Czytaj książkę: «Blazing the Way; Or, True Stories, Songs and Sketches of Puget Sound», strona 21

“Ned” was somewhat eccentric though a faithful servant of the public. In common with other forerunners of civilization he was a little superstitious.

One winter night, grown weary of drowsing by his bright, warm fireplace in his little cabin, he began to walk back and forth in an absent-minded way, when suddenly his hair fairly stood on end; there were two stealthy shadows following him every where he turned. In what state of mind he passed the remainder of the night is unknown, but soon after he related the incident to his friends evincing much anxiety as to what it might signify. Probably he had two lights burning in different parts of the room or sufficiently bright separate flames in the fireplace.

Doubtless it remained a mystery unexplained to him, to the end of his days.

The pioneer merchants who traded with the Indians, and swapped calico and sugar for butter and eggs, with the settlers, pioneer steamboat men who ran the diminutive steamers between Olympia and Seattle, pioneer editors, who published tri-weeklies whose news did not come in daily, pioneer milliners who “did up” the hats of the other pioneer women with taste and neatness, pioneer legislators, blacksmiths, bakers, shoemakers, foundry men, shipbuilders, etc., blazed the trails of commerce where now there are broad highways.

CHAPTER IV
BUILDING OF THE TERRITORIAL UNIVERSITY

Early in 1861, the University Commissioners, Rev. D. Bagley, John Webster and Edmund Carr, selected the site for the proposed building, ten acres in Seattle, described as a “beautiful eminence overlooking Elliott Bay and Puget Sound.” A. A. Denny donated eight and a fraction acres, Terry and Lander, one and a fraction acres. The structure was fifty by eighty feet, two stories in height, beside belfry and observatory. There were four rooms above, including the grand lecture room, thirty-six by eighty feet, and six rooms below, beside the entrance hall of twelve feet, running through the whole building.

The president’s house was forty by fifty, with a solid foundation of brick and cement cellar; the boarding house twenty-four by forty-eight, intended to have an extension when needed. A supply was provided of the purest spring water, running through one thousand four hundred feet of charred pump logs.

Buildings of such dimensions were not common in the Northwest in those days; materials were expensive and money was scarce.

It was chiefly through the efforts of John Denny that a large appropriation of land was made by Congress for the benefit of the new-born institution. Although advanced in years, his hair as white as snow, he made the long journey to Washington city and return when months were required to accomplish it.

By the sale of these lands the expense of construction and purchase of material were met. The land was then worth but one dollar and a half per acre, but enough was sold to amount to $30,400.69.

At that time the site lay in the midst of a heavy forest, through which a trail was made in order to reach it.

Of the ten-acre campus, seven acres were cleared of the tall fir and cedar trees at an expense of two hundred and seventy-five dollars per acre, the remaining three were worse, at three hundred and sixteen dollars per acre.

The method of removing these forest giants was unique and imposing. The workers partially grubbed perhaps twenty trees standing near each other, then dispatched a sailor aloft in their airy tops to hitch them together with a cable and descend to terra firma. A king among the trees was chosen whose downfall should destroy his companions, and relentlessly uprooting it, the tree-fallers suddenly and breathlessly withdrew to witness a grand sight, the whole group of unnumbered centuries’ growth go crashing down at once. They would scarcely have been human had they uttered no shout of triumph at such a spectacle. To see but one great, towering fir tree go grandly to the earth with rush of boughs and thunderous sound is a thrilling, pathetic and awe-inspiring sight.

About the center of the tract was left a tall cedar tree to which was added a topmast. The tree, shorn of its limbs and peeled clean of bark, was used for a flagstaff.

The old account books, growing yearly more curious and valuable, show that the majority of the old pioneers joined heartily in the undertaking and did valiant work in building the old University.

They dug, hewed, cleared land, hauled materials, exchanged commodities, busily toiled from morn to night, traveled hither and yon, in short did everything that brains, muscle and energy could accomplish in the face of what now would be deemed well nigh insurmountable obstacles. The president of the board of commissioners, the Rev. D. Bagley, has said that in looking back upon it he was simply foolhardy. “Why, we had not a dollar to begin with,” said he; nevertheless pluck and determination accomplished wonders; many of the people took the lands at one dollar and a half an acre, in payment for work and materials.

