Scandinavians on the Pacific, Puget Sound Part 1

Scandinavians on the Pacific, Puget Sound.

by Thomas Ostenson Stine.

PREFACE.

On solicitation of prominent Scandinavian-Americans, a year ago, I undertook to write a volume or two, ent.i.tled, "Scandinavians on the Pacific." At the launching of this idea an untold number rallied around me with sweet tongues, but many who pretended to furnish historical data fabricated delusive smiles of impertinent selfishness. Others, however, have been frank in ushering kind a.s.sistance. The author is indebted to the following gentlemen for willing advice and information: John Blaauw, Editor of Tacoma Tidende, Tacoma; George Bech, Author of "Haeng Ham,"

etc., Seattle; Rev. T. J. Moen, Fairhaven, and N. P. Leque, Stanwood.

T. O. S.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WONDERFUL SCENE ON THE GREAT NORTHERN IN CASCADE MOUNTAINS.]

INTRODUCTION.

Viking brave on land or sea, Dauntless hero of liberty, While ages hang on bearded clay, Among the great thy name shall sway.

Chroniclers shall paint thee in shades resplendent, Thy fame as the pine shall sway independent, Nations shall rise from lethargy old To tune the feats of the Nors.e.m.e.n bold.

Suns of the South reflect thy rays, They breathe thy prowess on wild-flying sprays, But their light shall wane with ages to come, The stars of the future shall pale proud Rome.

The foam-crest brine thy daring spells, Thy wings have climbed impetuous swells, In tempests wild o'er main afar, Thy only guide the burning star.

Iceland and Greenland hast thou found, With valor to thy honor crowned, The Faroes in the salty deep, And others that in the ocean sleep.

Thy scepter has on Sicily swayed, Thy brawny arms with Albion played, And Normandy to thy venture s.h.i.+nes, With royal courts and eglantines.

Beyond the sea maid's unkempt hair, Lay forests rich and jewels rare, Undreamt by kings of fame and power, "For the sh.o.r.e," shouts Leif, "spite storm and shower."

_Vinland_ for the Norseman brave, The honor he to his country gave, Born with thee, an unknown strand, America, sweet freedom's land.

_From "An Ode to the Land of the Vikings."_--_Stine._

The author does not aim to lift the Scandinavians into an air of ungained merit, he does not aim to clothe them with undeserved encomium, but seeks to paint their dues in a straightforward way, thoughtless of sailing the sea of hyperbole, or entering any strait of unearned exploit.

In order, however, to give the reader a clear conception of the spirit, the intrepidity, the characteristic worth of the northern peoples, my pen cannot refrain from plowing into the annals of the past. History is plain and authentic on the subject, and the same chivalric blood ebbs through the veins of the Vikings today as of yore. They have shared and do share the burdens of adventure, discovery and colonzation. They have nurtured their sons and daughters with patriotic zeal, and unfurled to their love the folds of freedom. They have braved the foam-crest waves minus compa.s.s and sympathy--stars of night and sun of day guided them over the traceless billows. Their dauntless sails have wafted in sun and storm from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e and woven together distant climes.

From the dawn of navigation and soldiery the Scandinavians have evinced skill and dexterity, filled with a whim to roam, see and conquer. They were, perhaps, sometimes rough in their daring expeditions, but always actuated with a will to plant the scepter of liberty and to raise the standard of civilization.

In 860 the valorous Naddodd discovered Iceland, and fourteen years later a republic form of government was established, which flourished four centuries. In 984 Erik The Red discovered Greenland, and in the name of his native country, Norway, took possession of the frozen territory, and unfolded to the breeze the banner of liberty.

"To the West! To the West!" thought Leif Erikson, son of Erik The Red, "spite waves and breakers," and in the year 1000 pointed the bow of his bark for the sh.o.r.e of America, landed at h.e.l.luland, now known as Newfoundland. He reconnoitered the coast as far south as Ma.s.sachusetts, and christened the New World, _Vinland_.

Not here do the Vikings stop. In 1002 Thorwald Erikson set sail for Vinland, spent three years exploring the green-clad banks of New England with zealous desire to unveil to his countrymen the characteristic features of the new possession. In a collision with the Skraellings (Indians) his precious life was blown out, the first European to succ.u.mb to the arrows of the red race.

Not here do their voyages for the New World cease. The sagas plainly picture their pilgrimages across the howling waste for Vinland in 1005, 1007, 1011, 1121, 1347.

True, the Scandinavians have been heroes on sea, but no less so on land. King Gustavus Adolphus, of Sweden, poured his life blood on the battlefield of Lutzen, not for military glory, but to liberate millions of innocent souls from the fire of tyranny, the poisonous hands of the chief of superst.i.tion, the narrow-minded Philip II., of Spain. He was not only a military genius but the father of his people, a benefactor of humanity.

In 1638 a company of Swedes colonized in the New World, who made the hills and forests of Delaware ring with the music of their picks and axes. As years rolled by emigration started from Sweden, Norway and Denmark. The wilderness of America was their object, the building of homes their love. They braved the interior, fought the lion and the bear, conquered the frowning forests and subdued the spreading prairies.

First huts of logs and sods, then quaint dwellings rose to mark their energy. Fields and gardens smiled, school-houses reared the air, and happy lads and la.s.ses pranced their way to school to drink freely from the fountain of knowledge. Home, sweet home echoed from rocks and trees.

The frontier was their chance, and thither they steered their lots. They knew how to swing the axe and use the hoe, climb mountains and make themselves contented in the most hazardous exposure.

What to them the soft pillow? when a stone was near at hand. They slept under the blue sky and drank health from the floating clouds. A home for my son and daughter, or my sweetheart, gave them fresh courage. Not only a home, but a pleasant home in a congenial clime, where the heaven smiles serenely, where the rose-bud bursts and thrives the year round.

Thunder and cyclones had shaken their tranquility. More peaceful air, tired of the friction and disagreement in the upper regions, and fire that seems eager to eat the whole firmament. Away from the boisterous thunderbolts which make it a business to blast and burn every cloud. "To the West! Sweet Westland!" rolled in their souls, where the air is pure, where the birds sing, where the scenery is grand.

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!

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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SKAGIT RIVER NEAR SEDRO-WOOLLEY.]

THE PACIFIC COAST.

CHAPTER I.

High and n.o.ble 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 hards.h.i.+p, 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 hanging in the air prognostic of determining the owners.h.i.+p of their terra firma. An amicable settlement, however, was brought about and the present boundary between Was.h.i.+ngton and British Columbia was fixed.

A pet.i.tion was sent to Congress praying for closer relations.h.i.+p 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 appellation _Was.h.i.+ngton_.

MY WAs.h.i.+NGTON.

Beautiful Evergreen, home of the free, Suns.h.i.+ne of my fancy thee, Where fragrance swells the breeze, And freedom rings from rocks and trees.

My Was.h.i.+ngton, 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 Was.h.i.+ngton, sweet gem of the sea, Land of the future, and home of the free.