1867 - WPA Interview: Woody, J. T.
INTERVIEW, Mr. J. T. "Tom" Woody. Brownsville, Oregon. (Mr. Woody gave the following facts concerning his life and his family history.)
I was born July 16, 1867. My father was James N. Woody who was born in Arkansas January 16, 1833. His birthplace was White River, in Winch County in that state.
I lived with my father in Arkansas until my sixth year when my father organized a wagon train and removed to Oregon. At the time my father had a family of five children of whom I was the youngest. Their names were:
I was the youngest of my father's family; so do not remember much of our trip to the west, yet there are a few things which stand out clearly in my mind. My father had a white mare in his band and somewhere on the way, in Colorado, I think, this mare foaled. When the colt was very small, one day while the stock of our train was running loose some of the mules of the train took it into their heads to kill this colt. For a while there was an exciting time of it. Some of the horses sides in with the mare in defending the colt; other horses took the side of the mules in the fight. As soon as the men of the train saw what was taking place they ran out and joined in the fight, throwing neck-yokes, rocks, clubs and everything they could lay hands on. In the general melee the owner of the attacking mules became excited and being able to find no other weapon threw his open knife at the animals. The colt was finally saved but I have never forgotten the excitement of seeing those horses, mules and men mingling in a general fight. That colt lived to grow up. When my father reached Washington, the mother being father's favorite saddle mare, the colt was often left alone in the corral. There was a log barn and the loft was filled with sheaf grain, which was used as feed. I used to go out to that barn and climb up to the loft for a handful of grain. The colt would see me getting it and would come running to be fed. To tease it I would take the grain and run and the colt would follow. The game was a good one for a time, but finally the colt got tired of it and one day he seized me by the top of my head and my hair and threw me down, almost scalping me. That ended the game for me. The fight between the horses, men, and mules took place on July 4th, 1873. At that time the train was stopped to do the accumulated washing and to rest and celebrate. It was in a fine valley where the grass was green and good.
Our wagon train, which, of course was one of the later emigrant trains, left Benton County, Arkansas on April 5th, 1873. The start was somewhere near Bentonville. We came first to Washington, our course having been by way of Denver Colorado, up to Idaho, and from thence down the Snake River.
Our destination was Walla Walla, Washington. When father left Arkansas he had two new wagons made at the town of Bloomfield (one and one half miles from our old home). He had horses and mules enough to pull them, besides a good saddle horse. He also had one thousand dollars in gold. That was considered a wonderful stake to start with but when we reached Walla Walla his money had dwindled away to a much smaller amount. Father traded one team, wagon and harness for twenty head of fine young cattle, good and fat, all over one year old. That looked like a good beginning but every one of those young cattle was lost by blackleg the first winter.
After this, and other losses father became very blue and homesick. He had a brother, Reuben (R. B.) Woody OC # 3483 who settled in the Willamette Valley near Brownsville. Thinking that he might better himself father sold out his claim in Palouse County, Washington, moved down here to be near his brother. The amount that he got for his claim, a good, deep-soiled farm in the very finest of locations, was eighty-two dollars. We came from Palouse County to Linn County in 1874, arriving here on July 1, for snow on the mountains had delayed us for weeks. We came into the Willamette Valley by way of the Barlow Pass. Father stayed here and put in a crop in 1875. The place that he worked in now known as the Mills/Wood Ranch and is that place where the Government Airport, four miles north of Brownsville, was situated until a short time ago. Father's 1875 crop on that ranch was an almost entire failure and by this time he was just about broke. Then he heard that the man to whom he had sold his ranch in Washington was likewise blue and discouraged and he bought the place back for just what he had sold it, eighty-two dollars. In order to get back to Washington father had to borrow one hundred dollars from O. P. Coshow of Brownsville. That is how he had prospered after his fine start from Arkansas. Everything that father owned, including his five children, was then loaded into one small wagon box and we began our trip back to the Palouse country.
