CRUISE ON PUGET SOUND.
Put yourself in my place, reader, for a time—long enough to read this
chapter. Think of yourself as young again, if elderly (I will not say
old); play you have been old and now young again, until you find out
about this trip on Puget Sound fifty and more years ago. Then think
of Puget Sound in an inquiring mood, as though you knew nothing about
it, only a little indefinite hear-say; enough to know there is such a
name, but not what manner of place or how large or how small; whether
it was one single channel, like a river, or numerous channels; whether
it was a bay or a series of bays or whether it was a lake, but somehow
connected with the sea, and then you will be in the mood these two
young men were, when they descended the hill with their packs on their
backs and entered the town of Olympia in May, 1853. Now, if you are in
this inquiring mood, I will take you in my confidence and we will live
the cruise over again of thirty-two days of adventures and observation
on Puget Sound sixty-two years ago.
I was but a few months past twenty-three, while my brother Oliver
could claim nearly two years' seniority. We had always played together
as boys, worked together as men, and lived together ever after his
marriage until the day of his death, now nearly sixty years ago, and so
far as I can remember, never had a disagreement in our whole life.
So, when we cast off the line at Olympia, on or about the 28th day
of May, 1853, we were assured of one thing and that was a concert of
action, be there danger or only labor ahead. Neither of us had had
much experience in boating, and none as to boat building, but when we
decided to make the trip and discard the idea of taking a canoe we
set to work with a hearty good will to build us a skiff out of light
lumber, then easily obtained at the Tumwater mill of Hays, Ward & Co.,
in business at that place.
We determined to have the skiff broad enough to not upset easily, and
long enough to carry us and our light cargo of food and bedding. Like
the trip across the plains we must provide our own transportation.
We were told that the Sound was a solitude so far as transportation
facilities, with here and there a vessel loading piles and square
timber for the San Francisco market. Not a steamer was then plying on
the Sound; not even a sailing craft that essayed to carry passengers.
We did not really know whether we would go twenty miles or a hundred;
whether we would find small waters or large; straight channels or
intricate by-ways; in a word we knew but very little of what lay before
us. If we had known a little more, we would not have encountered the
risks we did. One thing we knew, we could endure sturdy labor without
fatigue, and improvised camp without discomfort, for we were used to
just such experiences. Poor innocent souls, we thought we could follow
the shore line and thus avoid danger, and perhaps float with the tide
and thus minimize the labor, and yet keep our bearings.
George A. Barnes sold us the nails and oakum for building the boat
and charged us 25 cents per pound for the former, but could not sell
us any pitch as that was to be had for the taking. However, articles
of merchandise were not high, though country produce sold for extreme
prices.
Recently I have seen a "retail prices current of Puget Sound,
Washington Territory, corrected weekly by Parker, Colter & Co.," in
which, among many others, the following prices are quoted in the
columns of the only paper in the Territory then published in Olympia,
the "Columbian," as follows:
Pork, per lb., 20c; flour, per 100 lbs., $10.00; potatoes, per bushel,
$3.00; butter, per lb., $1.00; onions, per bushel, $4.00; eggs, per
dozen, $1.00; beets, per bushel, $3.50; sugar, per lb., 12½c; coffee,
per lb., 18c; tea, per lb., 75c and $1.00; molasses, per gallon, 50c
and 75c; salmon, per lb., 10c; whisky, per gallon, $1.00; sawed lumber,
fir, per M, $20.00; cedar, per M, $30.00; shingles, per M, $4.25 to
$5.00; piles, per foot, 5c to 8c; square timber, per foot, 12c to 15c.
Thus it will be seen that what the farmer had to sell was high while
much he must buy was comparatively cheap, even his whisky, then but a
dollar a gallon, while his potatoes sold for $3.00 a bushel.
This Parker, of Parker, Colter & Co., is the same John G. Parker, Jr.,
of steamboat fame who yet lives in Olympia, now an old man, but never
contented without his hand on the wheel in the pilot house, where I saw
him but a few years ago on his new steamer the Caswell, successor to
his first, the Traveler, of fifty years before.
Two or three other stores besides Barnes' and Parker's were then doing
business in Olympia, the Kandall Company, with Joseph Cushman as
agent; A. J. Moses, and I think the Bettman Brothers.
Rev. Benjamin F. Close, Methodist, held religious service in a small
building near Barnes' store, but there was no church edifice for
several years. Near by, the saloon element had found a foothold, but I
made no note of them in my mind other than to remember they were there
and running every day of the week including Sunday.
