CRUISE ON PUGET SOUND.
As we drew off on the tide from the mouth of the Puyallup River,
numerous parties of Indians were in sight, some trolling for salmon,
with a lone Indian in the bow of his canoe, others with a pole with
barbs on two sides fishing for smelt, and used in place of a paddle,
while again, others with nets, all leisurely pursuing their calling,
or more accurately speaking, seemed waiting for a fisherman's luck.
Again, other parties were passing, singing a plaintive ditty in minor
key with two or more voices, accompanied by heavy strokes of the paddle
handle against the side of the canoe, as if to keep time. There were
really some splendid female voices to be heard, as well as male, and
though there were but slight variations in the sounds or words, they
seemed never to tire in repeating, and, I must confess, we never tired
listening. Then, at times, a break in the singing would be followed
by a hearty laugh, or perhaps a salutation be given in a loud tone to
some distant party, which would always bring a response, and with the
resumption of the paddles, like the sailors on the block and fall,
the song would be renewed, oftentimes to bring back a distant echo
from a bold shore. These scenes were repeated time and again, as we
encountered the natives in new fields that constantly opened up to our
view.
We laid our course in the direction the tide drew us, directly to
the north in a channel three miles in width, and discarded the plan
of following the shore line, as we found so little variation in
the quality of soil. By this time we began to see that opportunity
for farms on the immediate shores of Puget Sound were few and far
between—in fact, we had seen none. During the afternoon and after we
had traveled, by estimate, near twenty miles, we saw ahead of us larger
waters, where, by continuing our course, we would be in a bay of five
or six miles in width, with no very certain prospect of a camping
place. Just then we spied a cluster of cabins and houses on the point
to the east, and made a landing at what proved to be Alki Point, the
place then bearing the pretentious name of New York.
We were not any too soon in effecting our landing, as the tide had
turned and a slight breeze had met it, the two together disturbing the
water in a manner to make it uncomfortable for us in our flat bottomed
boat.
Here we met the irrepressible C. C. Terry, proprietor of the new
townsite, but keenly alive to the importance of adding to the
population of his new town. But we were not hunting townsites, and of
course lent a deaf ear to the arguments set forth in favor of the place.
Captain William Renton had built some sort of a saw-mill there, had
laid the foundation to his great fortune accumulated later at Port
Blakely, a few miles to the west, to which point he later removed.
Terry afterwards gave up the contest, and removed to Seattle.
We soon pushed on over to the east where the steam from a saw-mill
served as the guiding star, and landed at a point that cannot have
been far removed from the west limit of the present Pioneer Place of
Seattle, near where the totem pole now stands.
Here we found the never to be forgotten Yesler, not whittling his pine
stick as in later years, but as a wide awake business man, on the
alert to drive a trade when an opportunity offered, or spin a yarn, if
perchance time would admit. I cannot recall meeting Mr. Denny, though I
made his acquaintance soon after at my own cabin on McNeil's Island.
In fact, we did not stay very long in Seattle, not being very favorably
impressed with the place. There was not much of a town, probably twenty
cabins in all, with a few newer frame houses. The standing timber could
scarcely have been farther removed than to be out of reach of the mill,
and of course, scarcely the semblance of a street. The lagoon presented
an uninviting appearance and scent, where the process of filling with
slabs and sawdust had already begun. The mill, though, infused activity
in its immediate vicinity, and was really the life of the place.
