These two tribes numbered four hundred and ninety-three, a number greatly in excess of the census given in Swan’s account. In their distrust the Indians invariably reported less than their actual numbers, and nearly every tribe was found to be larger than the first estimate. The numbers of the Chinook, Chehalis, and Cowlitz Indians were reported by Governor Stevens in 1857 as one thousand one hundred and fifteen.
Including the Quenaiults and the Cowlitz, and other Indians not on reservations, they now number some seven hundred, and are in about the same condition as the Sound Indians.[1]
CHAPTER XXVII
PERSONAL AND POLITICAL.—SAN JUAN CONTROVERSY
Just before going to the Chehalis council, Governor Stevens and his family suffered a sad and severe affliction in the death of his young kinsman, George Watson Stevens, who was drowned on February 16 at the debouch of the Skookumchuck Creek into the Chehalis River, as he was returning from Portland, whither he had gone to cash some government drafts. He was accompanied on the journey by A.B. Stuart, the mail and express carrier, who, as they approached the stream, had occasion to stop at a settler’s house, while George Stevens kept on, and, although cautioned by Stuart, lost his life in the attempt to cross by the usual ford. The Skookumchuck empties into the Chehalis at right angles, and although ordinarily a stream of moderate size, becomes, when swollen by rains, a mighty and furious flood, which, encountering the rapid current of the Chehalis, forms a dangerous whirlpool in the centre of that river. Not realizing the danger, and anxious to reach his journey’s end that day, he forced his horse into the raging torrent, and was swept, man and steed, into the whirlpool below, where, although a fine swimmer and a strong, vigorous man, he met his death. Stuart reached the ford soon afterwards, and finding it impassable and his companion nowhere visible, rightly concluded that he was lost, and hastened to Olympia with the sad tidings.
Governor Stevens with a party hastened to the scene, and diligently searched for the missing one. The governor caused a band of horses to be driven into the stream to test its power, but all were instantly swept down into the larger river, several of them clear to the whirlpool, although the water had fallen considerably. The unfortunate youth’s horse swam ashore, and was found with the saddle and saddle-bags soaked with water, and a few days later his remains were found in the river a mile below the whirlpool. This sad event cast a deep gloom upon the family, and indeed all the community, for he was a young man of great promise, noble traits, and only twenty-two years of age. The governor said of him:—
“His whole character was an admirable blending of strength and gentleness. He was essentially a man of great resolution, daring, enterprise, and purpose, who adhered with great inflexibility to his determinations; yet he was so gentle, so kindly, so courteous, and so disinterested that his strength did not fully appear in ordinary intercourse. To his friends his death is a sad bereavement, which time only can obliterate. His memory will be precious, his life an example, his bright and pure spirit is now in the heavenly mansion.”
“He was a brother in the house,” wrote Mrs. Stevens to her mother; “evenings he always spent at home, and took an interest in everything about the house, played with the children, seemed to be happy just staying in our society. Here is my garden he made, and the flowers he set out, and marks of him all about us.”
It was a sad time when his remains were brought in, and the little toys and candy he had thoughtfully purchased for the children were found in his pockets and saddle-bags. He was buried on the beautiful green Bush Prairie, amid the scenes of mountain, prairie, and forest he loved so well. His intimate friends, Mason and Doty, were soon to be laid at rest by his side.
In a letter to a sister Mrs. Stevens relates another instance of the governor’s firmness and fearlessness in dealing with the Indians:—