The townsite proprietor, Edmund Sylvester, kept the hotel of the town,
the "Washington," at the corner of 2nd and Main Street, a locality now
held to be too far down on the water front, but then the center of
trade and traffic.
G. N. McConaha and J. W. Wiley dispensed the law and H. A. Goldsborough
& Simmons (M. T. Simmons) looked out for the real estate and
conveyances. Add to these a bakery, a livery stable, and a blacksmith
shop and we have the town of Olympia in our mind again of possibly 100
people who then believed a great future lay in store for their embryo
city "at the head of Puget Sound."
Three leading questions occupied the attention of all parties while we
were in this little ambitious city, the new Territorial organization so
soon to be inaugurated, the question of an overland railroad, and of an
over mountain immigrant wagon road. The last was the absorbing topic of
conversation, as it was a live enterprise dependent upon the efforts of
the citizens for success. Meetings had been held in different parts of
the district west of the Cascade Mountains and north of the Columbia
River, and finally subscription lists were circulated, a cashier and
superintendent appointed, with the result, as stated elsewhere, of
opening the way for the first immigration over the Cascade Mountains
via the Natchess Pass, but the particulars of this work are given in
other chapters following.
As the tide drew off the placid waters of the bay at Olympia with just
a breath of air, our little craft behaved splendidly as the slight
ripples were jostled against the bow under the pressure of the sail and
brought dreams of a pleasure trip, to make amends for the tiresome
pack across the country. Nothing can be more enjoyable than favorable
conditions in a boating trip, the more specially to those who have
long been in the harness of severe labor, and for a season must enjoy
enforced repose. And so we lazily floated with the tide, sometimes
taking a few strokes with the oars, and at other times whistling for
the wind, as the little town of Olympia to the south, became dimmed by
distance.
At this southern extremity of the Sound without the accumulation of
water to struggle for passage, as through the channel to the north, the
movement is neither swift, nor disturbed with cross currents to agitate
the surface—more like the steady flow of a great river.
But we were no sooner fairly out of sight of the little village and out
of the bay it was situated upon (Budd's Inlet), than the query came
up as to which way to go. Was it this channel or that or yet another
one we should take? Let the tide decide; that will take us out toward
the ocean we urged. No, we are drifting into another bay; that cannot
be where we want to go; why, we are drifting right back almost in the
same direction from which we came, but into another bay. We'll pull
this way to that point to the northeast. But there seems a greater
opening of waters to the northwest; yes, but I do not see any way out
there. Neither is there beyond that point (Johnson's Point); and so we
talked and pulled and puzzled until finally it dawned upon us that the
tide had turned and we were being carried back to almost the spot from
whence we came, into South Bay.
"Now the very best thing we can do is to camp," said the senior of
the party of two, to which the junior, your humble writer, readily
assented, and so our first night's camp was scarcely twelve miles from
where we had started in the morning.
What a nice camping place this. The ladies would say lovely, and why
not? A beautiful pebbly beach that extended almost to the water's edge
even at low tide with a nice grassy level spit; a back ground of
evergreen giant fir timber; such clear, cool water gushing out from the
bank near by, so superlative in quality as to defy words to adequately
describe; and such fuel for the camp fire, broken fir limbs with just
enough pitch to make a cheerful blaze and yet body enough to last well.
Why, we felt so happy that we were almost glad the journey had been
interrupted. Oliver was the carpenter of the party, the tent builder,
wood getter, and general roust-a-bout, to coin a word from camp
parlance, while I, the junior, was the "chief cook and bottle washer,"
as the senior would jocularly put it.
At the point a little beyond where we landed we found next morning J.
R. Johnson, M. D., with his cabin on the point under the pretentious
name of "Johnson's Hospital," opened as he said for the benefit of the
sick, but which, from what I saw in my later trips I think his greatest
business was in disposing of cheap whisky of which he contributed his
share of the patronage.
An Indian encampment being near by, a party of them soon visited our
camp and began making signs for trade. "Mika tik-eh clams?" came from
out the mouth of one of the matrons of the party as if though half
choked in the speaking, a cross between a spoken word and a smothered
guttural sound in the throat.
"What does she say, Oliver?" the junior said, turning for counsel to
the superior wisdom of the elder brother.
"I'm blessed if I know what she says, but she evidently wants to sell
some clams."
