To the West! Sweet Westland! where freedom reigns,Where forests clothe the untrod plains,And flowers and fragrance blowBeneath peaks of crystal snow.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!Where jeweled brows look o'er the lea,And rhyming streams leap down to the sea,Where man is himself and courts no king,And axes swords, and bloodless swing.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!To the West! Sweet Westland by the sea,Where music swells the wooded lea,Where work is plenty and wealth to gainIn clearing land and planting grain.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!
To the West! Sweet Westland! where freedom reigns,Where forests clothe the untrod plains,And flowers and fragrance blowBeneath peaks of crystal snow.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!Where jeweled brows look o'er the lea,And rhyming streams leap down to the sea,Where man is himself and courts no king,And axes swords, and bloodless swing.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!To the West! Sweet Westland by the sea,Where music swells the wooded lea,Where work is plenty and wealth to gainIn clearing land and planting grain.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!
To the West! Sweet Westland! where freedom reigns,Where forests clothe the untrod plains,And flowers and fragrance blowBeneath peaks of crystal snow.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!
To the West! Sweet Westland! where freedom reigns,
Where forests clothe the untrod plains,
And flowers and fragrance blow
Beneath peaks of crystal snow.
Sweet Westland! broad and free,
How I love to dwell in thee!
Where jeweled brows look o'er the lea,And rhyming streams leap down to the sea,Where man is himself and courts no king,And axes swords, and bloodless swing.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!
Where jeweled brows look o'er the lea,
And rhyming streams leap down to the sea,
Where man is himself and courts no king,
And axes swords, and bloodless swing.
Sweet Westland! broad and free,
How I love to dwell in thee!
To the West! Sweet Westland by the sea,Where music swells the wooded lea,Where work is plenty and wealth to gainIn clearing land and planting grain.Sweet Westland! broad and free,How I love to dwell in thee!
To the West! Sweet Westland by the sea,
Where music swells the wooded lea,
Where work is plenty and wealth to gain
In clearing land and planting grain.
Sweet Westland! broad and free,
How I love to dwell in thee!
The Author.
River logging operation; felled, stacked, and floating logs; pole barn; small log cabin.Skagit River Near Sedro-Woolley.View Larger Image Here.
Skagit River Near Sedro-Woolley.View Larger Image Here.
High and noble stands the Rocky, looking downward, where jeweled brows hang, where silvery waves make music on the deep, or the sea maid shakes her streaming locks. As early as 1513 the brave Balboa hurled his exploring eyes over the watery waste and in the name of Spain declared the discovery of the mighty ocean. But, alas! the valorous Spaniard received only scoff and scorn for his adventure and hardship, and at last the cold world saw fit to lead him to the judgment block for the unknown depth beyond.
A later date, in 1592, Juan de Fuca, a Greek pilot, in the service of Spain, discovered the beautiful strait which bears his name, the gateway to the picturesque Puget Sound. In 1789 Captain Kendrick, an American explorer, was reconnoitering along the Pacific coast, entered the Strait of Fuca, steered his boat into the Strait of Georgia and Queen Charlotte Sound, and depicted the characteristic features of the land-locked waters. In 1804 the United States government sent the Lewis and Clark expedition across the Rocky to ascertain more minutely as to the climate and the feasibility for settlement.
When the country was explored, and a sprinkling of pioneers had spread themselves in the most favorable localities, tidings of the complication between our government and Great Britain reached them. War clouds were hangingin the air prognostic of determining the ownership of their terra firma. An amicable settlement, however, was brought about and the present boundary between Washington and British Columbia was fixed.
A petition was sent to Congress praying for closer relationship in the Union, and in 1853 the Territory of Oregon was organized. The flux of immigration fast settled the attractive sylva on the Sound and the rolling prairies east of the Cascades. The Territory being too large, and the country north of Columbia was sliced off and made to struggle for itself. The promoters of the scheme were vigilant and got things to move their own way, and after all, they didn't do anything worse than to give this vigorating child of Uncle Sam the ever-cherished appellationWashington.
MY WASHINGTON.
Beautiful Evergreen, home of the free,Sunshine of my fancy thee,Where fragrance swells the breeze,And freedom rings from rocks and trees.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.I love thy peaks in twilight hue,In silver rays rear to my view,I love thy brooks, thy laughing fjord,Thy waving fields in grain of gold.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
Beautiful Evergreen, home of the free,Sunshine of my fancy thee,Where fragrance swells the breeze,And freedom rings from rocks and trees.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.I love thy peaks in twilight hue,In silver rays rear to my view,I love thy brooks, thy laughing fjord,Thy waving fields in grain of gold.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
Beautiful Evergreen, home of the free,Sunshine of my fancy thee,Where fragrance swells the breeze,And freedom rings from rocks and trees.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
Beautiful Evergreen, home of the free,
Sunshine of my fancy thee,
Where fragrance swells the breeze,
And freedom rings from rocks and trees.