Returning to our old home we went by way of the Santiam (South Santiam) pass. The road up Seven-mile-hill was just a rough track and before we reached the summit it was night and raining furiously. The only way that we could travel was for mother to walk ahead leading the lead team. We got to Fish Lake late in the night, hungry and almost frozen. Then when we got over to the Snake River it was colder than ever. We were so poor that mother had not nearly enough clothing and she was afraid that she would freeze on the wagon, so she got out and walked, leading me. The teams went on ahead and we could not catch up with them. Mother was really afraid that we would freeze to death. She held on to my hand and made me run as hard as I could go. Finally we reached the Snake River and the woman at the ferry took us in and warmed us up.
We were delayed at the Snake River for several days. The ferryman had taken his boat to the other side of the river and it in some way got stuck or aground and he could not bring it back. As he had not taken his skiff with him there was no way for him to return. First he got ready to swim back, and waded out in the shallows for a ways. His wife, however, was greatly frightened and by signs and motions made him go back. There was nothing, then, for him to do but to walk up the river to the next ferry, some fifteen miles, cross over there and walk back on his home side. The next day he took his skiff and with my father rowed back to his boat. I remember watching them go and the waves were so high that often the skiff would be hidden from sight. At such times I believed that they had sunk and raised such a crying and howling that my mother came out to see what was the matter. I told her, and she explained to me how the waves hid the boat.
Father's claim in the Palouse country was a wonderful piece of land. There were no trees or rocks, not a rock unless it was hauled in from somewhere else. I cannot imagine a more ideal country to pioneer in. Still, we were often broke and hard up for many years. To illustrate how things grew in that soil I remember how we sometimes used to pull parsnips with a long pole and a rope, prizing them out of the ground by main strength. At one time my mother measured some of those long parsnips and they were over three feet in length. We had a root cellar in the ground and I remember how good the turnips tasted that were stored there. We would cut one in two and then sit and scrape and eat by the hour. We had few apples for it was not yet understood that the Palouse country was an ideal apple country. Later I was in the fruit business myself and took many trips to the Dakotas and to Minnesota to sell apples. One year I sold twenty carloads of my own apples in North Dakota besides a great many sold on commissions for my neighbors. My own farm was situated just next to my father's place on the Idaho-Washington line. It is now commonly known as the "Interstate Farm."
In 1877 the Indians became very bad and threatening in that country. Father's place was right on an important Indian trail and there was also one which passed close to our schoolhouse. The Umatilla, Nez Perce, Spokane and Colville Indians were threatening to go to war. Finally we heard that five thousand of them were coming through that night going north. All the settlers gathered together to defend their lives. Some were leaving, some prepared to fight at that place. Our family with others, including the family containing the girl who was later to be my wife, loaded our belongings and started for Colfax. We went in a body with two men in advance to act as scouts although they were so scared that they seldom got over two hundred feet ahead of the main party. The teamsters behind were pushing their horses at top speed. The scouts saw a big dust on ahead and were sure that it was the Indians coming. Everyone stopped in great confusion. Dad got out his shotgun and began to load it with buckshot. He said, "I'm going to fight as long as fighting will do any good." After all the supposed Indians proved to be nothing but a herd of loose range cattle or horses.
Our fugitive party went on to Colfax, Washington but that town appeared to the leaders to be a veritable death trap in case of Indian attack, due to the surrounding hills and rocks which gave an attacking war party every advantage. They therefore decided to go on to Walla Walla where there was a fort. That was one hundred miles away.
Our party had left home in great haste and with little preparation. When we reached the Snake River ferry we found that there was but little to eat. Some had brought a little meat, and there was plenty of flour, but no baking powder, yeast, or leaven of any kind. We made a meal from that as best we could but those who ate there always referred to it afterwards as "The feast of unleavened bread."
We went on to Walla Walla and stayed there until the panic had passed and finally went back home. A few Indians had come through while we were gone and four or five men had been killed but it was nothing like what had been feared.
I have not yet told you anything about my mother and her family. Mother's name was Sarah Cox. She was born in Jackson County, Missouri February 8, 1827. Father and mother were married in 1856. The ceremony was performed by Major Wimpy.