And so, after considerable dickering, and by signs and gestures and
words oft repeated we were able to impart the information that we
wanted a lesson in cookery; that we wanted her to show us how to cook
them, and that we would buy some. This brought some merriment in the
camp. The idea, that there lived a person that did not know how to
cook clams. Without saying by your leave or anything else the motherly
looking native began tearing down our camp fire.
"Let her alone," said the senior, "and see what she's up to,"
noticing that the younger man was going to remonstrate against such
an interference with his well laid plans for bread baking. And so
the kitchen of the camp was surrendered to the native matron, who
quietly covered the hot pebbles and sand where the fire had been,
with a lighter layer of pebbles, upon which the clams were deposited
and some fine twigs placed on top, upon which earth was deposited.
"K-l-o-s-h-e," said the matron. "Hy-as-kloshe," said her seignior,
who sat squatting watching the operation with evident pride upon the
achievement of his dame.
"What did they say?" innocently inquired the junior brother.
"I know what they said, but I don't know what they meant," responded
the elder one, "unless it was she had done a good job, which I think
she has," and thus began and ended our first lesson in the Chinook
jargon, and our first introduction to a clam bake.
What memories hover around these three words, "the clam bake." Did you
ever, may I ask my readers, other than those of ye olden times, did you
ever participate in the joys of a regular old-fashioned clam bake, with
or without the corn, with or without the help of the deft native hand?
If you never have, then go straightway, before you die, to the end that
you may ever after have the memory of the first clam bake, even if it
be but a memory, and likewise be the last.
Our first clam bake gave us great encouragement. We soon learned that
these bivalves were to be found in almost unlimited quantity, and were
widely distributed; that the harvest was ready twice a day, when the
tide was out, and that we need have no fear of a famine even if cast
away in some unfrequented place.
"Yah-ka kloshe al-ta," said the dame, uncovering the steaming mass
and placing them on a sliver found near by "de-late kloshe; kloshe
muck-a-muck al-ta," and so, without understanding what she said, but
knowing well what she meant, we fell to in disposing of this, our
first clam dinner.
Dividing with them the bread that had been baked, and some potatoes
that had been boiled, the natives soon withdrew to their own camp,
where, before retiring for the night, we repaid the visit.
To see the little fellows of the camp scud behind the mother when the
strangers entered, and shyly peep out from their retreat, and the
mother lovingly reassuring them with kind, affectionate caresses, and
finally coaxing them out from under cover, revealed the character of
the natives we had neither of us realized before. We had been in the
Indian country for nearly a year, but with guns by our side if not in
our hands for nearly half the time, while on the plains, but we had not
stopped to study the Indian character. We took it for granted that the
Indians were our enemies and watched them suspiciously accordingly,
but here seemed to be a disposition manifested to be neighborly and
helpful. We took a lesson in Chinook, and by signs and words combined
held conversation until a late hour, when, upon getting ready for
taking leave, a slice of venison was handed us, sufficient for several
meals. Upon offering to pay for it we were met with a shake of the
head, and with the words, "wake, wake, kul-tus-pot-latch," which we
understood by their actions to mean they made us a present of it.
This present from the Indian let in a flood of light upon the Indian
character. We had made them a present first, it was true, but did not
expect any return, except perhaps good will, and in fact, cannot now
say we particularly expected that, but were impelled to do our act
of courtesy from the manner of their treatment and from the evident
desire to be on friendly terms. From that time on during the trip, and
I may say, for all time since, I have found the Indians of Puget Sound
ready to reciprocate acts of kindness, and hold in high esteem a favor
granted if not accompanied by acts apparently designed to simply gain
an advantage.
We often forget the sharp eyes and ears of little children and let
slip words that are quickly absorbed to their hurt by affecting
their conduct. While the Indian is really not a suspicious person,
nevertheless, he is quick to detect and as quick to resent a real or
supposed slight as the little five-year-old who discovers his elders
in their fibs or deceit. Not that the Indian expects socially to be
received in your house or at your table, yet little acts of kindness,
if done without apparent design, touch their better nature and are
repaid more than a hundred fold, for you thereafter have a friend and
neighbor, and not an enemy or suspicious maligner.
All of this did not dawn on the young men at the time, though their
treatment of the Indians was in harmony with friendly feelings which we
found everywhere and made a lasting impression.
Subsequent experience, of course, has confirmed these first impressions
with the wider field of observation in after years, while employing
large numbers of these people in the hop fields of which I hope to
write later. And so now must end this chapter with the subject of the
"cruise" to be continued at another sitting.