Clarence B. Bagley, son of Rev. D. Bagley, is authority for the following statement, made in 1896:

“Forty-eight persons were employed on the work and nearly all the lumber for the building was secured from the mills at Port Blakeley and Port Madison, while the white pine of the finishing siding, doors, sash, etc., came from a mill at Seabeck, on Hood Canal. I have been looking over the books my father kept at that time and find the names of many persons whom all old-timers will remember. I found the entry relating to receiving 10,000 brick from Capt. H. H. Roeder, the price being $15.50 per thousand, while lime was $3 per barrel and cement $4.50 per barrel. Another entry shows that seven gross of ordinary wood screws cost in that early day $9.78. Capt. Roeder is now a resident of Whatcom County. The wages then were not very high, the ordinary workman receiving $2 and $2.25 per day and the carpenters and masons $4 per day.

“On the 10th of March, John Pike and his son, Harvey Pike, began to clear the ground for the buildings and a few days later James Crow and myself commenced. The Pikes cleared the acre of ground in the southeast corner and we cleared the acre just adjoining, so that we four grubbed the land on which the principal building now stands. All the trees were cut down and the land leveled off, and the trees which now grace the grounds started from seeds and commenced to grow up a few years later and are now about twenty-five years old. Among the men who helped clear the land were: Hillory Butler, John Carr, W. H. Hyde, Edward Richardson, L. Holgate, H. A. Atkins, Jim Hunt, L. B. Andrews, L. Pinkham, Ira Woodin, Dr. Josiah Settle, Parmelee & Dudley, and of that number that are now dead are Carr, Hyde, Holgate, Atkins and Parmelee and Dudley. Mr. Crow is now living at Kent and owns a good deal of property there. Mr. Carr was a relative of the Hanfords. Mr. Holgate was a brother of the Holgate who was killed in Seattle during the Indian war, being shot dead while standing at the door of the fort. He was an uncle of the Hanfords. Mr. Atkins was mayor of the town at one time.

“R. King, who dressed the flagstaff, is not among the living. The teamsters who did most of the hauling were Hillory Butler, Thomas Mercer and D. B. Ward, all of whom are still living. William White was blacksmith here then and did a good deal of work on the building. He is now living in California and is well-to-do, but his son is still a resident of Seattle. Thomas Russell was the contractor for putting up the frame of the university building. He died some time since and of his estate there is left the Russell House, and his family is well known. John Dodge and John T. Jordan did a good deal of the mason work, both of whom are now dead, but they have children who still live in this city. The stone for the foundation was secured from Port Orchard and the lime came from Victoria, being secured here at a large cost.”

George Austin, who raised the flagstaff and put the top on, has been dead many years. Dexter Horton and Yesler, Denny & Co. kept stores in those days and furnished the nails, hardware and general merchandise. Mr. Horton’s store was where the bank now stands and the store of Yesler, Denny & Co. was where the National Bank of Commerce now stands. L. V. Wyckoff, the father of Van Wyckoff, who was sheriff of the county for many years, did considerable hauling and draying. He also is dead. Frank Mathias was a carpenter and did a good deal of the finishing work. He died in California and his heirs have since been fighting for his estate.

H. McAlear kept a stove and hardware store and furnished the stoves for the building. He is now dead and there has been a contest over some of his property in the famous Hill tract in this city.

D. C. Beatty and R. H. Beatty, not relatives, were both carpenters. The former is now living on a farm near Olympia and the latter is in the insane asylum at Steilacoom. Ira Woodin is still alive and is the founder of Woodinville. In the early days Mr. Woodin and his father owned the only tannery in the country, which was located at the corner of South Fourth Street and Yesler Avenue, then Mill Street. O. J. Carr, whose name appears as a carpenter, lives at Edgewater. He was the postmaster of the town for many years.

O. C. Shorey and A. P. DeLin, as “Shorey & DeLin,” furnished the desks for the several rooms and also made the columns that grace the front entrance to the building.

Plummer & Hinds furnished some of the materials used in the construction. George W. Harris, the banker, auditor of the Lake Shore road, is a stepson of Mr. Plummer.

Jordan and Thorndyke were plasterers and both have been dead for many years.

David Graham, who did some of the grading, is still living in Seattle. A. S. Mercer did most of the grading with Mr. Graham. Mr. Mercer is a brother of Thomas Mercer, who brought out two parties of young ladies from the Atlantic Coast by sea, many of whom are married and are now living in Seattle. Harry Hitchcock, one of the carpenters, is now dead. Harry Gordon was a painter and was quite well known for some years. He finally went East, and I think is still living, although I have not heard from him for many years. Of the three who composed the board of university commissioners Mr. Carr and Mr. Webster are dead.