As we were not looking for a millsite or a townsite, we pushed on
north the next day. We had gone but a few miles until a favorable
breeze sprang up, bringing with it visions of a happy time sailing,
but with the long stretch of open waters back of us of ten miles,
or more, and of several miles in width, and with no visible shelter
ahead of us, or lessening of width of waters, we soon felt the breeze
was not so welcome after all. We became doubtful as to the safety of
sailing, and were by this time aware of the difficulty of rowing a
small, flat-bottom boat in rough waters with one oar sometimes in the
water and the other in the air, to be suddenly reversed. While the
wind was in our favor, yet the boat became almost unmanageable with
the oars. The sail once down was not so easy to get up again, with the
boat tipping first one way and then another, as she fell off in the
trough of the waves. But finally the sail was set again, and we scudded
before the wind at a rapid rate, not feeling sure of our bearings, or
what was going to happen. The bay looked to us as if it might be five
miles or more wide, and in fact, with the lowering weather, we could
not determine the extent. The east shore lay off to our right a half
a mile or so distant, where we could see the miniature waves break on
the beach, and at times catch the sound as they rolled up on the gravel
banks. We soon realized our danger, but feared to attempt a landing in
the surf. Evidently the wind was increasing, the clouds were coming
down lower and rain began to fall. There was but one thing to do. We
must make a landing, and so the sail was hastily taken down again, and
the junior of the party took to the oars, while the senior sat in the
stern with paddle in hand to keep the boat steady on her course, and
help a little as opportunity offered. But fortune favored us in luckily
finding a smooth pebbly beach, and while we got a good drenching in
landing, and the boat partially filled before we could haul her up out
of reach of the surf, yet we lost nothing outright, and suffered but
slight loss by damage from water. We were glad enough to get ashore and
thankful that the mishap was no worse. Luckily our matches were dry and
a half hour or so sufficed to build a rousing camp fire, haul our boat
above high tide, to utilize it as a wind break and roof turned bottom
up at an angle of forty-five degrees. Just how long we were compelled
to remain in this camp, I cannot recall, but certainly two days, and I
think three, but we did not explore the adjacent land much, as the rain
kept us close in camp. And it was a dismal camp, although we had plenty
to eat and could keep dry and warm. We here practiced the lesson taught
us the evening of our first camp, by the native matron, and had plenty
of clams to supplement our other provisions during the whole period,
and by the time we broke up camp, concluded we were expert clam-bakers.
But all such incidents must have an end, and so the time came when we
broke camp and pulled for the head of Whidby's Island, a few miles off
to the northwest.
And now I have a fish story to tell. I have always been shy of telling
it, lest some smart one should up and say I was just telling a yarn
and drawing on my imagination, but, "honor bright," I am not. But to
be sure of credence, I will print the following telegram recently
received, which, as it is printed in a newspaper, must be true:
"Nanaimo, B. C., Friday, Jan. 29.—Another tremendous destruction
of herring occurred on the shores of Protection Island a day or
two ago in exactly the same way as took place near Departure Bay
about three weeks ago, and today the entire atmosphere of the
city carries the nauseous smell of thousands upon thousands of
tons of decaying fish which threatens an epidemic of sickness.
"The dead fish now cover the shores of Protection Island
continuously for three miles to a depth ranging all the way from
fifteen inches to three feet. The air is black with sea gulls. So
thick have the fish been at times that were a fishing boat caught
in the channel while a shoal of herring was passing, the rush of
fish would literally lift the boat out of the water."
We had not proceeded far before we heard a dull sound like that
often heard from the tide-rips where the current meets and disturbs
the waters as like in a boiling caldron. But as we approached the
disturbance, we found it was different from anything we had seen
or heard before. As we rested on our oars, we could see that the
disturbance was moving up toward us, and that it extended as far as we
could see, in the direction we were going. The sound had increased and
became as like the roar of a heavy rainfall, or hailstorm in water, and
we became aware that it was a vast school of fish moving south, while
millions were seemingly dancing on the surface of the water and leaping
in the air. We could sensibly feel them striking against the boat in
such vast numbers as to fairly move it as we lay at ease. The leap in
the air was so high as to suggest tipping the boat to catch some as
they fell back, and sure enough, here and there one would leap into the
boat. We soon discovered some Indians following the school, who quickly
loaded their canoes by using the barbed pole as a paddle and throwing
the impaled fish into their canoes in surprising numbers. We soon
obtained all we wanted by an improvised net.
We were headed for Whidby's Island, where, it was reported, rich
prairie land could be found. The bay here at the head of the island was
six or seven miles wide and there was no way by which we could keep
near shore. Remembering the experience of a few days before, in waters
not so large as here, the younger of the two confided his fears to
his older companion, that it was unwise to loiter and fish, howsoever
novel and interesting, and so began pulling vigorously at the oars to
find himself greatly embarrassed by the mass of fish moving in the
water. So far as we could see there was no end to the school ahead of
us, the water, as far as the eye could reach, presenting the appearance
shown with a heavy fall of hail. It did seem at times as if the air was
literally filled with fish, but we finally got rid of the moving mass,
and reached the island shore in safety, only to become again weather
bound in an uninhabited district of country that showed no signs of the
handiwork of civilized man.