The Indians held possession of the country adjacent to the Puyallup Valley for several months. Most of the settlers' cabins were burned, their fences destroyed, their stock run off or killed, crops appropriated, leaving the valley a scene of desolation and solitude as before the advent of the white man but little over two years before.
But what to do after arriving at the so-called fort (Steilacoom), which was no fort at all but merely an encampment in a few log huts and where neither comfort nor safety was vouchsafed, was the question confronting the pioneers. For myself, I will say that my brother Oliver and father, Jacob R. Meeker, with the three families, withdrew from the garrison, proceeded to the town of Steilacoom, built a strong log block house and took care of ourselves. That block house stands there in Steilacoom to this day, weather-boarded on the outside and ceiled inside so that the passing visitor will not recognize it, and is almost forgotten by the generation now occupying the town.
In two years' time a majority of the settlers had returned to their homes while a few hesitated because of the fear of further outbreak of the Indians (which never came), but here and there one abandoned his claim and did not return. But the handicaps remained. Soon the clearings produced vastly more products than could be consumed at home; the market at Steilacoom was restricted and at best difficult to reach, and so certain crops became a burden to producers instead of a profit. A road could easily be opened down the valley to Commencement Bay to the point now known as the Tide Flats within the city limits of Tacoma, but there was then only a waste of waters confronting the pioneers, for this was long before Tacoma was thought of or even the name, except in the brain of that eccentric traveler and delightful writer, Winthrop, whose works disclosed his fine writing, after his death on the battlefield of Chantilly.
Ten long years elapsed before a change came, except as the clearings became larger and stock increased, for the dairy brought prosperity to the few and encouraged others to continue the strife. Within this period hops had been introduced and set a new standard of industry and wrought a marvelous change.
Finally a store was opened at the "Reservation" where the government agency had been established and a road opened to it from the up-river settlements, but the road extended no further, and all freight was carried out of the river in canoes, or later, in lighters to the mill wharf that had been built in 1869 and where a limited market had been found.
Opposite the point where the Indian school was later established a drift obstructed the river for more than a thousand feet so completely that a person could cross over the channel anywhere. Two more drifts further up, but not so extensive, completely blocked the channel. A theory gained currency that the river could be navigated with small boats once the drifts were removed, and they were removed by the pioneers, but no navigation followed and the $1,500 put into the enterprise became a total loss, except for the timber logging camps that were established and thrived for a while.
We now pass over another ten years' period to the building of the Northern Pacific Railroad up the valley to the coal veins in the mountains, ending at the time at the point named Wilkeson. Twenty years before close observers noted the fact that float coal could be found on the bars of the Puyallup River. These small pieces, not bigger than a pea, became a matter of dispute as to whether the substance was coal or not. Finally, early in the seventies, a "chunk" as big as a man's fist was found imbedded in the gravel between the roots of a balm tree that had lodged, part of it burned, and all doubts removed as to the existence of coal on the headwaters of the river. John Gale prosecuted a diligent search and was rewarded by finding the vein to which the railroad was built.
The building of the railroad opened up the valley and give encouragement to those who had bided their time so long. The time had arrived when there came to be a money value to land. So long as the country was not subdivided, settlers could not obtain title to their land and transfers would become confusing as each had surveyed his own claim under the donation act. This act gave the head of a family 160 acres, and the same to the wife in her own right. Such delays on the part of the Government that followed seemed now almost incredible. I did not receive the patent for my donation claim for thirteen years after my settlement was made, and others had a similar experience and even a longer period. But with the coming of the surveys and the advent of the hops, values rose and became established at a rate that pioneers had never dreamed of and yet had advanced from year to year, or rather for the whole period, to a point that would then have seemed unthinkable. The first subdivision surveys by the Government were made in Puyallup during the year 1864. J. P. Stewart and George W. Sloan took the contract. Neither was well suited for the work, Stewart being too nervous and Sloan scarcely responsible for his acts. Up to the time of the survey all claims outside of the first taken under the donation act were mere squatters' claims upon the public land, but no recognition of any right could be had at the land office, then, as now, at Olympia. No serious trouble followed in adjusting the lines followed, as the donation claim lines were respected and had in fact for many years served as a guide to later claimants. As soon as the surveys were made, all parties made for the land office, the donation claimants to "prove up" the pre-emptions, and homesteaders to make application for their respective rights. I did not go with the rush for the reason that I wanted to take my claim under the homestead law, which required an outlay of sixteen dollars, and "for the life of me" I couldn't raise that much money. The fact was that, almost literally speaking, there was no money in the valley. Finally, becoming uneasy lest some one might "slip in" and pre-empt from under me, I walked to Olympia and pre-empted where the fee was but a dollar, and held under the entry for several months until money could be obtained, when a homestead was located upon the same land, thus expending both rights for the lack of $16.00. This to many would seem ludicrous, but the actors looked upon the serious side, and did not wish to take any chances of losing their homes. A few years later I sold one crop of hops for $75,000, which now looks as incredible as the other fact of inability to raise even so small an amount as $16.00. In the chapter on hops the reader will be told the whole story of the $75,000 hop crop. The reader may well wonder why I walked from Puyallup to Olympia, a distance of thirty-five miles, and back out of sympathy for conditions that would seem to call for such a "sacrifice" of personal comfort. To such, let me disabuse their minds, for it was indeed a pleasant day, if not of recreation—a day of self-communion with pleasant thoughts of the past and bright anticipations as to the future. Fatigued? Yes, but just enough to enjoy rest. Can we enjoy rest without first experiencing fatigue and withal with good appetite for a frugal meal? I did not think of it then as anything out of the ordinary, and for that matter do not now, as it was only one of the strenuous day's experiences of the time, besides to me long walks are conducive to good health—not so long a walk as that to Olympia, but the one or two hours' brisk walk in communion with nature and oneself.
I remember another walk from Puyallup to Olympia in 1870, where I first met Judge Roger S. Greene, who was then on the bench as Chief Justice of the Territory. I remained some time in Olympia, overlooking my first stagger at book making, an 80-page pamphlet, "Washington Territory West of the Cascades", [31] of which I had 5,000 copies printed, all of which went into circulation in the Eastern States. When I got through with this work I walked back home.
I still love to walk. Leaving the house (1120 North Thirty-eighth Street, Seattle), a few days ago, the fresh air felt so good I continued my walk to First Avenue, at the foot of Madison, in an hour and five minutes—three miles and perhaps a little more; nothing very remarkable about these walks except I attribute my continued good health to this open air exercise and would like to encourage anyone, the young people in particular, to the end that they may do likewise. I have no doubt that I walked over two thousand miles on my recent trips across the continent with the ox-team, part of the time from necessity but often for a camping place, frequently four or six miles. The oxen usually would travel two miles an hour while my easy gait would be three, so that by timing myself I could easily tell how far I was ahead and how long it would take the oxen to catch up. But the long walk was across the Plains in 1852, after the teams weakened and the dust became intolerable in the wagon on the Plains in early days. Then is when the walking became wearisome, so wearisome that I lost my weight rapidly, though apparently not any strength.