These two extreme cases will show to the reader that even in the cabins there can be as wide variance in habits as in the more pretentious homes. A goodly number of the pioneer women would become helpers in the field and gardens whether the men folks of the household thought it was just the proper thing to do or not. The flower gardens soon appeared in every dooryard to enliven the homes and spread contentment in the household.

For years the pioneers led a strenuous life with but little money return, so little it would seem almost incredible if given, and yet there was no "moping" or complaining, for there seemed to be a will to make the best of things possible and enjoy life as time passed. And, why not? The youngsters (and "greybeards" as well) soon began to look forward with anticipated pleasure to the coming of a holiday, Fourth of July, Christmas or what not, and make weeks of preparation for them, enjoy the occasion while passing and enjoy the memory of the experiences for weeks following.

Let us look in on a Fourth of July celebration. A grove has been selected and the "boys" in their "'teens" have cleared away the brush, built a speaker's stand, fixed up the tables and plenty of seats. The girls have baked the cakes and pies, picked the berries and flowers and provided other "nick-nacks" to fill in, while the mothers have baked the chickens, made the salads and provided the substantials until the tables fairly groaned under the load of bountiful supplies. It was the rule that everybody should have something to do. One of the older boys, or perhaps a girl, would be appointed to read the Declaration of Independence; another, to deliver the address; another to read an original essay, or a poem, with music sandwiched in between, sometimes with a chorus of the very young ones, or perhaps a solo—enough of these exercises to go round. The old melodion, now in the Washington State Historical Building at Tacoma, that has long ago lost its voice, was then thought to be a marvel of sweet tones and served to drown whatever discord might creep in from the flute and violin. When the evening came the small folks could have their dance "all by their lone", while the greater lords and ladies had naught to do but look on or organize somewhere else, which they often did. All this tended to build up a feeling of confidence in themselves in the minds of the youngsters and cultivate a social atmosphere that could not have been attained in any other way. All of these "youngsters" have grown up to manhood and womanhood or sleep beneath the sod of the valley. If perchance the eye of any one of them catches this writing they will for the moment say "give me back the Fourth of July celebration of Puyallup of fifty years ago."

Seven years passed after the first settlement was made before we had a postoffice. All the trading was done at Steilacoom, which was sixteen miles distant from the river crossing. Any one going out to the market town (Steilacoom) was expected to bring the mail for everybody and leave it at the ferry or carry it on up the valley for those living beyond. Finally a postoffice was established and named Franklin, and my next door neighbor, J. P. Stewart, was appointed postmaster. He established the office near the ferry landing and brought in a stock of goods to trade on. The whole stock might easily have been hauled in one load of an ordinary farm wagon. He came very near losing the postoffice, stock of goods and his life from a great freshet that came, the like of which has not since been seen to this day. The headwaters of the Puyallup issue out from under a great glacier of Mount Rainier, probably no more than eight thousand feet above sea level and but forty miles distant from the present city of Puyallup. The avalanches from the great mountain are wonderful to contemplate. I saw the effect of one in British Columbia once where a swath of dense forest trees had been cut off close to the ground, where not uprooted, and carried to the lower lands, a mixture of timber, stone and snow, packed, apparently, as solid as a rock. In this particular instance the front mass had been carried beyond the bottom and up the slope of at least twenty-five degrees on the opposite side, several hundred feet on the mountain side, by the irresistible force of the mass behind. At the time of which I write, there undoubtedly had been a huge dam formed by an avalanche until a vast accumulation of water finally broke loose and came down the valley, seemingly carrying everything before it. A tremendous roar of water came, accompanied with a crash of timber not easily described. Mr. Walker, who stood on the bank of the river a mile above, told me he saw great balm trees caught with some obstructions under the roots and the timber lifted bodily by the force of the water and forced end over end with an indescribable crash to terrify the onlooker. Water running on the lower ground back of Stewart soon formed an island and left him alone without any means of escape, as the ferry had been carried away. A big, high balm stump furnished the only refuge of safety and there he stayed all night and part of the next day without food or sufficient clothing, chilled to the "marrow bone", for he was in his shirt sleeves when the crash came. When the water receded so he could, the postoffice, store and all were speedily removed to a place of safety. It was common remark that when Stewart moved the postoffice he simply put it on his back and walked off with it.

Those who have seen the glacier describe it as a wonder. The water issues out as from a great cavern into which one can walk upright for quite a way. This is the first glacier discovered in the United States. Doctor Tolmie, then the chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company at Nisqually, ascended the Puyallup in 1833 and discovered the huge glacier and wrote in the fort journal an account of his trip. For sixty years since I first saw the Puyallup River, this great mill has been grinding away and sluicing out fine particles of the mountain, sufficient in quantity to whiten the water almost a milk-white color. When the glacier is most active, a glass of the water left standing over night will show sediment in the bottom thick as a sheet of writing paper. We are led to wonder how long this has been grinding, how long it will take to grind away the mountain. We are told the continual dropping of water will wear away a stone. Will not this grinding finally grind away the whole mountain? Can we guess how long it has taken to fill up this valley? We know the deposit off the mouth of the Puyallup River is fully six hundred feet deep; that the Puyallup Valley at its junction with the Stuck Valley was once an arm of the Sound; and the latter valley with the White River (so called because of the milky whiteness of its water coming from the same mountain), and Duwamish Valley to the salt waters of the Sound at Elliott Bay, where again it is met, the bay six hundred feet deep just off from the mouth of the river, was also once a part of the Sound. How long before Commencement Bay, Elliott Bay and Admiralty Inlet will have met the same fate as the Puyallup, Stuck and Duwamish valleys, and the cities of Tacoma and Seattle be dredging a channel through Admiralty Inlet?

