The voyage up the coast was made without special incident; they crossed the bar, steamed up the Columbia, and landed at Vancouver early in November. Here they remained a fortnight, the guests of Captain Brent, the quartermaster, in order to enable the sick members to gain strength sufficiently to stand the hard trip to the Sound. After this brief stay the governor took his family on a little steamboat to Portland, where they spent the night. The town then consisted only of a string of small wooden buildings along the river-bank. The street, or road, was a perfect quagmire of mud-holes. Single planks laid along irregularly, with many intervals, furnished the only sidewalks. The next morning they embarked on a steamer and went down the river to Rainier, where they landed. This place consisted of a wharf and a sawmill. It was called Rainier, it was said, by way of a joke, because it rained here all the time; but doubtless it was named after Mount Rainier, which was named by Admiral Vancouver after a lord of the British admiralty. The party took canoes, manned by Indians, the same afternoon, crossed the Columbia, and paddled a few miles up the Cowlitz to Monticello, where they spent the night. At daylight the next morning the governor and family embarked in one large canoe, while the trunks and baggage followed in another, and pushed upstream against a swift current. There were in the canoe the governor, his wife and four children, the nurse, and a crew of four Indians, two at each end. It was a dark, drizzling day, with frequent showers. The passengers sat upon the bottom of the canoe upon plenty of Indian mats, and well wrapped in blankets, and, except for the constrained and irksome position, were fairly comfortable. The Indians, urged by promise of extra pay, paddled vigorously. At the rapids (and it seemed that nearly all the stream was in rapids) they laid aside their paddles, and, standing up, forced the canoe ahead with poles, which they wielded with great skill and vigor. All day long they paddled and poled with unabated energy, now paddling where they could take advantage of an eddy or stretch of back water, now forcing the canoe up swift rapids, gaining inch by inch. It was after dark when they reached Cowlitz Landing, thirty miles above Monticello, and found shelter for the night at the hospitable inn kept by Dr. and Mrs. U.G. Warbass.
Writes Mrs. Stevens of this trip:—
“We were placed in the canoe with great care, so as to balance it evenly, as it was frail and upset easily. At first the novelty, motion, and watching our Indians paddle so deftly, then seize their poles and push along over shallow places, keeping up a low, sweet singing as they glided along, was amusing. As we were sitting flat on the bottom of the canoe, the position became irksome and painful. We were all day long on this Cowlitz River. At night I could not stand on my feet for some time after landing. We walked ankle-deep in the mud to a small log-house, where we had a good meal. Here we found a number of rough, dirty-looking men, with pantaloons tucked inside their boots, and so much hair upon their heads and faces they all looked alike. After tea we were shown a room to sleep in, full of beds, which were for the women. I was so worn out with this novel way of traveling that I laid down on a narrow strip of bed, not undressed, all my family alongside on the same bed. The governor sat on a stool near by, and, strange to say, slept sound through the long, dismal night. He had been shown his bed up through a hole on top of the shanty. He said one look was sufficient. Men were strewn as thick as possible on the floor in their blankets. The steam generated from their wet clothes, boots, and blankets was stifling. One small hole cut through the roof was the only ventilation.
“As soon as breakfast was over the next morning, we mounted into a wagon without springs and proceeded on our journey. The governor took M. in his arms to keep her from being jolted. There surely were no worse roads to be found anywhere in the world than this. The horses went deep in the mud every step; the wheels sank to the hub, and often had to be pried up. We forded rivers, the water coming above our ankles in the wagon. Many big, deep holes they would jump over, making the horses run quick, when the wagon would jump across, shaking us up fearfully. In one of these holes our horses fell down, and we stuck fast in the mud. We were taken from the wagon by men of our party plunging up to their knees in the mud, and carrying us out by sheer force of their strength. After seating us upon a fallen log, the horses were with difficulty extricated from the mud. After another long day’s tiresome travel we stopped at a log-house for the night. Upon entering from the porch we found a big room, with a wood fire filling up one side, blazing and crackling, low chairs in front; in the centre of the room was a table with a clean cloth on it, and a repast of well-cooked food, relishing and abundant, was placed upon it, to which we did ample justice. Our host was an Englishman, a farmer, who was getting on well, a genial, hospitable man. His wife was a superior woman. She had crossed the plains with her first husband. On the journey they were surrounded by Indians. He was killed. She was taken prisoner by these savages, and after passing through untold suffering she managed to make her escape, and after walking hundreds of miles, living upon berries by the way, she came into the Dalles, a forlorn, starved woman, almost destitute of clothing, with her boy ten years of age. It was here our host met her and offered shelter to her child and herself, which she gladly accepted, and finally became his wife. She was a fine-looking woman and a thorough housekeeper, but had the saddest expression on her face. At night she took us across the yard into another log-house, where we found a bright fire burning on the hearth, and nice, clean beds. I felt like staying in this comfortable shelter, hearing the rain patter on the roof, until the rainy season was over, at least.”