My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,
Land of the future, and home of the free.
I love thy peaks in twilight hue,In silver rays rear to my view,I love thy brooks, thy laughing fjord,Thy waving fields in grain of gold.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
I love thy peaks in twilight hue,
In silver rays rear to my view,
I love thy brooks, thy laughing fjord,
Thy waving fields in grain of gold.
My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,
Land of the future, and home of the free.
Mount Index Pass railroad, snowy mountains, tall evergreens.Mount Index—on the Great Northern Line, Washington.View Larger Image Here.
Mount Index—on the Great Northern Line, Washington.View Larger Image Here.
I love thee, my land, I'll serve thee true,I'll look for thy wants, I'll be with you,Through sun and storm my heart is thine,Sweet hills of fir and vine.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.We've plenty of soil, silver and gold,Aye, fields and forests of wealth untold,Only our hearts for thee could rise,Of thee I sing, my paradise.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
I love thee, my land, I'll serve thee true,I'll look for thy wants, I'll be with you,Through sun and storm my heart is thine,Sweet hills of fir and vine.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.We've plenty of soil, silver and gold,Aye, fields and forests of wealth untold,Only our hearts for thee could rise,Of thee I sing, my paradise.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
I love thee, my land, I'll serve thee true,I'll look for thy wants, I'll be with you,Through sun and storm my heart is thine,Sweet hills of fir and vine.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
I love thee, my land, I'll serve thee true,
I'll look for thy wants, I'll be with you,
Through sun and storm my heart is thine,
Sweet hills of fir and vine.
My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,
Land of the future, and home of the free.
We've plenty of soil, silver and gold,Aye, fields and forests of wealth untold,Only our hearts for thee could rise,Of thee I sing, my paradise.My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,Land of the future, and home of the free.
We've plenty of soil, silver and gold,
Aye, fields and forests of wealth untold,
Only our hearts for thee could rise,
Of thee I sing, my paradise.
My Washington, sweet gem of the sea,
Land of the future, and home of the free.
The scenery of Washington is grand and inviting. The Cascade runs through the bosom of the state, cutting her in twain, and throws his rugged spurs into Oregon and California. The majestic Rainier rears through the clouds to a height of 14,444 feet, wearing a hood of perpetual snow, which changes to a verdant fringe as it runs downward, clothing his feet with evergreen. Mount Adams has pushed his head upward 12,902 feet, and Baker has reached an elevation of 10,814, while St. Helen stopped 9750 feet above sea level.
To the westward is a less conspicuous attraction, the Coast Range, which skirts the ocean and varies in height from 3000 to 4000 feet. Between these mountain ranges sweeps a fertile basin, carpeted with an unparalleled forest, fir, cedar, spruce and hemlock rise skyward to a skepticalgiddiness. Some stretch their forms 300 feet into the air. Logs are piled upon one another, sleeping like angry mammoths at the feet of gigantic trees. The more tender offsprings shoot up between these lazy monsters, and some take delight to grow on their decaying frames.
Felled for Porky Bros. Shingle Mills, Deming, WA 1897. Diameter three times height of man.A Puget Sound Cedar.View Larger Image Here.
A Puget Sound Cedar.View Larger Image Here.
Into the fleecy clouds the noble firs stand,Their austere forms spread shadows on the strand,And music floats on high,From silvery waves to the sky.Where tender shoots in gladness smileOn moss-bearded logs in pile;Abreast with flowers they grow and swayIn sisterhood from day to day.
Into the fleecy clouds the noble firs stand,Their austere forms spread shadows on the strand,And music floats on high,From silvery waves to the sky.Where tender shoots in gladness smileOn moss-bearded logs in pile;Abreast with flowers they grow and swayIn sisterhood from day to day.
Into the fleecy clouds the noble firs stand,Their austere forms spread shadows on the strand,And music floats on high,From silvery waves to the sky.
Into the fleecy clouds the noble firs stand,
Their austere forms spread shadows on the strand,
And music floats on high,
From silvery waves to the sky.
Where tender shoots in gladness smileOn moss-bearded logs in pile;Abreast with flowers they grow and swayIn sisterhood from day to day.
Where tender shoots in gladness smile
On moss-bearded logs in pile;
Abreast with flowers they grow and sway
In sisterhood from day to day.
The fjords of Norway are sublime, and Puget Sound is equally so. What can be more soul-stirring and soul-inspiring than a merry sheet of water rippling for hundreds of miles into a land of verdure, making sweet music day and night? What can be more angelic and soothing to the soul than the songs of the waves? Where can you find more poesy than in the pearl-set crests rolling like melted gold upon gilded pebbles? A clittering, clattering steal through the air, even in the calm of night dulcet strains come to cheer the ear. A soft whisper seems to spring from every flower. The forest is alive with melodies, hills and mountains echo back the harps of the deep.
