He advanced toward it and spread his hands benignantly as though blessing the man that invented fire, rubbed his palms together in a mute ecstasy of mellow satisfaction and then reversed his position, lifted his coat-tails and set his feet wide apart, even as a man doth at his own peaceful hearthstone. The radiant energy had not time to reach the marrow when a terrific explosion took place. It threw earth, roots and splinters, firebrands and coals, yards away, hurled the whilom fire-worshiper a considerable distance, cautioned him with a piece of hot iron that just missed his face, covered him with the debris, mystified and stupefied him, but fortunately did not inflict any permanent injury.
As he recovered the use of his faculties the idea gained upon him that it was a mean, low-down trick anyhow to blow up stumps that way. He was very much disgusted and refused very naturally to see anything funny about it; but as time passed by and he recovered from the shock, the ludicrous side appeared and he was content to let it be regarded as a pioneer pleasantry.
The innocent perpetrator of this amazing joke has no doubt laughed long and loud many times as he has pictured to himself the vast astonishment of his fellow townsman, and tells the story often, with the keenest relish, to appreciative listeners.
Yes, to be blown up by an old bomb-shell on a quiet Sunday afternoon, while resting beside a benevolent looking stump-fire that not even remotely suggested warlike demonstrations, was rather tough.
HOW BEAN’S POINT WAS NAMED.
Opposite Alki Point was a fine prairie of about forty acres to which C. C. Terry at first laid claim. Some of the earliest settlers of the first mentioned locality crossed the water, taking their cattle, ploughed and planted potatoes on this prairie. Terry subsequently settled elsewhere and the place was settled on by a large man of about sixty years, a Nova Scotian, it was supposed, who bore the name of Bean. This lonely settler was a sort of spiritualist; in Fort Decatur, while one of a group around a stove, he leaned his arm on the wall and when a natural tremor resulted, insisted that the “spirits” did it. After the war he returned to his cabin and while in his bed, probably asleep, was shot and killed by an Indian. Since then the place has been known as Bean’s Point.
Dr. H. A. Smith, the happiest story-teller of pioneer days, relates in his “Early Reminiscences” how “Dick Atkins played the dickens with poor old Beaty’s appetite for cheese” in this engaging manner:
“One day when he (Dick Atkins) was merchandising on Commercial Street, Seattle, as successor to Horton & Denny, he laid a piece of cheese on the stove to fry for his dinner. A dozen loafers were around the stove and among them Mr. Beaty, remarkable principally for his appetite, big feet and good nature. And he on this occasion good-naturedly took the cheese from the stove and cooled and swallowed it without waiting to say grace, while Dick was in the back room, waiting on a customer. When the cheese was fairly out of sight, Beaty grew uneasy and skedadled up the street. When Atkins returned and found his cheese missing, and was told what became of it, he rushed to the door just in time to catch sight of Beaty’s coat-tail going into Dr. Williamson’s store. Without returning for his coat or hat, off he darted at full speed. Beaty had fairly got seated, when Dick stood before him and fairly screamed:
“‘Did you eat that cheese?’
“‘Wal—yes—but I didn’t think you’d care much.’
“‘Care! Care! good thunder, no! but I thought you might care, as I had just put a DOUBLE DOSE OF ARSENIC in it to kill rats.’
“‘Don’t say!’ exclaimed Beaty, jumping to his feet, ‘thought it tasted mighty queer; what can I do?’
“‘Come right along with me; there is only one thing that can save you.’
“And down the street they flew as fast as their feet would carry them. As soon as they had arrived at the store, Atkins drew off a pint of rancid fish-oil and handed it to Beaty saying, ‘Swallow it quick! Your life depends upon it!’
“Poor Beaty was too badly frightened to hesitate, and after a few gags, pauses and wry faces he handed back the cup, drained to the bitter dregs. ‘There now,’ said Dick, ‘go home and to bed, and if you are alive in the morning come around and report yourself.’
“After he was gone one of the spectators asked if the cheese was really poisoned.
“‘No,’ replied Dick, ‘and I intended telling the gormand it was not, but when I saw that look of gratitude come into his face as he handed back the empty cup, my heart failed me, and my revenge became my defeat.’ ‘No, gentlemen, Beaty is decidedly ahead in this little game. I never before was beaten at a game of cold bluff after having stacked the cards myself. I beg you to keep the matter quiet, gentlemen.’ But it was always hard for a dozen men to keep a secret.”
These same “Early Reminiscences” contain many a merry tale, some “thrice told” to the writer of this work, of the people who were familiar figures on the streets of Seattle and other settlements, in the long ago, among them two of the Rev. J. F. DeVore, with whom I was acquainted.
“When he lived in Steilacoom, at a time when that city was even smaller than it is now, a certain would-be bully declared, with an oath, that if it were not for the respect he had for the ‘cloth,’ he would let daylight through his portly ministerial carcass. Thereupon the ‘cloth’ was instantly stripped off and dashed upon the ground, accompanied with the remark, ‘The “cloth” never stands in the way of a good cause. I am in a condition, now sir, to be enlightened.’ But instead of attempting to shed any light into this luminary of the pulpit, whose eyes fairly blazed with a light not altogether of this world, the blustering bully lit out down the street at the top of his speed.”