Major Wimpy also came to Oregon but at a time previous to our own immigration. I knew him well here. Here is his picture. The Major was in the Union army during the Civil War. Being himself from the south his action in joining the Union Army caused him to be greatly hated by his neighbors. Nevertheless, when at one time his duties took him within a mile of his home he resolved to risk the danger of a short visit with his family.
At home, and in the army, he always rode a large white horse, known to everyone. As a means of safety he asked one of his companions to exchange horses with him during the time of his short visit. Not far from the Major's home lived an old man who got up that morning and loaded his squirrel gun, saying, "This bullet is going to kill Major Wimpy." He mounted his horse and rode out to a favorable position near the line of march. When the soldiers passed he fired at the officer on the white horse and killed him instantly. At the shot the soldiers charged his cover, and becoming excited, he was captured and executed at once. Thus while the exchange of horses saved the Major's life, it was fatal to his friend.
But to return to my own family history. My uncle, R. B. Woody came to Oregon previous to our own emigration. He settled near Brownsville, Linn County, Oregon. His wife was a member of the pioneer Stanard family of that place, a sister of W. A. Stanard. Their first child was Rev. Alfonzo Woody a prominent Baptist preacher of Portland, Oregon. He died in 1918. Uncle R. B. Woody's wife was buried at the Pleasant Butte Baptist Cemetery north of Brownsville in 1862. Hers is among the early graves at that place.
James M. Woody, my dad, was the youngest of his family. His fathers name was John Woody, a soldier of the War of 1812, and born in 1792. He was with General Andrew Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans. He celebrated January 8th, the day of the battle, as long as he lived. Grandfather always claimed that after several charges by the British had failed they sent out a party of five engineers to look over the ground. Five American sharpshooters were detailed to kill these engineers. All of the British officers wore conspicuous uniforms with large and brightly polished brass buttons on the front. One of the sharpshooters said, "I'm going to aim at the second button from the top on my man's coat. After the battle was over they went out to see the five engineers who had been killed and the man selected by the speaker had `lead on the second button'.
Grandfather himself was a very expert marksman. At the age of ninety years he could clip the head of a squirrel in the top of a tall tree with his muzzle-loading squirrel gun, and that without the aid of glasses.
Going back one more generation, my great grandfather was Wm. "Bill" Banks Woody. I know little of his history save that he was raised in Virginia and that he married Jane Small, also of Virginia. Although I have no proof of the fact I believe that great grandfather was a Revolutionary War soldier.
My wife who was Maggie Jameson was born in Arkansas and lived on a farm adjoining ours in that state. The family came to Oregon a year later than we did, that is, in 1874-a great mistake for the family since by so doing they lost a daughter just as soon as I had grown up enough to take her away from them. We farmed in Idaho and Washington for some time after our marriage. Sometimes we did well, sometimes we were broke. For a time I farmed close by the place where the Rev. Henry Harmon Spalding and his wife are buried. After the Whitman massacre Spalding moved to this county, (Linn County) near Brownsville but later returned to his work in Idaho again.
Spalding's work among the Nez Perce Indians near my former home was outstanding. The Indians, many of them, were fine citizens and Christian gentlemen. Many of the Nez Perce have fine farms, well worked, neat and attractive. The Indians near my home had one of the finest baseball teams that I have ever seen.
While in that part of the country I was engaged in the fruit growing business as well as being county fruit inspector. I have traveled through all of that country and have spent the night with Henry Spalding, son of the old Missionary. I have also been at Fort Lapwai and have seen the elder Spalding's graves. They are situated on the banks of the Clearwater. Henry Spalding Junior had a good orchard at Almoda on Snake River.
Speaking again of Indians, one of the best of them was old Chief Selteese (spelling uncertain) of the Coeur d'Alenes. I have often seen this old chief and have been invited to eat at his house while on my trips inspecting orchards, but I am sorry now, I never accepted his invitation. The Chief had always been a friend of the whites. When Col. Steptoe and Col. Wright were in that country trying to pacify the Indians in 1856 they got into a fight with the Indians near the present town of Rosalia, Whitman County, Washington. The battle was not far from Steptoe Butte, highest in Whitman County. Selteese went in the night to the soldiers aid and after they had buried their dead, eleven men, piloted them out to safety and saved them from farther loss. Later he became Chief of his people. He became a leader in all civil life, in farming and in the promotion of Christianity among his people. He believed in education. He, himself, had a good farm, well improved and was progressive in every way. He set a fine table at his home and his kitchen and dining room was equipped with white table linen, loaded with the best of food.