Small island in large expanse of water; tall evergreens reflecting images in Puget Sound.An Island Near Whatcom.View Larger Image Here.
An Island Near Whatcom.View Larger Image Here.
Sing loud ye waves of dancing pearls,Leap frisk ye winds from heaven's throat,For the jeweled strand,Melodious land.Laugh ye fir, spruce and hemlock,Play ye breezes with their wings,In freedom's air,In sun so fair.Smile ye flowers in gladness free,I kiss your lips and love you true,Sweet daisies mellow,In coats of yellow.Burst ye rose-buds to a fresh-born day,And drink from heaven's eye serene,Sweet beams of rainbow tint,Emblems of God, I weep and wait.Lift high your heads ye stately hills,Scatter smiles where music floats,By the opal sea,The land of the free.
Sing loud ye waves of dancing pearls,Leap frisk ye winds from heaven's throat,For the jeweled strand,Melodious land.Laugh ye fir, spruce and hemlock,Play ye breezes with their wings,In freedom's air,In sun so fair.Smile ye flowers in gladness free,I kiss your lips and love you true,Sweet daisies mellow,In coats of yellow.Burst ye rose-buds to a fresh-born day,And drink from heaven's eye serene,Sweet beams of rainbow tint,Emblems of God, I weep and wait.Lift high your heads ye stately hills,Scatter smiles where music floats,By the opal sea,The land of the free.
Sing loud ye waves of dancing pearls,Leap frisk ye winds from heaven's throat,For the jeweled strand,Melodious land.
Sing loud ye waves of dancing pearls,
Leap frisk ye winds from heaven's throat,
For the jeweled strand,
Melodious land.
Laugh ye fir, spruce and hemlock,Play ye breezes with their wings,In freedom's air,In sun so fair.
Laugh ye fir, spruce and hemlock,
Play ye breezes with their wings,
In freedom's air,
In sun so fair.
Smile ye flowers in gladness free,I kiss your lips and love you true,Sweet daisies mellow,In coats of yellow.
Smile ye flowers in gladness free,
I kiss your lips and love you true,
Sweet daisies mellow,
In coats of yellow.
Burst ye rose-buds to a fresh-born day,And drink from heaven's eye serene,Sweet beams of rainbow tint,Emblems of God, I weep and wait.
Burst ye rose-buds to a fresh-born day,
And drink from heaven's eye serene,
Sweet beams of rainbow tint,
Emblems of God, I weep and wait.
Lift high your heads ye stately hills,Scatter smiles where music floats,By the opal sea,The land of the free.
Lift high your heads ye stately hills,
Scatter smiles where music floats,
By the opal sea,
The land of the free.
Rivers and falls are no less sublime than the Sound, and compare in grandeur with the famous streams and cataracts of Switzerland and Scandinavia. The Columbia ranks with the most picturesque rivers in the world, being of great value to commerce, fleets of steamers ride on its bosom day and night with merchandise from foreign climes, and grain, fruit and other produce raised west of the Rocky. Snoqualmie, Snohomish, Skagit and others are also navigable and invite the attention of wonder-seekers.
White water swirling around signature boulder at top of falls, cascading 270 feet to river below.By courtesy of the Great Northern.Snoqualmie Fall.View Larger Image Here.
By courtesy of the Great Northern.Snoqualmie Fall.View Larger Image Here.
Mountain river, railroad and telephone poles running on left side, small islet at river bend.The Wild Wenatchee and the Great Northern in Tumwater Canyon.View Larger Image Here.
The Wild Wenatchee and the Great Northern in Tumwater Canyon.View Larger Image Here.
Snoqualmie fall is one of nature's masterpieces, and bespeaks grandeur and sublimity. The water shoots into the air, tumbles down a royal precipice, whirls, foams and splashes, fills heaven with thunder and the soul with awe andadmiration. The Tumwater fall is likewise grand and awe-inspiring, stunning in music and bewitching in scenery.
Two images of mountain river and railroad on right bank, one with train engine heading north.Another Scene of the Wenatchee and the Great Northern in Tumwater Canyon.View Larger Image Here.
Another Scene of the Wenatchee and the Great Northern in Tumwater Canyon.View Larger Image Here.
Storms seldom visit the Pacific, and thunder rarely finds a rich medium in the balmy clouds. But, terror! when a storm is propagated on yonder deep, and sets the ocean boiling and shivering up shallow bays, and springs into the forest like an unchained demon, then the whole heaven shakes and trembles. Firs and cedars tumble like dead giants, knockingeach other to the ground in the fashion of heartless heathens. Blasts upon blasts swell through the air and roll along the mountain ridges not dissimilar to Jove's chariot.
