move nor make a sound.” And Jim said, “That helped a lot.”

After crossing the Platte, their next thought was of the Indians. They began to meet up with small band of them, but all were friendly. Late one evening while Nancy and Zobeda were cooking the supper over the camp-fire, hurrying to get everything done before darkness fell, a small band of them came riding up, stopped and dismounted. A tall powerful looking Indian wearing nothing except a breech cloth, walked around and seemed to be sizing up the situation. Then he walked up to Zobeda, as though she was wearing something he wanted. As she stepped back he followed her. At last her temper was aroused, and doubling a fist, she struck him a hard blow on the chest. When his companions laughed he became highly insulted, making all sorts of faces and grimaces. Some of the men told her they thought it was some small pins she wore in her apron bib he wanted. These were handed to him and he was greatly pleased. Then he was given two pair of old pants and an umbrella worn full of holes. He put on both pair of pants fastening them in the back, then raised the umbrella above his head, and strutted off as proud as a peacock, furnishing a good laugh for everyone. When they reached Montana several more small bands were encountered, but all were friendly.

The Snake River in Idaho was the river they crossed, not once, but many times. Like a huge reptile, winding itself back and forth, it extended the full length of the beautiful valley. Upon reaching the foot-hills of the great Rockies, they began to experience a feeling of being in new and different country. The very air they breathed was different, more exhilarating. Strange new sounds were heard, the call of wild animals, and birds. Late one evening, while the two girls, were doing up the supper dishes, the older women sat around the camp-fire knitting and enjoying the fresh, cool air from the mountains. They were startled by an unusual hooting sound that seemed close by at times, and far away at others. The hoot, hoot, hoot sounded at regular intervals, then would cease for a moment. “I wonder if that could be one of those cougars, like they tell about out in Oregon Country?” Jane said. “It makes cold shivers run down my spine, what ever it is. I think I’ll go crawl in with the children.”

James and William Robbins and William Sharp came riding up on their ponies and were quickly told about the uncanny sounds. After listening for a moment, William Sharp, told them he thought the varmint was in top of one of the trees, about a half mile away. “And I think he is a feathered varmint.”. It was an old Hooter Grouse.

In these Black hills, before coming into the South Pass, was where they found a perfect hunters’ paradise. Deer and antelope roamed the hillsides. Sage hens, grouse and pheasant were everywhere. The small streams were alive with the speckled mountain trout. All of these were to be had almost without seeking. A sport in which the menfolk were more than willing to indulge.


CROSSING THE ROCKIES

Before them lay the great Rockies, through which they were soon to begin a long, tiresome, hazardous journey. “When we get to the other side of that big mountain, we will be a long ways from Indiana, won’t we, Mom?” four year old George remarked to his mother Malvina, leaning against the arm of her rocker one evening. “Bless his precious little heart. I was thinking the very same thing,” Jane said.

After entering the Pass, there were long wearisome days of traveling over roads, deep rutted and difficult, roads that led through stretches of timber so dense it was like traveling through twilight. They made their way over the mountain humps, through deep canyons and gullies, through alkali beds and miles of sage brush. Near the summit they came into a small valley, from there range after range of mountains, with higher peaks looming in the distance were to be seen. The view must have been magnificent. Pikes Peak, Greys Peak, Mt. Cameron, Longs Peak and many others were to be seen from this place. It was here they found the dividing springs. The waters from these many little springs divided, some found their way down the eastern slope of the great mountains while others rippled away down the western side, their destinations being thousands of miles apart. They passed through many valleys, forty to eighty miles long and ten to thirty miles wide. They scarcely knew when the decent of these great mountains began, it was so gradual.

One night when they made camp near the summit, the sky was so clear the stars and the moon seemed close at hand. James and Norval brought out their fiddles. “We are going to serenade the moon and the stars,” They said.” We’ll probably will never any nearer to them. They played, “Old Jip Crow,” “Devils Hornpipe,” “Soldiers Dream,” “Pretty Girls” and many others, all popular old tunes of the day. Suddenly a howl, long, loud and mournful pierced the air, coming from a neighboring hill across the canyon. “It’s a mountain wolf,” they exclaimed in the same breathe. ”Let’s give him some more fiddle.” Altogether it must of seemed a bit uncanny. At any rate it was a new kind of accompaniment to their music, the likes of which they had never heard before.

