A few days before he had been sick and one of the party sent him a steaming cup of ginger and milk which, although simple, had proved efficacious; ere we reached our home again he showed his grat.i.tude in a substantial manner, as will be seen farther on.

At one beautiful resting place, the canoe slid up against a strip of shingle covered with delicate sh.e.l.ls; we were delighted to be allowed to walk about, after sitting curled up in the bottom of the canoe for a long time, to gather crab, pecten and periwinkle sh.e.l.ls, even extending our ramble to a lovely grove of dark young evergreens, standing in a gra.s.sy meadow.

The first night of the journey was spent in Steilacoom. It was March of 1858 and it was chilly traveling on the big salt water. We were cold and hungry but the keeper of the one hotel in the place had retired and refused to be aroused, so we turned to the only store, where the proprietor received us kindly, brought out new blankets to cover us while we camped on the floor, gave us bread and a hot oyster stew, the best his place afforded. His generous hospitality was never forgotten by the grateful recipients who often spoke of it in after years.

I saw there a "witches' scene" of an old Indian woman boiling devilfish or octopus in a kettle over a campfire, splendidly lit against the gloom of night, and all reflected in the water.

At the break of day we paddled away over the remainder of the salt-chuck, as the Indians call the sea, until Stetchas was reached.

Stetchas is "bear's place," the Indian name for the site of Olympia.

From thence the mail stage awaited us to Cowlitz Landing. The trip over this stretch of country was not exactly like a triumphal progress. The six-horse team plunged and floundered, while the wagon sank up to the hub in black mud; the language of the driver has not been recorded.

At the first stop out from Olympia, the Tilley's, famous in the first annals, entertained us. At a bountiful and appetizing meal, one of the articles, boiled eggs, were not cooked to suit Grandfather John Denny.

With amusing bluntness he sent the chicken out to be killed before he ate it, complaining that the eggs were not hard enough. Mrs. Tilly made two or three efforts and finally set the dish down beside him saying, "There, if that isn't hard enough you don't deserve to have any."

The long rough ride ended at Warba.s.s' Landing on the Cowlitz River, a tributary of the Columbia, and another canoe trip, this time on a swift and treacherous stream, was safely made to Monticello, a mere little settlement. A tiny steamboat, almost microscopic on the wide water, carried us across the great Columbia with its sparkling waves, and up the winding Willamette to Portland, Oregon.

From thence the journey progressed to the falls below Oregon City.

At the portage, we walked along a narrow plank walk built up on the side of the river bank which rose in a high rounded hill. Its n.o.ble outline stood dark with giant firs against a blue spring sky; the rushing, silvery flood of the Willamette swept below us past a bank fringed with wild currants just coming into bloom.

At the end of the walk there stood a house which represented itself as a resting place for weary travelers. We spent the night there but Alas!

for rest; the occupants were convivial and "drowned the shamrock" all night long; as no doubt they felt obliged to do for wasn't it "St.

Patrick's Day in the mornin'?"

Most likely we three, the juveniles, slumbered peacefully until aroused to learn that we were about to start "sure enough" for grandfather's farm in the Waldo Hills.

At length the log cabin home was reached and our interest deepened in everything about. So many flowers to gather as they came in lively processional, blue violets under the oaks, blue-flags all along the valley; such great, golden b.u.t.tercups, larkspurs, and many a wildling we scarcely called by any name.

All the affairs of the house and garden, field and pasture seemed by us especially gotten up, for our amus.e.m.e.nt and we found endless entertainment therein.

If a cheese was made or churning done we were sure to be "hanging around" for a green curd or paring, a taste of sweet b.u.t.ter or a chance to lift the dasher of the old fashioned churn. The milking time was enticing, too, and we trotted down to the milking pen with our little tin cups for a drink of fresh, warm milk from the fat, lowing kine, which fed all day on rich gra.s.ses and waited at the edge of the flower decked valley for the milkers with their pails.

As summer advanced our joys increased, for there were wild strawberries and such luscious ones! no berries in after years tasted half so good.

Some artist has portrayed a group of children on a sunny slope among the hills, busy with the scarlet fruit and called it "The Strawberry of Memory"; such was the strawberry of that summer.

One brilliant June day when all the landscape was steeped in sunshine we went some distance from home to gather a large supply. It is needless to say that we, the juvenile contingent, improved the opportunity well; and when we sat at table the following day and grandfather helped us to generous pieces of strawberry "cobbler" and grandmother poured over them rich, sweet cream, our satisfaction was complete. It is likely that if we had heard of the boy who wished for a neck as long as a giraffe so that he could taste the good things all the way down, we would have echoed the sentiment.

Mentioning the giraffe, of the animal also we probably had no knowledge as books were few and menageries, none at all.

No lack was felt, however, as the wild animals were numerous and interesting. The birds, rabbits and squirrels were friendly and fearless then; the birds were especially loved and it was pleasing to translate their notes into endearments for ourselves.

But the rolling suns brought round the day when we must return to our native heath on Puget Sound. Right sorry were the two little "clam-diggers" to leave the little companion of delightful days, and grandparents. With a rush of tears and calling "good-bye! good-bye!" as long as we could see or hear we rode away in a wagon, beginning the long journey, full of variety, back to the settlement on Elliott Bay.