Ay, you speak of awe and fright when a prairie fire gets sway on the Central Plain, but when the guest of good and evil gains access to the Washington forest in the month of August or September a hell is witnessed similar to that painted by ranting trumpeters. Flames rise skyward and with the aid of winds set the trees flaring and howling as in the clutches of a thousand devils.
The fertility of the Pacific forest is something incredulous, the quantity and quality of lumber produced are astounding to all not familiar with this country. Even a conservative estimate would make many curious speculators drunk with figures.
In the State of Washington forests spread over thirteen million acres of land. West of the Cascades is a stretch of ten million, clothing hills and dells from Canada to Columbia river with valuable fir, cedar, spruce, pine, hemlock and tamarack, while on the east side three million acres of forest land are scattered along the rivers and mountain slopes.
Saw mills and shingle factories are being kept busy the year round. More than one billion feet of lumber are turned out annually and shipped to all parts of the globe. The shingle industry is something phenomenal. Factories are whistling and piping everywhere throughout the cedar districts, and thousands of men find lucrative employments.
One lane dirt road with small bridge and telephone poles winding through tall evergreen woods.A Scene in the Washington Woods.View Larger Image Here.
A Scene in the Washington Woods.View Larger Image Here.
Mining is an important pursuit, rugged brows smile with independent richness. Moss-bearded ledges of the precious metal run into the heart of the Cascades. The Index districts teem with mineral wealth, and Lake Chelan shines with doubtless yields. Iron ore rests in the bosom of the Sound country from the green feet of old Rainier to the dashing waves of the Pacific. As you cross the divide for EasternWashington, you find paying veins running in different directions. Coal is a natural consequence, which in no manner puzzles the minds of geologists. From days of yore luxuriant vegetation has robed plains and valleys to impenetrable density. The death of rich forests has built beds of astonishing thickness, and the formation of coal has resulted to a marked degree.
Old miner with long white beard standing in shingle scraps, two right-angle shingle shacks.A Miner at His Cabin.View Larger Image Here.
A Miner at His Cabin.View Larger Image Here.
Agriculture and horticulture invite attention. The rolling prairies between the Rocky and the Cascades are especially adapted for the raising of cereals. Wheat yields from 50 to75 bushels per acre, oats from 100 to 125, rye from 60 to 80. Irrigation has been practiced with wonderful success around Wenatchee. The feasibility of applying nature itself is remarkable. Here and there meander silvery streams of clear water, which are made to spread over fertile tracts of land at any time, and to any part wanted. No longing for showers to quench and sweeten the thirsty soil bothers the farmer in this section. Irrigation is so easily practiced, and the crops thus raised are so enormous, may it be grain or fruit, that the eastern agriculturist cannot conceive our natural advantages. Why linger on the hungry prairies of the east, freezing your lives out, when opportunities like these are extended to you? Here you can get a pleasant home, for a small trifle, where the air is mild and soothing, where the soil is rich and easily cultivated.
The Sound country is equally productive. Ay, inexhaustible. The Washington fruit is known the world over for quality and quantity. Magnificent orchards adorn every farm, and the smaller ranches, too, enjoy the presence of wealthy apple, pear and plum trees.
When you throw your eye upon Puget Sound, and behold the fleet of fish barges, rolling upon it's briny breast, a reminiscence of the coast of Norway steals into your soul. Cohorts of men, mostly Scandinavians, resort to the waves for subsistence. Herring and salmon throng the water in rich abundance. Shoals of the latter race along the shores, fighting their way up streams to spawn. Some become savory prey for bears, cougars and wolves, others die a respectable death, or return to their natural abode—the ocean. The halibut plays master among the smaller species, and grows fat at their diminution. He cares nothing for streams or shallow bays, but gambols friskily amidst the salty billows.
Wooden panning sluices; railroad bridge; mining cave; two river cabins, one logged for homesteading.Mining Scenes on the Great Northern, near Index, Washington.View Larger Image Here.
Mining Scenes on the Great Northern, near Index, Washington.View Larger Image Here.
All the gold and silver in the bowels of the earth, and all the glittering nuggets shining on her bosom did not ruffle the serenity, or affect the wonted vagrancy of the Indians. To them the forest was a nuisance and the saw mill a scarecrow. The singing brook was worthless and the rolling river valueless, save as mothers of trout. They had no love for higher aspiration, no instinct for advancement, no aim to better their condition, no foresight to provide against the pitiless influence of cold or heat, no sagacity, no frugality, no thought of tomorrow, no pile of subsistence for a rainy day or helpless age, troubled their minds. Life was to them a ceaseless dream of nothingness. Superstition was their god and pride, reason a casual stranger which rooted not in their souls.