The descent though very gradual and hardly noticeable at the beginning, seemed a little more hazardous than climbing the steep hills and mountains had been. They passed through, Wyoming, Montana and Idaho, all Oregon Country at that time.


GLIMPSES OF OREGON

After La Grande, they laid over for a week or two, to rest, and it was there Dr. Robbins declared it would be wanton cruelty to drive the worn out cattle another mile. “I’ll not see the faithful beast, falling by the wayside, nor leave their bones to bleach beside the trail.” So a conference was held that evening around the camp-fire. “We will either have to camp here for some time, and goodness knows it’s a cold and windy place, or take passage down the Columbia on flat boats, and leave the cattle and horses here for a few weeks.” “I met a man in The Dalles today by the name of Harper” he said. “The stock would make it over the winter if necessary in the hills around Mosier.” And this is the course they decided to follow. The animals were driven up into the hills and the man, Harper, agreed to look after them for two yoke of oxen in payment for his services.. Loading their household goods on flat boats, they took passage down the Columbia. Needless to say this trip hazardous and terrifying, with great walls of granite looming on either side, brought misery and suffering, to the women and little children, and especially to some members of the party who had contracted Mountain Fever at La Grande. Also it rained nearly all the way down.

What a comforting relief it must have been at the mouth of the Willamette, they boarded the famous old river boat, ‘THE LOT WHITCOMBE.’ They landed at Portland, in a drizzling rain. Kerosene lamps and candle lights shone dimly through the drizzle. It took less than a half an hour to transverse the muddy streets and see the town, a mere handful of houses, with a store, a livery stable, one hotel and a black-smith shop. Though at that time Portland was beginning to develop into one of the main trade centers for farmers scattered throughout the valley. It was during this brief stop over that Nathaniel Robbins had the pleasure of meeting one of his boy-hood friends, Governor Joseph Lane. Four years before, Joseph Lane had been appointed Oregon’s First Territorial Governor by James K Polk, President at the time. It was largely through Governor Lane’s influence that Nathaniel Robbins had decided to join the great westward Emigration.

Nathaniel Robbins was a member of Oregon’s first Constitutional Convention, held in Salem in August and September in 1857.

The trip from Portland to Oregon City (their destination) was thoroughly enjoyed by every member of this tired and weary party of emigrants. The skies had cleared and it was a warm spring like day. The woods fringing the banks of the Willamette were a mass of wild shrubs and flowers, all in full bloom, all new and rare to them, though common in the Oregon woods. They were met at the landing by Colonel White, a friend and benefactor of all emigrants. Through his kind efforts they all found good warm sleeping quarters with plenty to eat. He also told them where they could find a team of horses, and a wagon, who would help them move all their house hold goods and belongings to a safe place until they found a suitable house to live in. He told them of a sizeable house down near the river bank, near the present site of the locks, in what was then known as Lynn City. It was their first home in Oregon. Their first task after moving into their new quarters, was doing up all the family washings. Down at the riverside they built fires, heated water in the great copper kettles they had brought with them and washed and washed to their hearts content. The clothes looked so pretty and white again. It was their first introduction to the poison oak that grew everywhere. though unacknowledged until a few days later, when every member of the family broke out with a sort of itching rash, they could not account for, until enlightened by a kindly neighbor. Minerva went complacently about spreading her wash on the soft green grass to bleach, she said in the Oregon sun and thus her family escaped the mysterious rash

