FOOTNOTE:
[20] Pioneer Reminiscences of Puget Sound, The Tragedy of Leschi.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
BANKING.
My connection with the banking business in Puyallup was neither a venture nor an adventure, in the common acceptance of the meaning of these words, and to this day I can scarcely account for my action. I am sure that I was not "cut out" for a banker, and the business had no attraction for me. I did want to see a national bank established in Puyallup, and so took $10,000.00 of the stock, became a member of the directory, and committed the grave indiscretion of letting others "run the bank" without giving it personal attention.
In the lapse of time parties controlling a majority of the stock "run it into the ground," to use a western phrase, that is, loaned to their cousins and their aunts, to themselves indirectly, and to others indiscreetly, until matters looked shaky. Suddenly "business" called these parties to other and more attractive fields, and lo, and behold, I became a bank president.
This was just before the time of the panic, and the question of what was to become of the bank became one of the utmost concern. The notes were nearly all hypothecated to secure loans from other banks, while the tightening times caused the deposits to run down; the securities could not be realized upon, and the banks holding them called for their loans. The depositors, about one hundred in number, were all my neighbors, and men and women of small means. One thing was certain—could not continue to receive deposits with the knowledge I had of the affairs of the bank, either with safety to myself or the depositors. So one day when the deposits had run to a very low ebb, and the cash balance correspondingly low, and a threatening demand had been made by one of the secured banks, it was evident the time had come when the bank must go into the hands of a receiver and what money was on hand to be frittered away in receiver's fees, or pay out the money on hand to the depositors, and let the creditor banks collect on their collaterals. It was impracticable to pay depositors in part, or part of them in full. October 16th, 1895, on my own responsibility I obtained enough, with the funds of the bank in hand, to pay the depositors in full. An attorney for one of the secured creditors of the bank suspected what was going on, and believing the money was on my person undertook to detain me in an office in Tacoma until papers could be gotten out and served. But he was too late, as A. R. Herlig, my attorney, was already in Puyallup with the funds, with directions to take all the funds of the bank at nightfall, and with the cashier, George Macklin, now of Portland, go to each depositor, and without explanation insist on their taking the money due them. Charles Hood, of Puyallup, and, I think, John P. Hartman, now of Seattle, was of the party. Two trusted men with guns were sent along to guard the funds. In fact, all carried guns, and so the story went out that the bank had sent each depositor what was due him, and sent men along with guns to make him take it. This became an alleged witticism for a long time in Puyallup, but finally wore itself out. The result was that before four o'clock next morning all the depositors were paid, except four, who could not be found, and the next day the bank was open just the same as if nothing had happened, but all deposits were refused. The attempted holdup in Tacoma, resulted in nothing more serious than a scuffle, the loss of a collar button or two, with plenty of threats, but no action.
I took the train for Puyallup, went to bed at the usual hour, and slept soundly, as I always do.
As expected, in a few days a bank examiner came to take possession of the bank, having received direct orders from Washington from Mr. Eckles, the comptroller. In a week he was willing to quit, and asked that the bank should be turned over to the directors, and was ordered to do so. The affairs of the bank were closed up without litigation, but the capital was gone, and all that was left was the furniture and the charter, which is held to be valid to this day, and so it would seem I am yet the president of the First National Bank of Puyallup, and have been for nearly twenty years.
A few years ago the late Charles Fogg, of Tacoma, acting as an attorney for a group of capitalists, undertook to marshal the scattered and really worthless stock with a view to rehabilitate the bank and save the name, but were met by some obstinate stockholders who refused to either co-operate or dispose of their holdings and so the bank sleeps though not dead. Possibly when the "Rip Van Winkle sleep" has lapsed and when the little city of Puyallup has reached the twenty-thousand mark of inhabitants and one or two more of the recalcitrant stockholders die (one of the chief obstructionists died since the attempt was made), the bank may reappear as one of the institutions of the rising city of Puyallup.
CHAPTER XL.
THE KLONDIKE VENTURE.
After the failure of the hop business, I undertook a venture to the mines of the north. This resulted in a real live adventure of exciting experience.
I had lived in the old Oregon country forty-four years and had never seen a mine. Mining had no attraction for me, any more than corner lots in new, embryo cities. I did not understand the value of either, and left both severely alone. But when my accumulations had all been swallowed up, the land I had previously owned gone into other hands, and, in fact, my occupation gone, I concluded to take a chance in a mining country; matters could not well be much worse, and probably could be made better, and so in the spring of 1898 I made my first trip over the Chilcoot Pass, and then down the Yukon River to Dawson in a flatboat, and ran the famous White Horse Rapids with my load of vegetables for the Klondike miners.