What has changed this sad drudgery of the Indians to a social commonwealth? What has spurned the fiend of superstition to a shameful death? What has invited reason and common sense to dwell peacefully in our hearts? What has lifted the world from the thorny plane of priesthood? What has wrested from the priestly hand the scepter of government? Our forefathers knew it and provided for its development. The pioneers of Washington had tested it, and prescribed it for the coming generations. The log schoolhouse rose totheir sweet recollection of childhood days, then a frame building, then a brick edifice. High schools were established, a state university was erected, normal schools were founded, an agricultural college and school of science was built.
Denny Hall, a four story Richardsonian Romanesque building resembling a French chateau.The University of Washington.View Larger Image Here.
The University of Washington.View Larger Image Here.
Dashed from shore to shore,On the Pacific evermore,Now sunk in grave or bent with years,Dauntless pioneers.
Dashed from shore to shore,On the Pacific evermore,Now sunk in grave or bent with years,Dauntless pioneers.
Dashed from shore to shore,On the Pacific evermore,Now sunk in grave or bent with years,Dauntless pioneers.
Dashed from shore to shore,
On the Pacific evermore,
Now sunk in grave or bent with years,
Dauntless pioneers.
No class of people or nation deserves the title, cosmopolitan, better than the Vikings. Their names mingle with the history of England, France, Russia and Italy, and in the Western Hemisphere we find them all over. To trace up the first Scandinavian that touched the shore of Washington is difficult, if not impossible. No doubt but Scandinavians made stoppings along the coast on their fishing expeditions to the north before any white man had dreamt to pin his hopes to the North Pacific. And it is probable, too, that some adventurous spirit of Viking blood had been washed with American polish, and passed as a Yankee in the Lewis and Clark expedition. It is safe to conjecture, however, that some straggler from the sea-beaten shores of Scandinavia shared the sufferings with the trappers of the Hudson Bay Company, or partook of the hardships in John Jacob Astor's expeditions for the mouth of Columbia river. These companies were made up of heterogeneous crews. The mercurial French Canadian, the acute Yankee, the jolly Englishman, the stern German, joined hands for the furfields, and it seemsreasonable that some hardy Scandinavian, too, was likely to abandon his fireside, turn his back on civilization, and yield consent to a more romantic life.
A motley combine known as the Russian Fur Company had established an emporium on the Pacific coast, and a number of trading posts in the interior, ere the close of the eighteenth century, and it is authentically evidenced that Scandinavians and Finlanders constituted the minor force of the regiment of trappers and navigators. Let it suffice to say, however, that these brave adventurers regardless of genealogical type did much to sow information in the Old World of the evergreen land west of the Rocky; and suffer it to be known that the probability is that some intrepid Scandinavian sacrificed his life in search for peltry, and that his bones rest in peace beneath the green turf in the Pacific forest. This brings us to the influx of permanent settlers.
Mrs. Frederic Meyer.—One of the first white women that breathed the air of Pierce county was Mrs. Frederic Meyer, a Norwegian by birth. She left her mother's hearth in Toten while a tender bud, fresh as a rose with blooms of white and purple blushing on her cheeks. Few women are of true romantic nature, their hearts, as a rule, are attached to social affiliation around the fireside, but Mrs. Meyer figures as a typical exception. Those that have known her well speak with kind tongues, pronouncing her a model of her sex, chivalric in spirit, and brave, but warm at heart. According to reliable information obtained in Tacoma, she lit her feeton the green-trimmed shore, where the City of Destiny now looms, forty odd years ago. She was married to an estimable German.
Settlement of cabins and tents; log cabin raising; several men, women, children, and dogs.A Scene of Pioneer Life.View Larger Image Here.
A Scene of Pioneer Life.View Larger Image Here.
Hood's Canal Anderson.—Hood's Canal Anderson was a peculiar composition of strange fancy. He was born in Denmark, and from childhood showed an insatiable passion for the sea, which ripened into irresistible lust. While a lad of vernal years he left his native seat to be dashed on the briny waves from port to port. He saw the crystal ice of Lofoten, the huge glaciers of Greenland, the thirsty greens of India, the foul bogs of China, the flowery vales of Japan, the rich gold fields of Australia, the teeming meadows of New Zealand. He was tossed from continent to continent, from island to island. About forty-five years ago he drifted ashore near Port Discovery, and under veil of night put wings to his feet for the forest. The fascinating aspect of the country and the aromatic sylva poured streams of delight into his soul. As he stood in the early morn, gazing around in mingled awe and admiration, he was surrounded by a red race, who, at first, gave vent to the horrible dilemma of converting his heart to ashes or treating him as a slave, but his ingenious demeanor turned their sanguinity to laughter, and Anderson became their curious jocularity which melted to favoritism. He strolled with the train of vagabonds alternately fishing and hunting up streams and canoeing the Sound. Thus ten years were dragged out of his longevity without mingling with white men.
