Dauntless pioneers.

No class of people or nation deserves the title, cosmopolitan, better than the Vikings. Their names mingle with the history of England, France, Russia and Italy, and in the Western Hemisphere we find them all over. To trace up the first Scandinavian that touched the shore of Washington is difficult, if not impossible. No doubt but Scandinavians made stoppings along the coast on their fishing expeditions to the north before any white man had dreamt to pin his hopes to the North Pacific. And it is probable, too, that some adventurous spirit of Viking blood had been washed with American polish, and passed as a Yankee in the Lewis and Clark expedition. It is safe to conjecture, however, that some straggler from the sea-beaten shores of Scandinavia shared the sufferings with the trappers of the Hudson Bay Company, or partook of the hardships in John Jacob Astor's expeditions for the mouth of Columbia river. These companies were made up of heterogeneous crews. The mercurial French Canadian, the acute Yankee, the jolly Englishman, the stern German, joined hands for the furfields, and it seems reasonable that some hardy Scandinavian, too, was likely to abandon his fireside, turn his back on civilization, and yield consent to a more romantic life.

A motley combine known as the Russian Fur Company had established an emporium on the Pacific coast, and a number of trading posts in the interior, ere the close of the eighteenth century, and it is authentically evidenced that Scandinavians and Finlanders constituted the minor force of the regiment of trappers and navigators. Let it suffice to say, however, that these brave adventurers regardless of genealogical type did much to sow information in the Old World of the evergreen land west of the Rocky; and suffer it to be known that the probability is that some intrepid Scandinavian sacrificed his life in search for peltry, and that his bones rest in peace beneath the green turf in the Pacific forest. This brings us to the influx of permanent settlers.

Mrs. Frederic Meyer.—One of the first white women that breathed the air of Pierce county was Mrs. Frederic Meyer, a Norwegian by birth. She left her mother's hearth in Toten while a tender bud, fresh as a rose with blooms of white and purple blushing on her cheeks. Few women are of true romantic nature, their hearts, as a rule, are attached to social affiliation around the fireside, but Mrs. Meyer figures as a typical exception. Those that have known her well speak with kind tongues, pronouncing her a model of her sex, chivalric in spirit, and brave, but warm at heart. According to reliable information obtained in Tacoma, she lit her feet on the green-trimmed shore, where the City of Destiny now looms, forty odd years ago. She was married to an estimable German.

A Scene of Pioneer Life.
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Hood's Canal Anderson.—Hood's Canal Anderson was a peculiar composition of strange fancy. He was born in Denmark, and from childhood showed an insatiable passion for the sea, which ripened into irresistible lust. While a lad of vernal years he left his native seat to be dashed on the briny waves from port to port. He saw the crystal ice of Lofoten, the huge glaciers of Greenland, the thirsty greens of India, the foul bogs of China, the flowery vales of Japan, the rich gold fields of Australia, the teeming meadows of New Zealand. He was tossed from continent to continent, from island to island. About forty-five years ago he drifted ashore near Port Discovery, and under veil of night put wings to his feet for the forest. The fascinating aspect of the country and the aromatic sylva poured streams of delight into his soul. As he stood in the early morn, gazing around in mingled awe and admiration, he was surrounded by a red race, who, at first, gave vent to the horrible dilemma of converting his heart to ashes or treating him as a slave, but his ingenious demeanor turned their sanguinity to laughter, and Anderson became their curious jocularity which melted to favoritism. He strolled with the train of vagabonds alternately fishing and hunting up streams and canoeing the Sound. Thus ten years were dragged out of his longevity without mingling with white men.

His longing for civilization vanished little by little, and the life of celibacy settled heavily on his heart. He was a friend of the chief and an admirer of his daughter, and it took only the big canoe to seal the bargain. Anderson was rather long-headed for the red heathens, and got the best of every deal. He was now the possessor of the biggest canoe, save the royal ship, and was looked upon as independently opulent. Only a word would change his life for better or worse. Finally he took the delicate step and offered the huge dug-out in trade for the young princess, which was accepted with loud eclat.