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Thu Nov 19 13:58:53 PST 2020

The first break in our lines came at the crossing of the little blue. 

    John Ford had a light wagon that was drawn by horses. A mile or two 
before we came to  the river, we passed where his wagon had drawn to the side 
of the road and someone rode on  ahead to call Beedy's mother back to her. 
The long wagon train passed by and the wagons in  turn, forded the shallow 
stream. 

    The land on the opposite bank was quite low and inclined to be swampy, 
but we stopped  there and made camp in spite of the fact that a storm was 
brewing. Tents were put up,  campfires built and everything made ready for 
the night. 

    By that time the rain was falling in sheets. Within two or three hours 
the little Blue was a swirling  muddy treacherous stream that carried beyond 
its own banks and was beginning to seep into the low places around our camp. 
It was just about dark when we heard a call from the opposite  bank. It was 
John Ford and his family. Beedy's father called to him to stay where he was, 
to make camp there and wait until daylight. "Beedy won't do it." came the 
reply. " She is afraid of  Indians." There may not have been an Indian within 
a hundred miles, but to the pioneer woman, they were always a menace. "Beedy 
says cross if we have to swim". So John Ford drove into  the flood. In a 
moment his horses were swimming. Several of our men, slipping off their boots 
 and heavier clothing, had gone into the stream to be ready in case of 
disaster, and it was well  that they did, for the light wagon rocked 
perilously in the current. They held and steadied it the best they could. The 
stream was not wide and fortunately the wagon box was tight enough for  the 
short voyage.

    So in a few minutes, Beedy and John and Beedy's mother and Beedy's son 
Tillman were safe  with the rest of us. Safe but not dry, none of us were 
dry. Beedy's son Tillman was at that time  about an hour old.

Walt Davies
Monmouth, OR

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<HTML><FONT FACE=3Darial,helvetica><FONT  SIZE=3D2 FAMILY=3D"SANSSERIF" FACE=
=3D"Arial" LANG=3D"0">From aunt Charlotte's book Chapter II<BR>
<BR>
The first break in our lines came at the crossing of the little blue. <BR>
<BR>
    John Ford had a light wagon that was drawn by horses. A mile or two befo=
re we came to  the river, we passed where his wagon had drawn to the si=
de of the road and someone rode on  ahead to call Beedy's mother back t=
o her. The long wagon train passed by and the wagons in  turn, forded t=
he shallow stream. <BR>
<BR>
    The land on the opposite bank was quite low and inclined to be swampy, b=
ut we stopped  there and made camp in spite of the fact that a storm wa=
s brewing. Tents were put up,  campfires built and everything made read=
y for the night. <BR>
<BR>
    By that time the rain was falling in sheets. Within two or three hours t=
he little Blue was a swirling  muddy treacherous stream that carried be=
yond its own banks and was beginning to seep into the low places around our=20=
camp. It was just about dark when we heard a call from the opposite  ba=
nk. It was John Ford and his family. Beedy's father called to him to stay wh=
ere he was, to make camp there and wait until daylight. "Beedy won't do it."=
 came the reply. " She is afraid of  Indians." There may not have been=20=
an Indian within a hundred miles, but to the pioneer woman, they were always=
 a menace. "Beedy says cross if we have to swim". So John Ford drove into&nb=
sp; the flood. In a moment his horses were swimming. Several of our men, sli=
pping off their boots  and heavier clothing, had gone into the stream t=
o be ready in case of disaster, and it was well  that they did, for the=
 light wagon rocked perilously in the current. They held and steadied it the=
 best they could. The stream was not wide and fortunately the wagon box was=20=
tight enough for  the short voyage.<BR>
<BR>
    So in a few minutes, Beedy and John and Beedy's mother and Beedy's son T=
illman were safe  with the rest of us. Safe but not dry, none of us wer=
e dry. Beedy's son Tillman was at that time  about an hour old.<BR>
<BR>
Walt Davies<BR>
Monmouth, OR</FONT></HTML>

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