His longing for civilization vanished little by little, and the life of celibacy settled heavily on his heart. He was a friend of the chief and an admirer of his daughter, and it took onlythe big canoe to seal the bargain. Anderson was rather long-headed for the red heathens, and got the best of every deal. He was now the possessor of the biggest canoe, save the royal ship, and was looked upon as independently opulent. Only a word would change his life for better or worse. Finally he took the delicate step and offered the huge dug-out in trade for the young princess, which was accepted with loud eclat.
The ban of the nuptial day was made public. The bride spared no tiptoeing to make it highly royal. First was a coat of red paint, then purple, tinged with green. A carefully administered shampoo of oil followed, then a crands of wild flowers was critically twined to her wealth of black locks with a few quills set on end in the most confused bewilderment. Of course, Anderson did not fancy the odorous coat of his intended, nor her pert of etiquette, but being as those things were incidental to the dynasty, he darted approbation with his blue eyes, thinking, "Costume is not permanent."
From this time the chivalric Dane became a leader. He piloted the royal squadron to Hood's Canal, where he squatted on a piece of land, hence the sobriquet—Hood's Canal Anderson.
He became attached to his wife, and she reciprocated with equal depth of conjugality, and shaped her costume to meet his liking, yet Uncle Sam pried into their warm nestling by passing a law to either separate or marry according to his code. Of course, Anderson had to marry his wife the second time, which he did like a loyal citizen. He took his corpulent queen,placed her in the stern of the big canoe, and paddled to Seabold, where they were united in holy ties by Harry Shafer, Uncle Sam's matrimonial agent. Anderson bears the honor of being the first white man on Puget Sound concubined to a squaw in accordance with the laws of the United States. He was industrious and elevated compared with his station, turned a wooded bit of ground to a flowery garden, and in a corner, beneath a weedy sod, he rests unsung.
Peter Friberg.—Peter Friberg, like Hood's Canal Anderson, has walked the highway of frontier trials. He was born in Sweden, but when a mere youth sought the waves. After years of trying experiences he found himself on Puget Sound, among the floating Flatheads, about the same time Anderson landed, but perchance drifted off with another flock of red skins, consequently the two contemporaries were ignorant of each other's wanderings till later years, when they accidently met and shook hands.
Peter Friberg also threw his heart to a squaw, and with her he barged along the shores making depredation on salmon and halibut, finally pinning his future to a happy point running into the bosom of the Sound, near Salmon Bay.
Martin Toftezen.—About two-and-forty years ago, a son of Norway anchored his canoe on the north side of Whidbey Island. His name has been pinned to its soil among the first on record. He was a pioneer of heart and courage—chivalrous Martin Toftezen. He had drifted around the Horn on a ship, and was tossed into the mouth of Puget Sound, where thebreath of the deep calmed to a gentle zephyr, and the wings of speed flapped in disconsolation. The bark was dashed ashore by the angry billows, caused by the agitating tide, and Toftezen stood in a transport of mingled awe and perturbation. Nature was grand, enchantingly sang the ripples up the fascinating arm, and mad in grandeur reared the snow-capped peaks, flinging smiles of welcome. "Why reject the poetic landscape? Nature's sweetness will smite the blue forehead of dreary solitude." These thoughts rolled in his fancy, and up the Sound he paddled, and settled on the green tail, where he wore out his life.
Peter Andrias Peterson.—No man on the Pacific coast ever endured more hardships than the personage in question—Peter Andrias Peterson—who, about a year ago fell prey to an incidental injury, and was carried over the stream for the unknown sea beyond.
He was born in Denmark, 1828, and cast on the cold billows to struggle for himself at the age of fifteen. A few years later he stepped ashore in England, where he took a course in navigation to enable himself to cope more successfully with the foam-crest surges. He embarked a ship for India and Australia. In the latter place his mind was engrossed with exciting reports from the gold fields, and thither he flew, a fugitive of the sea. Success smiled on his brow, and wealth crowded into his hands; but riches easily won are not highly treasured. In a wildcat scheme he sunk his fortune, and before the dawn of a fresh week his thousands were in the hands of others.
This catastrophe, brought about by sheer mishap, drove him back to the sea, and, in 1859, landed at Victoria, British Columbia. A buoyant spirit, though wounded with ill-luck, will soar to felicity and breathe vigor on green fields. Peterson was delighted with the verdure that greeted his vision, and took a canoe excursion around the Sound. On returning to Victoria, he was struck with the gold fever which raged desperately in the Cascades and Sound country. He compromised with his floating thoughts, bent his energy on a prospecting tour, and in two days flocked together sixteen men. In his customary adroitness he took command of the little army of gold seekers, and bore into the forest, but when two hundred and twenty-five miles from Victoria, thirteen of them lost courage and returned to the city.