I was in the Idaho country when they had their great troubles with labor agitators. Haywood, one of the leaders, worked for dad and myself at one time. Later he went to Russia. It was the great fight put up by a young attorney in that case that brought the Attorney into political prominence. That Attorney was the present Idaho Senator Borah.
In 1917, during the World War, I got rather low on finances and so went to work for the Government for a time. My work during that winter was at Aberdeen, Washington, in a sawmill. During that time I became acquainted with a man who had formerly run a whaling station. Through him I obtained employment with the North Pacific Sea Products Co. This was a big outfit of whalers. They had fourteen whaleboats, that is, whalers of one hundred feet or more length well equipped with whaling guns, boats, etc. I went for this outfit to Akutan Island in the Aleutian group. My work was to erect tanks for the storage of whale oil. During the summer of 1918 I erected fifty tanks of from five hundred barrels capacity downward. After that work was completed I returned to Garfield, Washington. That autumn I again came to Brownsville. I spent the winter here in the employ of Mr. Leob, a sawmill man, working as an engineer.
In March, 1919 my Son-in-law (Bradrick) who lived near Spokane died with the flu. We returned to Washington for his funeral and after that went on to his farm there and manage it for my daughter, his widow. In 1921 she sold her farm and the entire family returned to Brownsville where (as a family, in company) we bought this farm on which I now live. (Nearly 1200 acres). We bought this place from a Mr. Roberts but it was originally the Wm. Cochran donation land claim. This house in which we live was probably built at some time before 1850. The beams are all of hewed logs or of poles. When we first moved here the back room was equipped with hooks and racks showing that the original owner used it for the curing of large quantities of pork. A man by the name of Ayers who now lives near Harrisburg stopped here last year and asked permission to look over the house. He is now nearly one hundred years of age and he stated that he worked here for Mr. Cochran when only a boy of seventeen and that the house then was little different than it is now.
The original building site of the Cochran claim was at the foot of the hill to the north but was finally moved up the hill to this spot because no good water could be secured below. I am certain that the original house was moved up the hill and enlarged.
Wm. Cochran, the original builder came to Oregon in 1847. He soon became quite prosperous after settling here and for a long time paid the greatest amount for taxes of anyone in Linn County. Cochran ran his cattle on the open range in the hills east of here. They had clear range as far as the present town of Sweet Home (16 miles). His cattle increased until he did not know what to do with them all so he finally hired a man to drive a large herd to California for sale. The man started and nothing was heard of him for over two years. Still Cochran did not lose confidence in him, and sure enough, after a time he showed up with every dollar honestly accounted for.
A memorial at my father's grave in Washington gives the entire roll of the members of the wagon train in which we came to Oregon but I cannot tell them all from memory. However, among those who came then were:
My surviving children at the present are:
(Mr. Woody is a strong, vigorous man, now seventy-five years of age. His neighborhood reputation is of the best and he enjoys the respect of all his acquaintances. He manages and does much work on his 1150-acre farm three miles north of Brownsville. He is a member of the Brownsville Christian Church and was a member, one of two prohibition members, of Oregon's last constitutional convention. He is much interested in livestock raising and his cattle are well bred and well cared for. His farm includes large tracts on the slopes of the win "Cochran and Lone Pine" Buttes just northward from Brownsville and include much rough land useful as excellent pasturage.)
June 18, 2001
Copyright © 2000 Patricia Dunn. All rights reserved. This transcription may not be reproduced in any media without the express written permission by the author. Permission has been given by the Transcriber to publish on the LGS web site.
| Owner of original | Transcribed by Patricia Dunn |
| Linked to | WPA Interviews for Linn County Oregon; J. T. Woody |