One may read of the Chilcoot Pass the most graphic descriptions written, and yet when he is up against the experience of crossing, he will find the difficulties more formidable than his wildest fancy or expectation had pictured. I started in with fifteen tons of freight, and got through with nine. On one stretch of 2,000 feet I paid forty dollars a ton freight, and I knew of others paying more. The trip for a part of the way reminded me of the scenes on the Plains in 1852—such crowds that they jostled each other on the several parallel trails where there was room for more than one track. At the pass, most of the travel came upon one track, and so steep that the ascent could only be made by cutting steps in the ice and snow—1,500 in all.
Frequently every step would be full, while crowds jostled each other at the foot of the ascent to get into the single file, each man carrying from one hundred (it was said) to two hundred pounds pack on his back. Nevertheless, after all sorts of experiences, I arrived in Dawson, with nine tons of my outfit, sold my fresh potatoes at $36.00 a bushel and other things in like proportionate prices and in two weeks started up the river, homeward bound, with two hundred ounces of Klondike gold in my belt. But four round trips in two years satisfied me that I did not want any more of like experience. Then was when my mind would run on this last venture, the monument expedition, while writing the Reminiscences, [21] a part of which are elsewhere to be found in this volume. Had it not been for the loss of my business, it is doubtful if I ever would have settled down to this work, and so, maybe, the loss was a blessing in disguise. Anyway, no happier years of my life were passed than while engaged in writing it.
As I have said, the trips to the Klondike became real adventures. Fortunately detained for a couple of days, I escaped the avalanche that buried fifty-two people in the snow, and passed by the morgue the second day after the catastrophe on my way to the summit, and doubtless over the bodies of many unknown dead, imbedded so deeply in the snow that it was utterly impossible to recover them.
The Klondike Team.
I received a good ducking in my first passage through the White Horse Rapids, and vowed I would not go through there again, but I did, the very next trip that same year, and came out of it dry; then when going down the thirty-mile river, it did seem as though we could not escape being dashed upon the rocks, but somehow or another got through safely while the bank of that river was strewed with wrecks, and the waters had swallowed up many victims. When the Yukon proper was reached, the current was not so swift but the shoals were numerous, and more than once we were "hung up" on the bar, and always with an uncertainty as to how we would get off. In all of this experience of the two trips by the scows no damage resulted, except once when a hole was jammed into the scow, and we thought we were "goners" certain, but effected a landing so quickly as to unload our cargo dry. I now blame myself for taking such risks, but curiously enough I must admit that I enjoyed it, sustained, no doubt, with the high hopes of coming out with "my pile." But fate or something else was against me, for the after mining experience swept all the accumulation away "slick as a mitten," as the old saying goes, and I came out over the rotten ice of the Yukon in April of 1901 to stay, and to vow I never wanted to see another mine, or visit another mining country. Small wonder, you may say, when I write, that in two weeks' time after arriving home I was able to, and did celebrate our golden wedding with the wife of fifty years and enjoyed the joys of a welcome home even if I did not have my pockets filled with gold. I had then passed the seventy-year mark, and thought my "pet project," as some people call it, of marking the old Oregon Trail, was hung up indefinitely, but the sequel is shown in what followed and is the answer to my foreboding. I am now at this writing past the eighty-fifth year mark, and cannot see but I am as strong as when I floated down the Yukon in a flatboat, or packed my goods over the Chilcoot Pass, or drove my ox team over the summit of the Rocky Mountains on my recent trip to mark the historic Oregon Trail.
THE DREAM OF THE STAR.
[A song of the Oregon Trail. Dedicated to Ezra Meeker, Pioneer.]
I
A song for the men who blazed the way!
With hearts that would not quail;
They made brave quest of the wild Northwest,
They cut the Oregon trail.
Back of them beckoned their kith and kin
And all that they held their own;
Front of them spread the wilderness dread,
And ever the vast unknown.
But ever they kept their forward course!
And never they thought to lag,
For over them flew the Red, White and Blue
And the dream of a star for the flag!
II
A cheer for the men who cut the trail!
With souls as firm as steel
And fiery as wrath they hewed the path
For the coming Commonweal.
And close on the heels of the pioneers
The eager throng closed in
And followed the road to a far abode.
An Empire new to win.
And so they wrought at the end of the trail,
As ever must brave men do,
Till out of the dark there gleamed a spark,
And the dream of the star came true.
III
A toast to the men who made the road!
And a health to the men who dwell
In the great new land by the heroes planned,
Who have builded it wide and well!
The temple stands where the pine tree stood,
And dim is the ancient trail,
But many and wide are the roads that guide
And staunch are the ships that sail!
For the land is a grand and goodly land,
And its fruitful fields are tilled
By the sons who see on the flag of the free
The dream of the star fulfilled!
ROBERTUS LOVE.