Peterson and his two companions proceeded up a small stream for some days, and to their astonishment, one gray evening, fell upon four white men actively engaged in picking gold nuggets. They staked out a claim, glimpses of luck commenced to play on their cheeks, but died ere a fortnight had gone to rest in the pensive dream of growing forgetfulness. Their ration was getting low, and to save themselves from falling victims to pitiless starvation, they raked together their pelf, and returned to Victoria.
In the spring an English syndicate mustered a regiment of fresh recruits, a man of spirit and agility was wanted to head an expedition into the mountains, and Peterson was offered the responsibility, as he had already gained fame as a daring adventurer.It was suggested to seek a new field, and a guide was secured to usher them along. First, however, was to hunt up an easy pass, and to accomplish this, a knot of fourteen men, headed by Peterson, was dispatched into the wilderness. They fought their way through murky vales and climbed moss-bearded brows, the day sunk behind the horizon and night wrapped them in darkness. Thus they continued; but, alas! the guide disappears. The others rambled through treacherous woods, thoughtless of any hazard. Hours were consumed climbing over angry logs and chasing through witching dingles, but the guide was neither heard nor sighted.
The thirteen brave were lost in the forest where gloomy giants stretched into a ghastly stillness, broken only by deceiving owls sailing over their heads on disconsolate wings. For eight days they wandered without a morsel to eat; grouse and pheasant were drumming through the air, and deer gambolled in listless droves, but only to whet their keen appetite. Their fire-locks were empty like their stomachs.
After darkness comes sunshine, and to their exhileration tumbled into an unknown mining camp. They were received as friends and immediately treated to a savory table. One of the unfortunates being so greedy for the palatable viands that he rose in the night to gormandize a heap of pan-cakes, left from supper, and shortly after fell juicy feed for the grave and worms.
A new plan was formulated, two Scotchmen were sent back to Victoria for provision, and the others remained at thecamp. A couple of months elapsed, and twenty-four miners halted at the gold-seeking hamlet where the unlucky retinue joined them.
The company, now numbering thirty-four, resumed their pilgrimage in an easterly direction for nearly two hundred miles. The landscape swept up into jutting brows and gray-headed peaks, and the forest fringed into a scabby shrub of hungry appearance. The change in nature cast cold currents into their souls, but soon melted into delight. A beautiful stream grated their ears, and thither they flocked.
Nature was now sweetness and grandeur, and fortune seemed to smile from every leaf and twig. The blue heaven hung over them, here and there dipped with shades of purple; the sun sent down his wealth of beams to kiss their hardy cheeks; and the clear stream was busy making music as it tumbled down jeweled precipices to swell the deep. They drank hope and aspiration from the poetic environment, and each, as a loyal soldier, embarked his assigned duty with happiness in his heart. Gold was not doubted, before a month had slipped away, the precious metal glittered in rich veins.
A frontier mining camp, in the heart of savages, is a continuous scene of sunshine and storm, of joy and despair. Precaution must be the watchword of every individual, early and late; a careless step might betray them to the altar of cruel slaughter. The book-keeper had been appointed custodian of the fire arms, who, in a thoughtless way, or to satisfy his greed, bargained the ammunition to the Indians. Oh, terror!the happy camp was turned to a lake of blood. One sad night, in the early part of winter, the savages stealthily fell upon the camp, and like thieves entered the lodges, pointed their ill-gotten fire-pieces against innocent breasts, and quenched the light within.
Peterson and two Scotchmen escaped the murderous fire, naked they ran, not dissimilar to deer over the snow, the former dashed into the river where ten thousand pug devils, sitting in its bosom, bleeded his feet, and the latter chased down the bank of the stream as in an elopement from hell. After a month of severest suffering and hardship they reached the gate of safety—Victoria—blood-stained and scraggy, hardly able to combat the icy angel of death. The gold fever had ceased to ebb through their veins. The two Scotchmen returned to their dear fatherland, and Peterson built a boat and sailed for Stillaguamish where he sleeps in peace under the green turf, three miles from Stanwood.
Fred Landstone.—In Swedish, Fredrik Landsten, a man of nomadic spirit and fine intellect, was born in Sweden, and in the spring of manhood ascended the horizon of sea-faring exploits. In 1860 he landed at San Francisco, and a year later stept ashore at Port Discovery, Washington. A score of years on the rolling brine had changed his mind for terra firma. He resorted to logging camps and saw mills, working hard until 1876, when he retired on a piece of land three miles from Poulsbo, where he still resides, slowly wearing out the balance of his years.