All the paint, varnishes, brushes, etc., were purchased in Victoria and the heavy duties made the cost very high; in fact, everything was costly in those days. An entry is made of a keg of lath nails which cost $15, and a common wooden wheelbarrow cost $7. The old bell came from the East, and cost, laid down in Seattle, $295. It cost $50 to put in position, and thus the whole cost was nearly $350. It is made of steel and was rung from the tower for the first time in March, 1862.

The only tinner in the place covered the cupola where hung the bell. Its widely reaching voice proclaimed many things beside the call to studies, fulfilling often the office of bell-buoy and fog-horn to distracted mariners wandering in fog and smoke, and giving alarm in case of fire. The succeeding lines set forth exactly historical facts as well as expressing the attachment of the old pupils to the bell and indeed to the university itself:

THE VOICE OF THE OLD UNIVERSITY BELL

 
A vibrant voice thrilled through the air,
Now here, now there, seemed everywhere;
My young thoughts stirred, laid away in a shroud,
And joyfully rose and walked abroad.
It was long ago in my youth and pride,
When my young thoughts lived and my young thoughts died,
And often and over all unafraid
They wander and wander like ghosts unlaid.
 
 
Through calm and storm for many a year,
I faithfully called my children dear,
And honest and urgent have been my tones
To hurry the laggard and hasten the drones,
But earnest and early or lazy and late
They toiled up the hill and entered the gate,
Across the campus they rushed pell-mell
At the call of the old University bell.
If danger menaced on land or sea,
The note of warning loud and free;
Or a joyous peal in the twilight dim
Of the New Year’s dawn, after New Year’s hymn.
If a ship in the bay floated out ablaze,
Or the fog-wreaths blinded the mariner’s gaze,
Safe into port they steered them well,
Cheered by the old University bell.
 
 
When Lincoln the leader was stricken low,
O! a darker day may we never know,
A bitter wail from my heart was wrung
To float away from my iron tongue,
On storm-wing cast it traveled fast,
Above me writhed the flag half-mast.
My children wept, their fathers frowned,
With clenched hands looked down to the ground,
For the saddest note that ever fell
From the throat of the old University bell.
 
 
But deep was the joy and wild was the clamor,
With leaping hot haste they hurried the hammer,
When the battles were fought and the war was all over,
O’er the North and the South did the peace angels hover;
My children sang sweetly and softly and low
“The Union forever, is safe now we know,”
The years they may come and the years they may go,
And hearts that were loyal will ever be so.
 
 
There’s a long roll-call, I ring over all
That have harkened and answered in the old hall;
Adams and Andrews, (from A unto Z,
Alphabetic arrangement as any can see),
Bonney and Bagley and Mercer and Hays,
Francis and Denny in bygone days,
Hastings and Ebey, the Oregon Strongs,
And many another whose name belongs
To fame and the world, or has passed away
To realms that are bright with endless day.
 
 
The presidents ruled with a right good will,
Mercer and Barnard, Whitworth and Hill,
Anderson, Powell, Gatch and Hall,
Harrington now and I’ve named them all.
Witten and Thayer, Hansee and Lee,
The wise professors were fair to see,
They strictly commanded, did study compel
At the call of the old University bell.
 
 
Osborne, McCarty, Thornton and Spain,
With their companions in sunshine and rain,
Back in the seventies, might tell what befell
At the ring of the old University bell.
The eighties came on and the roll-call grew longer
Emboldened with learning, my voice rang the stronger;
The day of Commencement saw young men and maids
Proudly emerge from the classic shades
Where oft they had heard and heeded well
The voice of the old University bell.
 
 
They bore me away to a shrine new and fine,
Where the pilgrims of learning with yearning incline;
Enwrapped they now seem, in a flowery dream,
The stars of good fortune so radiant beam.
Of the long roll call not one is forgot,
If sorrow beset them or happy their lot;
My wandering children all love me so well,
Their life-work done, they’ll wish a soft knell
Might be tolled by the old University bell.
 

Such is the force of habit that it was many years before I could shake off the inclination to obey the imperative summons of the old University bell.

With other small children, I ran about on the huge timbers of the foundation, in the dusk when the workmen were gone, glancing around a little fearfully at the dark shadows in the thick woods, and then running home as fast as our truant feet could carry us.