But let us look to the story of Puyallup. The marvelous fertility of the soil has been told over and over again until the very name has become famous across the sea. I once measured a hop root eleven feet long that had been exposed by the cutting away of the river bank and thus leaving it exposed to view where it had reached a point seven feet under the surface of the land. The little band of pioneers had come into a heritage beyond their wildest dreams; the ages of decaying leaves falling from the deciduous growth of the balm, alder and ash had mingled with the silt of the mountain until a soil not surpassed in richness was found—so rich we may cease to wonder that Walker might dig his bucket full of potatoes from one hill.

Let us look in on this little colony two years after their arrival in the autumn of 1853. Their clearing had widened sufficiently to let the sun in but not so wide as to afford a continuous view to see each other's cabins or see the great mountain. No money had come into the valley in return for their crops, for the double reason that as yet there was but little to spare, and even if there had been a surplus they could not have gotten it to the market because of the lack of a road over which a load could be hauled. I will tell one little incident that will illustrate. Anyone passing through the fir forest will remember the wonderful size of surface roots of the fir trees, in some places running out part above the surface and nearly as big as a man's body. One day when I was driving a cart over the road mentioned the pioneers had opened, the wheels passed over and left the cart bed resting solidly on the big root, and so, in the common expression of the county, I was "stuck". This will give a faint idea of what an early day road was like.

In places a glimpse of smoke from a neighbor's cabin might be seen or the sound of voices heard. All were busy in their clearing, "making hay while there was sun", before the winter rains set in. At nightfall of the evening of October 28, 1858, just two years after their arrival in the valley, the pioneers were startled by the news that in the neighboring valley of White River the settlers had all been massacred by the Indians. The scene of this massacre was no more than ten miles distant from the nearest cabin in the Puyallup—a ride, as the trail run, of less than two hours. Consternation seized every mind. It was natural to believe the Indians would be over on them when daylight came, even if not before. The pioneers were scattered, illy armed, encumbered with their families and in no condition to resist an attack. The fort (Steilacoom) was fifteen miles distant from the nearest cabin and the river lay between with no means of crossing teams or wagons except by the long detour of what was known as the "upper road", that is, the military road, and by fording the river. For most of the settlers the ford would not be reached before daylight of the next day, and even then it would be doubtful if the stage of the river would permit of crossing. The only alternative seemed to take the most direct route over the road they had themselves opened soon after their arrival in the valley. Without concert of action (for none was possible, scattered as they were in their cabins) the movement began in the night. Women, with children in their arms, almost immediately upon receipt of the dreadful news, started on the perilous trip, the men carrying their guns and such clothing or bedding as could hastily be selected and bundled up into packs. At Carson's two canoes and a small boat afforded all the means of crossing. The two canoes had been lashed together and finally a wagon gotten across and a team that swam across the river. By midnight many had crossed and had at once began the weary journey to the fort. Daylight overtook them, strung out for miles on the road or either crossing at the ferry or waiting their time when they could cross. The "upper settlement" in the forks of the river, the Lanes, Whitesels and others nearer the military road, fared better, for they could cross the south fork with their teams and wagons and take considerable of their belongings with them and some provisions as well, while the throng on the lower road could not. Such was the condition of affairs on the morning of the 29th. I had started with my family in the early morning, as fully told in "The Reminiscences—The Tragedy of Leschi", and reached the fort six or more hours before any of the Puyallup people from either settlement began to arrive.

But the Indians did not come to harass the fleeing settlers. They turned their guns on the small volunteer force that had just reached a camping place at the foot of the bluff on the military road a mile east of the ford of the main river (Puyallup) that had been sent out by Acting-Governor Mason—Governor Stevens being absent negotiating the Blackfeet Indian treaty. The horses of this force had been run off and the men cooped up in a cabin by the Indians following the killing of Cornell and McAllister, preceding the massacre a day, all of which is given in detail in the "Tragedy" and will not be repeated here further than to give the context to the scenes that followed. Of the indescribable scenes of confusion that followed; the dilemma of the pioneers as to where to go for safety; how to subsist; the incursion of nineteen men to the Puyallup to rescue some of the abandoned property and provisions of the pioneers, is all told in "The Tragedy of Leschi."

Looking back over the vista of these fifty-eight years that have passed and which now again come so vividly in mind reviving old-time memories, I can truly say with General Sherman that "war is hell", whether between brothers of the same race or with the native race blindly wreaking vengeance upon innocent people who were their true friends.