CRUISE ON PUGET SOUND.
This camp did not prove so dreary as the last one, though more exposed
to the swell of the big waters to the north, and sweep of the wind. To
the north we had a view of thirty miles or more, where the horizon and
water blend, leaving one in doubt whether land was in sight or not,
though as we afterwards ascertained, our vision could reach the famous
San Juan Island, later the bone of contention between our Government
and Great Britain. Port Townsend lay some ten miles northerly from
our camp, but was shut out from view by an intervening headland.
Marrowstone Point lay about midway between the two, but we did not
know the exact location of the town, or for that matter, of our own.
We knew, like the lost hunters, where we were, but the trouble was,
we "didn't know where any place else was"; not lost ourselves, but
the world was lost from us. In front of us, the channel of Admiralty
Inlet, here but about four miles wide, stretched out to the north into
a fathomless sea of waters that for aught we knew, opened into the
wide ocean. Three ships passed us while at this camp, one coming, as
it would seem, from out of space, a mere speck, to a full-fledged,
deep-sea vessel, with all sails set, scudding before the wind and
passing up the channel past us on the way to the anchorage of the seven
vessels, the other two gracefully beating their way out against the
stiff breeze to the open waters beyond. What prettier sight can one
see than a full-rigged vessel with all sails spread, either beating or
sailing before the wind? Our enthusiasm, at the sight, knew no bounds;
we felt like cheering, clapping our hands, or adopting any other method
of manifesting our pleasure. We had, as a matter of prudence, canvassed
the question of returning from this camp as soon as released from
this stress of weather, to the bay of the anchored ships in the more
southern waters, but the sight of these ships, and the sight of this
expanse of waters, coupled with perhaps a spirit of adventure, prompted
us to quietly bide our time and to go farther, when released.
When I look back upon that decision, and in fact, upon this whole
incident of my life, I stand amazed to think of the rashness of our
actions and of the danger encountered from which we escaped. Not but
two men with proper appliances, and with ripe experience, might with
perfect security make just such a trip, but we were possessed of
neither and ran the great risks accordingly.
It was a calm, beautiful day when we reached Port Townsend, after a
three hours' run from our camp on the island. As we rounded Marrowstone
Point, near four miles distant, the new village came into view. A
feeling of surprise came over us from the supposed magnitude of the
new town. Distance lends enchantment, the old adage says, but in
this case the nearer we approached the embryo city, the greater our
admiration. The beautiful, pebbly beach in front, the clear, level spot
adjoining, with the beautiful open and comparatively level plateau
in the background, and with two or three vessels at anchor in the
foreground, there seemed nothing lacking to complete the picture of a
perfect city site. The contrast was so great between the ill-smelling
lagoon of Seattle or the dismal, extensive tide flats of Olympia, that
our spirits rose almost to a feeling of exultation, as the nose of
our little craft grounded gently on the beach. Poor, innocent souls,
we could not see beyond to discover that cities are not built upon
pleasure grounds, and that there are causes beyond the ken of man to
fathom the future destiny of the embryo towns of a new commonwealth.
We found here the enthusiastic Plummer, the plodding Pettygrove and the
industrious, enterprising Hastings, jointly intent upon building up a
town, "the greatest shipping port on the coast," as they were nearest
possible to the sea, while our Olympia friends had used exactly the
opposite arguments favoring their locality, as "we are the farthest
possible inland, where ships can come." Small wonder that land-lubbers
as we were should become confused.
Another confusing element that pressed upon our minds was the vastness
of the waters explored, and that we now came to know were yet left
unexplored. Then Puget Sound was looked upon as anchorage ground from
the Straits on the north to Budd's Inlet on the south, forgetting, or
rather not knowing, of the extreme depth of waters in many places. Then
that wonderful stretch of shore line of sixteen hundred miles, with its
forty or more islands of from a few acres in extent to thirty miles of
length, with the aggregate area of waters of several hundred square
miles, exclusive of the Straits of Fuca and Gulf of Georgia. All these
marvels gradually dawned upon our minds as we looked and counseled,
forgetting for the time the imminent risks we were taking.