Ourselves, and wagon and team purchased in the "web-foot" country, were carried down the Willamette and across the sweeping Columbia on a steamer to Monticello. There the wagon was loaded into a canoe to ascend the Cowlitz River, and we mounted the horses for a long day's ride, one of the children on the pommel of father's saddle, the other perched behind on mother's steed.

The forest was so dense through which we rode for a long distance that the light of noonday became a feeble twilight, the way was a mere trail, the salal bushes on either side so tall that they brushed the feet of the little riders. The tedium of succeeding miles of this weird wilderness was beguiled by the stories, gentle warnings and encouragement from my mother.

The cicadas sang as if it were evening, the dark woods looked a little fearful and I was advised to "Hold on tight and keep awake, there are bears in these woods."

The trail led us to the first crossing of the Cowlitz River, where father hallooed long and loud for help to ferry us over, from a lonely house on the opposite sh.o.r.e, but only echo and silence returned. The deep, dark stream, sombre forest and deserted house made an eerie impression on the children.

The little party boarded the ferryboat and swimming the horses, alongside crossed without delay.

The next afternoon saw us nearing the crossing of the Cowlitz again at Warba.s.s Landing.

The path crossed a pretty open s.p.a.ce covered with ripe yellow gra.s.s and set around with giant trees, just before it vanished in the hurrying stream.

Father rode on and crossed, quite easily, the uneven bed of the swift river, with its gravelly islands and deep pools.

When it came our turn, our patient beast plunged in and courageously advanced to near the middle of the stream, wavered and stood still and seemed about to go down with the current. How distinctly the green, rapid water, gravelly shoals and distant bank with its anxious onlookers is photographed on my memory's page!

Only for a moment did the brave animal falter and then st.u.r.dily worked her way to the sh.o.r.e. Mr. Warba.s.s, with white face and trembling voice, said "I thought you were gone, sure." His coat was off and he had been on the point of plunging in to save us from drowning, if possible.

Willing hands helped us down and into the hospitable home, where we were glad to rest after such a severe trial. A sleepless night followed for my mother, who suffered from the reaction common to such experience, although not panic stricken at the time of danger.

It was here I received my first remembered lesson in "meum et tuum."

While playing under the fruit trees around the house I spied a peach lying on the ground, round, red and fair to see. I took it in to my mother who asked where I got it, if I had asked for it, etc. I replied I had found it outdoors.

"Well, it isn't yours, go and give it to the lady and never pick up anything without asking for it."

A lesson that was heeded, and one much needed by children in these days when individual rights are so little regarded.

The muddy wagon road between this point and Olympia over which the teams had struggled in the springtime was now dry and the wagon was put together with hope of a fairly comfortable trip. It was discovered in so doing that the tongue of the vehicle had been left at Monticello. Not to be delayed, father repaired to the woods and cut a forked ash stick and made it do duty for the missing portion.

At Olympia we were entertained by Mr. and Mrs. d.i.c.kinson with whom we tarried as we went to Oregon.

My mother preferred her steed to the steamer plying on the Sound; that same trip the selfsame craft blew up.

On horseback again, we followed the trail from Olympia to the Duwampsh River, over hills and hollows, out on the prairie or in the dark forest, at night putting up at the house of a hospitable settler. From thence we were told that it was only one day's travel but the trail stretched out amazingly. Night, and a stormy one, overtook the hapless travelers.

The thunder crashed, the lightning flamed, sheets of rain came down, but there was no escape.

A halt was called at an open s.p.a.ce in a grove of tall cedar trees, a fire made and the horses. .h.i.tched under the trees.

The two children slept snugly under a fir bark shed made of slabs of bark leaned up against a large log. Father and mother sat by the fire under a cedar whose branches gave a partial shelter. Some time in the night I was awakened by my mother lying down beside me, then slept calmly on.

The next morning everything was dripping wet and we hastened on to the Duwampsh crossing where lived the old man who stood on the bank at Seattle when we started.

What a comfort it was to the cold, wet, hungry, weary quartette to be invited into a dry warm place! and then the dinner, just prepared for company he had been expecting; a bountiful supply of garden vegetables, beets, cabbage, potatoes, a great dish of beans and hot coffee. These seemed veritable luxuries and we partook of them with a hearty relish.

A messenger was sent to Seattle to apprise our friends of our return, two of them came to meet us at the mouth of the Duwampsh River and brought us down the bay in a canoe to the landing near the old laurel (Madrona) tree that leaned over the bank in front of our home.

The first Fourth of July celebration in which I partic.i.p.ated took place in the old M. E. Church on Second Street, Seattle, in 1861.

Early in the morning of that eventful day there was hurrying to and fro in the Dennys' cottage, on Seneca Street, embowered in flowers which even luxuriant as they were we did not deem sufficient. The nimble eldest of the children was sent to a flower-loving neighbor's for blossoms of patriotic hues, for each of the small Americans was to carry a banner inscribed with a strong motto and wreathed with red, white and blue flowers. Large letters, cut from the t.i.tles of newspapers spelled out the legends on squares of white cotton, "Freedom for All," "Slavery for none," "United we stand, divided we fall," each surrounded with a heavy wreath of beautiful flowers.

Arrived at the church, we found ourselves a little late, the orator was just rounding the first of his eloquent periods; the audience, princ.i.p.ally men, turned to view the disturbers as they st.u.r.dily marched up the aisle to a front seat, and seeing the patriotic family with their expressive emblems, broke out in a hearty round of applause. Although very young we felt the spirit of the occasion.