Next day and for many days Dr. Robbins, his four sons and son-in-law, John Hamiliton went exploring, before they found a suitable place to stake out their claims. Out in now what is Stafford country, they found land that was rolling, not to many steep hills, and where the soil looked rich and loamy. It was there they met William Bird. He had been there five years he told them, had no very near neighbors and would be very glad to have some. So after talking it over with the women folks, there was where they decided to locate and lost no time in carrying out their plans. Land aggregating around 2000 acres was filed on by the five Robbins, John Hamiliton, Joseph Barstow, and William Sharp, all within that year. These claims took in what was later known as the Soldern, Barnes and the Alden farms, west of the Meridian road. The Loren Kruse, the Turner and the Sharp farms, East of the Meridian. In the Stafford district their holdings embraced the Jayes and Gage farms, the Baker, the Schatz and Robies. William Robbins took up land farther west and south, near the present town of Tualatin, originally known a Bridgeport. A grandson Hampton Robbins lives on this place at the present time. Dr. Robbins filed on what is now the Schatz and Robie farms, later deeding it to his son Norval.

They lost no time in clearing up building spots on their respective claims. Log cabins were erected to begin with, lumber not being available, nor roads to transport it over. Before the houses were completed, come the great flood of 1853 and Lynn City was washed away. With many others they stood on the river bank, and watched their houses go down the river. Indians were hired to go out in their canoes, and most household goods and bedding was saved, before the surging waters loosed the houses from their foundations. The white people had been warned by the Indians about the “big water” that was coming, but they paid little heed to what the Indians said.

There was nothing then to do, except to move onto their claims and into the uncompleted houses. They at least had roofs over their heads, and on their long trip, had learned an lot about cooking out doors. Though to them at the beginning the country seemed wild and lonely, they soon discovered there were neighbors on all sides. William Bird and his family living a mile from them were their nearest neighbors. The Birds had settled there about 1848.

On the 14th day of February, Permelia Bird became the wife of Norval Robbins. It was the coldest day they had seen in Oregon. One of the wedding guests, Benjamin Athey remarked, he thought the Robbins and the Birds were mating out of season, since most of the invited guests nearly froze to death on the way to the wedding.

Benjamin, Matthew, and William Athey (brothers) had settled in what is now known as Tualatin Meadows. Their holdings took in around 2000 acres. The Widow Painter and her two sons, Robert and Charles and a daughter Janie came to Oregon about 1840. They had filed on land 2 miles west of Stafford, west of the Meridian road. Later this land was known as the Papenburg and Probase places. (now the Elagsan farms), and the Meint Peters and Simon Peters farms. John Kruse and his wife Iantha lived farther away. They had taken up land along the Willamette River, three miles south of Stafford, about 320 acres and a few years later bought land amounting to 1000 acres or more. The Barney Minklers also had filed on land along the river. The Kauffman family [and} also the Corby family lived 2 1/2 miles southwest of Stafford. William Sharp filed on land in the same neighborhood.

Though these early settlers lived some distance apart they soon “got acquainted.” They worked hard all week, and went visiting on Sundays. Each house-wife took her turn at cooking a big Sunday Dinner, and inviting in the neighbors. With the tender juicy venison roasts, and steaks or the platters piled high with pheasant, quail or grouse or the delicious brook trout, which ever of these they might choose, the meal was generally topped off with a huckleberry or blackberry cobbler, baked only as these pioneer women knew how to bake them. And it must have been well worth while driving miles over rough roads to partake of one of these bountiful feasts served with the old time hospitality.

The following spring after they had moved onto their claims, Dr. Robbins and his four sons made a trip to The Dalles, to see how many of their cattle and horses had survived the winter. They found the man, Harper and he told them several yoke of oxen had been stolen, and he thought they had been driven back to Salt Lake City, Utah. The horses had been stolen by the Indians, but after several weeks he had rounded them up and got them back. One yoke of oxen and two horses were left with Harper, in payment for his services. So they started down to the valley with a small remnant of what they had when they left Indiana. Though, judging by the vast numbers of skeletons of mules, oven and horses they had seen all along the trail, they had fared better than many who had gone ahead of them. Though they were driven down by way of Barlow and through the Cascades, they experienced great difficulty, in some parts of the road. At one place, known as Laurel Hill, they were compelled to unhitch the teams and let the wagons down with ropes, one at a time. This took considerable time and maneuvering, and was the worst place of the road they encountered.