Upon closer examination of the little town, we found our first
impression from the distance illusory. Many shacks and camps, at first
mistaken for the white men's houses, were found to be occupied by the
natives, a drunken, rascally rabble, spending their gains from the sale
of fish and oil in a debauch that would last as long as their money was
in hand.
This seemed to be a more stalwart race of Indians, stronger and more
athletic, though strictly of the class known as fish Indians, but
better developed than those to the south, from the buffeting received
in the larger waters of the Straits, and even out in the open sea in
their fishing excursions with canoes, manned by thirty or more men.
The next incident of the trip that I can remember is when we were
pulling for dear life to make a landing in front of Colonel Ebey's
cabin, on Whidby's Island, opposite Port Townsend. We were carried by
the rapid current quite a way past the landing, in spite of our utmost
efforts. It would be a serious thing to be unable to land, as we were
now in the open waters, with a fifteen-mile stretch of the Straits of
Fuca before us. I can remember a warm greeting at the hands of Ebey,
the first time I had ever seen him. He had a droll stoppage in his
speech that at first acquaintance would incline one to mirth, but after
a few moments' conversation such a feeling would disappear. Of all the
men we had met on the whole trip, Colonel Ebey made the most lasting
impression. Somehow, what he did say came with such evident sincerity
and sympathy, and with such an unaffected manner, that we were drawn
close to him at once. It was while living in these same cabins where we
visited him, that four years later the northern Indians, from British
Columbia, came and murdered him and carried off his head as a trophy in
their savage warfare.
We spent two or three days in exploring the island, only to find all
the prairie land occupied, but I will not undertake from memory to name
the settlers we found there. From our acquaintance, and from published
reports, I came to know all of them, but do not now recall a single
individual adult alive who was there then; a striking illustration of
having outlived the most of my generation.
Somehow, our minds went back to the seven ships we had seen at anchor
in front of Steilacoom; to the sound of the timber camps; to the bustle
and stir of the little new village; to the greater activities that we
saw there than anywhere else on the waters of the Sound, and likewise
my thoughts would go beyond to the little cabin on the Columbia River,
and the little wife domiciled there, and the other little personage,
and so when we bade Colonel Ebey good-bye, it was the signal to make
our way as speedily as possible to the waters of the seven ships.
Three days sufficed to land us back in the coveted bay with no greater
mishap than getting off our course into the mouth of Hood's Canal, and
being lost another half day, but luckily going on the right course the
while.
But, lo and behold, the ships were gone. Not a sailing craft of any
kind was in sight of the little town, but the building activity
continued. The memory of those ships, however, remained and determined
our minds as to the important question where the trade center was to
be, and that we would look farther for the coveted spot upon which to
make a home.
I look back with amazement at the rash undertaking of that trip, so
illy provided, and inexperienced, as we were, and wonder that we
escaped with no more serious mishap than we had. We were not justified
in taking these chances, or at least I was not, with the two dependents
left in the cabin on the bank of the Columbia River, but we did not
realize the danger until we were in it, and hence did not share in
the suspense and uneasiness of that one left behind. Upon the whole,
it was a most enjoyable trip, and one, barring the risk and physical
inability now to play my part, I could with great enjoyment encounter
the same adventure of which I have only related a mere outline. Did
you ever, reader, take a drive, we will say in a hired outfit, with
a paid coachman, and then take the lines in your own hands by way of
contrast? If so, then you will realize the thrill of enjoyment where
you pull your own oars, sail your own craft, cook your own dinner, and
lie in your own bed of boughs, and go when and where you will with that
keen relish incident to the independence and uncertainties of such a
trip. It was a wild, reckless act, but we came out stronger than ever
in the faith of the great future in store for the north country, where
we finally made our home and where I have lived ever since, now over
sixty-four years.