The host referred to was John R. Jackson. His farm was only ten miles from Cowlitz Landing, but the roads were in such wretched state that a whole day was consumed in traveling this short distance.
After a cheerful breakfast the next morning, the journey was resumed. George W. Stevens and several other gentlemen came out to meet the governor and family, and escorted them to Olympia. The governor mounted his horse Charlie, which he purchased of the Red River half-breeds, and which was brought out to him. This was a great, powerful gray charger, of high spirit, and able to cover twelve miles an hour in a swinging trot without distress. It was another rainy, drizzling day. The road was almost impassable. At Saunders’s Bottom, where the town of Chehalis now stands, the mud was knee-deep for two miles, terribly wearing on the animals. At length, after fording the Skookumchuck at its mouth, and traversing an extensive prairie, the wet, tired, and bedraggled party reached the log-house of Judge Sidney S. Ford, and found hospitable shelter for the night, having traveled about twenty-five miles that day.
The next day the party reached Olympia late in the afternoon, after a thirty miles’ journey over much better and pleasanter roads, traversing prairies over half the distance, including Grand Mound, Little Mound, and Bush’s prairies. It was a dreary, dark, December day. It had rained considerably. The road from Tumwater to Olympia was ankle-deep in mud, and thridded a dense forest with a narrow track. With expectations raised at the idea of seeing the capital and chief town of the Territory, the weary travelers toiled up a small hill in the edge of the timber, reached the summit, and eagerly looked to see the future metropolis. Their hearts sank with bitter disappointment as they surveyed the dismal and forlorn scene before them. A low, flat neck of land, running into the bay, down it stretched the narrow, muddy track, winding among the stumps which stood thickly on either side; twenty small wooden houses bordered the road, while back of them on the left and next the shore were a number of Indian lodges, with canoes drawn up on the beach, and Indians and dogs lounging about. The little hill mentioned is where now stands the Masonic Building, opposite the Olympia Hotel. The site of the Indian camp is now Columbia Street, between Third and Fourth. There were only one or two buildings above, or south of, Sixth Street. The public square was a tangle of fallen timber. Main Street terminated in Giddings’s Wharf, which was left high and dry at low tide.
Mrs. Stevens continues her account as follows:—
“At night we were told, on ascending a hill, ‘There is Olympia.’ Below us, in the deep mud, were a few low, wooden houses, at the head of Puget Sound. My heart sank, for the first time in my life, at the prospect. After ploughing through the mud, we stopped at the principal hotel, to stay until our house was ready for us. As we went upstairs there were a number of people standing about to see the governor and his family. I was very much annoyed at their staring and their remarks, which they made audibly, and hastened to get in some private room, where I could make myself better prepared for an inspection. Being out in rains for many days had not improved our appearance or clothes. But there seemed no rest for the weary. Upon being ushered into the public parlor I found people from far and near had been invited to inspect us. The room was full. The sick child was cross, and took no notice of anything that was said to her. One of the women saying aloud, ‘What a cross brat that is!’ I could stand it no longer, but opened a door and went into a large dancing-hall, and soon after, when the governor came to look me up, I was breaking my heart over the forlorn situation I found myself in,—cold, wet, uncomfortable, no fire, shaking with chills. What a prospect! How I longed to find myself back in my childhood’s home, among good friends and relatives! Just then we were told we were expected across the street. The governor had his office there, and had us taken directly there. It was a happy change. We went into a large, cheerful room, with the beds on the floor, a bright fire burning, book-cases filled with books smiling upon us. We soon had a good repast, and felt comfortable at last. In a few days we were at housekeeping, very pleasant indeed, all picking up in health, and good friends around us.
“Many of the people called on me. I found them pleasant and agreeable people; many of them were well-educated and interesting young ladies who had come here with their husbands, government officials, and who had given up their city homes to live in this unknown land, surrounded by Indians and dense forests.