The laying of the cornerstone was an imposing ceremony to our minds and a significant as well as gratifying occasion to our elders.

The speeches, waving of flags, salutes, Masonic emblems and service with the music rendered by a fine choir, accompanied by a pioneer melodeon, made it quite as good as a Fourth of July.

All the well-to-do ranchers and mill men sent their children from every quarter. The Ebeys of Whidby Island, Hays of Olympia, Strongs of Oregon, Burnetts of down Sound and Dennys of Seattle, beside the children of many other prominent pioneers, received their introduction to learning beneath its generous shelter. A cheerful, energetic crowd they were with clear brains and vigorous bodies.

The school was of necessity preparatory; in modern slang, a University was rather previous in those days.

But all out-of-doors was greater than our books when it came to physical geography and natural history, to say nothing of botany, geology, etc. Observing eyes and quick wits discovered many things not yet in this year of grace set down in printed pages.

A curious thing, and rather absurd, was the care taken to instruct us in “bounding” New Hampshire, Vermont and all the rest of the Eastern states, while owing to the lack of local maps we were obliged to gain the most of our knowledge of Washington by traveling over it.

The first instruction given within its walls was in a little summer school taught by Mrs. O. J. Carr, which I attended.

Previous to this my mother was my patient and affectionate instructor, an experienced and efficient one I will say, as teaching had been her profession before coming west.

Asa Mercer was at the head of the University for a time, followed by W. E. Barnard, under whose sway it saw prosperous days. A careful and painstaking teacher with a corps of teachers fresh from eastern schools, and ably seconded in his efforts by his lovely wife, a very accomplished lady, he was successful in building up the attendance and increasing the efficiency of the institution. But after a time it languished, and was closed, the funds running low.

Under the Rev. F. H. Whitworth it again arose. It was then run with the common school funds, which raised such opposition that it finally came to a standstill.

D. T. Denny was a school director and county treasurer at the same time, but could not pay any monies to the University without an order from the county superintendent. On one occasion he was obliged to put a boy on horseback and send him eleven miles through the forest and back, making a twenty-two mile ride, to obtain the required order.

The children and young people who attended the University in the old times are scattered far and wide, some have attained distinction in their callings, many are worthy though obscure, and some have passed away from earthly scenes.

We spoke our “pieces,” delivered orations, wrote compositions, played ball games of one or more “cats” and many old-fashioned games in and around the big building and often climbed up to the observatory to look out over the beautiful bay and majestic mountains. That glistening sheet of water often drew the eyes from the dull page and occasionally an unwary pupil would be reminded in a somewhat abrupt fashion to proceed with his researches.

One afternoon a boy who had been gazing on its changing surface for some minutes, caught sight of a government vessel rounding the point, and jumped up saying excitedly, “There’s a war ship a-comin’!” to the consternation though secret delight of the whole school.

“Well, don’t stop her,” dryly said the teacher, and the boy subsided amid the smothered laughter of his companions.

Cupid sometimes came to school then, as I doubt not he does in these days, not as a learner but distracter – to those who were his victims.

It’s my opinion, and I have it from St. Catherine, he should have been set on the dunce block and made to study Malthus.

Two notable victims are well remembered, one a lovely blonde young girl, a beautiful singer; the other as dark as a Spaniard, with melting black eyes and raven tresses. They did not wait to graduate but named the happy day. The blonde married a Democratic editor, well known in early journalism, the other a very popular man, yet a resident of Seattle.

The whole of the second story of the University consisted of one great hall or assembly room with two small ante-rooms. Here the school exhibitions were held, lectures and entertainments given. Christmas trees, Sunday schools, political meetings and I do not know what else, although I think no balls were ever permitted in those days, a modern degeneration to my mind.

The old building has always been repainted white until within a few years and stood among the dark evergreen a thing of dignity and beauty, the tall fluted columns with Doric capitals being especially admired.

But changes will come; a magnificent, new, expensive and ornate edifice has been provided with many modern adjuncts – and the old University has been painted a grimy putty color!

The days of old, the golden days, will never be forgotten by the students of the old University, which, although perhaps not so comfortable or elegant nor of so elevated a curriculum as the new, compassed the wonderful beginnings of things intellectual, sowing the seed that others might harvest, planting the tree of knowledge from which others should gather the fruit.