Family in Sunday best on front porch steps.The Chilberg Family of Four Generations—All Living.John Charles Chilberg is behind the vase of flowers and his wife the second to his left.View Larger Image Here.
The Chilberg Family of Four Generations—All Living.John Charles Chilberg is behind the vase of flowers and his wife the second to his left.View Larger Image Here.
Charles John Chilberg(not John Charles as shown under the illustration).—White with a wealth of snowy locks, and seven-and-four scores of years hanging on his back, yet nimbly he frisks about on his beautiful farm at Pleasant Ridge, Skagit county. This aged pioneer of unusual endurance and grit, keen intellect and warm soul, was born in Halland, near Laholm, Sweden, 1813, came to America, 1846, and located in Iowa. In 1860 he visited Pike's Peak, Colorado, and in 1863 left his family again, a loving wife and children, for the West with a view to find a more congenial clime. For some time he traveled in Montana, crossed the Rocky, and came to Puget Sound, 1865. The sweet-scenting forest and the balmy heaven awakened his love for perambulation of the Pacific, from British Columbia to the Golden State. He resolved to make his future abode west of the Cascades, and in 1869 returned to Iowa to remove his family to Washington, arriving at Pleasant Ridge the following spring.
Mrs. Charles John Chilberg and three of her sons, Joseph, John H. and Charles F., came to the Pacific in the spring of 1871, and Isaac and B. A. a few months later. James P. Chilberg has climbed the horizon of pioneer adventures. In 1859 he landed in California, in 1864 traveled in Oregon, and in 1870 beheld the rippling Sound and the Washington forest. In 1872 Nelson Chilberg took a survey of the Pacific andthree years subsequent his brother Andrew threw his eyes upon the mighty ocean.
Andrew Nelson.—A jolly fellow, familiarly known as Dogfish Nelson, was among the first Scandinavian pioneers. He was born in Denmark, 1832, and landed as a sailor at Port Ludlow in 1867. Like many others he was attracted by the country, and to drive away monotony took an Indian woman for wife, as white women were almost unknown on the coast at that time. Nelson has encountered many obstacles in his cruising among the red skins and fierce brutes, but always managed to play the hero. He has been industrious and convivial, and a flowery nest in Brown's Bay bespeaks his rank.
Hans Hansen, a Dane, who resides at Alki Point, near Seattle, has earned a footing among the early Scandinavian pioneers. His years on the Pacific reach pretty nigh two scores. Knut Knutson, a native of Norway, and also a resident of Alki Point, came to Puget Sound over thirty years ago, and has passed through days of sun and storm. C. E. Norager, likewise of Norse birth, places his disembarkation on the Pacific about forty years back.
Seattle, the metropolis of Washington, and the busiest city on the Pacific coast, has a romantic history, as well as a history of thrift and progress. Thirty-five years ago only a few log cabins set on the shore of Elliott Bay, inhabited by a handful of pioneers. Bears and cougars danced around their huts, and Indians skulked in lazy hordes at their threshold. How changed! today the Queen city is spread over about fifty square miles of land, overlooking the melodious Puget Sound, and dots the green borders of three fresh-water lakes with snug cottages. She has a population of about 85,000, of which a large per cent are Scandinavians.
Docking pier with wooden buildings, Seattle skyline behind; 'Olympus', a paddlewheel ferry.A Scene in the Harbor of Seattle.View Larger Image Here.
A Scene in the Harbor of Seattle.View Larger Image Here.
The first Scandinavian that visited Elliott Bay, of which we have any authentic account, was Peter Friberg, formerly mentioned. Shortly after came C. E. Norager and others referred to in the previous chapter. Charles John Chilberg made a survey of the bay in 1865, when only a saw mill and a sprinkling of shanties marked the presence of white men. In 1869, Edward Gunderson, a native of Norway, crossed the Rocky to make Seattle his future habitation, which was then in its early embryo. The same year, Amund Amunds, born in Racine county, Wis., of Norwegian parents, removed to the city from Cowlitz county where he had disembarked two years prior. Amunds grew opulent and invited the love of all his associates. He was director and first vice-president of the Scandinavian American Bank of Seattle, and heavily interested in real estate. He was an energetic worker in the Ancient Order of United Workmen, and received the highest honor—Grand Receiver of the jurisdiction of Washington. He died four years ago and his funeral was a solemn event.
In 1872, Nelson Chilberg, son of Charles John Chilberg, made an appearance, and three years later his brother Andrew was attracted to the coast, as referred to in the previous chapter, and started the first Scandinavian store in Seattle, in company with J. P. Chilberg. The prospect was glittering and ere a year had died Nelson joined them in grocery business, the firm being Chilberg Brothers. Andrew Chilberg soon rose to popularity, became one of Seattle's most prominent citizens, and an honor to the Scandinavians.