On a warm morning in May, a few weeks after the men folks had left the Dalles (Grandma) Nancy Robbins was out near a hazel thicket in the edge of the woods, frantically waving her arms and shaking her apron trying to frighten a chicken hawk away from an excited but promising little brood of chickens. She had bought three setting hens from a family in Cavenah. She had set them herself and had had excellent luck with the hatching. These she said would give her a good start in chickens if the pesky hawks left her any.

All at once she stopped, her body seemed tense as though she was trying to concentrate on something. Shading her eyes with one hand she looked toward the bend in the road. Then she called excitingly to the girls, “Why I thought I heard Old Spot bawling!” For a moment I thought I was back in Indiana. “You probably did hear Old Spot. They must be coming with the cattle and horses,” Zobeda and Nancy cried in one breath and ran out in front of the house to listen. Angeline hobbled out onto the porch on her crutches. They could hear the cattle bawling. They could hear the men shouting, urging the tired beast along over the rough uneven ground. One at a time they came into view around the bend in the road. Nearly all the horses were limping. They had been ridden unmercifully by the Indians. “Oh! there is my pony,” Nancy cried, and ran out to meet her. The pony knew her and nudged her, tossing her head for the accustomed lump of sugar, she thought Nancy must have in her apron pocket. Zobeda watched anxiously for Julie. “I’m afraid Julie hasn’t made it,” Grandmother Nancy said, looking disappointed. But Julie had made it; she was the last one to come limping around the bend. She raised her head, looked around for a moment, then walked up to Zobeda and laid her tired head over her shoulder. She was home to stay. The animals soon fattened and thrived on the rich pasture and green grass that grew everywhere. They nudged the tender leaves of the underbrush, a special treat to them; there was no underbrush in the Indian woods. Pasture in the early days was free, and the stock roamed at will over the hillsides, and through the creek bottoms. Later on several good colts were raised from the little mare, Julie. Two of hers worked for years on the William Sharp ranch. One of them, a faithful sorrel, will be remembered by all the family, lived for 35 years and 30 of those years was spent in faithful labor.

After Jim Robbins made the trip to The Dalles, he told his wife, Minerva, “I have found a place I would like for our permanent home.” “There is where we are going to make it, providing you are of the same notion,” And he kept his word. After about ten years spent in Willamette Valley, they moved to The Dalles, where he practiced medicine for many years, having been issued a license to practice when Oregon was still a territory. A grandson, Frank Heater is Chief-of-Police there, and has been for many years.

John and Jane Hamilton with their family moved to the eastern region about 1870, where he engaged in stock raising. The town of Hamilton was named for him. They were the only ones who left the Willamette Valley. Nancy Robbins married Joseph Barstow, who came to Oregon in the early 40’s by way of Cape Horn. He was engaged in the grocery business in Cavenah for several years, or until about 1860, when they moved onto their land claim in now what is the Kruse District.

Clearly the sons and daughters of early Pioneers must have seen the path that lay ahead, to face the hardships and to assume the responsibility of raising large families to help populate the new, wild country.

Snuggled in against the hillside, near the present site of the Willamette Falls, was a boarding house, operated by John Sayers and his wife. It was there Zobeda Robbins spent the first few months of her life in the new country. Elizabeth Bird, 16 years old, was also employed there for awhile. Together the two young girls did the cooking and baking for about 35 boarders. These men were employed in and around Lynn City, making roads and clearing up new building spots. One of these boarders was William Sharp. After working a few weeks he decided he had accumulated enough money to enable him to improve his land claim. He still made regular calls at the boarding house. One Sunday evening he said to Zobeda. “I’ve built a comfortable two room cabin, I’ve planted a small orchard and cleared a garden spot.” “I’ve also slashed a trail from your father’s place to mine.” “Now I need someone to share my home with me.” “Wouldn’t you rather cook for just one man than for 35.” And Zobeda decided that she would.

And thus ends my story!!!! With my parents beginning their life together in a little log cabin in the OREGON WILDS.

Kate Sharp Jones